Mercenaries

Tom knew very well that from the moment he stepped into Knockturn Alley, there could be no more mercy.

This is a lawless land; only the strong survive, and only the ruthless live on.

Tom wouldn't let such a good opportunity for practice slip by. He slowly exhaled and stepped forward to search the person.

He found two wands and a dozen Galleon, then rummaged through the house and found dozens more Galleon and hundreds of Sickle, but Knut was too lazy to take them.

They're really poor. These two are doing shady business, and this is all they've managed to accumulate. This is the reality for the bottom rungs of the wizarding world.

"Dominating in Knockturn Alley shouldn't be considered a violation of the Ministry of Magic's lame rules, right?"

The relationship between these two is unknown, but it's highly likely that neither of them are legitimate graduates of Hogwarts.

Only those whose magical abilities surge before the age of eleven and are recorded by Hogwarts are eligible for admission.

What about those whose magical powers surged after the age of eleven? The Wizarding World has all sorts of crash courses in spellcasting; that's where these people end up.

Without a diploma, skills, or connections, one can only struggle at the bottom and resort to crooked means.

He tried both wands; the wizard's wand was actually more suitable for him, while the witch's wand almost caused a backlash of magic when he used it.

The male wizard's weapon is at least functional, but it's far inferior to his own.

His solution was that since his wand was tainted with Trace, he might as well not use it.

If you keep your wand far away when casting spells, the Ministry of Magic won't notice anything. The only problem is that it's not very convenient to use.

Tom expressionlessly put away his wand, carefully cleaned up the traces in the yard, erased all magical marks related to himself, and then simply covered the corpse with Transfiguration.

He plucked a hair from the wizard, put it into Polyjuice Potion, and drank it. After drinking it, Tom grinned and transformed into the wizard, his handsome face scrunched up.

This smell is absolutely disgusting. Tom, disguised as a middle-aged male wizard, walked into the Borgin - Borgin black market.

The Re'em and Dragon Heartstring he needed could only be bought on this black market, and he didn't need to ask too many questions about their origin.

Borgin - Borgin's shop was dark and damp, with shelves filled with all sorts of Dark Magic items, creating an eerie and sinister atmosphere.

There were withered human hands, bloodstained Scabbers cards, lifeless glass eyeballs, and all sorts of human bones.

None of these items can be purchased and taken into Hogwarts.

Borgin saw Tom pause for a moment, then laugh and said, "Michael, where did you make your fortune? Want to come and spend it here?"

Tom withdrew his gaze from examining the goods and looked at the newcomer. "Stop pretending. You know I'm not him, Mr. Burke. We're just a simple customer and seller. Less pointless scheming will save us both a lot of trouble."

After a brief moment of surprise, Borgin resumed his businesslike smile. "Michael, that piece of trash, doesn't have your kind of presence."

"If it weren't for that old witch protecting him, he would have been devoured by the bandits in the Knockturn Alley long ago."

Tom nodded noncommittally. "I need a fresh or well-preserved Dragon Heartstring, and Sphinx's eyeballs and claws."

Borgin's smile froze. "Fresh Dragon Heartstring, guest. Do you really not know how many laws you have to break to get your hands on this?"

"If I could legally buy it, would I still be coming to you?"

Borgin was speechless.

Despite the fact that Snape's office openly displays contraband such as Dragon Heartstring, Ollivander even uses Dragon Heartstring to make wands.

But who are they? Potions Master! Wand Masters! Isn't it normal for disobedient dragons to die and old dragons nearing the end of their lives to be put to good use?

But no matter how they distribute them, they can't be given to ordinary wizards.

"Price is not an issue," Tom said calmly, taking a bag of Galleon from his pocket and gently placing it on the counter. "Take a look at the goods first, and if you're satisfied, we'll do a cash transaction."

Borgin sighed. "I have Sphinx eyeballs and claws in stock. But Dragon Heartstring? Forget fresh, I don't even have one with dried blood."

He then changed the subject, saying, "If I get the information, I can sell it to customers, or buy and store it on their behalf."

"How much?"

"Five hundred Galleon, a pair of eyes and a pair of claws, a complete set."

This price is absolutely too high. A Unicorn Horn costs less than 100 Galleon. The Sphinx is about as rare as a unicorn, so the price of its materials should be roughly the same.

It's at least twice the normal price. There's no way the black market wouldn't be rife with corruption.

After giving away the five hundred, Tom had less than three hundred Galleon left.

How much are you planning to sell the fire dragon's heart for?

Borgin held up three fingers. "Three thousand Galleon."

The economic value of a fire dragon is between 15,000 and 30,000. The dragon's blood, Dragon Hide, and meat are all used to their fullest potential by wizards.

As the most crucial part, Tom could accept this price; the last time he borrowed a dragon's heart from Snape's office, it was about a fifth of Dragon Heartstring.

One whole pill would be enough for Tom until he developed resistance. "The price is reasonable, but I don't have that much money."

Borgin's smile vanished; those words sounded more like those of a robber.

Tom didn't pay attention to Borgin's face-changing skills. Everyone doing business in Knockturn Alley wore the same fake smile; Borgin's smile was just a little more expensive than theirs.

"Mr. Burke's shop doesn't just buy and sell goods; intelligence work and some shady commissions are also within your business scope." Tom's voice was calm.

In a way, we have to thank the seventh-year Prefect, Siswell Borgin. If he hadn't inadvertently revealed a lot of information, Tom wouldn't have been able to make plans in advance.

Borgin's fake smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal.

Tom decided to spend his entire vacation at Borgin - Borgin Store, where being a mercenary would not only earn him money but also give him valuable combat experience—a win-win situation.

The only thing that made him a little awkward was that Voldemort seemed to have worked here before, and he subconsciously looked at the Vanishing Cabinet in the corner.

We have to find a way to get our hands on this thing. How can we allow anyone to use this Vanishing Cabinet to ravage Hogwarts ' ass at any time?

Borgin gave Tom had transformed into Michael, a deep look. "Looks like this guest was referred by an acquaintance."

His intelligence and hiring business are not things that just anyone can know; at the very least, only wizards he approves of and those with a certain level of expertise can access them.

Without some skills or connections, one wouldn't even be able to get a foothold. Borgin became increasingly curious about Tom's background, but rules dictated that he would never ask questions he shouldn't.

Tom smiled and said bluntly, "For the sake of our friendship, pick out a few jobs for me that are short, close by, and well-paid."