At the front of the group stood a man dressed more neatly, though his clothes were not so different from his colleagues'. His face was more refined, free of scars, but he wore a goatee and a thin mustache. If you met him on the street, you would not immediately assume he was a bandit.
"I am pleased to welcome foreign colleagues to Dark Alley," he said with an elegant bow and a false smile, looking at the two wizards.
"Why did you stop us? We paid the tax," Fredge said, pulling out the badge and almost dropping it before lifting it to eye level.
"Do not worry, we know that, of course, but the trouble is that just yesterday a new tax appeared." As he spoke, another group blocked the way back. Their matching uniforms made it obvious they were from the same gang.
"And what is it?" Fredge asked nervously, noticing the second group and already preparing to reach for his wand.
"Nothing special. Forty percent of what you bought."
"F-forty?!"
"No need to be so nervous. It is only forty percent," the man waved dismissively, then smirked at Severus, who had said nothing so far and only observed. "I am sure this young man will not have any trouble paying."
"Of course, there is nothing difficult about it," Severus said calmly, took out a pouch, and tossed it to the ground. "Here. It is Galleons, but I am sure you know where the exchange office is." At that, Fredge went pale, and the gang's earlier snickering stopped. "Well? What are you waiting for? Take it and get out of the way."
Faces darkened. The leader looked especially grim, not even glancing at the pouch.
"What are you doing?!" Fredge grabbed Severus by the sleeve and whispered in panic, because this was a direct declaration of war. "They will..."
"What is wrong?" Severus tilted his head in puzzlement. "They wanted forty percent, and I gave it to them. Do you not see what they are wearing?" He pointed at the gang. "In London, even the homeless look better than this. Those daggers look like they were pulled from the rubbish. And the stench; they probably do not even wash, so I do not want them anywhere near me." He looked at them with open disgust. "Take it and get lost."
For several seconds, silence hung in the alley, and then someone chuckled.
"Boy, you clearly do not understand something. This is not Britain, and your parents will not save you." A wand appeared in his hand. "But we are very kind people. Get on your knees, beg forgiveness, and hand over all your belongings, and we will let you go. Otherwise, you will stay here forever as a ghost." The others drew their wands too, and they were not amused.
"Is that so? And is your gang the strongest here?"
The man snorted contemptuously.
"What do you think?"
"All right. Take me to Vitor, and I will give him my hard-earned Galleons, not you lackeys," Severus said, lifting his chin and looking at them with contempt.
At the name, the leader frowned. How could a boy from another country, who had arrived today, know it? Even among their own, only a handful knew that name, including him. If Severus knew it, then the guest was not simple.
"That name. How do you know it?" the leader asked. The others stared at him, shocked. How could a bloodthirsty man who never tolerated insults endure this?
"Why should I explain anything to you?"
"Tch! You."
"Lead the way, or are you going to keep flapping your tongue uselessly?"
The leader glared, then pulled out a whistle and blew into it. No sound came. A few seconds later, an eagle swooped down onto his hand. He pulled out a piece of paper, whispered a few words, tied it to the bird's leg, and released it.
"You will have to wait until the boss replies."
"Fine." Severus conjured a chair, sat down under their grim looks, and pulled out a book.
"Mr. Snape." Fredge looked at him as if on the verge of tears.
"Do not worry. I have got everything covered," Severus said with a wink, putting a slight emphasis on the last word.
"I hope so."
Ten minutes later, the eagle returned. As soon as the leader read the message, his face darkened.
"Follow me. Our boss is expecting you." The words came out like a struggle. The letter had practically covered him in profanity, ordered him to address Severus formally, and almost to bow at the feet of a boy half his age.
"You should have done that from the start instead of swaggering around," Severus said, standing up. He tossed several gold coins to Fredge. "You are free. I no longer need your services."
Fredge blinked, slightly stunned, but he gathered the coins from the ground.
"Thank you." Without another word, he left. The gang did not stop him. They knew he was only a guide. The money bag was the boy himself.
"All right, lead the way," Severus told the leader. The man said nothing in response, or else everything he thought would have spilled out. He turned and started walking.
Along the way, Severus calmly kept examining the stalls, stopping now and then, which irritated his escort more and more. Under orders, they could not say or do anything, only watch and curse the boy in their hearts.
The market was enormous, and herb stalls stood on almost every corner. Real magical jungle lay nearby. It was dangerous, and hundreds of wizards died there each year, but anyone who returned with rare ingredients could earn hundreds or even thousands of mouros. It was a gold mine, and, as Severus discovered, almost twenty percent of the herbs shipped to Britain came from Brazil. That, along with the flower for the potion, was one of the reasons for his trip.
Of course, he did not plan to buy every herb he saw, only what would be useful for future brews.
After the seventh stall, Severus stopped in front of a weapons shop. These were not wands or artifacts, but real blades.
Unlike Britain, where aristocrats ruled and cold steel was treated as decoration, this place felt much closer to his own world. Wizards were not limited to wands and were ready at any moment to slit a throat with a dagger. The shop had no display window, only a bare wall, and the hand-painted sign read: "Weapon Shop."
Its simplicity intrigued him. Under the grim looks of his escort, Severus went inside, followed by the leader, who was furious. What should have been a ten-minute walk to the base had become two hours, but he could not complain, because the letter had ordered him to accompany Severus the whole time and not rush him.
Inside, Severus examined the racks thoughtfully. The weapons were acceptable by local standards, but none could compare to Gryffindor's sword, forged by goblins.
And if you think about it, goblins in my world were green, wild, and bloodthirsty, while these are more human: stubborn, yes, but skilled smiths. Maybe their ancestors really were dwarves and goblins who decided to, so to speak, diversify their intimate life? Shaking his head, Severus forced the thought away. God forbid he ever dreamed of such a show.
Severus did not pay much attention to the blades themselves. He was more interested in the metals, some as ingots and others as ore, but most of it was mediocre, and even mixed together it would not come close to the material Godric's sword was made from.
The elderly shopkeeper behind the counter looked nervous at the sight of the bandit, clearly knowing who he was and what he could do. When the guest's grim gaze fell on him, he flinched.
"I am interested in these ores," Severus said, and the shopkeeper jumped, staring at him wide-eyed. "Are you all right?"
"Y-yes." The man nodded, looking at three multicolored ores that stood out from the rest, and were also the most expensive items in the shop.
"I have run out of mouros. Can I pay one-to-one in Galleons?"
"O-one to one? But that would be almost seven thousand."
"That is nothing. Do you have an artifact with." Severus began, but the shopkeeper waved his hands frantically.
"What are you saying? Consider it a gift, in honor of your arrival in our country!" he declared so sincerely that any skeptic would believe him. "I will pack them right away!" With a bright smile, he hurried to the stand under the counter and put the ores into a small box. "Here, take them." Watching almost nine thousand mouros vanish into Severus's wallet, the shopkeeper felt as if a dagger had been driven straight into his heart, but he could do nothing. If he had taken the payment in front of that man, they would have come for their cut by nightfall, and often that would be the entire profit.
"Thank you. If you get more ore like this, contact me. I will pay honestly for each one," Severus said, handing him a slip of paper. The old wizard folded it carefully with a smile and put it in his pocket, though what he wanted most was to crumple it and throw it in the shameless youth's face.
"Of course. As soon as it appears, I will contact you right away!"
"Thank you."
As soon as Severus and the leader left the shop, a single tear rolled down the shopkeeper's cheek. He had worked hard to obtain those ores, and losing everything in a single day was a real blow.
Returning behind the counter, the old man noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a plain pouch he clearly remembered not leaving there. When he opened it, a golden glow burst out. Shocked, he immediately hid it inside another artifact under Notice-Me-Not charms. His heart hammered so hard it felt ready to stop.
With trembling fingers, he pulled out a note. Unfolding it, he read a simple line: "If you can get more, I will pay the same amount." Below it was an address in London.
Tears rolled down the shopkeeper's cheeks. He folded the paper again, put it back in his pocket, and went to the door. Today the shop closed earlier than usual, but no one paid much attention.
At the same time, Severus finally reached a richly furnished, three-story mansion. Two marble statues flanked the stairs leading to the front doors, and almost a dozen guards patrolled the perimeter. Some stood right by the entrance, on either side of double steel doors decorated with gold patterns and precious stones.
Not bad. Twelve outside, and ninety more inside. Apparently the local boss values his life greatly. Hmm. Two more Masters too, though their cores are weaker than Dumbledore's. Still, that is surprising. A simple gang has two of them. I cannot wait to meet this boss. Maybe he is one of them? Nagini, tucked in his pocket, got chills at the feeling of trouble closing in. She could sense the anticipation on Severus's face.
Maybe I should have stayed in London?
//===================//
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