Maurise squinted at the faded numbers on the doorframe, eventually confirming he had reached his destination: Number 21, Knockturn Alley.
The building was a chaotic three-story mess. It looked less like a house and more like a collection of scrap wood and architectural afterthoughts piled together by a drunken giant. It seemed as though the entire structure was held together by a combination of stubbornness, decades of grime, and perhaps a very precarious Levitation Charm.
In stark contrast to the dilapidated walls, a beautifully polished wooden sign hung by the door. The letters were carved with professional precision and coated in a dark, glossy lacquer: Frick's Bones and Curiosities.
Maurise did not hesitate. He pushed the door open.
Ding-ling!
A crisp chime echoed from above. Maurise looked up to see a brass bell hanging from the frame. Instead of a metal clapper, a small, yellowish finger bone dangled from a string, striking the side of the bell as it swayed.
The interior layout was standard for a shop, though the inventory was anything but. Shelves lined the cramped space, packed with skeletal remains ranging from common garden gnomes to creatures that looked like they belonged in a nightmare. In the far corner, a massive ribcage of some unidentifiable beast stood tall, still sporting a few stubborn patches of leathery, dried flesh.
Contrary to Maurise's expectations, the shop did not smell like a slaughterhouse or a dusty tomb. Instead, a faint, surprisingly pleasant scent of dried lavender and sandalwood hung in the air.
"Hello? Anyone in?" Maurise called out.
Silence was his only answer.
Left to his own devices, Maurise began to wander through the aisles. He found himself mesmerized by the intricate geometry of the skeletons on display. Beside his boots, his own skeletal hound trotted along, sniffing curiously at the remains of what might have once been its distant cousins.
He reached the back of the shop, stopping abruptly in front of an unremarkable wooden door. Voices drifted from the other side: a man and a woman in the middle of a very strange conversation.
"How is the pressure?" the man asked.
"Just right… oh, be careful there, it's quite sensitive… a bit more to the left, yes… ah, a little lighter, please…"
Maurise froze. He suddenly felt a desperate urge to walk back outside, check the sign again, and perhaps scrub his ears out with soap. Was he accidentally intruding on something scandalous? He was far too young for this level of Knockturn Alley hospitality.
Thirty seconds of excruciatingly awkward silence passed before the man spoke again.
"There we go, Mrs. Caroline. All finished."
"Thank you, Mr. Frick," the woman replied, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "Your technique remains unparalleled. Here is a little something extra for your trouble."
Heavy footsteps approached the door. Maurise spun around, grabbing the nearest object: a display of fruit bat skeletons, and began to study them with the intensity of a scholar.
The door creaked open.
Maurise turned, putting on his best "I just got here" face, but the words died in his throat. Emerging from the back room was not a lady of high society, but a skeleton.
She was tall, elegant, and possessed a frame of polished ivory that caught the dim light of the shop. She moved with a fluid, haunting grace. Maurise found himself thinking, quite unexpectedly, that she was rather beautiful in a macabre sort of way. The skeleton draped a heavy travelling cloak over her ribs and glided out of the front door without a second glance.
Behind her appeared a man in his thirties. He was gaunt, his skin stretched tight over a sharp frame, topped with a messy mop of dark red hair. He wore no glasses, but his sunken eyes were sharp, and several small iron rings were pierced directly into the flesh of his cheeks and brow.
This, evidently, was Ezra Frick.
Maurise pulled down his face mask. "Good afternoon, Mr. Frick."
Frick blinked, staring at the young boy's face. "Do I know you, lad?"
"We've done business via owl post," Maurise explained. "Last summer, I purchased a Crup skeleton from you."
Recognition sparked in Frick's hollow eyes. "Ah! A customer! Let me think… Mr. Black, wasn't it?" He extended a bony hand, offering a surprisingly friendly grin. "A pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh."
"I'm glad your memory is as sharp as your inventory," Maurise said, shaking the man's hand.
Frick glanced at Maurise's youthful features and frowned. "Now, before we get down to brass tacks, would you mind dropping the act? I assume you've taken a bit of Polyjuice Potion to look like a schoolboy? It's a bit unsettling trying to talk business with a child."
Maurise sighed. He had expected this. "No Potion, Mr. Frick. No disguise. This is just my face."
Frick raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but he did not press the issue.
"Fine," Maurise continued, shifting to a more serious tone. "About that Crup skeleton. I paid thirty Galleons for it, yet when it arrived, I discovered it was missing a toe on its right front paw. I find that level of negligence quite distressing."
Frick's expression went blank. A missing toe? Distressing? This sounded like the opening gambit of a scam artist or a particularly bored pure-blood looking for trouble.
Just as Frick's face began to harden into a defensive scowl, Maurise reached down and scooped up the skeletal dog, holding its right paw up for inspection. "See for yourself. One phalange short of a full set."
Frick leaned in, squinting. Indeed, the second digit on the front right paw was a stump of empty space. Then, the realization hit him.
"I do not recall selling a skeleton that could walk," he whispered, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion.
"It's a construct now," Maurise said matter-of-factly. "Naturally, it moves. But it moves with a limp."
Frick stepped back, leaning against a shelf of jars containing pickled mandrake roots. He crossed his arms. "Alright, let's play along. What is it you want, Mr. Black? A replacement toe or a lecture on quality control?"
"I want you to find the missing bone and attach it, or give me a full refund of my thirty Galleons," Maurise replied. In truth, he was rooting for the refund; his pockets were feeling dangerously light lately, and the dog did not actually seem to mind the limp.
Ding-ling!
The finger-bone bell chimed again. The skeletal lady, Mrs. Caroline, had returned. She stood by the door, her jawbone clicking softly.
"Mr. Frick," she said. "I forgot one thing. May I have another bottle of Skele-Gro? My joints feel a bit brittle after the travel."
"Certainly, Madam!" Frick's demeanor shifted instantly to that of a fawning salesman. He rushed to a shelf near the door, retrieving a slender crystal vial. "Here you are. For you? The usual twenty percent discount."
Mrs. Caroline took the vial with a delicate click of her finger bones, dropping a small pouch of coins on the counter. "Fifteen Galleons. Thank you, Ezra."
Suddenly, her skull tilted toward Maurise. Or rather, toward the skeletal dog in his arms.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing with a hollow, melodic ring. "A living skeletal Crup! Since when did you start stocking such exquisite treasures, Frick? He looks absolutely darling. Tell me, how much?"