The RV was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that calmed the mind, but the kind that forced it to think. Harry sat at the folding table, elbows on his knees, tools and pieces of leather spread out in front of him. He didn't touch them at first. He was weighing consequences, not materials.
"You're looking at that metal like it owes you answers," a voice said from the wall.
The portrait of the older Potter watched him steadily.
"I'm looking for limits," Harry replied. "If I don't find them here, they'll find someone out there."
Sirius snorted softly, arms crossed in his frame.
"Limits always show up first for people who think they're smarter than the material," he said. "You're trying to make armor no one wants to take off."
"I'm trying to make armor people forget they're wearing," Harry said. "Something that doesn't get in the way of living."
Lily studied him for a long moment.
"Then start with what people already trust," she said gently. "What they've worn before without fear."
Harry rested his hand on the motorcycle jacket.
"It's made for impact," he said. "For crashes. For sliding.
People wear these for years."
"But not for teeth," the older Potter pointed out.
"And not for pressure," Sirius added. "A bite isn't a cut. It's weight. Panic. Slow force."
"That's exactly what I'm changing," Harry said. "Without them noticing."
Sirius smiled faintly.
"Then remember this," he said. "The first piece always gets paid for in material."
"I know," Harry said quietly. "And I'm ready."
They had two spare sets.
Not new, but intact. Jackets, pants, joint protection. Harry laid them out side by side and studied them for several minutes.
"Two isn't much," he said aloud.
"But it's enough to learn," the older Potter replied.
Harry chose the worse set. Worn. Repaired once already.
"You go first," Harry said quietly. "Better here than on a person."
The work began slowly.
He didn't take the jacket apart like clothing, but like a mechanism. He removed internal padding, exposed seams, cut into lining where the factory had never intended changes. The material was strong—but stubborn.
He added layers of leather from hunting stock—boar and elk hide. Flexible. Tough. Alive.
The balance shifted.
"It's pulling," Harry muttered, testing the fit.
The seams strained. He reinforced them. Re-stitched. Tested again.
The jacket grew heavier. Not dangerously so—but wrong. It no longer moved with the body. It dictated movement.
A soft sound followed.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
A seam slipped. The geometry broke.
Harry removed the jacket slowly and laid it on the table.
It would still protect—but it couldn't be worn safely.
"It holds," he said aloud. "But it doesn't live."
"Exactly," the older Potter said. "Now you know the boundary."
Harry didn't get angry. He looked at the ruined set like tuition paid.
"The frame works," he said. "The core doesn't."
Later, Harry sat beside the fire with Daryl.
"I need your input," Harry said after a pause. "About leather."
Daryl didn't look up from his knife.
"What kind?"
"The kind that takes pressure," Harry said. "Doesn't tear. Doesn't go stiff."
Daryl thought for a moment.
"Boar," he said. "Adult.
Elk's better, but heavier.
Deer's only good in layers."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Deer bends," Daryl replied. "But it gives if you press.
Boar pushes back.
Elk…" He smirked. "Elk don't give at all."
"And bullets?" Harry asked.
Daryl finally looked at him.
"Pistol?" he clarified.
"Yes."
"If the pressure spreads and the round can't bite," Daryl said slowly, "it won't go through.
Stops cold. No entry."
Harry nodded.
"Then don't throw anything away," he said. "Anything from the hunts."
"I already don't," Daryl replied. "Now I just know why."
"I broke one set," Harry added.
Daryl didn't seem surprised.
"Good," he said. "Means the second one'll survive."
Two days of work followed.
His hands ached. Fingers numb. But the layers settled differently this time. Seams didn't strain. The material moved.
On the second evening, Harry stepped outside and stopped short.
Daryl was walking through camp wearing his old vest—the one with the wing patch on the back. Faded. Worn. Familiar.
"Why wings?" Harry asked later.
Daryl didn't answer right away.
"I'm not the front," he said finally. "I'm the flank.
I move sideways.
I cover backs."
Harry nodded.
That night, he added the wings.
Not decorative.
Structural.
Subtle relief between leather layers. Lines that followed the back's muscles, spreading force away from the spine. Almost invisible—but you could feel them when the jacket settled right.
On the third day, the set was finished.
"Try it," Harry said.
Daryl put the jacket on. Took a few steps. Squatted. Rolled his shoulders.
"Doesn't pull. Doesn't bind."
"Chest and back stop a pistol round," Harry said. "I tested it.
No penetration. No cracking."
Daryl studied him.
"So it's not just a jacket," he said.
"It's wearable," Harry replied.
Daryl ran a hand across the back, over the subtle lines of the wings.
"They're exactly where they should be," he said.
"It's yours," Harry said.
Daryl nodded.
"I get it," he said quietly. "Thanks."
Harry didn't throw the broken set away.
He kept it off to the side—as a reminder.
Because armor worn every day
doesn't need to be perfect.
It needs to be yours.
End of Chapter 21