"Fuck..."
The night fell along with the heavy snow.
A man cloaked in black paced back and forth under a large tree at the entrance of Hogsmeade Village. The damp, bone-chilling cold made him rub his exposed hands repeatedly, and the string of "F" words constantly escaping his mouth revealed his inner restlessness.
The man's alert eyes scanned in all directions, "Three Broomsticks" pub, Gladrags Wizardwear, Madam Puddifoot Tea House... Every shop was lit, radiating warmth into the snowy, cold night.
Honestly, he wanted to go to "Three Broomsticks" for a mug of Butter Beer to warm himself, but the man was unsure when his "guest" would appear... He couldn't risk not showing up as agreed; that damned werewolf might bite off his head in one gulp.
Uh, falling into the hands of a werewolf and having your head bitten off might actually be a good thing?
The man thought bitterly, his hand unconsciously touching his cheek, where dark blue, sinister patterns made his face look grim and terrifying beneath the cloak—
In the past two months, he had traveled across half of Europe but failed to find a way to remove this mark.
"Uh, Dung?" the voice of his curse master friend seemed to linger in his ear, "Whom on earth did you provoke?"
"...Is it serious?" Mundungus Franky asked, a bit nervous.
"I can only say, if the person who marked you intends to kill you..." the curse master paused, his tone somewhat odd, "then you'd better hurry and get out through that door there..." he pointed to the wooden door of the hut beside them.
"What do you mean?"
"Cleaning up brains is a hassle; they get all sticky and clingy... you know, I'm not good at household magic."
"..."
The "friend's" words didn't completely discourage Franky. He continued visiting many places thereafter, but most responses he received were similar, telling him to get lost and not dirty their houses, which was considered polite. Only one naive young curse master dared to take a shot.
For a moment, this gave Mundungus hope—
Of course, had that amateur not been turned into cauldron ashes by a blue flame after two and a half minutes, his hope might have lasted a bit longer.
After that, the man lost hope completely. After a week's hesitation, he chose to keep the appointment on Christmas day—it was no big deal, just bringing one werewolf to meet another pack of werewolves... a small matter.
As for notifying the Ministry of Magic... heh, if those incompetent idiots were useful, that werewolf wouldn't have been roaming free for over a decade without being caught and sent to Azkaban.
But... where the heck is that stupid wolf? He's not here yet.
The man rubbed his frostbitten hands, the anxiety on his face becoming increasingly apparent, if only...
"Very punctual, Mr. Franky."
The next moment, a youthful voice sounded from behind him, and he instinctively turned his head to look. It was a figure about half a foot taller than himself, who didn't bother to conceal his face—from the appearance...
Mundungus was sure beyond doubt; this was a young little wizard, not yet of age.
But at this time of night, how could there be any little wizards wandering about in Hogsmeade?
"...Greyback?"
The man asked uncertainly, his right hand concealed within the cloak, holding his magic wand and ready to flee at any moment.
"Mr. Fenrir... isn't able to come out in the open, so he sent me with you—"
The boy shook his head and then showed the man the suitcase he held.
Looking at the familiar suitcase, which had been enchanted with Capacious Extremis, Mundungus's eyes showed some understanding—it was apparent that the werewolf was now inside the suitcase. But his tension wasn't alleviated, "Can he hear us now?"
"Certainly... not."
William shook his head once more. He had initially planned to meet using the Polyjuice Potion... but the thought of needing a sip of "18th-century British Royal Sewer Concentrated Extract" every half hour made him abandon the idea. He could manage the explanation himself.
Besides, he was wearing his face from a hundred years ago.
"That's good then... I mean," Mundungus paused, frowning slightly while looking at William, "Are you the little wizard bitten by... Fenrir?" There was a faint, detectable hint of sympathy in the man's eyes.
See, he didn't even need to make up an excuse.
William nodded accordingly, his smile disappearing from his face—
Crap, I shouldn't have... Noticing he seemed to have touched a nerve with the boy, Mundungus became a bit flustered. Although he considered himself a scoundrel lingering among the lower rungs of the wizarding community, he wasn't entirely rotten like the Death Eaters—he took no pleasure in others' misfortunes.
After a brief silence, not knowing what to say, the man raised his right hand, his magic wand positioned mid-air—
Almost immediately, with a thunderous "bang," a deep purple, double-decker bus came to a screeching halt in front of them. The doors opened, and a man in a purple uniform jumped out.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus—an emergency transport for stranded wizards. Just stick out your wand hand, board the bus, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name's Stan Shunpike, and tonight I'm your conductor—"
He declared loudly into the night of Hogsmeade, without noticing the shorter figure by the door until he finished his entrance speech, "Yo, isn't that Dung? Long time no see, where have you been making money lately?"
"Shut up, Stan. Two tickets to Edinburgh." Mundungus clearly wasn't in a good mood. He pushed back the head Stan tried to reach toward him, covering the mark on his cheek with the cloak.
"Two tickets..." Stan looked around and finally noticed William, holding the suitcase.
"..."
"...Are you trafficking an underage little wizard?" After a short silence, Stan's face, dotted with a few pimples, showed a hint of questioning as he pressed his head against Mundungus's, whispering.
"...Are you sick?"
"Ahem, just a joke—" Stan hurriedly took William's suitcase, enthusiastically leading the two onto the bus under Mundungus's worried gaze, "Two tickets to Edinburgh... Two Galleons, thirteen Sickles, how will you be paying?"
"Can't you make it cheaper?" Mundungus frowned painfully; he had thought about getting an illegal Portkey, but that was even more expensive.
"Fair dealings, my friend."
"Fine," Mundungus grudgingly pulled out one Sickle after another from his pocket, then glanced at William, who was following Stan to his bunk, and sighed, "Add a cup of hot chocolate for him." After handing a pile of loose coins to Stan, he added two more Sickles.
"Alright—" Stan weighed the coins in his hand and sauntered toward the driver's cabin.
"Hot chocolate?" William raised an eyebrow.
"Uh... you're welcome." The man grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth.