Oak Barrel Bar.
It was also the most popular spot near the Romanian Fire Dragon Reserve—no matter the time, as long as the doors were open, the place was always packed.
The dragon tamers often came here during their days off, ordering a glass of brandy or some almond honey wine to unwind.
And besides them, there was no shortage of other patrons, either.
This place was a bit like the Hog's Head Pub in Hogsmeade—you could find all sorts here… tourists coming for the fame, hooded figures in black whose faces were hidden, or those old witches who looked straight out of a villain's lineup…
Of course, not everyone in here was actually human, either.
For instance, right now, at the far end of the bar sat a goblin with a tattered bag, calling himself a traveling merchant—though everyone knew he'd con and swindle wherever he could.
Not far from him was a centaur who nobody knew which herd he'd wandered out from—the sort who was obsessed with doing divinations for wizards.
"Bang!"
The door to the Oak Barrel Bar was suddenly pushed open from the outside. A few people instinctively turned to look.
In came a wizard who looked frail and sickly, wearing glasses—he was exactly the type you'd expect to be stuck in a Ministry of Magic office, writing reports all day.
Probably another tourist, drawn here by the bar's reputation…
After all, the Romanian Fire Dragon Reserve was pretty famous. They'd get plenty of tourists every year.
No one paid him much mind. People just turned back to their drinking and chatting, though a few regulars occasionally whispered to each other, guessing that shrewd old Brown Senior was about to make a tidy profit by selling some fake booze again.
Not that anyone would bother warning the guy… That's just tourists, after all—let them be. As long as their own drinks were real, who cared?
The new wizard didn't stop after coming in, nor did he go to the bar to order a drink. He went straight to a corner table.
At that table sat two men—one a burly giant with a bushy beard, the other dressed all in black robes, his entire face hidden beneath a wide hood.
"Roy failed."
The bespectacled wizard sat down, poured himself a glass of Fire Dragon Brandy from the bottle on the table, and continued, "Twelve people—except Roy, who ran for it by selling out his mates, the rest all got their wands confiscated.
Just a bit ago, the Romanian Ministry of Magic's Aurors took them all away."
"I told you before—he had no chance of succeeding…"
The hooded wizard swirled the brandy in his glass. "But that idiot just wouldn't listen."
"But I heard their plan, and honestly, I thought it should work."
The burly man across from him knocked back his drink in one go, frowning. "As soon as the brawl ended, that's when the dragon tamers were at their most exhausted. In that state, almost none of them would be able to Apparate—that's when their mobility is worst.
Twelve of them, one as a decoy to attract attention—the rest all attacking from different directions… Those dragon tamers wouldn't be able to react in time at all.
Even if they couldn't Apparate while carrying the dragon eggs, they were using the best brooms money could buy. No reason they'd get caught in one fell swoop."
"Just because the dragon tamers can't Apparate doesn't mean other people can't. Did you all forget about those extra guests who were invited?"
"Or do you think they're nothing but weak little scholars?"
"Give me a break." The hooded wizard snorted. "Dealing with Fantastic Beasts is nothing like going to a Muggle zoo… Anyone without real skill would've ended up dead in those forests long ago. The ones who survived and made names for themselves—none of them are pushovers."
"That old witch from North America, for example—she's got a documented kill of a giant."
"And Newt Scamander is even more legendary. When he was young, he went toe-to-toe with Grindelwald multiple times—and he's still alive now… In the Magic Realm, not many can claim that."
"But that was sixty-plus years ago, wasn't it?" the bespectacled wizard remarked offhand. "He's old now."
"Dumbledore's old, too." The hooded wizard scoffed. "Why don't you go challenge him? Maybe you'll make a name for yourself."
"Pfft!"
The bespectacled wizard choked, spitting his mouthful of brandy right onto the burly guy's face.
"Philwin, you…"
"Sorry, Bletchley."
The bespectacled wizard—Philwin, it seemed—apologized quickly, then turned to the other man, helplessly saying:
"Come on. Don't say stuff like that, it's terrifying. Challenge Dumbledore? I'm not done living yet…"
"Since you know that, then you should have realized a wizard's power doesn't fade with age."
The hooded wizard shot him a glance. "There are young ones, too… that Chris fellow."
Twelve years ago, just a few years out of Hogwarts, he singlehandedly sent two transformed werewolves fleeing for their lives on a full moon night.
Five years ago, he even managed to capture—alive—a Peruvian Vipertooth that had gone berserk from Dark Magic. Emphasis on captured alive—not killed.
So, do you think Roy's crew is tougher than a rampaging werewolf, or harder to handle than an insane Peruvian Vipertooth?"
"…"
Philwin and the burly man—Kari, apparently—both fell silent.
If Roy the idiot was anywhere near that level, he wouldn't have had to betray his team just to escape.
"So what now?"
Bletchley asked, "Wait till those guys leave and make a move then? They're not gonna stay here forever, are they?"
"Make a move? Make a move on what?"
"Didn't you say before—"
"Let me remind you one last time, Bletchley." The hooded wizard looked up, revealing a familiar face.
He said coldly, "We're only here for a bit of fun. If you slip up or say something you shouldn't, I don't mind leaving you here to keep the dragon eggs company forever."
"I—I got it…" The burly man shut up at once.
The air felt a little tense.
Philwin tried to smooth things over, saying, "Clearly the Reserve was ready all along—Roy's lot is a perfect warning for us. If you don't want to end up like them, just do what Oren says and enjoy the show."
Then he turned to change the subject. "And you, Oren—I've been meaning to ask, why are you still wearing your hood in the bar? Trying to stand out more?"
"Just in case."
Oren finally took off his hood. "There's a dragon tamer called Charlie who knows me. If he sees me here, that's trouble.
I still have business to take care of. No way am I dealing with those Aurors and Beaters who're like a pack of hyenas."
"Ha… Aren't you his professor? Since when are you scared of your own students?"
Philwin chuckled, teasing him, "Still, I find it hard to believe every time I hear this story.
When the Ministry of Magic was hunting you down, you actually took a job teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts for a whole year—and when they found out, you got away without a scratch. That's impressive!"
"I've always had good luck."
Oren stood up. "Let's go—time for bed. Good brandy, by the way. You should buy two bottles for the road."
"Sure thing."
Philwin shrugged, grabbed the empty bottle, and walked up to the bar, where the old wizard was busy wiping glasses. "Another two bottles of this, please."
"Fire Dragon Brandy?" The old wizard looked up. "Thirty Galleons a bottle."
"That much?" Philwin's hand paused as he went to pay.
"I've been selling Fire Dragon Brandy for fifty years—that's the price. Don't believe me? Ask anyone else. It's the same for everyone."
The old wizard said, "But since you're buying two, I could give you a discount."
"How much?"
"Fifty-nine Galleons and ten Sickles."
Wait, what kind of discount is that—just 99% of the total?
Philwin was speechless, but he still counted out sixty Galleons.
"Two bottles, please."
It's not like he cared about saving those nine Sickles, but the stuff really did taste good—he quite liked it.
...