She walked toward the exit of Hogsmeade Village with a blank expression, the sunlight stretching her shadow long across the ground.
The discussion between Victor Wick and Mrs. Shafiq had gone very smoothly; in just ten minutes, they had finalized all the details of their cooperation.
In truth, Mrs. Shafiq felt Victor was conceding a bit too much, but sensing his foul mood, she chose not to pry further.
Once the meeting concluded, she stood and left, intending to write to Andrey to ask about the situation as soon as she returned home.
After seeing Mrs. Shafiq off, Victor sat back down.
"Another honey water?"
Madam Rosmerta was carrying a tray, preparing to clear the plates from Victor's table.
"Give me a small glass of brandy, thank you," Victor said, gently pushing his empty glass aside.
Madam Rosmerta's eyes widened as she looked at Victor as if seeing him for the first time.
"Merlin's beard... I've actually lived to see the day I earn liquor money from you!"
"I can't let everyone leave with a sense of regret, can I?" Victor looked at the pedestrians outside the window, a bitter smile playing on his lips.
"I really don't understand you..." Madam Rosmerta didn't press him, simply walking away in silence.
She had noticed the lady who came to see Victor earlier; when she left, she looked as though she had been completely broken.
Perhaps that was why Victor suddenly wanted a drink.
The harsh liquor burned his throat, bringing a slight buzz.
Victor sat quietly in that hazy state for ten minutes before pulling out a bottle of Invigoration Draught and taking a large gulp.
Instantly, his mind cleared.
From the corner of her eye, Madam Rosmerta watched him while serving guests at the bar.
'That man leads such an exhausting life,' she thought privately.
It was evening by the time Victor finally left the Three Broomsticks.
Passing the Hog's Head, he suddenly heard a familiar laugh.
"Hahaha! Another round! This stuff actually tastes great, but... could you maybe wipe the glass a little cleaner?"
"Drink it or get out!"
"Hahaha! I like your attitude, old man! It's even punchier than the booze!"
Victor stopped in his tracks and turned into the Hog's Head.
The pub was exactly as it had always been—filthy floors, battered tables covered in scars, and a few mysterious wizards sitting in the corners with their faces hidden.
Aberforth stood behind the bar with a cold expression, wiping a glass with a dingy rag.
Seated precariously in front of him was a man wearing a rather ill-fitting set of wizard robes.
"Crowley?" Victor frowned. What was the demon doing in Hogsmeade?
"Oh! Victor! You're here too? Come! Let me buy you a drink. The liquor here is excellent!" Crowley's grin widened when he saw Victor enter.
Aberforth glanced at Victor and gave a soft snort. "This establishment doesn't serve lemonade."
"Haha, who goes into a bar for lemonade?" Crowley laughed.
"The one standing right there," Aberforth said crossly.
"Hmm?" Crowley stood up unsteadily, leaned in to sniff Victor, and then turned back. "You old man aren't telling the truth. He clearly smells like brandy!"
Aberforth grew even angrier. This guy went to the Three Broomsticks to drink, but came to his place for lemonade?
He was just as insufferable as Albus!
Aberforth glared at Victor, slammed the glass down, and stomped into the back of the pub.
"Come, sit down. We need to have a proper drink. This wizarding world is just too interesting," Crowley said cheerfully.
Before coming to this world, they had hidden amongst mortals, never exposing their abilities lightly.
But it was different here. There were wizards; as long as he was in a wizarding settlement, he could show off some supernatural power and no one would think it odd.
This sense of freedom made Crowley feel very comfortable.
"What are you doing here?" Victor sat down.
"I heard Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in Britain, so I wanted to see for myself." Crowley grabbed a fresh glass and poured a full one for Victor.
"There is only one wizarding school in Britain, so technically you're not wrong." Victor didn't look at the drink. Instead, he silently constructed an invisible magical barrier. To outsiders, it would only look like they were whispering.
When dealing with individuals like Crowley who, like himself, came from another world, Victor always maintained a necessary level of caution.
"You look a bit heartbroken," Crowley remarked with a light chuckle.
"How did you know?"
"I'm a demon, Victor. My specialty is seeing through the weaknesses of the human heart... how could I not smell the scent of sorrow on you?" Crowley said delightedly. "What's bothering you? Tell me so I can enjoy it."
Victor looked at him helplessly. "You really are a demon."
"I am a demon!"
"It's nothing... I just had a meeting with an ex-girlfriend. You know, I can live for a very, very long time..."
Being with Crowley and Aziraphale was one of the few times Victor didn't feel the need to fully disguise himself.
Crowley laughed. "I figured as much. But... what's so hard about that? Don't forget who Aziraphale and I are."
Victor caught the keyword in Crowley's words. "What... do you mean?"
"Exactly what you think it means, Victor. For a proper angel and a proper demon, what is so difficult about resurrecting someone?" Crowley looked a bit drunk; there was no telling how much he had consumed today.
Victor glanced at the other wizards drinking nearby, thankful he had cast the privacy spell.
"You mean... you can resurrect anyone who has died? Without a price?"
"A price? In our world, resurrecting someone doesn't require any price at all. However..." Crowley set his glass down, a hint of solemnity crossing his face. "In this world, it might take some effort. And a price is indispensable."
"What are you lacking in this world?" A brilliant light flashed in Victor's eyes.
Crowley shrugged. "True power of faith... Victor. You know that in our world, Heaven and Hell truly exist. We can tap into that faith at any time, turning it into divine power to do whatever we wish. But here... none of that exists. Even our own power has been assimilated into wizard magic."
"But... people in this world still believe in Heaven, and even Hell." Victor frowned. "Is the power of their faith fake?"
"Oh... it's real, of course, but..." Crowley set aside his empty glass and picked up the bottle to pour.
Except, he poured the wine directly onto the table.
"To pour wine, you need a cup... Without a cup, what you pour is still wine, but it just spatters on the table and the floor. You still can't drink it."
Victor understood. Without the existence of Heaven or Hell, even if this so-called power of faith existed, it had nowhere to go... eventually ending up like the wine on the table, undrinkable, leaving one only to watch it flow to the ground.
Slurp! Crowley suddenly leaned down and took a suck from the table, drawing a bit of the wine into his mouth. "But... we still have ways to intercept a little bit, just like this. Even if it's a bit of a struggle, we can still get a taste. But a price must be paid—for example, this table is very dirty."
Victor's eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed to understand what Crowley meant.
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