"The shop is closing!"
Aberforth glanced at the clock hanging on the side wall, set down the rag in his hand, and stepped out from behind the counter, ready to throw everyone out and close up.
"Oh, come on, Aberforth. 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, Bochival. I thought you'd already left Britain." Aberforth looked at the man raising his glass toward 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 still do?"
Bochival raised his glass toward the other companions lingering in the shop. None of them thought much of those Dark wizards in Britain who called themselves Death Eaters.
What a bunch of 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 same table spoke in clumsy English.
Aberforth had refused to let them drink in the pub more than once, but none of them took it seriously.
After all, this was the most convenient place to make money.
"Because Lord Voldemort is dangerous. Otherwise, why do you think the British magical world ended up like this? Even Britain's Ministry of Magic collapsed and fell under the control of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters." Aberforth used Charms to make the rags wipe down the tables automatically, then gathered them away one by one.
"Why don't you hire someone to serve customers?"
Seeing the owner personally clean up, they were somewhat surprised.