Chapter 59 The Apothecary III. An contract.

A chirping of birds pulled Helena's mind from the world of dreams. Sunlight brightened the white walls while her body stubbornly refused to rise. The bed was simply too comfortable. Yet, remembering that man, she forced herself to get up. She felt she shouldn't be too complacent; the man in question wouldn't appreciate it, and she didn't want to offend him in any way, fearing it might complicate her life.

She moved into the second room attached to her bedroom, a personal bathroom. The floor was white marble, there was a large mirror, a toilet, a shower, and a spacious bathtub. Everything so cozy and a stark contrast to the rented room she had shared with her husband in recent days. Her mind twisted at the thought of a hot bath; it had been ages since her last one. In fact, even regular baths were troublesome in the alley.

As she began to wash, she noticed how her body had recovered. Her skin, once dry and thin, was now soft and smooth. Her black hair, previously greasy and unkempt, now felt light and loose, taking on a life of its own. Her cheekbones, once sharp, were now fuller, framed by lively and gentle features. She looked better than she ever had with any makeup. It even seemed like her breasts had grown a little. She gazed at herself in the mirror, feeling more beautiful than ever and wondering what Jonathan would think if he saw her like this, only to let those thoughts evaporate.

After her bath, she began to try on the clothes that had been laid out for her: a simple winter dress in a light blue hue. It hugged her body, accentuating her natural curves without being indecent. It had an elegant cut and fit perfectly, as if it had been tailored just for her. The fabric was soft and pleasant against her skin; although she couldn't identify the type, she sensed it was something special.

She fashioned some quick braids, as it was faster and more practical after her bath, and put on a pair of earrings she found on the nightstand: a necklace with green stone details that matched the color of her eyes and simple silver earrings adorned with a small, discreet butterfly. As she looked in the mirror, confidence washed over her. She felt well-dressed, though she didn't quite feel deserving or entirely comfortable in it. These weren't her clothes; it wasn't her choice; being guided in this way was complicated.

Walking alone made her think of the house; she noticed there were no pictures or paintings, though the walls had detailed finishes with symmetrical patterns that reminded her of runes. Every room contained only the essentials for maximum efficiency, though the pieces were of the highest quality. She sensed he preferred to have the best, but not necessarily to show off.

As she passed through the kitchen, she noticed a full English breakfast on a charming stove: beans, eggs, toast, sausages, grilled tomatoes, and cooked vegetables, alongside a note nearby.

"Miss Helena, I took the liberty of preparing your breakfast. I hope you enjoy it."

Signed: Vincent

She smiled faintly, letting slip between her lips, "He certainly is thoughtful."

After breakfast and rinsing her mouth, she descended toward the shop in search of that man, contemplating what she would do. Upon entering, she noticed there were guests in the shop: Vincent attending to a gentleman in extravagant attire alongside a boy with a disability in one leg.

"Mr. Smith, I'm glad with your decision; your son will certainly walk on his own again," Vincent said with a friendly smile, taking a set of potions for himself. The Bone Growth Potion, affectionately known as Skele-Gro, was bottled in a yellowish-white porcelain vial that gave off a bone-like feel. He also picked up a Flesh Growth Potion, stored in a small round crystal bottle with a red rubber cork, along with two other healing potions. He approached the boy, squatting near his wheelchair. "How are you doing, kid? Can you tell me your name?"

"It's Thomas, sir," replied the boy, looking at the vials in the stranger's hands. Then he pointed a finger, asking, "What's that?"

Vincent lowered his voice and said mysteriously to the boy, "They're magical potions, Thomas, not like the ones in books; these are the real deal. Want to try?"

The nine-year-old looked skeptical. "I'm not a kid, okay? You're not gonna fool me."

After a small chuckle, he replied, "Have you ever seen a magical potion that does this?"

He summoned a thread of demonic energy to levitate the vial. The purple energy gave the vial a glowing, shimmering appearance as it floated around the boy, who tried to follow it with his eyes. Finally, reaching out his hand toward the man, he stated a condition: "These potions might have the ability to bring your leg back. But there's just one problem."

"What is it?"

"They taste awful, and only brave people can handle them!" He paused, asking the boy again, "Are you brave?"

Thomas nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'm very brave."

The boy's father observed the scene from a distance, his brow furrowed. While he grimaced at the sight of the levitating object, he had already seen that the man before him was real. But this did little to ease his anxiety; if anything, it heightened his fear. Most importantly, he wondered how much he would have to pay the wizard. 'I hope it's not a fortune,' he thought.

While Helena didn't announce her arrival, she positioned herself in a corner, watching with curiosity. He displayed a kind of tenderness and care, seeming to genuinely enjoy helping that boy. It was a stark contrast to the indifference he had shown the night before.

Vincent handed the potions to the boy and said, "I knew it, boys named Thomas are the bravest." He let out a rough laugh, handing the four vials to the boy. "You should drink the light green one first, the white one second, the red one third, and finally the yellow one."

The boy nodded and took the first potion. The grimace was instant, twisting his face in every possible way until he felt a numbness on his tongue. The green potion had an effect that eliminated bodily pain; it was an anesthetic. Luckily for him, in addition to being anesthetic, the potion temporarily dulled his sense of taste.

He looked at the man, wanting to back out, but it seemed like he was being mocked. He was brave and could endure bitter things, so he decided to go ahead. Taking a sip of the white potion, he found it strangely tasteless; it felt like drinking water.

Despite this, he noticed the bones in his leg—the tibia, fibula, heels, tarsals, and phalanges—growing proportionally to his body. It was disorienting to see the bones exposed like that, and then he heard the man's voice.

"You're almost done, keep going."

He uncorked the red potion, overwhelmed by a pungent smell of blood mixed with some unimaginable horror. Seeing that the bones in his leg had grown, he believed he would get his leg back and drank the potion. Just as the bones grew, the previously healed flesh tore open, extending down to the rest of the leg. Veins, nerves, and muscles grew orderly beneath the bones until skin formed over them; the leg was perfect. The first thing he tried was to stand up, but as he did, he felt dizzy and fell sideways, to be caught by the man.

Vincent helped him back into the chair and said, "The healing process takes a lot out of the body; you'll have to wait to recover. After that, you can even play soccer if you want." He held out the last potion, a yellowish hue, and handed it to the boy. "Here, drink this; it will help you recover faster. In three days, you'll be 100% healed."

After taking the last potion, the boy fell into a deep sleep. It was a potion to help replenish the boy's nutrients and aid in his rest. Satisfied, Vincent stood up and noticed Helena in a corner of the shop. He waved to her but directed his voice to the boy's visibly nervous father.

"You don't need to worry, Mr. Smith. The last potion I gave to the boy will help replenish his nutrients and ease his fatigue. He's sleeping now."

The man, in his thirties, walked over to check on his son. Seeing that everything was fine, his expression relaxed. "Thank you, you have no idea how much you've done for us." He then noticed the young woman positioned further back and, with a flirtatious smile and an inappropriate tone, asked, "Who is this lovely young lady?"

The young woman in question remained quiet, unsure of how to react. Vincent, sensing the cold lust in the man's tone and discontented with his attitude, introduced her with a firm, almost curt voice.

"This is Miss Helena Voyfrir, my manager. Treat her with the respect she deserves." He then turned to Helena. "Helena, you don't need to do anything just yet. I want you to observe how the shop operates first."

She lowered her head and replied, "Yes, sir."

Vincent then turned back to Mr. Smith, and now his words carried a seriousness that hadn't been present before. "My apothecary operates differently from most businesses. Each of these potions or other items here cannot be purchased with money. Not even the richest man in the world could afford a single item from this place." He paused to let the man reflect on what he was saying before continuing.

"And we're not a charity shop. The value we deal in here is simple: favors. I won't charge you anything for now, but at some point in the future, I might ask for a favor from you or one of your descendants—a leg, so to speak. Not in the literal sense, of course. Alchemists have a saying about equivalent exchange, and I abide by that same principle.

Just as I did not refuse to treat your son, one day I will demand a proportional favor that you cannot refuse."

The middle-aged man became thoughtful, pondering the implications of those words. Money is a physical, tangible measure, a value that can be negotiated; whether expensive or cheap, there is a way to settle a debt. He was an influential and wealthy man in his own right. But an undefined favor? That has no price. It cannot be quantified. Even if Vincent demanded a value equivalent to a "leg," how would that value be defined?

He was willing to pay any price to help his beloved son, but a doubt nagged at him. He asked, "I'm willing to accept this agreement, but if I can't fulfill it, will it pass on to my son or other descendants? How long is this valid?"

Vincent smiled, and that smile brought a terrible sensation to the man. "You understand, but it won't be passed to just any descendant. Your skin will be marked with my emblem, and it will be passed to the next available descendant until the favor is claimed. This is a blood agreement. Breaking the agreement will result in a terrible consequence: the price of a leg, along with the dishonor of failing to uphold the agreement."

The man was not satisfied with this and questioned, "Is there no other way to settle my debt or to prevent it from being passed on to my descendants?"

"I have no need that you can fulfill at this moment. That may change in the future, or it may not. What is done is done," Vincent replied, reinforcing his point as he brought a contract across the counter for the man to read.

The contract included clauses that outlined the aforementioned agreement, as well as confidentiality clauses. The man and his descendants were forbidden from discussing the apothecary or Vincent.

Vincent then said, "Use the needle to prick your finger and press it onto the contract." A cold aura emanated from Vincent as he spoke those words.

The man looked at his son, and the last remnants of doubt dissipated from his mind. He pierced his index finger with the needle, and as the first drop of blood appeared, he pressed it onto the parchment. Upon contact with the blood, the parchment glowed a deep purple, transforming into a butterfly. The butterfly flew to the man's right wrist and marked his skin with the emblem of a coin featuring a butterfly over a perfect triangle. The symbol then vanished, as if it had never been there, but the man could feel that it was still present—a silent reminder of his debt to a demon, and all he could do was pray to God for a better future.

As Vincent guided the customers out of the apothecary, Helena felt strange. He was so unpredictable: one moment he could be empathetic and kind; the next, he exuded a coldness that scorned any semblance of humanity. She couldn't define him or understand him. How did he operate? What were his limits? All of this left her feeling frightened yet curious. Shaking these thoughts from her mind, she picked up the potion catalog and began to read.

After leading the customers to an alley in Great London, Vincent bid them farewell one last time. "The apothecary thanks you, dear customers. It was a pleasure doing business with you. I hope to see you again soon. Thank you!"

The man, carrying his sleeping son in the wheelchair, looked back and nodded in agreement. When he looked again, the entrance to the apothecary had disappeared, as if it had never existed. After all this, it didn't surprise him. Without delay, he sought a taxi to take them home.

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A/N: Hello, everyone! How was your Halloween holiday? I hope it was great! Here, it was quiet, just family time, but very pleasant. I wanted to post this chapter last Thursday, but I was busy with my work and only managed to finish today. I'm excited to introduce you to Vincent's Apothecary. I got carried away with Helena and ended up neglecting his functioning and objectives. It's important to note that Helena is not a romantic interest for him; he is only almost 3 years old physically, which makes the age difference strange. However, his soul's age matches hers and Rose's. The romance will be with someone from the original HP storyline.

I will elaborate on a final chapter of the Apothecary to clarify points about the mechanics and the goals behind it: how he acquires potions in the magical world and what his purpose is with all of this. Will he deliver a luck potion for someone to win the lottery, or a love potion for the infatuated? Wouldn't the Ministry of Magic be furious about that?

In addition, I'm working on the final chapters of this arc and possibly 2 or 3 more. They will focus on Narcissa's reintegration into the magical society and his interactions at the Greengrass house with Rose.

A bit about the next arc: I've planned a time skip of a few years. After that, the story will continue with him, now at 11 years old, going to Hogwarts. Rose will have a larger role, and Narcissa will also feature prominently in one of the scenarios I'm planning. He will enter Hogwarts at the time of the Weasley twins.

If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to ask. That's it, everyone. Thank you!