Amossta weighed the pouch in his hand. Even with a permanent Levitation Charm dampening its mass, the sheer volume of gold within the Undetectable Extension space gave it a satisfying, heavy swing.
Seven hundred Galleons.
This was the fruit of half a month spent shivering and starving in the ancient, windswept forests of the Jura Mountains in France. It was a sum that rivaled the annual salary of a senior Ministry official or a tenured Hogwarts professor.
Across the table, Carcus Folly clicked the lid of a rough wooden crate shut, having confirmed the Cockatrice heart Amossta provided was flawless. He offered a practiced, oily smile.
"Your reputation is the brightest light in the Underworld, Mr. Golden Viper. Every transaction with you is an absolute pleasure."
Amossta stowed the gold without a word, his expression hidden behind the swirling magical distortion of his hood. He had no use for Carcus's flattery; they were both here for the cold, hard gleam of gold. Friendships in this place were usually written in blood and ended in betrayal.
"What else do you have? Anything worthwhile?"
"As industrious as ever, I see." Carcus wasn't deterred by the cold shoulder. In a place where most men spoke in monosyllables and kept their hands on their wands, his brand of polite chatter was the true anomaly. He pulled a leather-bound ledger from his robes, flipping through the pages with a hum. "Remind me of your current... preferences regarding risk and compensation?"
"My habits haven't changed, Carcus. Don't waste my time," Amossta said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Of course, of course! How could I forget?" Carcus chirped, though his eyes remained fixed on the ink. "No contracts targeting wizards or Muggles directly. Minimum fee of five hundred Galleons. Preference for short durations. I keep a meticulous file on all my premium clients, Mr. Golden Viper. But..."
Carcus's finger stopped on the latest page, his brow furrowing into a tight knot of lines.
"I'm afraid I must apologize. Tasks that fit your specific criteria are in high demand. There was a commission for brewing a batch of Magic-Inhibition Potion—materials provided, five hundred and fifty Galleons—but it was snatched up three days ago."
Amossta stood up immediately, his movements sharp and decisive. He didn't do "waiting."
"Wait! Please, Mr. Golden Viper!"
Carcus jumped, his pulse thrumming visibly in his neck. He knew exactly how dangerous the man in front of him was; he had seen the Viper pin a pack of rogue werewolves to the ground with conjured spears when they tried to bypass the rules of the trade.
"I mean no offense," Carcus said quickly, holding up his hands. "I don't have anything that fits your usual parameters. However... I have a few commissions with staggering payouts. High risk, certainly, but perhaps you'd care to listen?"
"High risk?"
If a man like Carcus, who lived and breathed the filth of the Underworld, called something high risk, it wasn't a simple smuggling run. Amossta hesitated, then slowly sank back into the stone bench. He gave a single, curt nod. "Speak."
Carcus let out a breath he'd been holding. Extracting a finder's fee from a wizard like the Golden Viper was like pulling teeth from a live dragon—you never knew which movement would be your last.
"The first commission has a bounty of twenty thousand Galleons."
Amossta's pulse gave a solitary, violent thud against his ribs.
"The client sent a magical contract from Albania," Carcus whispered, leaning in. "He wants a team to break into Azkaban and liberate the Lestranges and the Carrows. What do you say?"
"I say I'm not a fool, Carcus. I refuse."
Amossta didn't even blink. Had it been a simple prison break, the gold might have tempted him—the Dementors were foul, but he had ways of dealing with them. The true danger lay in the targets. The Lestranges and Carrows were the most fanatical of the Death Eaters. If they vanished, Albus Dumbledore—who had spent the last decade keeping a lid on the remnants of Voldemort's shadow—would descend like a thunderbolt. Amossta had no desire to spend the rest of his life as Britain's most wanted fugitive. Besides, Azkaban's location was a state secret; finding it alone was a logistical nightmare.
Carcus nodded, unsurprised. In his opinion, whoever sent that contract had likely drowned themselves in too much Firewhisky. Who in their right mind would willingly walk into a fortress of soul-sucking nightmares?
"A wise choice. Then... let me see. There is an expedition. A group claims to have found the coordinates of an ancient magical ruin from the Hellenic era. They need heavy-hitting guards. They can't offer much gold upfront, but they're offering a percentage of whatever is recovered—"
"Pass."
Exploring ruins was a gamble. You could find a lost hoard of ancient Greek sorcery, or you could spend six months trapped in a cursed labyrinth only to find a pile of dusty pottery. Amossta didn't trade in luck.
Carcus remained patient, pitching three more jobs. Each was either too low-paying for the danger involved or carried the kind of political baggage that would turn Amossta into a target for the Ministry. Finally, the broker went silent, staring at his ledger in deep thought.
"There is one more. The last one, Mr. Viper. If this doesn't suit you..." Carcus trailed off, peering up at the magical swirl covering Amossta's face. He leaned in closer, his voice a mere ghost of a sound. "Have you heard of... Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets?"
Amossta's posture stiffened. Though his memories of his past life's "plots" were fragmented and fading, no one who had ever stepped foot in Hogwarts was ignorant of that legend. Amossta's own spellcasting—refined, modern, and precise—made it obvious he was a product of formal schooling. There was no point in hiding it.
"A schoolyard myth," Amossta said dismissively. "Why bring that up?"
Carcus caught the slight shift in Amossta's weight and suppressed a grin. "You spend so much time abroad, perhaps you haven't heard the whispers. The Daily Prophet is keeping quiet to avoid a panic, but the rumor mill is boiling. They say the Chamber has been opened. Someone in Hogwarts is using its power to spread terror, and word is... Dumbledore is powerless to stop it."
"Stop," Amossta interrupted. "What does this have to do with a commission? Is someone paying me to play bodyguard to a bunch of school children?"
"Hardly!" Carcus's eyes glinted with cunning. "But the name Salazar Slytherin carries weight, doesn't it? The client believes Slytherin left a hoard of secret knowledge or artifacts in that Chamber—treasures now claimed by this 'Heir.' How else do you explain someone operating under Dumbledore's nose without being caught?"
Amossta remained silent. He didn't remember much, but he was fairly certain the "treasure" in the Chamber was a giant, murderous snake, not a pile of gold. However, to the greedy wizards of the Underworld, the Founders of Hogwarts were figures of mythic power. Anything they left behind would be priceless.
"Even if that's true," Amossta said, unimpressed, "no one is stupid enough to break into Hogwarts to rob Dumbledore. You'd be safer in Azkaban."
"Not a break-in. An invitation," Carcus corrected enthusiastically. "I can arrange a legitimate entry. Specifically, as an external investigator hired by the Board of Governors."
He leaned back, watching for a reaction. "The 'Noble' wizards on the Board are under immense pressure to react to the attacks. They want to look like they're doing something to appease the angry parents. At the same time, they're terrified that if they send someone and they fail, they'll look like laughingstocks. But if they have a reliable wizard... they're willing to force Dumbledore's hand. After all, his performance in this crisis has been... disappointing. They think he's getting old. Slow."
"You've been planning to pitch this to me from the start."
Amossta saw the trap now. The other "high-risk" jobs were just chum in the water, meant to make this offer look reasonable.
Carcus offered a humble, thin smile. "The candidate needs Dumbledore's approval. That means a Hogwarts alumnus is preferred. Someone with power and a clean professional record outside the Underworld. You are the only one who fits, Mr. Viper."
"And the issue of my identity?" Amossta pressed. "This would require me to show my face."
"The client will never know the Golden Viper took the job," Carcus promised. "The Board will see your 'clean' face and your credentials. They will never hear your Underworld name from my lips."
"And you?" Amossta's voice turned dangerous. "In this plan, you are the only link between my two lives. Why should I trust you?"
"An Unbreakable Vow," Carcus said without hesitation. "With the lives of every Foley as collateral. I will swear to never reveal your identity."
Amossta stared at him for a long time. Carcus didn't flinch.
"You must be getting a massive kickback from this," Amossta noted.
"That is my own secret, Mr. Golden Viper." Carcus smiled, sensing victory. "Eight thousand Galleons as the base fee. The gratitude of the Board of Governors. A potential commendation from the Ministry. And whatever 'secrets' you might find in Slytherin's lair... It's a very lucrative trade."