News from Dunge

"Long time no see, Severus." Madam Rosmerta set the tray on the table and pulled up a chair to sit down briskly.

Her long chestnut hair cascaded down to her waist, and her wine-red lips curled into a charming smile.

She said to Pandora, "Little sister, as usual, your Butterbeer."

Madam Rosmerta carried a very unique floral scent. In the warm tavern, this fragrance slipped into Snape's nostrils like a cool breeze.

"Try it," Madam Rosmerta said elegantly, pinching the cork between her fingers and twisting her wrist. With a soft pop, she pulled it open and poured some amber-like flowing Mead into two glass cups. "After one drink, I'll have to get back to the bar."

"Thank you, Madam." Snape nodded slightly, raised his glass, and clinked it gently with hers.

The aroma of oak and the sweetness of honey lingered and blended on Snape's tongue. He had never tasted such good Mead before, but he liked it very much.

"That's not fair," a slurred voice chimed in. "I want a drink with you too!"

Mundungus, a filthy black pipe clenched between his teeth, was pounding the table vigorously.

"Shut it, Mundungus!" Madam Rosmerta snapped without turning around. "If you want to be banned from the Three Broomsticks too, keep slapping your dirty hands!"

"Cough, cough." Mundungus took a sharp drag from his pipe, and a cloud of ash caught in his throat, turning his face red as he coughed violently. He quickly pulled his hands back.

He'd already been banned from The Hog's Head Inn last year. With Aberforth's memory, he'd probably have to disguise himself as a Witch to sneak in. If he got banned from the Three Broomsticks too, he'd have nowhere left to go.

Once the coughing subsided, Mundungus stuffed the pipe back into his pocket. The smoke cleared, but the pungent smell of burnt socks lingered stubbornly.

Madam Rosmerta topped up Snape's glass with another half-cup of Mead, then left the bottle on the table, rose, and returned to the bar to continue her work.

"Is it good?" Pandora eyed the Mead in Snape's glass curiously.

"Not bad," Snape said. "Want to try some? I'll get you a new cup."

With that, Snape got up and walked to the bar for a clean glass.

As he passed Mundungus, he overheard him whispering to a hooded wizard beside him.

"Did you hear? Bork's been admitted to St Mungo's." Mundungus's voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth.

"Oh, I knew that when I went to Borgin and Burkes at the start of the month. Borgin said he'd been sent to that special ward on the fifth floor—the one for people whose minds got wrecked by magic..." the hooded wizard replied in a low voice.

"Yeah, yeah, the Spell Damage Department. Bork was always messing with deep Dark Magic. I figured it was only a matter of time before he ended up there." Mundungus grinned, a look of schadenfreude on his face.

"That's a good thing for us, right?" The hooded wizard chuckled twice.

"I'll agree with that. Borgin's no prize, but he's still better than Bork. Bork always lowballed me. In July, I brought in a vial of Acromantula venom, and he claimed the quality wasn't high enough—only gave me twenty Galleons." Mundungus grew angrier as he spoke, his chin trembling.

"Oh, come off it. You think I don't know your tricks? Dare say you didn't mix something into that venom..."

"Excuse me," Snape finally interrupted, as the two were veering off topic, "were you talking about Caractacus Bork?"

"Who else would it be? Oh, it's you, kid." Noticing Snape, Mundungus grumbled with annoyance, a hint of distaste on his face. "What do you want, Rosmerta's little man?"

"Mr. Mundungus," Snape said, forcing himself to endure the pungent stench from Mundungus, "do you know when Caractacus Bork was admitted to St Mungo's?"

"Hahaha, did you hear that?" Mundungus laughed exaggeratedly, speaking loudly to the wizard beside him. "He called me Mr.!"

"So you don't know?"

"Mind your manners, kid." Mundungus drawled. "Since you called me Mr., I'll be generous and tell you.

"Back in September, Bork's mind went bad. I heard Borgin waited at the shop for days, but Bork never showed up for his shift. When he couldn't take it anymore, he went to Bork's house.

"Guess what? Borgin found him sitting on the floor, clutching his wand, babbling nonsense like an idiot, going 'ah-bah, ah-bah' nonstop.

"If Borgin hadn't checked on him, Bork would've starved to death."

"What happened to Bork?" Snape pressed on.

"Dark Magic!" Mundungus slammed the table with a bang. But he immediately shrank his neck, glancing cautiously toward the bar, afraid Madam Rosmerta might notice.

After calming down, he continued, "Borgin said he used Priori Incantatem on the wand to replay the last spells it cast. Apparently, it was some exceptionally evil ancient Dark Magic—extremely risky..."

"It's not that simple," the hooded wizard leaned in mysteriously and whispered, "Borgin tried to look into Bork's memories, but there was nothing in there—just a jumbled mess, like paste."

"What did the Ministry say?" Snape asked again.

"Pfft—" The hooded wizard let out a sneer. "Are you joking? Borgin would never let the Aurors poke around Bork's brain. He probably helped stir Bork's brains up himself."

"Hey, kid," Mundungus waved at Snape, a lecherous grin spreading across his face as he lowered his voice, "I've answered all your questions." He pointed slyly at the empty glass in front of Pandora. "How about giving me that cup?"

It was the glass Madam Rosmerta had just used, still bearing her wine-red lip print.

Pandora was looking over, seemingly puzzled as to why Snape was lingering so long.

"Goodbye." Snape's mouth twitched. Holding the empty glass, he strode quickly back to Pandora.

"It's really good," Pandora said, cradling the Mead Snape had poured for her. She took a sip, and her eyes lit up. "Mm... sweeter than Butterbeer."

"But Butterbeer's fresh malty aroma has its own charm, doesn't it?"

"True. Let's go, wander somewhere else."

"Oh, one moment." Snape drew his wand and muttered softly, "Evanesco!"

The glass and the Butterbeer cup vanished into nothingness, dissolving into the void.

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