Borgin lay near the door, listening intently to the sounds outside. The usual hustle and bustle of Knockturn Alley had fallen eerily silent. That meant only one thing: his associates were ready to act.
The moment he had sent out the coded message, subtle yet clear, they had understood. Agatha, once feared and unmatched, had lost her edge. Ever since her stay at St. Mungo's, she hadn't been the same. And now, she had submitted to someone—a little man, no less.
It was unthinkable. If Agatha had truly knelt before someone, then either he was far stronger than her, or she was in trouble. And since the former seemed impossible, the second conclusion was obvious. That's why they had dared to strike.
Just as Borgin anticipated the chaos outside, a piercing whistle shattered his thoughts. Then came the screams—agonized, desperate, and utterly defeated. The very structure of the alley trembled as buildings crumbled.
His own shop door shook violently, and Borgin felt a cold sweat form on his brow. If not for the reinforcement spells he had paid extra to install, the store would have been reduced to rubble by now.
Then, silence.
A deep, ominous silence.
Dread coiled in his stomach. Swallowing hard, he nudged the door open slightly and peeked outside.
CRACK!
An antique cup slipped from his hand and shattered upon the floor. But before he could lament its loss, he hurriedly slammed the door shut, his breath quick and uneven.
This was madness.
Borgin had expected Agatha to put those fools in their place, as she always did. Maybe she'd even extort them afterward, making sure everyone suffered losses, just enough to restore balance to her bruised ego.
But he hadn't expected this.
Agatha hadn't lifted a finger.
It was the little man beside her who had acted.
When Borgin cracked the door open, he saw Agatha retrieving her wand from the man, her gaze filled with something he had never seen before—respect. Maybe even fear.
As for the attackers…
They dangled from the rafters, lifeless yet alive, like discarded puppets strung up for display.
Regret gnawed at Borgin. Perhaps he had underestimated this man. Perhaps they all had.
Meanwhile, Blake took a deep breath, exhilarated by his newfound control. This power—his power—was no longer an unpredictable force. No longer something to be feared, but something to wield.
"Boss, save me!"
It was the first time Agatha had ever called someone boss.
More importantly, she meant it.
After witnessing Blake's devastating spell, she knew. Even at her peak, she wouldn't have stood a chance against him.
Blake arched an eyebrow. "Just Blake."
"Okay! Boss!" she replied immediately.
"…Right."
He scanned the wreckage, his eyes drifting over the stores he had accidentally demolished and the unconscious, groaning dark wizards.
"Agatha," he said, rubbing his chin, "how about you… recruit them?"
Agatha frowned. "You want these worms?"
"There's no such thing as a good person in Knockturn Alley," Blake said. "But wiping them out won't change anything. Kill these guys today, and tomorrow, new scum will slink in. Better to own them. Make them useful."
A slow grin spread across Agatha's face. "Leave it to me, Boss. I'll make sure they obey."
"Good. And as for the ambush…" Blake smirked. "This little stunt needs a response."
Agatha's eyes darkened as she turned toward a particular shop. "Borgin."
"That's right. No wonder they moved so quickly. That rat was behind this."
"I'll handle it," Agatha growled, stalking off.
Blake watched her go, offering a moment of silence for Borgin. Then, he stepped out of the alley and into the sunlit chaos of Diagon Alley.
Despite the destruction behind him, life went on as usual here. Bright storefronts, cheerful chatter, and a stark contrast to the darkness he had just left.
One step from heaven. One step from hell.
Blake sighed. There was work to do. First, he needed to secure the Vanishing Cabinet. One half would remain hidden in Diagon Alley. The other, he would move to Hogwarts' mountain. That way, he'd have a direct teleportation link between his base and Diagon Alley.
And this was not stealing.
He was a Hogwarts student. A scholar. Scholars didn't steal—they borrowed.
Even if the return date was... flexible.
Besides, if the cabinet stayed in the castle, the Death Eaters would eventually use it to infiltrate Hogwarts, leading to Dumbledore's death.
Blake grinned.
He was saving Dumbledore's life. In a way, the old man owed him.
—
Deep in his dungeons, Snape carefully measured out a few drops of snake bile. The potion before him was at a crucial stage; a single mistake would ruin everything.
He had done this countless times. Failure was not an option.
Then—
BANG!
An explosion rocked the room.
Snape's cauldron, once filled with a near-perfect elixir, was now a bubbling mess of useless sludge.
His face darkened.
[Ding! Detected anger!] [Ding! Congratulations, Host! Silver treasure chest obtained!]
Blake, standing in the doorway, looked sheepish.
"Huh," he muttered. "Didn't expect that to work."
Snape's glare could melt iron. "Explain yourself."
"Uh… congratulations? You set a new record for failure?"
Snape's grip on the stirring spoon tightened dangerously.
[Ding! More anger detected!]
"Right, right! I had an emergency!" Blake coughed, holding up his hands. "I didn't mean to—"
"If your explanation is insufficient," Snape said coldly, "I will force-feed your Niffler this ruined potion."
Blake gasped. "That's dark, Severus."
"Speak."
"I'm opening a shop."
"No."
"…What?"
"No, I am not giving you money."
"I didn't ask for money!"
Snape stared at him, unimpressed.
"Okay, now I want money," Blake admitted. "But not for free! I want you to… lend your name."
Snape blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I open a shop. You, a renowned Potions Master, put your name on it. Instant credibility. We split the profits."
Snape opened his mouth to scoff—then paused.
Blake had unusual potions. Ones never seen before.
If they did open a shop, with those potions…
"…Fifty-fifty split," Snape finally said.
Blake scowled. "Are you serious? You're literally just standing there while I do everything—"
"Hence, fifty percent."
"…I hate you."
"Forty-ten."
"That's not how math works!"
"Take it or leave it."
"Fine. Twenty-eighty."
Snape crossed his arms. "Thirty-seventy."
"Deal!" Blake beamed, pulling out a contract and tweaking the numbers slightly with a swipe of his wand.
Snape's eyes narrowed. He saw the real numbers change from thirty-seventy to nineteen-eighty.
"…You little bastard."
"You signing or not?"
"…Fine."
Blake grinned, shaking Snape's hand. "Great! We're partners now."
"…Get out."
"Severus, one last thing."
"What."
"Do you want a daughter?"
=============
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