Petty Magical Crimes

Vizet crouched beside a street vendor's stall, eyes fixed on one of his intended purchases: a cage of live Horklumps.

They resembled plump pink mushrooms, each topped with wiry black bristles and supported by thick, fleshy tentacles. The creatures twisted these tentacles to drag feed into their mouths and slowly devoured it, their sluggish chewing almost hypnotic.

"Excuse me," Vizet asked politely, leaning closer. "How much for a fresh Horklump?"

The vendor looked him up and down — first Vizet, then a brief glance at Xenophilius and Luna — before breaking into a wide grin.

"Ah! A wise customer!" he exclaimed. "These are top-quality Swedish Horklumps, finest you'll find in the market today. A full cage like this? Fifty-five Galleons. Quite the bargain, eh?"

Vizet didn't react. Instead, he asked in a calm, measured tone, "What's the expected juice yield?"

The vendor's grin wavered slightly.

"Well now," he said slowly, narrowing his eyes, "you really do know your stuff."

He cleared his throat. "These ones here? Solid specimens. You'd be looking at — conservatively — twenty pints of juice. Absolutely a sure win."

Vizet studied the creatures silently, then ran a quiet mental calculation. A single pint of Horklump juice typically sold for around three Galleons. If the vendor's claim were true, this cage could yield a value of sixty Galleons — more than justifying the price.

It was true that the Horklumps looked healthy and well-fed. However, even with the skill of someone like Professor Snape himself, twenty pints would be near impossible. Twelve pints, maybe thirteen at best. The vendor was clearly inflating his numbers.

In Vizet's estimation, a fair price for this batch — based on quality and real yield — sat somewhere between thirty and thirty-five Galleons.

He casually glanced toward a few neighboring stalls. Their Horklumps looked more or less identical in quality.

Vizet stood up and tilted his head slightly. "Mr. Lovegood," he said, voice just loud enough to carry, "what do you think?"

Xenophilius's hand rose reflexively to the back of his head. He gave it a thoughtful scratch, catching Vizet's silent signal at once.

He crouched down in front of the cage, wearing a grim, brooding expression — as though inspecting a suspicious artifact.

"They look alright," he muttered darkly, "but not worth that price."

The vendor's smile returned, tinged now with a hint of defensiveness. "Not worth it? Why not? What do you think is fair, then?"

Feeling the faint tug of magic once more — this time, twice in quick succession — Xenophilius nodded to himself and replied in a hoarse, raspy tone, "Hmm... twenty Galleons."

"Absolutely not!" The vendor barked, scandalized. He gestured toward the other stalls nearby. "You show me anywhere else with Horklumps like these!"

"They're about the same quality, aren't they?" Xenophilius replied, raising a single skeptical brow. He'd caught Vizet glancing at the other stalls earlier and chose to trust his judgment.

"And how much juice do you think you can squeeze out of these?" he went on. "Do you take me for a fool? I'm a potion master. I know what these things are worth."

The vendor's eyes flicked briefly to Xenophilius's expression — sour and certain. Something in it made him hesitate.

"If you're a potion master," the vendor ventured, "then maybe you should do the squeezing yourself!"

"Oh, believe me, I'd prefer it," Xenophilius shot back. "In fact, let's do it right now. Squeeze out the juice, and I'll buy the result instead."

The vendor's mouth opened, then closed again. He looked like he was considering whether to argue or to cut his losses.

"I mean, it's already afternoon," Xenophilius continued casually. "You've hardly made any sales yet. Wouldn't it be nice to start the day with a good deal?"

There was a long pause. Then: "Thirty-four Galleons," the vendor said at last, sighing through his nose. "Final offer."

"Done," Xenophilius said with a small, knowing smile.

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Lifting the iron cage containing the Horklumps, Vizet lowered his voice and said with a grin, "Mr. Lovegood, I must say... I didn't expect your acting to be quite so convincing."

Xenophilius touched the bridge of his nose with an air of modesty. "Ahem... I do happen to know a potion master."

"Daddy's the best!" Luna chimed in enthusiastically, clasping her hands. "He's good at everything!"

"Of course I am!" Xenophilius said grandly, puffing up with pride. "My darling daughter understands me perfectly."

In magical street markets like this, where stall owners didn't need to pay shop fees, prices were often far more reasonable than in formal places like Diagon Alley. But that came with a risk — quality varied, and if one couldn't judge it accurately, being swindled was far too easy.

Thanks to Vizet's careful scrutiny and Xenophilius's impromptu theatrics, they managed to purchase a wealth of potion ingredients and a handful of local souvenirs — all for very reasonable prices.

Back at the hotel, Vizet immediately set about preparing the Horklumps, boiling them down and extracting enough material to brew a batch of Wiggenweld Potion. His plan was to personally select another batch on the return trip — perhaps as a gift for Professor Snape.

After a simple night's rest, Vizet woke early the next morning and pulled back the curtains to find sunlight flooding the room.

Their day's itinerary had originally included a visit to the local aquarium and ecological museum, followed by a stop at the famous Vasa Museum — to compare the real ship on display with the enchanted vessel they'd just disembarked from.

Unfortunately, when they reached the aquarium, they found it unexpectedly closed. A large warning sign had been posted outside.

Vizet stepped forward and carefully read the notice: Three sharks have gone missing. The aquarium is temporarily closed while authorities conduct a thorough investigation.

The message was vague — no mention of how the sharks had escaped, or when. It left a lingering sense of mystery, and Vizet couldn't help but suspect the involvement of wizards.

Xenophilius, however, offered his own interpretation. "Could be a bored wizard," he mused. "What with the Swedish Aurors preoccupied by the Obscurus situation, someone may have taken advantage of the chaos and nicked the sharks for a lark. Quite the thrill."

As the editor of The Quibbler, Xenophilius had heard more than his fair share of similar stories — wizards playing pranks on Muggles simply for amusement.

He recounted several such tales: wizards disguised as locksmiths charming keys to shrink slowly until they vanished... or posing as clearance vendors, selling enchanted mugs that suddenly sprayed scalding water into unsuspecting Muggle hands.

Such petty crimes were, he claimed, shockingly common. The Ministry of Magic was constantly dispatching officials to clean up the mess and demand reparations. And the culprits? They'd usually laugh, pay up... and then disappear, only to reoffend again soon after.

After their stop at the Vasa Museum, the trio rented a small boat and continued their day.

Stockholm, often called the 'Venice of the North', was a city of water. Canals and inlets crisscrossed its urban landscape, making it perfect for boating.

Vizet, proficient in wandless and silent magic, cast a discreet Levitation Charm beneath the hull. They barely had to row — simply dipping the oars for show was enough to guide them gently along the waterways.

They passed through narrow channels and into the old quarter of Stockholm, where rows of two-story wooden houses lined the water's edge. The streets exuded a calm, timeless atmosphere, as if the passage of years had simply settled like dust upon the rooftops.

Soon, they reached Lake Mälaren, and the sky opened above them. Seagulls flocked in every direction, their cries echoing over the rippling water. From time to time, one would swoop low over the lake's surface, wings brushing the reflection below.

For some reason, Luna seemed to draw them in. Seagulls circled and wheeled above her head, chirping noisily.

Watching other passengers toss scraps of bread into the air, Xenophilius pulled a crusty roll from his pocket, handed it to Luna, and said warmly, "Go on, darling — give them something too."

Luna nodded, broke off several small pieces, and tossed them gently into the air.

The birds were ready. With sharp cries, they dove and twisted midair, white wings flashing in the sunlight. Several snatched the pieces in flight with remarkable precision, their eyes gleaming with triumph as they soared upward once more.

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