Swindlers

Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon

Sargeras had found a bit of spare time, and with it, he made a quiet trip to Diagon Alley. He stepped through the damp archway behind the Leaky Cauldron and into the bustling crowd beyond.

The sign above the Magical Menagerie creaked gently in the breeze. He narrowed his eyes at the display window… inside, a few lethargic Murtlap rats were gnawing half-heartedly at some wilted leaves.

"Fancy one of these? Or perhaps you're after some ingredients?" The shopkeeper poked his head out from behind the counter, rubbing his hands together with a wide, eager grin. "A full Murtlap pelt makes for top-grade anti-jinx gloves, I promise you…"

Sargeras pinched a stinger between two fingers and lifted it toward the light, examining it carefully. "You mix anything else in this?"

"Now, now, what kind of thing is that to say?" The shopkeeper hastily snatched the item from his hand. "Every single piece here is premium quality. I'd wager you won't find better materials in all of Britain…"

Sargeras raised an eyebrow and began casually sifting through the shelves, picking through items one by one. After a moment, he finally fished out half a dried Murtlap carcass.

This one had what he needed. More importantly, it hadn't been sprinkled with any of that ridiculous fluorescent powder — it was proper, standard merchandise.

"How much for this?"

"Ah! You've got a sharp eye, sir. That's the torso of a Murtlap king! Took quite a bit of effort to hunt him down. We actually lost two wizards in the process. And this half right here has been processed to the goblins' highest standards. Even the skin has been—"

"Just tell me the price," Sargeras interrupted, cutting him off before he could ramble any further. This was nothing more than an ordinary Murtlap carcass. At best, it might be worth a few Galleons.

"Uh... well, for this piece... I'm offering it at a very fair price. Only three thousand Galleons."

"Which way is Gringotts?"

"Just that way, sir. Are you short on gold?" The shopkeeper's eyes lit up with renewed excitement.

"I meant, why don't you just go rob Gringotts directly?"

Sargeras actually rolled his eyes—for once—and turned to leave without another word.

Did this guy really think he was that much of a fool? What, did he have "idiot" written across his ridiculously handsome face?

"Wait, wait, sir—don't go!" The shopkeeper rushed forward again, grabbing at the hem of his robe. "We can talk about the price! How about three hundred Galleons, eh? Consider it a gesture of friendship… a special deal, just for you!"

Sargeras didn't even break stride. He kept walking, unbothered and uninterested.

"Ai ai ai…" The shopkeeper darted after him again, yanking at his cloak more desperately this time. "Alright, alright, you win! You're in luck today… I'm heading back to Germany soon to retire, and I'm not planning to keep the shop running anymore. What do you say to thirty Galleons? That's really the lowest I can go, any less and I'd be selling at a loss!"

Still, Sargeras didn't so much as glance back. The shopkeeper's forehead began to bead with sweat.

"Fine, fine, fine! You win, you win!" he sputtered, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush. "Three Galleons! I'll let it go for just three Galleons—I swear on my life, that's what I paid for it!"

At last, Sargeras came to a halt. Slowly, he turned around, his voice calm but firm.

"…One Galleon."

He added with unmistakable finality, "Or let it rot right here in your shop."

"By Merlin's beard, you're stingier than a goblin! One Galleon doesn't even cover shipping!"

Sargeras turned away again without a second thought. "Then keep it. Let it be the crown jewel of your shop's collection."

"Alright, alright… one Galleon it is!" the shopkeeper groaned, utterly defeated.

But then—

"Too late," Sargeras said lightly, almost playfully. "Now I'm only willing to pay five Sickles."

The shopkeeper's eyes widened in disbelief. He stared at Sargeras as if the man had just insulted his ancestors, lips trembling, fingers twitching, completely at a loss for words.

Sargeras, for his part, simply stood there with a blank face, staring back at him in perfect silence.

At last, the shopkeeper tilted his head back and let out a long, miserable sigh toward the ceiling.

"Alright. Five Sickles it is. Just pay and be done with it."

Sargeras smiled faintly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out five silver Sickles, handing them over without another word.

As he turned and walked toward Knockturn Alley, he could still hear the distant sound of the shopkeeper's furious cursing, mixed with the laughter of onlookers who had clearly enjoyed the show.

The moment he stepped into Knockturn Alley, the air changed completely — thick and rancid, like a sticky liquid that clung to his skin and crept into his lungs.

On either side of the narrow alleyway, shop windows displayed a variety of grotesque and unsettling wares: eyeballs floating in jars of yellowish brine, shriveled hands that let out faint, muffled screams, and rows of glass containers filled with murky, unidentifiable liquids that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

His boots squelched through the foul water covering the street, each step making a wet, rubbery creak that echoed unpleasantly through the air.

He scanned the storefronts carefully, eyes shifting from one grimy window to the next… until suddenly, he spotted a wooden sign bearing the name he'd been looking for.

Without hesitation, Sargeras pushed open the warped wooden door of a shop called Midnight Beasts. The hinges groaned in protest, and the bell above the door gave a tortured, dying rattle that barely qualified as sound.

Inside, the air was heavy with a choking blend of rot and dried herbs, thick enough to make the nose sting. From behind the counter, an old, hunched witch lifted her head, strands of greasy hair clumping together into matted, hardened knots.

"You got anything related to Matagot?" Sargeras asked directly, not bothering with pleasantries. His eyes flicked quickly over the dust-covered shelves on either side.

"What? Ah… yes…"

The old witch's cloudy eyes suddenly gleamed with an unnatural light. "You won't find the real stuff anywhere else in Britain… only here!"

She stretched her lips into a wide grin, revealing a few blackened, rotting teeth.

Sargeras thought to himself that the last shop owner had said the exact same thing. Still, he kept his expression neutral and calmly pressed on. "Do you have any live ones? Let me see…"

The old woman gave a knowing little smirk and ducked beneath the counter. From below, she dragged out a large glass jar, its contents concealed beneath a draped black cloth.

She leaned in close first, sticking her head beneath the cloth for a long moment. Only after checking carefully did she lift the cover, her movements slow and wary.

Inside, curled up in a tight ball, was a pitch-black cat with unnaturally long limbs and oversized ears that twitched at the faintest sound.

At first glance, it looked perfectly fine.

But just as Sargeras leaned in for a closer look, the old witch abruptly dropped the black cloth back over the jar. "Too dangerous!" she cried. "Last time, a customer nearly lost his eyes just for getting too close!"

"I need some whiskers," he said calmly, straightening up as he spoke.

"Wait here for a moment…"

She shuffled behind a tattered curtain into the back room. There was a brief flurry of clattering and rustling, and then she hobbled back out, slow and unsteady on her feet.

"I've got about an ounce," she said, holding up a small bottle. "How much do you want?"

Sargeras's gaze fell on the whiskers inside the jar. His eyes suddenly narrowed slightly.

"You're waste my time. Do you understand?"

She was trying to trick him… with fakes!

He twitched his fingers ever so slightly, and in that instant, her entire body stiffened like she'd been frozen in place. With a snap of his fingers, the black cloth covering the glass jar was pulled away in one swift motion.

And then his expression turned even darker.

Inside the jar, the so-called Matagot was writhing violently. Its form twisted and changed, shifting from a black feline into a bloated spider, then collapsing into a quivering puddle of slime.

"A Boggart…" Sargeras muttered, voice thick with disdain. A spark of fire bloomed within the jar. "How creative."

"Wait, wait—I can explain—!" the shopkeeper tried to speak, but her voice cut off in an instant.

With a single sweep of Sargeras's hand, the wooden shelves on either side of the shop burst into flames.

He walked forward at an unhurried pace, completely unbothered by the fire roaring around him. His long, slender fingers moved precisely, plucking a few bottles of real goods from the shelves — dragon's blood, powdered moonstone, and other rare ingredients. He didn't even glance at the counter again. These would do. Consider it compensation for wasting his time.

At the door, Sargeras adjusted his sleeves, still mulling over the absurdity of it all. He muttered to himself under his breath, half amused, half exasperated, "Forget it. Next time I'll just put in a commission through the Bronze Feather."

It might take a few more days that way, but at least he wouldn't have to deal with these smooth-talking, lying swindlers.

With that, he walked calmly out the door. Only then did the shopkeeper dare to stumble outside, finally shouting for help as flames devoured her shop. The dark wizards in the alley, however, all turned their heads away in perfect, silent agreement, quietly giving the burning building a wide berth as they passed.

**

**

[IMAGE]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Chapter End's]

🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍

Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:

https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst

Extra Content Already Available