"Closing time!"
Abforth glanced at the clock on the side wall, set down the cloth in his hand, and stepped out from behind the counter, ready to throw everyone out and close up.
"Come on, Abforth, what time is it?"
The last table of customers clearly had no intention of leaving yet.
"Ten o'clock. That's not early. And if I were you, I wouldn't be hanging around here, Borsival. I thought you'd already left England." Abforth looked at the man raising his glass at him and frowned. "I don't think they'll let you off easily. And don't drag my pub into this."
"The Death Eaters have completely lost control of this place. What do you think those cowards can do now?"
Borsival raised his glass to the other companions lingering in the pub. None of them thought much of the Dark Wizards in England who called themselves Death Eaters.
What a pack of worthless trash. Did they really think changing their title would fool anyone?
Among Dark Wizards, the weak had no rights.
"I really don't understand why you're afraid of them."
The black witch at the table spoke in clumsy English.
Abforth had refused to let them drink in his pub more than once, but none of them took it seriously.
After all, this was the most convenient place to make money.
"Because The Dark Lord is dangerous. Otherwise, why do you think the British wizarding world has become like this? Even England's Ministry of Magic has collapsed and fallen under the control of The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters." Abforth used Charms to make the rag wipe down the tables by itself, then put them away one by one.
"Why don't you hire a waiter?"
Seeing the owner clean up himself, they were somewhat surprised. Business at