My friends, I'm back! The vacation really helped, and it shows. Long story short: before I took a break, I had a few chapters ready to go, but I wasn't happy with them. I've reworked them a bit, though I still have my doubts. Anyway, I've tweaked chapters 137 through 147, but if you guys feel like it's complete nonsense, I'll rewrite them completely.
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Victor and Adele appeared in the middle of the filthy, moisture-drenched Knockturn Alley. The few wizards out on the street at that hour flinched in surprise and glared at them darkly.
— What is this hideous place? — Adele asked with disgust, looking around.
— This is Knockturn Alley, Miss Moss, — Dobby's quiet voice sounded beside her. — A place where desperate wizards who failed to find their place in the ordinary magical world try to survive. Dark wizards also gather here to pull off their illegal business.
Adele turned her head toward the sound, but saw no one—Dobby was discreetly remaining invisible. Reaching out her hand, her fingers felt him standing right beside her.
— Hey, kids... Lost, are we? Want me to... — an old, grey-haired witch stepped toward them.
She didn't get to finish. The witch suddenly froze in place. Her pupils, along with those of a few other drifters nearby, instantly turned red and took on the shape of the sinister Sharingan pattern.
Adele shifted her gaze to her brother. Victor's eyes were spinning wildly. In that same second, a thick crimson smoke enveloped them, and when it cleared, they were both clad in heavy black robes that completely concealed their faces and figures.
— Why did we even come here? — Adele asked from under her hood.
Victor silently took her hand and headed with certainty deeper into the alley.
— I want to meet with a friend of mine. I need his help with something, — he answered calmly.
When they emerged onto a more crowded part of the street, Adele frowned even harder.
— So we aren't going back to France just yet?
Victor shook his head.
— No, I still have one unfinished business here. And while I'm busy with it, you'll stay with Hermione.
— I'm coming with you! — the girl immediately protested, stubbornly lifting her chin.
— No, Adele, you are staying with the Granger family, — Victor refused in a gentle tone, yet one that brooked no argument. — It won't take long, half a day at most. And by tomorrow, we'll be back home.
Adele was thoroughly displeased, but stopped arguing. Though she did try to display her annoyance—letting out a loud hmph, she ostentatiously snatched her hand out of his. However, feeling the curious gazes of those around them, she hastily grabbed tight onto his elbow again.
Hidden under his deep hood, Victor merely smiled.
As soon as they left the filthy dead end, the wizards who were there finally began coming to their senses. The old woman who had just tried to approach the teenagers frowned and rubbed her temples. She vaguely remembered having a conversation with someone, but couldn't recall their faces or what they had talked about at all.
— Ahhh... I'm getting old, my memory is completely shot, — she sighed wearisomely.
Glancing down at the earth covered in slimy mud, she noticed a round object. Bending over and disgustedly kicking it with the toe of her worn shoe, the witch suddenly shrieked in horror and leaped back in wild fright.
— What are you screaming for, gone completely mad?! — snapped one of the wizards, who had also just awoken from Victor's mental attack.
— There... there's a human head on the ground! — she poked a trembling finger at the puddle.
— What head? — three drifters exchanged glances, slowly approached, and began inspecting the find.
— Damn, it really is a head... Where'd it come from?
— Wait a minute... I've seen this mug somewhere before.
— Hey! That's Fenrir Greyback! I can't believe my eyes, it's Greyback's own head! If you take this to the right people, you could make enough coin to last a lifetime! You could even buy a proper wand from Ollivander!
Two wizards who were apparently working together exchanged glances upon hearing this and gave each other a brief nod.
One of them instantly grabbed the speaker from behind, pinning his arms, while the second, grinning predatorily, drove a long knife straight into the poor bastard's heart. The wizard, who a second ago had been mentally swimming in golden Galleons, groaned dully. His eyes slowly rolled back, and he went limp.
— Heh, idiot, — the killer smirked, pulling the blade out of the corpse's chest with a wet crunch.
But he didn't get to celebrate his loot. A blinding flash of light exploded in the darkness of the alley, and the attacker flew backward with a howl, slamming hard into the brick wall. He slid to the ground, instantly knocked unconscious.
The brigand still holding the deceased man's limp body stared in shock and fear at the old woman. In her hand, half-hidden by rags, a shabby old wand gleamed dully.
— So you have a wand?.. — ancient greed flared in his eyes again, but quickly recovering his senses, he prudently tossed the corpse aside and offered a conciliatory, sickeningly sweet smile. He couldn't care less about the fate of his knocked-out partner. — Ol' woman... I mean, ma'am! There's no reason for us to fight. We can just share the bounty for Greyback fairly and walk away peacefully. Everyone gets their cut.
Even though he tried to speak softly and pleasantly, his eyes kept darting toward her wand with unhidden lust.
The witch, however, didn't deign to give him a single word. The tip of her wand flared bright and brief once more, and the surviving bandit was sent flying just the same, knocked cold by a powerful spell.
Quickly tucking the wand back into her sleeve, the old woman stripped the robe off one of the stunned men and, with a grimace of disgust, wrapped the bloody head in it. While the alley remained empty, she hurried to melt away into the shadows. The witch knew full well that there were places in Knockturn where they would give a mountain of gold for the werewolf leader's head, but she had no intention of dealing with the local dark wizards—she wasn't that stupid. They would likely just murder her on the spot.
She made a much smarter decision: to sell the information and the undeniable proof of Greyback's death to the Daily Prophet. The editors would fork over any amount of money for a scoop like that, after all, Fenrir Greyback was the most ferocious, elusive, and dangerous werewolf in all of magical Britain.
In the darkest and most secluded corner of Knockturn Alley, Victor walked confidently up to a blank wall and opened a hidden door.
Stepping inside, he threw back his hood with a smile.
— Ben, I see you've got a wild turnout here as usual. I could barely squeeze through that endless line.
Ben, standing behind his wooden counter as was his habit, raised a heavy gaze in surprise, then shifted it to Adele, who had also lowered her hood to reveal her face.
— What are you doing here? — the old man frowned, lowering his voice. — Didn't I warn you not to so much as show your nose in England?
Victor merely chuckled nonchalantly:
— Don't worry, Ben. The problem is already solved.
— Solved? — the old merchant narrowed his eyes distrustfully.
Then he nodded understandingly to himself. Ben didn't believe for a second that Victor had settled everything alone. As strong as this kid was for his age, handling a ferocious pack of werewolves single-handedly was no easy feat. The old man assumed that Perenelle Flamel herself must have stepped in.
— And what brings you to my shop in that case? — Ben sighed. — No offense, kid, but to be frank, I don't want anything to do with you anymore. Because of you, my quiet life in well-deserved retirement is turning into chaos.
— Oh, come on, old man, don't play pity, — Victor laughed. — I'm just bringing a drop of bright light into your dull, stagnant life. By the way, meet my younger sister, Adele. Adele, this is old man Ben. To be honest, I haven't quite figured out who he is myself, but he's the local equivalent of a Mercenary Guild master.
Adele gave the man a polite, calm nod. Ben merely closed his eyes wearily in response.
— Alright, get to the point. What are you here for? If you want to find something out, speak up. For Madame Flamel's grandson—anything. I've already broken my number one rule of non-interference several times for you anyway.
Victor smiled to himself. Whaddya know, even in England, his grandmother's authority opened every door.
— Well, you're right about one thing: I do have a delicate favor to ask, — Victor leaned against the counter, pitching forward. — But before I voice it, I want to be absolutely sure that our conversation stays strictly between us.
Ben stared uncomprehendingly at the youth, feeling the atmosphere in the shop rapidly cracking with tension.
— Kid, what are you implying right now?
— Oh, well, you see... I have a few suspicions I'd really like to clear up, — Victor made a dramatic pause, looking him straight in the eyes with a cheerful smile. — You see, I found one coincidence rather bloody odd. At the exact moment your warning letter reached me, Dumbledore received the exact same letter. Now, of course, one could attribute it to the old Headmaster having his own spies among Greyback's werewolves. But the difference in receiving those letters was only a few seconds. That's a bit too big of a coincidence, don't you think? Looks a lot more like the sender sent out two owls at once. Or maybe someone was standing behind your back and, while you were sending a note to me, scribbled a quick line to Dumbledore.
Ben shook his head firmly:
— You're just paranoid, kid. It's a plain coincidence. I'm not stupid enough to tangle with Albus Dumbledore. Mind you, I'm no saint, and if it weren't for my caution, I'd have been feeding the Dementors in Azkaban long ago. And there can't be spies among my visitors—their affairs aren't any better than mine. Besides, at the moment I was sending you that owl, it was just me in the shop, and...
Ben suddenly stopped mid-sentence. His face gradually turned pale, and his brows furrowed together.
— Boss! You won't believe what I just found out! — the shop door slammed open, and Miki burst inside, out of breath. — This morning someone attacked the Hogwarts Express...
The guy froze abruptly, noticing the teenagers standing at the counter. Miki blinked in surprise. This was beyond strange—a closed shop for dangerous mercenaries, and suddenly kids out of nowhere? But before he could open his mouth to ask the owner what was going on, shivers ran down his spine. Miki began to tremble under old Ben's heavy, crushing glare.
— Uh... Boss? Why are you looking at me like that? Did... did I do something wrong?
Victor, instantly catching this sharp shift in Ben's behavior and the newcomer's terror, understood everything without a word. A smirk touched his lips, and he took a closer, sharper look at the long-eared fellow.
— Wait a minute... I remember you! You're that Mickey Mouse guy, exactly! — Victor snapped his fingers, recognizing him. It was from him last summer that he had learned about this place, and he was the only one Victor had spared back then.
— Hey! — Miki was clearly offended. As a Muggle-born, he knew full well who Mickey Mouse was, and immediately realized the boy was teasing him about his ear shape.
— Alright, sorry, — Victor laughed. — You're right, you're not Mickey Mouse. You're Miki the Rat.
— MIKI! ARE YOU WORKING FOR DUMBLEDORE?! — Ben roared deafeningly.
The old man was beside himself with rage. For Muggle-borns like Miki, establishing themselves in the magical world was brutally hard. Most gave up after school and returned to the Muggles, renouncing magic forever. When this guy walked into his shop two years ago, Ben saw potential in him—he wasn't a weakling and possessed a rare determination. Truth be told, Miki was far too soft-hearted for the bloody trade of a mercenary. At first, Ben assigned him cross-border smuggling, and eventually made him his full-fledged protégé. And right now, this realization felt like a knife in the back.
— What?! No! What are you even talking about?! Is that what they told you? — Miki panicked, throwing frantic glances between Ben and the teenagers. — And you believe them? You're seeing them for the first time! Though... wait, I feel like I've seen this guy somewhere before.
Victor, enjoying the drama, gave a friendly wave.
— Ah, sorry, completely forgot to introduce myself. Victor Moss. Pleasure to meet you.
Upon hearing the name, Miki's eyes went wide enough to nearly pop out of their sockets. Looking closer, he realized: standing right in front of him was indeed the kid from that expensive hit contract last summer. He just looked a bit older and more mature now. The gears in his head started spinning at breakneck speed, connecting the dots: why Victor was here, what business he had with Ben, why the boss was so livid... And finally, remembering the note he had sent the Headmaster of Hogwarts just recently, Miki began to realize with a sickening dread what kind of abyss he had just fallen into.
— Boss, I swear I'm not a traitor! — Miki raised his palms in desperation, looking Ben straight in the eye. — Yes, I... I occasionally share info with Albus Dumbledore about what goes on in Knockturn Alley. And yes, I'm the one who warned him about Greyback's werewolves! But about you, boss, I haven't said a single word to him! Never! I respect the Headmaster, but I respect you a hundred times more! Please, believe me! Even if I were tortured with Cruciatus, I wouldn't sell you out! You gave me a job, you treated me like a human being... Please, Mr. Ben!
Ben was breathing heavily, peering into the pale, genuinely desperate face of his assistant. The old man's rage slowly began to subside—over the past two years, he really had grown attached to the oaf.
— Fine. Let's say I believe you, — Ben grumpily reached under the counter and set a tiny crystal vial onto the wood with a dull thud. — But so I can sleep soundly, you're going to repeat all that one more time. After you drink this first.
Miki stared at the liquid, clear as a tear. He immediately guessed it was Truth Serum—Veritaserum.
— Fine! No problem! — The guy didn't even think to refuse. He stepped forward decisively, grabbed the vial, and downed it in one gulp without a second thought. Licking his lips, he looked expectantly at Ben: — Ask whatever you want! Just, I beg you, let's skip the childhood stuff—I don't want you finding out how I used to spy on my thirty-year-old neighbor when she was taking a shower! And I don't want you knowing that I'm still a virgin at nineteen! And I really don't want you finding out that your favorite award-winning fishing rod wasn't broken by some client, but by me when I was playing with it and then horribly fixed it with Reparo! And also I...