"Who the hell is this guy?" Victor muttered, crouching beside the unconscious wizard and pulling back the hood from his face.
He looked somewhere in his forties, perhaps older, though it was difficult to tell. Deep lines marked his face, dark discolorations spread across his skin, and several old scars ran along his jaw and neck.
More importantly, he carried the unhealthy look Victor had seen before among practitioners of Dark Magic who lacked the skill to control what they were using.
Victor frowned slightly. Years spent handling unstable curses, dangerous rituals, and corrupted magic often left traces behind.
Competent Dark wizards usually knew how to avoid obvious damage. The incompetent ones tended to wear their mistakes on their faces.
Which meant this idiot was probably not a serious threat.
"What I'm struggling to understand," Victor said, studying him, "is why you thought attacking me was a good idea."
The entire attempt had been amateurish. Anyone with common sense would have relied on poison, an ambush, or a curse cast from a safe distance.
This fool had followed him through half of Diagon Alley while making himself obvious enough to be noticed repeatedly.
Victor searched through the man's robes. Several potion vials emerged first, followed by a knife and a handful of strange magical ingredients.
Eventually he found what he was looking for — the wizard's wand. Without hesitation, he snapped it cleanly in half and tossed the pieces into a nearby pile of rubbish.
Leaving an armed Dark wizard unattended was a mistake he had no intention of making.
He rose to his feet and drew his own wand. The sensible option would have been turning the man over to the Aurors.
Victor wanted answers, and answers tended to arrive much faster when people were properly motivated.
He lowered his wand.
"Crucio."
The wizard's body jerked violently against the cobblestones as a scream echoed through the alley. His eyes flew open in blind panic. Victor ended the spell almost immediately.
The man collapsed, gasping for breath, and the moment his eyes focused on Victor, his expression twisted with hatred.
"You filthy traitor."
Victor blinked. "Traitor?" he repeated. "Who exactly did I betray?"
The wizard spat onto the ground. "You were born into a noble pure-blood family, yet instead of helping the Dark Lord return, you've been working against him at every opportunity. The Malfoys should be ashamed of you."
Victor stared at him. Then he stared a little longer.
Right. So he's one of Voldemort's followers.
The next thought was considerably more concerning.
How does he know that?
As far as most of the wizarding world knew, he was simply the son of Lucius Malfoy.
Even his parents had no idea how much he knew or what he intended to do. Yet this man seemed completely convinced, which meant somebody had noticed something.
Victor's expression cooled.
Without warning, he drove his foot into the man's face. The wizard cried out as his head snapped sideways.
"How do you know that?" The question was no longer casual.
The wizard laughed bitterly despite the blood running from his nose. "Hmph. I have nothing to say to a traitor."
Victor kicked him again. The laughter stopped. The wizard curled on the ground, clutching his side while trying to breathe.
Victor pointed his wand at him, his voice calm.
"Imperio."
The resistance vanished from the wizard's face as his expression became blank and distant. Victor crouched until they were eye level.
"That's better. Now let's start again. Who told you I was working against Voldemort?"
"Pettigrew. He said the Dark Lord hated you. He said you were interfering with plans for his return. He wanted you removed, so Pettigrew told me to kill you."
Victor closed his eyes for a moment.
Of course it was Pettigrew. The rat had escaped Ministry custody barely a month ago and was already causing problems.
For a brief moment, Victor had wondered whether some hidden Death Eater network had discovered something important about him.
Instead it turned out to be Peter Pettigrew sending another disposable follower after him — exactly the sort of thing he would do.
The man never confronted danger himself if he could convince somebody else to do it for him.
"Oh, that rat bastard," Victor muttered.
He had expected something more complicated. Instead he had found a mediocre Dark wizard chasing promises about Voldemort's return.
"How many Muggles have you killed?"
"Twenty-nine."
Victor's expression went cold. "Why?"
The wizard looked genuinely confused. "What's wrong with killing a few useless Muggles? They aren't anything special."
There was no guilt in his voice. No hesitation. No regret. The answer was delivered with complete sincerity.
The man wasn't trying to justify himself — he genuinely believed what he was saying. Years of hatred, Dark Magic, and blood-purity nonsense had rotted away whatever conscience he once possessed.
Victor slowly nodded. He rose to his feet, dusted off his robes, and raised his wand.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light illuminated the alley. The wizard's body collapsed onto the cobblestones without another sound.
Silence returned.
Victor turned toward the alley entrance. As far as he was concerned, the dead wizard had never been the real problem.
Pettigrew had sent this man out of hatred and a desire for revenge — which meant Voldemort himself wasn't involved. That, at least, was one thing in his favour.
*****
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