Knockturn Alley. Deep within its murky, twisting depths lay a nondescript shop. Its entrance was artfully hidden from prying eyes behind a crooked door that looked more like an abandoned closet. Inside, behind the counter, sat Old Ben, boredly flipping through some book. One should not, however, be fooled by his advanced age and apparent frailty: Ben's name had been legendary in the deepest and darkest circles back when he was young. Deciding he had seen enough bloodshed, he opened this establishment. The shop quickly became popular in the criminal underworld: here, one could buy or sell any piece of information or place an order for extremely rare and forbidden items that were impossible to obtain legally.
And most importantly, it was here, on a prominent board, that assassination contracts were posted. If someone wanted to earn money quickly and with no questions asked, they came here, picked a suitable slip of paper, and received the promised payment upon completion.
Suddenly, the rusted door creaked, and a short, mysterious silhouette entered the shop, dressed entirely in black with a smooth red mask covering their face. The old man wasn't at all surprised by this masquerade—most clients preferred strict anonymity. What surprised him was something else: this was a person completely unknown to him. The shop was carefully concealed, and its existence was known only to an extremely limited number of people. Old Ben hadn't seen a new face in this sanctuary for five long years.
The silhouette entered, leisurely surveyed the cluttered space of the shop, and turned toward the old man. Although the face was hidden by a mask, the experienced old man physically felt himself being scrutinized. He had a deeply unpleasant sensation, as if this stranger could see right through him, as if all his secrets were being laid bare for all to see. The old man frowned. The last time he had felt such an unpleasant sensation was when he stood before Gellert Grindelwald himself.
— Can I help you with something? — Ben asked calmly, but with a hint of impatience.
But the figure didn't answer. They tilted their head comically, still watching the old man, then walked slowly toward the large stand covered in numerous slips of paper with job postings and began to examine them.
The old man frowned, feeling his irritation grow. He was just about to snap at the arrogant stranger when the door opened again.
— Old Ben, got anything for me? — asked the newcomer impatiently and far too loudly.
The old man turned his head toward the new customer and let out a heavy, theatrical sigh.
— I curse the day you first walked into my shop.
The newcomer grinned hideously, revealing his sparse, darkened teeth.
— Now, why would you say that? You know I'm your most reliable client! Who else is going to take the filthiest jobs besides me?
Old Ben winced in disgust. This wizard was the foulest person he knew. He took on assignments so horrific they made even Ben—who had seen plenty—feel sick to his stomach. The old man dreamed of the day the Aurors would finally catch him, but the man was too cunning and careful; he had never been caught once.
— There's nothing suitable for you.
The man shook his head in disappointment.
— Out of work again, I'll be rusting away at this rate. — But then he smiled sharply: — Oh well, it doesn't matter. I've found out something that will make me quite rich.
Old Ben, suppressing a groan, pulled out a sheet of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill.
— What's the information?
The man turned toward the silhouette standing by the notice board. Old Ben followed his gaze with annoyance and frowned; he had completely forgotten about the stranger.
— Fine, let's go to my office, — Ben said.
He turned and opened a door hidden behind the counter. The man smiled greedily and, stepping behind the counter, entered first. The shopkeeper, already in the doorway, threw a fierce, warning glance at the stranger and barked:
— I remember every item in this shop! If so much as one thing goes missing, you'll end up on that board too, and believe me, you won't like it!
With that, he vanished behind the door and slammed it shut with a bang.
Victor hesitated for a second, then carelessly adjusted his mask. He looked at the closed door and realized the room was isolated by a spell, as he hadn't heard a single sound from within since they closed it.
— What an interesting place! This reminds me of a guild or, rather, an Assassins' Guild, — he whispered.
His gaze returned to the stand. He took pleasure in finding the slip where his own handsome profile was displayed, with the prices listed beneath:
Alive — 20,000 Galleons
Dead — 5,000 Galleons
For information on his whereabouts — 100 Galleons
— Twenty thousand for me alive... I've never felt so expensive, — Victor chuckled. He carefully secured his mask, cautiously tore off the slip, and walked to the counter.
He stood there, motionless as a statue, until the door opened again and they stepped out.
— I'll notify them, and if the information is confirmed, you can come back for your reward in a few days, — Old Ben concluded as he returned to the counter. He looked at Victor, who was standing still. — Have you decided what you need?
Victor slowly tapped the bounty notice he had placed on the counter and said in a distorted, hollow voice:
— I need all the information on him.
The shopkeeper looked at the notice and hissed through his teeth:
— Don't tear things off the board!
He quickly snatched the flyer and looked at it. Then he raised a surprised look at the mercenary, who still hadn't left and was staring intently at the "stranger." Noticing the old man's gaze, the man also looked at the notice, and his eyes lit up with greed as a broad smile appeared on his face.
— I can tell you about him. For a price, of course, — the mercenary declared readily.
Old Ben clicked his tongue in irritation. He couldn't understand how this disgusting wretch could be so lucky: he had just secured information for the gang looking for the boy, and before he could even leave, another client was interested in the same kid. Victor turned slowly toward the mercenary.
— If the information is truly worthwhile, I'll make sure you never have to worry about money again, — Victor promised.
The mercenary and the shopkeeper both frowned at the same time; the stranger's words sounded odd. The mercenary, however, quickly suppressed his unease. He thought to himself: I'm safe in the shop, and as soon as I leave, he'll be gone.
— What exactly are you interested in? — the mercenary decided to risk it.
— Where does he live? — Victor asked in the same distorted voice.
— I don't know where his house is, but I've narrowed down the residential area.
— How did you find that out?
— I've been trailing him for a month. There's one residential area where he's extremely careful. Even I have to break off the tail to avoid being spotted, and it's always the same district.
— Why haven't you caught him yourself? — Victor asked.
— He's being guarded by someone. There have already been those who tried, but the boy always walked away unscathed, while they either vanished without a trace or ended up dead. Anyway, I think that's enough for now. Pay up, and I'll tell you where the district is.
Victor nodded slowly.
— Of course.
Suddenly, a sharp, fast, whistling sound rang through the shop. The mercenary blinked in surprise, and then he noticed a strange, thin, silver sword in the stranger's hand that hadn't been there a moment ago.
Where did that sword come from? — that was the man's last thought as his consciousness was snuffed out permanently.
Old Ben watched with absolute calm as the mercenary's head slowly slid from his shoulders and rolled across the floor. Then the body collapsed with a dull thud, and a dark pool of blood began to spread rapidly across the stone floor. Ben pulled out his wand and gave it a quick flick. The body and head vanished instantly, and the blood began to obediently gather into a single, small, dark puddle that grew smaller and smaller until it evaporated without a trace. Victor watched this magic with admiration and thought: I must learn that.
Old Ben raised his eyes and looked at Victor.
— You know, normally I kill people for that kind of thing right on the spot. But honestly, I really didn't like that guy, so I'll forgive you this once. But for the future, — a fierce, oppressive aura suddenly began to radiate from him, making the old shelves in the shop shake and dust rise into the air, — brawling is strictly forbidden in my shop! If you want to kill someone, do it outside, damn it!
Victor, feeling the massive pressure emanating from the old man, wasn't afraid in the slightest. On the contrary, for some reason, he found it genuinely, wildly hilarious. He had been dying of boredom for a long time, and those he had killed were just "meat," weaklings. And now he had finally found someone interesting, someone worth noticing, someone he had never even heard of. Unable to hold it in, he burst into loud, hysterical laughter.
Old Ben, seeing the stranger begin to laugh, frowned deeply. What on earth? Had he scared the man so badly he'd lost his mind, or was he a psycho already? Victor finally managed to calm down with difficulty, theatrically wiping imaginary tears from his mask where his eyes would be.
Victor slowly raised his head and looked at the old man. They stared at each other in total silence. Seconds slowly turned into minutes. Finally, Victor smoothly raised a hand to his mask. He paused for a fraction of a second, considering whether to reveal his identity. Looking at Ben once more, he smiled under the mask, made his final decision, and slowly removed it.
When Old Ben saw the smiling young face, his old eyes widened in shock. He quickly looked down at the reward notice in his hands and then back at the boy.
— You...
— Allow me to introduce myself, — Victor's voice was calm and deathly cheerful. — Victor. Victor Moss. — His smile grew wider, hauntingly sincere and utterly mad. — You are a very interesting character. I think we should definitely become friends.