The Thief

"Of course it looks familiar," Tierra said with a smile. "You drank from it last Christmas."

"Last... Christmas..." Ron repeated slowly. "Ah! I remember now! It was at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters... yeah... it was something from Sirius's house!"

"Ah!" Harry finally realized it too. "Y-Yes, it was Sirius's! How did it end up in Mundungus Fletcher's hands?"

Whoosh—

The moment Harry realized it, a burst of green flames suddenly appeared in the snow before them. A short, thin-haired, disheveled man stepped out of the fire—

It was Mundungus Fletcher, who had just slipped away.

Mundungus Fletcher looked around in confusion. The moment he saw Harry, his face changed drastically. Then he saw Tierra smiling at him, and his face turned deathly pale in an instant—

"I, I, I, I, I, I..." Whether from the biting cold or fear of Tierra, Mundungus Fletcher stammered and trembled.

"Let me guess." Tierra smiled as he approached Mundungus Fletcher, stopping a few yards away. "Because Voldemort has been lying low, the Order of the Phoenix headquarters—Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place—has been sitting mostly empty. And with Sirius's charges and wanted notice revoked, there's usually no one there at all. So you set your sights on the silverware and valuable antiques in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Am I right?"

"No, no!" Mundungus Fletcher hurriedly denied it. "I-It was... it was Sirius who asked me to help him sell them!"

"Are you serious?" Tierra asked. "You should know that all I need is a phone call and a simple spell to verify whether Sirius said that."

"I, I, I, I, I..." Mundungus Fletcher stammered.

"You should know, Mr. Fletcher, that some of the property you stole from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place belongs to me as well," Tierra said flatly.

"W-What?" Mundungus Fletcher went pale.