The witch hunter leader still held his wand aloft. He watched Cass slide down the wall and curl up on the paving stones. The drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and his clouded gaze showed that he had already fallen into a semi-conscious state. The leader lowered his wand, turned his head, and said something to the witch hunter behind him wearing dragonhide gloves. The man nodded, pulled a flat metal tube from his waist, and unscrewed its sealed cap.
A brief golden, star-shaped spark shot from the tube's opening and exploded some twenty feet above the alley. A visible layer of pale golden energy spread outward through the clouds.
"No danger." After confirming that the signal had been sent, he put away the metal tube, crouched to examine Cass's condition, and used detection magic to check his breathing and magical power. Then he stood and nodded toward the leader. "The kid's passed out. For real this time."
The leader tucked his wand back into the compartment at his belt, crossed his arms over his chest, and shifted his gaze from Cass's curled-up form to the route leading into the alley.
"Remember this: twenty thousand Galleons is only the starting price. Once the Ministry of Magic and those pure-blood representatives arrive and confirm his identifying traits, we can negotiate on the spot." He paused, his smile as radiant as that of a gambler who had hit the jackpot. "Heh heh heh... a living Parselmouth, a descendant of a pure-blood family, and expelled for killing multiple people. Put those three together, and we can ask for at least forty thousand."
The witch hunters around him exchanged glances and relaxed. Some nudged one another and quietly discussed how the Galleons should be divided. That ease visibly changed the atmosphere in