"Golden Treacle Root?" Greene, his face still hidden beneath his hood, lifted his tankard and took a slow swallow. "Eight Galleons an ounce."
"That steep?" Damian frowned. The ingredient wasn't impossibly rare, yet the man was demanding eight Galleons.
Greene grinned. "The Ministry strictly regulates the trade. I take the risk, so I set the price."
The Blaze-Burst Potion brewed from Golden Treacle Root sat firmly on the Ministry's restricted list, making the raw ingredient incredibly dangerous to buy. Fortunately, Damian's brewing formula was a heavily guarded family heirloom.
"Too dear. Knockturn Alley only asks five," Damian countered.
Greene drank again. "Six. Best I can do."
"Fine. How do we do this?" Damian agreed. It was a seller's market, and he knew perfectly well that Knockturn Alley would skin him alive. His initial quote had been nothing but a bluff.
"Follow me." Greene set his mug down and slipped out of the dingy tavern.
Damian trailed him into a deserted, snow-dusted alley.
"Wait here. I'll fetch the goods."
Greene headed back toward Slug & Jiggers Apothecary alone. He was a black-market fixer; "respectable" shops quietly passed him the highly restricted wares they couldn't afford to sell openly.
A few minutes later, he returned. He reached into a burlap sack and produced a heavy, magically sealed parcel. "Fifty ounces of Golden Treacle Root."
Damian carefully checked the vials, ensuring the volatile liquid was stable, then handed over the heavy leather pouch containing the three hundred Galleons.
Greene counted the gold quickly. Glancing furtively around the empty alley, he leaned in and whispered, "Interested in a Norwegian Ridgeback egg?"
"A Norwegian Ridgeback?" Damian's brow lifted in genuine surprise. That was exceedingly rare.
Dragons were strictly confined to heavily guarded reserves. Strays were practically non-existent in Britain, and private breeding was highly illegal.
Greene's smile turned cold and sharp. "Yes. And it's fertile."
Damian's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Could this be the very egg Quirrell planned to use to bait Hagrid?
Ridgeback eggs were almost never seen, even in the deepest corners of Knockturn Alley's black market. The timing fit perfectly. Hagrid had won his dragon egg in a pub game shortly after winter. With Voldemort breathing down his neck, Quirrell would be moving fast to secure the bait.
If Damian bought it, the egg could be a massive bargaining chip. He could barter it with Quirrell for something incredibly valuable.
Quirrell was currently hosting the spirit of Voldemort, a Dark Lord whose mastery of the Dark Arts far outstripped Damian's current capabilities. Damian wanted forbidden knowledge—the kind of ancient, restricted magic that Galleons alone could never buy.
A deeply weakened Voldemort acting through a proxy posed an acceptable risk. With his current level of magical proficiency and a carefully prepared arsenal, Damian was confident he could escape even if Quirrell and the Dark Lord turned on him.
"Let me inspect it."
Greene reached deeper into his magically expanded sack and drew out a massive, black, scaly egg. It was larger than a grown man's head.
Damian subtly extended his magical senses toward the shell, feeling a strong, rhythmic thrumming of life inside. The egg was perfectly healthy. It was no forgery.
"Price?" Damian asked.
"Five thousand Galleons."
Damian's face darkened. "That's robbery. A thousand, take it or leave it."
"It's a live Norwegian Ridgeback," Greene replied icily. "Four thousand five hundred."
"Still too high. Owning a Class A Non-Tradeable good is a guaranteed one-way ticket to Azkaban. Dragons are huge, impossible to hide, and very few buyers would ever dare take the risk."
They haggled back and forth until Greene stubbornly froze at four thousand Galleons. He refused to go a single Knut lower.
Just as Damian was about to agree, his finely tuned instincts flared. He sensed a faint, furtive pulse of magic originating from Greene's hand.
A split second later, the sharp cracks of Apparition echoed through the air. Several cloaked figures stepped out of the shadows, completely blocking the mouth of the alley.
Damian's expression hardened. It was a Ministry sting operation. Greene was the bait.
Leading the group was a squat, middle-aged witch dressed head-to-toe in obnoxious pink frills. She had a broad, flabby face that looked remarkably like a pale toad. A squad of Aurors stood at attention behind her.
"Oh, thanks to my brilliant initiative, we've caught another violator of the Ban on Experimental Breeding!" she shrilled, her voice sickeningly sweet yet dangerously sharp.
It was Dolores Umbridge. Currently clawing her way up the ranks in the Ministry, she had taken to orchestrating elaborate traps to parade high-profile catches in front of Minister Cornelius Fudge.
Greene was her inside man. The shady shop owners who used him thought her indulgence meant safety—she was merely letting the line run loose. Once the illegal sums grew large enough, she would yank the hook, netting them all for fresh Daily Prophet headlines.
"Look at this! Caught red-handed trading a Norwegian Ridgeback egg!" Umbridge squealed gleefully.
Damian didn't hesitate. He viciously kicked Greene's hand away before the man could draw his wand, snatching the heavy dragon egg from him in the same fluid motion.
Damian's own wand snapped into his hand. With a sharp flick, he roared, "Lumos Maxima!"
A blinding, magnesium-white flare burst overhead. The narrow alley was instantly flooded with agonizingly brilliant light, temporarily blinding everyone in the strike team.
"Stupefy!" "Petrificus Totalus!"
The Aurors fired their spells blindly into the glare, red and blue lights shattering against the brick walls.
When the blinding light finally faded and their vision cleared, the mysterious buyer was completely gone.
Umbridge's toad-like face flushed an ugly, mottled purple. "Catch him! Don't just stand there, catch him!"
Four Aurors sprinted blindly out of the alley to search the main street. A younger, pink-haired witch remained behind, blinking furiously to clear her eyes.
"Trainee!" Umbridge shrieked. "Get after him!"
The young witch hastily dashed after her veteran comrades.
A few streets over, a perfectly Disillusioned Damian dropped silently into an empty alleyway.
He had used the blinding flash to mask his escape, quickly scaling the rooftops to evade the lockdown. Getting into a full-blown magical duel with a squad of Aurors in the middle of Hogsmeade would have been suicidal.
Once his boots hit the cobblestones, he hastily cast a diagnostic charm over himself and his loot to check for Ministry tracking spells. Nothing. He exhaled a long breath of relief.
He had successfully stolen the Ridgeback egg scot-free. He had already checked it for tampering earlier, so he knew it was perfectly safe to store.
The tingling sensation of the Polyjuice Potion wearing off rippled through his skin. He waited patiently in the shadows, his senses stretched to their absolute limits for any sign of Aurors. Soon, his facial structure melted and shifted back to his own handsome features.
A quick wave of his wand reverted his plain traveler's clothes back into his standard Slytherin robes. With the egg safely tucked away inside his Undetectable Extension Pouch, every loose end was neatly tied.
His alibi perfectly intact, Damian stepped out of the alley and strolled calmly back onto the bustling main street, looking like just another Hogwarts student enjoying his weekend.
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