Chapter 9: A Successful Deal
[Shattered]
A dark blue bolt exploded.
Melvin swung his wand, meeting the spell head-on.
The dark blue beam struck the center of the transparent light shield conjured by his protection charm, producing a dull metallic clang. To seize the initiative, he quickly fired a weaker spell, using the tip of his wand to trigger it. The Shattering Charm rebounded at greater speed.
Melvin felt a faint tremor in his wrist.
The dark wizard wearing a mole-skin mask dodged swiftly, while the other three hurled their spells right after.
[Stupefy]
[Petrificus Totalus]
"..."
Melvin countered the incoming spells effortlessly.
Judging from their earlier conversation, speed, and skill, he quickly deduced that the man in the mole-skin mask was the leader likely on par with a MACUSA Auror. The others were just average adult wizards probably the kind who had failed Defense Against the Dark Arts at school.
Melvin couldn't help but sigh. Dark wizards who graduated from Hogwarts really come in all shapes and sizes.
But fighting four of them in such an environment was still overwhelming.
Trapped in a narrow alley, surrounded on both sides, with no cover to hide behind, spells rained upon him. He had to rely solely on Shield Charms to counter them it felt like one wand against four.
However, wizard duels weren't simple turn-based exchanges. Extreme conditions limited both sides equally, and mastering those conditions was the key to gaining an advantage. And Melvin a scenario designer knew better than anyone how to use his surroundings.
A hidden surge of magic spread across the brick walls on either side.
"Boom, boom!"
Without a sound, Transfiguration took hold the bricks began to twist and writhe. Like vines, they grew and sealed the alley's ceiling in an instant.
As the last faint light flickered out, the mole-skin-masked leader noticed Melvin's movement. He took a withered hand from a box its fingers half-curled, a candle nestled in its palm.
Melvin exhaled. A flame suddenly flared, flickered, then vanished.
Shadows enveloped the alley, plunging everyone into darkness.
The dark wizards quickly understood Melvin's strategy but they didn't know how to respond, nor how to stop it.
The alley was only a few meters wide and nearly straight no cover, but still enough room to dodge. Before, they had clear sight of Melvin and could surround him, but now, casting spells blindly might mean hitting each other.
A black veil smothered the alley and their hearts. The tension grew so thick they could hear each other's breathing… or was it their enemy's?
The leader's throat tightened.
[Lumos]
A streak of silvery light flared up.
Panicking, one of the dark wizards tried to illuminate the area, but the glow from his wand ruined his reaction time. Melvin seized the opportunity. The instant the light ignited, a silent Banishing Charm struck.
"Bang!"
The spell hit square in the chest, flinging the wizard backward. He slammed into the brick wall behind him with a heavy thud.
The three remaining dark wizards gasped. Since the spell had been cast silently, they hadn't heard a word. They saw only a flash of green light then one of their comrades was gone.
Judging by the color, it could've been a Banishing Charm… or an Unforgivable Curse.
"..."
The mole-skin-masked leader took a deep breath, raised his wand, and conjured a Shield Charm. Cautiously peering into the darkness, he spoke in a trembling voice:
"Sir, we're willing to pay the price for our ignorance please, forgive our offense."
Bang.
Another dull thud. The second comrade nearby fell silent.
The leader swallowed hard, his throat constricting like a needle's eye. He tried to speak, but his voice cracked.
"Sir... we... you…"
Clack… clack… clack…
Soft footsteps echoed in the darkness coming from everywhere, as though death itself approached slowly.
"Huff… huff…"
His companion's breath beside him was faint but steady.
A bead of sweat formed on the leader's forehead. Then, suddenly, inspiration struck him.
"Sir! Sir! We can provide maps of all the wizarding villages in Britain! And of Ireland, Belgium, Denmark and more! There's even a magical island in Norway we can find that too!"
"Hm?"
A man's voice echoed beside him. A faint candlelight appeared from nowhere, revealing Melvin's curious face. "And what's the price this time?" he asked.
The flickering light illuminated the alley. In its glow, the leader saw his companion lying unconscious on the ground not even sure if he was alive.
The "ally" who'd been beside him moments ago had already been replaced by an enemy in the dark.
The leader's pupils contracted. Terror gripped him so tightly it almost stopped his heart. Standing beside Melvin, he looked at the fallen man and mouthed a few words no sound came out.
Melvin remained calm. He bent down, picked up the wooden box, and tucked away the Hand of Glory.
"Now then," he said evenly, "how much for your map?"
The dark wizard clenched his jaw. "If you let us go, sir, I'll give you the map for free."
"I'm not in the business of human trafficking or wizard resale…"
Melvin shook his head. "Here's my offer: still twelve Galleons but I need you to mark each settlement's area and population. Even better if you include blood purity ratios, housing prices, and average income."
"Eh?"
The wizard blinked in confusion.
"I can pay in advance," Melvin continued. "Just have an owl deliver the map to the Savoy…"
He raised his wand, tapping the man's arm lightly with its tip. "But for a smooth transaction, we'll need a contract."
A few minutes later, faint light returned to the alley.
The mole-skin-clad leader stood at the entrance, wallet in hand. At his feet, his three companions lay fast asleep, sleeves rolled up to reveal glowing blue seals a single stroke of the Ouroboros.
The figure who'd left those marks was already gone.
Melvin, recalling his day, walked on without stopping.
Despite the minor setbacks, the deal had gone well. Business, after all, was all about bargaining.
The seal wasn't the Dark Mark; it contained only a mild curse intimidating, nothing more.
As he exited the alley, he glanced back.
Now and then, a dark shadow flickered at a corner sometimes a black, earless cat, sometimes a house-elf carrying a wooden crate. The nearest apothecary to Knockturn Alley's exit had glass jars displayed in its window each with an eyeball floating in purple potion.
The whole street felt like a damp, forgotten intestine of Diagon Alley, coiled in London's brickwork.
Half an hour later, at the Leaky Cauldron.
It was peak hour witches and wizards filled the bar, butterbeers in hand, chatting about the day's news. The noise was deafening.
Old Tom sat quietly in a corner, clutching The Daily Prophet, pretending to read.
Melvin ordered a butterbeer and, puzzled by the sight, finally asked, "Old Tom, why are you hiding back here instead of greeting customers at the door?"
"I'm feeling very sad."
"…"
Melvin stayed silent. Two weeks in Britain, and he still wasn't used to their peculiar way of speaking.
"Why are you sad?"
"The Prophet."
"What, the newspaper's shutting down?"
"No…" Tom shook his head, holding up the paper. "The Prophet's been around as long as this pub. As long as wizards exist, it'll never go bankrupt."
"So what is it? Did a classmate or old friend pass away?"
"No, no one my age. They don't run pubs, so they'll outlive me."
"Then maybe someone older? A professor from your school days? Or your secret crush, perhaps?" Melvin's eyes gleamed at the last one.
"Eh…"
Seeing his wild guesses, Tom quickly cut in, "I'm upset because the paper clearly has a story about me but doesn't mention my name!"
Curious, Melvin grabbed the paper. The headline that caught his eye read:
"Gringotts Robbery Report."
"Investigation into this afternoon's Gringotts break-in continues. Believed to be the work of an unknown dark wizard or witch. The goblins of Gringotts reiterated that nothing was stolen. The vault accessed by intruders had been emptied earlier that morning…"
Melvin glanced from the paper to Tom, brow furrowed in thought.
Tom, sensing the misunderstanding, blurted, "No, not that! The story on page two!"
Melvin flipped the page.
"The Savior Appears in the Wizarding World!"
Harry Potter spotted in Diagon Alley shopping for school supplies.
"London News: This morning, the Savior Harry Potter, accompanied by Hogwarts gamekeeper Rubeus Hagrid, entered Diagon Alley for the first time…"
Tom sighed wistfully. "And yet, they didn't mention that I was the first to recognize the lightning scar on his forehead the first to shake his hand and congratulate him."
"So what should they also mention Kodoli, who shook his hand second, and Digg, who went third?"
"How did you know that?" Tom asked, bewildered. "You weren't even here then!"
"The whole bar talked about it for days. My ears nearly fell off."
"Well, it is Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived, who defeated You-Know-Who. Who wouldn't feel emotional seeing him in person again?"
"True. The pub's business has been booming lately," Melvin noted. "Mainly because term's about to start."
"Yes… school's nearly in session."
Melvin sipped his butterbeer, the sweet-salty taste lingering.
A Muggle Studies professor was about to start his term too.
Over the next month, The Daily Prophet's front page continued following the Gringotts case without conclusion.
The supplements focused on Harry Potter's legendary past. Rita Skeeter, somehow digging up private information about the Potters, interviewed Dark Arts experts to "reconstruct the truth" of that fateful night spinning wild theories, even hinting at secret affairs.
Old Tom, reading the gossip-laden article, couldn't help admiring Skeeter's nerve.
Meanwhile, Melvin spent his days drifting between Charing Cross Road, Diagon Alley, and Knockturn Alley collecting trinkets and magical intel.
Few drinkers mentioned Professor Lewynter anymore, though his name was often repeated by students and parents preparing for Hogwarts. Melvin could feel the magic around him growing stronger.
He hadn't yet decoded the mechanism behind it but that didn't stop him from taking advantage.
Late August, mid-morning.
In a room on the second floor of the Savoy Hotel.
"117 ml for small-format photos…"
Melvin frowned at the developing fluid and the photos on his desk.
"How small is small, exactly?"
"Do different solutions need the same amount?"
"Oh well better too much than too little."
He uncorked the bottle, poured the clear fluid into a tray, and dipped the photographs in. All that remained was to wait.
Setting the tray aside, he picked up a bundle of maps and flipped through them.
"West Overton, Wiltshire; Dinworth, Cornwall; Upper Flagley, Yorkshire…"
There were far more magical communities in Britain than he had imagined.
Small places, yes but excluding major ones like Hogsmeade and Godric's Hollow.
He glanced at the rough, hand-drawn map, then at the accompanying notes.
The parchment was neatly copied, clean handwriting, no ink stains but no tables or charts either. Extracting data from the endless text would be tedious.
Still, the dark wizards had done their job thoroughly.
It didn't take long for Melvin to sort the information into a table in his notebook.
He tapped his finger on the paper and murmured, "Whoever said there are only three thousand wizards in Britain clearly doesn't understand the magical world."
Not only were there more settlements than expected the population was far greater. Each of these small places housed hundreds, even thousands, of wizards. Counting their families, the numbers rose even higher.
It truly was a nation steeped in magical tradition.
In the developing tray, the photograph began to fade and blur. The figures trembled, then started to move.
Pedestrians dressed in strange styles medieval robes, steampunk shirts, Victorian dresses. People from different eras walking the same street. Shops lined both sides, their signs mismatched some new, some ancient.
"Honeydukes Sweet Shop."
"Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop."
"…"
(End of Chapter)