"Ares Delfino, I am here to read your release order."
"Fantastic. So, everything's been cleared up, right?"
"The Ministry consulted with relevant experts and performed a secondary analysis on the potions you sold. The results confirmed your previous testimony. Therefore, Madame Bones has decided not to press charges."
"Oh, praise the Fool... no, I mean, praise Minister Bones! I was so worried. If I had a criminal record, what would I do if I had kids one day? They wouldn't be able to get a government job... I mean, join the Ministry!"
"Even if you blew the Ministry of Magic sky-high, it wouldn't stop your children from working there. There is no such regulation—"
The man releasing Ares was the same Auror who had escorted him into Azkaban. He paused, his voice muffled and nasal as he explained.
"I wasn't finished. However, regarding your unlicensed sale of expired potions, the Ministry has decided to issue a fine of 300 Galleons."
---
There was no fundamental difference between day and night in Azkaban.
The sea wind shrieked, cutting like a knife. Beneath the dark gray clouds, the churning, icy ocean reeked of decay, painting a picture with despair as its ink.
On the isolated island itself, aside from a swarm of carrion flies that seemed surprisingly energetic, there wasn't a trace of life.
"Let's just go!"
The lighthouse duty guard pulled the rusty iron gate open wider. He glanced around nervously, his teeth chattering, and glared at Ares, who was currently quoting law statutes and arguing with the Auror about the fine amount.
"I really don't want to run into a Dementor!"
"I will be writing a letter of protest to the Ministry, sir."
Ares ended the argument with a self-righteous declaration and stepped around the Auror, walking out of the cell block.
Just then, a Dementor glided down the spiral staircase.
"Damn it! Speak of the devil."
Glaring at Ares with annoyance, the guard stiffened his face and stepped forward to communicate with the creature.
After a brief, hushed exchange—
" Phew. A prisoner died... No big deal."
The guard let out a breath of relief and backed away from the Dementor.
In Azkaban, this sort of thing happened several times a month. It certainly didn't count as an emergency. Hearing the explanation, the Auror's tense shoulders also relaxed.
"Who died?" Ares asked with sudden, keen interest.
"A notorious Death Eater—Bellatrix Lestrange."
The guard watched the Dementor with disgust out of the corner of his eye and clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. I bet the Daily Prophet will be interested in this news... But I'm the one who has to deal with the headache. I have to write a report explaining how she died... It's absurd. Does it really need an explanation?!"
"What will you do with the body?" Ares pressed. "Return it to the family, or bury it on-site?"
"Usually, we notify the family, but for Bellatrix... You actually reminded me—"
The guard raised his expressionless face toward the Dementor.
"Go notify Rodolphus Lestrange in the second-level holding cells that his wife is finished. Tell Sirius Black, too... Doesn't matter if they can still understand what it means, just do your duty. After that, drag her out back and bury her."
---
Just as they had arrived, the flying carpet carried the three of them away from the ominous island and back to the lighthouse.
Here, Ares reclaimed his personal effects.
"You have a three-day deadline to pay the fine in full, otherwise the Ministry will summon you again," the Auror said in a low voice.
He watched as Ares changed back into his robes and plucked a lethargic carrion fly out of his slightly messy black hair.
Ares ignored the Auror's warning. His eyes darted around the room before landing on a shelf behind the duty guard.
"Do you still need that empty baby bottle? No? ...Then I'll take it. Thanks. It's perfect for holding my new pet."
The guard just stared at Ares's eccentric behavior with bewilderment. Muttering under his breath (Even the prisoners get to leave, but I have to stay here forever!), he tossed the bottle to Ares.
"The fine! When do you plan to pay it?"
Seeing Ares ignore him, the Auror raised his voice in dissatisfaction.
Inside the bottle, the dried milk residue gave off a sour stench. The carrion fly, unhappy with its new home, frantically buzzed and slammed against the glass.
"Oh, come on, a milk bottle is better than Azkaban. Make do with it, don't be so demanding," Ares murmured to the fly, ignoring the humans. He capped the bottle and wiped his fingers on his old robes with a look of distaste.
"The fine!!"
Debt collection was the worst part of the job, and the honest-looking Auror was on the verge of a breakdown.
This time, Ares finally reacted. He shot the Auror a gloomy look and snapped his fingers.
Snap!
Accompanied by a cascade of crisp chiming sounds—and the duty guard shouting, "Hell, did I miss a spot when I searched him?!"—Ares's money pouch, which had supposedly been thoroughly emptied, suddenly shot out a stream of golden light that illuminated the dim room.
The light scattered in mid-air and landed on the table, forming neat stacks of Galleons.
"Wait!"
The Auror counted quickly and shouted to stop Ares, who had already walked into the iron transport cage and was preparing to use the Portkey to leave.
"There are only 280 Galleons here!"
"Count the bribe you two stole from me earlier, and we're exactly square."
Ares smiled, his tone light and breezy. He gave a slight bow to the embarrassed Ministry employees, and then his figure vanished from the cold, silent sea.
---
With Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry having wrapped up its admissions for the year, Diagon Alley—the famous commercial hub of the British wizarding world—had "cooled down" significantly compared to previous days.
However, beneath the bright sun, the Leaky Cauldron was as busy as ever.
Inside the dingy, cramped pub, waiters carried trays through smoke that smelled of burning mugwort, delivering glasses of cheap rye whiskey to patrons excitedly discussing current events.
"—Wiseacre, Wiseacre, where are you? I need to see you... We had a deal! As long as I helped you unload that batch of Brain Elixirs, you would—"
"Ah, Ares!"
Old Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, was standing behind the bar mixing drinks for a few tipsy customers.
As soon as he saw Ares, he grinned, revealing two rows of yellow, gap-toothed teeth.
"Rumor has it you were thrown into Azkaban for selling fake medicine!"
"Pure slander!"
Ares walked to the bar, a smile on his face, responding loudly.
"Oh? Which part of the rumor is untrue?"
"It was expired medicine, Tom, not fake medicine."
Ares sat down on an empty stool and spoke with righteous indignation. "There is a difference... Do me a favor, get me a sherry. I need to wash away the bad luck!"
"How was Azkaban?"
Old Tom quickly slid a glass of sherry, smelling of licorice and almonds, in front of Ares. He asked with great interest, and several drunks at the bar turned their gaze toward Ares as well.
"Great, just great," Ares said, downing half the glass in one go. He shrugged and let out a sigh.
"Blue ocean, blue sky, infinite scenery—it's just the food the servants bring is terrible. Luckily, I was prepared and brought my own."
The crowd erupted in laughter at Ares's quip, mixed with Old Tom's admiring praise ("Nothing keeps you down, not even Azkaban!").
"So, Tom, did anyone come looking for me while I was away?" Ares finished the rest of the sherry, his tone casual.
"Oh, Mrs. Smith came to the Agency asking for rent, but your shop was locked tight, so she came to me asking about your whereabouts," Old Tom said, pouring Ares another drink from a dirty bottle.
"Potage has a batch of thin-bottomed cauldrons and wants to know if you have a way to move them; Madam Malkin wants the recipe for that fabric-dyeing potion you sold her last time; and Ollivander seems to have finally come around—he's willing to let you handle the defective wands in his shop at a low price. Of course, he emphasized the purchase paperwork must be legal, because the Ministry is cracking down hard!"
"Legal paperwork?" Ares scoffed.
"And then there's me."
Finally, Old Tom looked at Ares earnestly.
"The toilet has been clogged for half a month. I can't unblock it no matter what I try. The customers are complaining. I suspect a water dragon might have crawled into my sewer pipes... How about 20 Galleons, Ares, plus a free lunch?"
"Use the Entrail-Expelling Curse, Tom."
Ares smacked his lips, savoring the aftertaste of the sherry, and spoke slowly.
"I've told you at least eight times, Tom. If it involves scooping crap, the Entrail-Expelling Curse always works... Go give it a try. Hmm... any news lately?"
"You certainly missed the big event, Ares!"
Old Tom evidently sensed that Ares didn't want to deal with a toilet on his first day out of prison, so he dropped the subject. At the question, Tom thought for a moment, and his excitement returned.
"Harry Potter returned to our world from the Muggle world, the very day you disappeared!"
"Oh, really?"
Ares lowered the glass he had raised to his lips, intrigued. "Does he look like Daniel Radcliffe?"
"Sorry, who?"
"Oh, never mind. Forget I asked, Tom," Ares waved his hand, smiling. "How is Mr. Potter?"
"Humble and polite, not like a big shot at all!"
Old Tom looked proud, as if he shared in the glory.
"Hagrid led him to Diagon Alley to buy his school supplies. When they passed through my pub, he shook hands with quite a few customers—including me, of course!"
"Then you'd better be careful, Tom."
A drunk wizard next to Ares, who looked a bit like an elderly Kappa, interrupted. He chuckled wheezily while puffing on a pipe that smelled of burning plastic, his speech slurred.
"Our Boy Who Lived doesn't seem to be a lucky charm. From what I hear, among the people who shook his hand that day, more than one or two have had terrible luck!"
"Yeah, yeah..."
More people joined the conversation.
"Codori got his money pouch pickpocketed before he even left his house; Dedalus Diggle's wand suddenly caught fire in his back pocket while riding the Muggle underground train; Horam spent fifty gold coins on dragon blood that turned out to be troll blood..."
The pipe-smoking wizard counted them off on his fingers, and Ares listened with relish.
"Don't forget Quirrell. He's the unluckiest of them all!"
It was as if someone had hit the mute button. The atmosphere suddenly turned chillingly cold.
"You mean Quirinus Quirrell, the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?" Ares's eyebrow twitched. "What happened to him? Bad luck too?"
"That fool actually tried to rob Gringotts!"
Old Tom's few remaining teeth chattered as he sucked in a cold breath, his voice shrill.
"Who would have thought! A desperate criminal, disguising himself as a coward and parading through the streets all day!"
In the silence, Ares furrowed his brow, an arc of light flickering in his dark eyes.
"Robbed Gringo— Did he fail... did the goblins catch him?"
"Oh, no, they didn't catch him." Old Tom lowered his voice, creating an air of mystery. "He ran for it. The goblins claim they spotted him before he could make his move and chased him off. But rumors say it might not be that simple!"
Of course it wouldn't be that simple. There's definitely a story there.
Ares glanced at his pocket. He could feel the carrion fly frantically ramming against the bottle walls. He ignored it, digesting this news in silence—news that left him feeling a sense of loss.
Quirrell was wanted. He was a fugitive now.
Then... what happens to the final payment for my commission?
"He almost pulled it off, didn't he?" someone continued the topic from another angle—a topic that had clearly been thoroughly debated during Ares's absence. "If he hadn't accepted that job... you know what I'm talking about, right?"
"Of course, of course!"
"Broke the record, didn't he... No one has ever been finished before they even officially started the job!"
"Hey, so Dumbledore is in an awkward spot again?"
"Obviously. No wizard with a brain would take that risk."
"Hic~ Only a dumb dog would do it!"
A drunkard's slurred comment triggered a burst of laughter, and people raised their glasses in agreement.
"What's wrong, Ares?"
Old Tom noticed Ares had suddenly become preoccupied.
"Nothing."
Ares shook his head with a smile, then raised his glass high.
"To the dumb dog!"