"Understood, Mr. Weasley. Safe travels."
Mundungus bowed and scraped as he saw Vaughan Apparate away. Only then did he straighten his back.
Lupin looked utterly displeased by his groveling display. "He's already gone. Are you keeping up that act for my benefit?"
Mundungus raised his comically bushy eyebrows. "Whether Mr. Weasley sees it or not, I do it all the same. That's called heartfelt respect, my dear Remus."
"Hah! Seems your nickname really does fit—Dung," Lupin sneered. (Dung, in English, also meaning rubbish.)
Mundungus didn't mind in the slightest. "Curse all you like, Remus. I have a feeling Mr. Weasley thinks highly of me. Maybe someday I'll even serve under him. Who knows—I might end up outranking you."
"In your dreams!"
"No, no, not a dream at all. A big man like Mr. Weasley needs someone to do the dirty work. And wouldn't you know it—I love being that kind of scoundrel."
Mundungus laughed. These words came straight from the heart.
More than ten years ago, when Dumbledore had come to recruit him, he'd clung just as decisively to the White Wizard's coattails…
Lupin and Mundungus spent a long time erecting a layered magical barrier on the site where the small building—now reduced to rubble—had once stood. The enchantments included a Muggle-Repelling Charm, Confundus Charms, Protective Wards, and Shielding Spells, all interwoven into a composite defense.
Throughout the process, Lupin was distracted, while Mundungus worked with rare diligence.
Once the wards were complete, Mundungus even checked them several more times.
"The Muggle-Repelling and Confundus Charms will drive Muggles away and make them subconsciously ignore the place. The protective wards and shielding spells will defend against magical attacks—so some holidaying wizard doesn't suddenly go mad and blast the wards apart."
"Mm. Absolutely flawless."
Mundungus nodded in satisfaction.
Unfortunately, no one applauded. His partner looked as if his soul had wandered off, staring blankly toward the distant harbor.
After finishing his inspection, Mundungus walked over and followed Lupin's gaze across the dull, gray sea. He smacked his lips. "Alright, great philosopher—done brooding yet? Time to head back."
They had worked together many times over a decade ago. In the early days of the Order of the Phoenix, members were nearly always surrounded by Death Eaters, so operations were conducted in small teams to avoid isolation.
The two had been partners for a long time—even though neither particularly liked the other.
Because Lupin always looked melancholy and was gentle, almost naïve in temperament, Mundungus had nicknamed him "the Great Philosopher." Lupin retaliated by calling him "Dung."
Hearing Mundungus's words, Lupin snapped back to reality. He glanced at him, hesitated, then suddenly asked:
"Back in the Order… we clearly didn't get along. Yet every mission paired the two of us together. That was Dumbledore's doing, wasn't it? He didn't trust me—did he?"
Mundungus didn't answer.
But his silence was answer enough.
Lupin let out a long breath, unsure what to say.
Ten years ago, for this very reason, he had stood side by side with the Mundungus Fletcher he despised.
And more than ten years later—it was still the same.
How utterly disheartening.
"This is perfectly normal," Mundungus said, shrugging at Lupin's gloom. "Big men think deeply. They like people and things to follow their expected trajectories. And you, Remus—put nicely, you have strong initiative. Put bluntly? You've got too many principles and too many ideas of your own."
"Have you ever considered that neither Dumbledore nor Mr. Weasley actually wants you to have so many thoughts?"
After a moment's thought, Mundungus offered an analogy. "Say you're a thief. And every time you try to pick a lock, your lockpicks start lecturing you about morality and how stealing is wrong. What would you do?"
The awkward metaphor made Lupin frown deeply.
Still, he understood the point. "I'm a person—not a tool!"
Mundungus scoffed. "What's the difference? To the big shots, we're tools with an extra pair of ears to receive orders and a mouth to answer back. Everything else is surplus."
"Hmph. Willful degradation."
"Ha! Old Mundungus is still alive precisely because of what you call degradation," Mundungus laughed. "And you? Pure, noble you—Dumbledore doubts you, and Mr. Weasley isn't pleased with you either. So tell me, Great Philosopher—who exactly is the problem here?"
"You—!"
"Enough. I'm no Hogwarts professor, and I don't fancy arguing life philosophy. The job's done—shall we go back?"
Rubbing his hands excitedly, Mundungus waggled his thick eyebrows. "Mr. Weasley has more work for me. I missed my chance to cling to Dumbledore's leg back then and regretted it for over a decade. This opportunity? I'm not letting it slip!"
A scoundrel!
Lupin didn't say it aloud, but his expression made his disgust obvious. Mundungus noticed—and didn't care in the slightest.
Just as he'd said: in his worldview, people like him were tools in the eyes of great men.
Who demands morality or conscience from a tool?
If it works, that's enough.
After several Apparitions led by Lupin, Mundungus found himself in a Muggle house, once again facing Mr. Vaughan Weasley.
The dignified man sat by the window, chin resting on one hand, deep in thought. His first question was blunt:
"Mr. Fletcher, what use do you think you have to me?"
Mundungus dropped to the floor, lightly kissing the hem of Vaughan's robes as he grinned obsequiously.
"Why, the ways of snakes and rats, sir—those unsavory paths unworthy of a noble man like yourself!"
"Go on."
"Ah, that's a broad subject. I'll give a few examples based on your current needs. Smuggling and trading contraband, for one. Praise Merlin, the Ministry's prohibited items list grows longer every year—dragon blood, dragon bone, Demiguise hides, mermaid tears—potion and alchemical materials monopolized under the banner of 'protecting magical creatures.' Prices soar, supply vanishes. I, however, have ways of obtaining them."
"Or perhaps you need werewolves and vampires—rare creatures indeed. Since you founded the WAC, even England's werewolves have become scarce. Apart from Fenrir Greyback's pack, supply is limited. Overseas hunts are the only option. With my connections, I can assemble a hunting team—competent, reliable Dark wizards."
"And as a Potions Master, your products sell extremely well on the black market—but frankly, those stiff-minded shops waste your reputation. Many witches and wizards can't safely access the black market. I can expand that channel for you."
From the corner of the attic, Lupin—still wearing his perpetually sorrowful expression—listened in utter shock.
Even Vaughan, who had been idly twirling a strand of silvery memory, turned his gaze toward the short, pudgy Mundungus with open admiration.
"Impressive self-promotion, Mr. Fletcher. I admit—you've surprised me."
Mundungus chuckled. "Just petty tricks, sir. You live in the sunlight—how could you ever see the damp, shadowed tunnels where snakes and rats crawl?"
Vaughan ignored the flattery.
After a brief pause, he said, "Your examples are intriguing… Mundungus."
"Mundungus, sir! Please—call me Mundungus!"
"…Very well. Mundungus." Vaughan smiled gently—nothing like the man who had destroyed a building and six Dark wizards with a single spell hours earlier. "One small question. Are you familiar with smuggling routes?"
"Of course, sir!"
"Then let us suppose the following. An English witch is currently stranded in North America. Due to… complicated circumstances, she joined a dissident magical militia and is now wanted by the Magical Congress of the United States. Is there a way to smuggle her safely back to England?"
North American dissidents?
MACUSA's most-wanted list?
Mundungus blinked. "May I ask… why she's wanted?"
Vaughan smiled. "For attacking the Woolworth Building."
"…."
Even Lupin's mouth twitched. Any adult wizard knew the Woolworth Building housed MACUSA's headquarters.
And Vaughan wasn't finished.
"She also offended several North American pure-blood families. In recent years, tensions there have been escalating—conflicts between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods over the Statute of Secrecy and the Rappaport Law. Verbal threats became bloodshed last year. She intervened to protect an Ilvermorny student—and attacked several pure-bloods in the process."
"…."
Mundungus wiped his forehead nervously. "A-anything else?"
Compared to her, he suddenly felt downright innocent.
A fake criminal steals and smuggles.
A real one angers all of MACUSA and survives.
Merlin must be blind.
Thankfully, Vaughan shook his head. "No. When I received her last letter, she'd stopped running and gone into hiding with her militia in a Muggle town. The situation should be… manageable."
Mundungus finally breathed out.
If she'd already been captured and needed rescuing—especially in North America—he'd be done for.
Even Azkaban breakouts in England were fantasy, let alone that powder keg.
After careful thought, he replied, "If—hypothetically—the witch hasn't been captured, I may have a route. But I'll need to contact my partners…"
Vaughan nodded.
He opened his satchel, removed a pouch, and tossed it over.
Thud.
The heavy clink made Mundungus's eyes light up.
"One thousand Galleons," Vaughan said calmly. "Five hundred to assemble a werewolf and vampire hunting team. Five hundred to grease North American channels. I may need them soon. Enough?"
"More than enough!"
Mundungus nodded frantically.
Merlin knew—he'd never seen that many Galleons in one pouch. If not for self-restraint, he'd have spilled them out and kissed every last one.
Vaughan smiled. "This is just the first payment. Stay with me long enough and you'll learn—I'm never stingy with those who work well."
"Yes, yes—generous Mr. Weasley—"
"But."
A crushing magical force descended.
No incantation. No wand.
Vaughan merely raised a hand.
Mundungus was yanked forward, tumbling helplessly to Vaughan's feet.
Still smiling, Vaughan asked gently, "I dislike inefficiency. And I loathe disappointment. You understand, don't you?"
The same terror from earlier—when Vaughan had stolen time itself from six Dark wizards—crashed down upon Mundungus once more.
This time, he recognized the spell.
Accio.
A commonplace charm—yet in Vaughan's hands, it bound and crushed him utterly.
Cold sweat drenched Mundungus as he stammered, "I-I understand, Mr. Weasley…"
"Good. Go."
The pressure vanished.
Mundungus collapsed, trembling, then scrambled to kiss Vaughan's robes once more.
"At once, sir!"
Vaughan waved them away.
Different people required different methods.
With underworld scum like Mundungus, persuasion alone was insufficient.
Temptation formed the base—fear completed the structure.
Vaughan required no loyalty. Only usefulness.
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