The Injured Dragon Lion

Flersan knew when to stop pushing. He adjusted his glasses and put on a practiced smile. "Mr. Weasley, my little shop can't hold that many people. Let me explain it properly this time. Spread straw on the floor, then lay down three layers of felt. Cover the walls with oiled paper to keep out the damp, and drape a layer of felt over the top. That's all!"

So he had left things out earlier!

Hagrid held Luo Bin back and asked for him, "Once we've done all that, Mr. Flersan, will you come up with any new demands?"

"Of course not. Once it's done, you can call it a day!"

Flersan and Charlie stared each other down for a minute before Charlie finally let him leave.

"I've never found Flersan so irritating!"

Charlie spoke through gritted teeth.

"Charlie, what kind of person did you think Flersan was?" Luo Bin asked as he moved a crate.

"A brilliant tailor who loves money to an absurd degree. To him, anything can be measured in money. He hardly ever leaves the Tailor Shop, and when he does, it's on nights when even the moonlight and starlight are faint. In short, he's a very, very strange old man!"

"Oh, I see."

A dark gleam flashed through Luo Bin's eyes before he lifted a large crate off the ground.

Forty minutes later, just before dark, the three finally had every crate in place as instructed. This time, a young assistant came in to inspect their work.

The assistant's skin was so pale his veins were almost visible. Perhaps from staying up night after night, the whites of his eyes were threaded with red. His hunched posture made him look utterly worn down.

"Perfect. Charles McTon, Rubeus Hagrid, you have the makings of good workers."

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