"Creak—"
The old wooden door emitted the sound of disrepair.
Cold wind seeped into the room through the gaps in the door as a tall, cloaked figure squeezed in from outside. A layer of mist covered his tangled gray hair as he surveyed the small, dark, and grimy room, his nose twitching slightly— the strong smell of mutton almost made him retch.
Thick grime piled on the few bay windows along the walls blocked out the already dim light from outside. Some candle stubs on the coarse wooden tables served as the tavern's only light source. At first glance, one might think it was a packed dirt floor, but upon stepping on it, one realized the stone floor seemed to have accumulated centuries of filth.
The sound of the door opening didn't attract much attention—or rather, there weren't many people in the tavern to notice.
Only the tavern keeper behind the counter fixed his gaze on the new "guest." His hand polishing a glass paused slightly, and his free hand subtly reached toward his waist.
But the man, well-known from the Ministry of Magic's wanted posters, didn't erupt as the tavern keeper imagined. Instead, he walked directly to a table and sat down, dropping his suitcase heavily on the well-worn wooden table.
Dust flew up.
... Not here to cause trouble?
The tavern keeper's hand holding the magic wand trembled slightly. After a fleeting assessment, he decided not to stir trouble and instead continued wiping the equally dirty glass with his dirty rag— truth be told, no one could say for sure which was dirtier between the two.
"... You just came like this?" Looking at the man who had taken a seat opposite her, the woman cloaked in purple seemed to twitch slightly at the corners of her eyes. "Don't you know about the British Ministry of Magic's wanted notice for you?"
"What's the difference?" Fenrir Greyback grinned, revealing a strange smile, his sharp teeth looking as if they could bite through metal. "The place is crawling with kids from Hogwarts today. The Ministry of Magic wouldn't dare act against me here— even if Aurors have surrounded the place."
Fenrir was right; a werewolf's intimidation factor extended beyond his apparent combat prowess— even being bitten by an untransformed werewolf could leave a person with lasting afflictions for life.
So, regardless of whether the Ministry of Magic wanted to, they'd have to wait until he left Hogsmeade—
As for after he left Hogsmeade... then really, the world would be his oyster.
"... Did you bring it?" The woman seemed at a loss for words, shaking her head, her dark purple robe swaying slightly.
"I thought you weren't blind."
"Of course."
The woman reached for the suitcase on the table, her tone deepening. But the next moment, a large, twisted hand pressed down on hers, its sharp claws almost pressing against the woman's… or rather, the man's artery.
Yes, a man.
William felt a hand distinctly not belonging to a woman.
Indeed, after some consideration, William chose to drink the bottle of Polyjuice Potion. The Polyjuice Potion belonging to Fenrir Greyback was pitch-black like crude oil, and the stench almost made William feel like he had swallowed a mouthful of refined London sewer—
Honestly, he hadn't expected that the first "hurdle" of this mission would occur in a place like this.
Unexpected, yet within reason.
After all, the taste of Polyjuice Potion often depended on the target you meant to transform into. The kinder the target was, the more appealing the potion's color would be—
Yet Fenrir clearly had no connection to kindness; the baddest of the bad, and a scoundrel's scoundrel were terms far more fitting for him.
However, William thought that if he could drink the Polyjuice Potion of Headmaster Black a hundred years ago, then dealing with a werewolf's should be no issue— but compared to now, the most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history seemed saintly by comparison.
After enduring for about two and a half minutes in the alley, William finally managed to stagger into the Hog's Head Inn. Finishing early meant wrapping up early, even though he still had half a bottle left; he had no desire to take a second sip of the Polyjuice Potion.
"... What are you doing?"
The man dared not move, feeling William's sharp nails lightly pressing against his wrist— it wasn't a deadly tactic, but no one wished to be harmed by a werewolf, even if he hadn't transformed.
"Payment— you must pay first before I hand over the goods."
William lightly squeezed the man's wrist in a classic restraint, allowing him to follow instantly if the man tried to Disapparate. As for where the man might flee to…
He hoped the man might directly flee back to the headquarters of the black wizard, sparing a lot of unnecessary steps.
Yet now, William found himself somewhat out of step with the times. Perhaps the Ashwinder and poacher had left too deep an impression on him; he hadn't realized that today's black wizards, due to Voldemort's disappearance, were no longer as rampant as a hundred years ago.
"You must let go first so I can get the payment for you—"
"You have two hands, friend."
"…"
Sweat dripped from the man's brow, his thoughts racing— he'd prepared no "payment" at all. Instant Apparition upon receiving the goods had always been his plan; logically, a werewolf shouldn't have figured it out.
"... Are you toying with me?"
William tilted his head, a pair of sharp fangs protruding from his lips.
The man took a deep breath and pulled back the dark purple cloak from his head with his unrestricted hand. He was a short, stout man with long, messy ginger hair tied behind his head, his unkempt appearance looking extremely scruffy—
"Mundungus Fletcher— I told you not to show up at the Hog's Head Inn …"
The tavern keeper's voice sounded from nearby. He had already drawn his wand from his waist, but someone moved even faster—
"Stupefy!"
The bright red spell light flared up in the tavern and quickly subsided back into silence. "Mundungus Fletcher, that's your name?" William asked, putting away his wand and gazing at the man, whose expression had already turned blank, as though seeing something incomprehensible.
At this moment in the Hog's Head Inn, only two remained conscious.
"... Do we still have anything to discuss?"
At long last, Mundungus, having shed his disguise, came to his senses, feigning a smile as he looked at the man in front of him.
(There is another update tonight, please continue reading!)