Wayne swaggered into the room.
The place was pitch black, with only occasional flashes of green light, utterly silent.
Suddenly, the torches on the walls flared to life, and an old man with silver hair stormed in through the back door, looking thoroughly displeased.
"Which fool dares to cause trouble now? I'll feed you to the dragons in Romania!"
Wayne raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you Cross Rosier?"
The old man was taken aback upon seeing Wayne. "You're that boy who won the Order of Merlin?"
"That's me," Wayne nodded. "Newt said you've got some good stuff here and told me to come take a look."
At the mention of Newt, the old man frowned, his expression turning disdainful. "That Scamander fellow—did he send you here to die?"
"Enough chatter," Wayne said, glancing around. "I know the rules. When do we start?"
The old man sneered. "Since you're so eager, I'll oblige. Don't think that the Order of Merlin gives you free rein. Follow me."
With that, he turned and walked back, hands clasped behind him. Wayne followed, passing through the back door into an expansive courtyard with a small pond.
"Draw your wand, boy."
Cross pulled out his wand, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his face as he stared at Wayne.
"Don't need it for you," Wayne said, waving his hand as a powerful torrent of water spiralled out from the pond.
Cross was stunned for only a moment before his combat instincts kicked in. With a flick of his wand, he cast a Shield Charm.
A non-verbal Shield Charm—just that alone put him above many Aurors. Yet the next second, his shield was shattered effortlessly, the terrifying impact slamming him against the wall.
Wayne pulled his left hand back, and Cross's wand spun through the air into his grasp.
"That's not—" Cross gaped at him.
"Not what? Not fair?"
"You—"
"You what?"
"I—"
"I won."
The old man nearly spat blood in fury. "Damn it, let me finish a sentence!"
"No need. I won, so by the rules, you have to sell me the goods," Wayne said, unmoved.
"I wasn't going back on my word!" Cross stomped in frustration. "I wanted to ask how your spell was so powerful—did you modify it?"
"Will you sell it to me?"
Generally, only the standard process—incantation, wand movement, then casting—could maximise a spell's power.
Next came non-verbal spells and instant casts.
While faster, these came with reduced potency.
Lastly, there was wandless magic.
Most couldn't even manage it, let alone maintain its strength. But what had Wayne just done?
Non-verbal and wandless, yet with enough force to instantly obliterate a Shield Charm.
Cross's gaze burned with intensity as he stared at Wayne.
"No sale, I'm not short on money," Wayne said flatly. He had indeed improved the spell, but its terrifying power was mainly due to his innate talent Waterwalking.
When it came to water-related magic, it hardly mattered whether he held a wand or not.
Hearing Wayne's refusal, Cross was visibly disappointed, propping himself up with a groan as he rose to his feet.
"Fine, what do you want to buy?"
Cross Rosier was an interesting man. Though his business thrived in the shadows, he wasn't blinded by greed—he had his own rules.
He didn't care who sold to him, but if you wanted to buy from him, you had to be able to defeat him in a duel.
Otherwise, even if you were from some pure-blood dynasty, he'd refuse without hesitation.
When Wayne first heard this rule, he was utterly baffled. If he were a Dark Wizard—
'If I could beat you, why would I bother paying?'
But Newt had offered an explanation.
The old man wasn't just anyone—he was the head of the Rosier family in France, a figure of immense seniority and connections.
Though he'd never joined the ranks of the Alliance—Grindelwald's organisation—he was on good terms with Grindelwald and had even provided substantial funding. His niece, Vinda Rosier, hailed as the Black Rose of France, was one of Grindelwald's most trusted lieutenants.
Even after the purge, not all of the Acolytes could be executed or imprisoned. Many were eventually released, and most remained friendly with Rosier.
That was why he could run his black-market business so brazenly—and why it continued to grow.
Even the Ministry of Magic turned a blind eye.
As for envious Dark Wizards? None dared cross him.
"What rare magical creatures do you have?" Wayne asked. He didn't have a specific target in mind.
"That's a broad category," Cross said, shaking his head. "You'll have to be more precise if you want me to source anything."
Wayne thought for a moment before listing a few creatures he was after.
"Occamy, Diricawl, Demiguise, Runespoor. Preferably a breeding pair of each."
Cross gave him an odd look. "No wonder you were introduced by Scamander."
"Just tell me if you can get them."
"Of course! Who do you take me for?" Cross huffed indignantly. "Question my skills if you must, but never doubt my connections."
Wayne: "…"
"The others are manageable," Cross said with a frown. "But the Occamy might be tricky. The Ministry keeps a tight leash on those."
Occamies were something of a French speciality, often employed by the Ministry to guard high-security areas. When attacked with magic, they multiplied, making them a nightmare for wizards.
"How long?" Wayne pressed.
"At least a fortnight."
"Too long. I might not stay in France that long," Wayne said, shaking his head.
"I can only do my best," Cross shrugged. "But—if you're willing to teach me that spell from earlier, I'll get you one within a week."
Wayne said nothing, merely smirking at the old man.
"Fine, other terms then!" Cross grew impatient. "How about a Veela? I can arrange one. The experience... tsk tsk."
He leered suggestively.
"Old man," Wayne said flatly. "I'm twelve."
"You could raise her first. Veela live much longer than you, after all."
"Forget it. Unless you can offer something that interests me, don't even think about it."
"What are you interested in?"
This time it was Wayne's turn to shrug. "Sorry, what interests me has already been mentioned."
Cross was dumbfounded.
If only he hadn't boasted so casually earlier!
"How much in total? I'll give you the deposit first."
"Give me three hundred. The total will be a thousand, and the broker's fee is separate."
With no other choice, Cross reluctantly agreed.
Wayne nodded, pulled out the Niffler from his pocket, and then, amidst Jerry's screams, retrieved another three hundred Galleons from his belly.
This operation made Cross's eyelids twitch uncontrollably once more.
The two agreed that Wayne would return in seven days to collect the goods. Watching the young man leave, Cross muttered to himself, "Another little monster has emerged—even Grindelwald back in the day wasn't this outrageous."
"But this doesn't resemble Dumbledore or Grindelwald. How should we place our bets this time?"
Last time, they had staked heavily on Grindelwald, only to fall short at the final hurdle, leaving the Rosier family severely depleted.
Now, another moment of choice had arrived.
That spectre had reappeared at Hogwarts.
Though the resurrection plan had failed, he was still alive.
This time, if they chose wrongly again, the Rosier family would truly face utter ruin.
...
Stepping out of the shop, Wayne didn't leave the black market. Instead, he entered a few more establishments selectively.
Though most of the goods here were shady, even Dark Artefacts, it could still be treated as a treasure hunt.
For instance, the pendant he had just purchased came with a Confundus Charm effect, capable of shielding him from Muggle eyes.
That was relatively normal. Earlier, in one shop, they were even selling human bones and Inferi—clearly fresh from grave-robbing.
Wayne observed the shopkeeper's darkened brow and surmised the tomb's owner must have laid some curse.
After circling around, someone's greed finally got the better of them, setting their sights on Wayne. The inevitable outcome was a silent disappearance.
A few ragged women beckoned to Wayne, hoping he'd patronise their business, but the resolute young man firmly declined.
As dusk fell, Wayne prepared to return to the hotel for some rest before visiting Nicolas Flamel the next day.
Just as he neared the wall he had entered through, five hooded figures emerged from it.
One of them carried a Boomslang skin bag containing something alive, writhing incessantly.
'Not human.'
Wayne concluded silently.
These men reeked of blood, their skin deathly pale. Under Dynamic Perception, their heartbeats were several times slower than a normal person's.
Initially inclined to mind his own business, Wayne's interest was piqued.
Using a shop's shelves as cover, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and followed them.
"Boss, we're about to strike it rich this time. How much d'you reckon we'll get?"
"At least two thousand Galleons," rasped the one referred to as the boss, the one carrying the Boomslang skin bag.
"If we find a generous buyer, it might even multiply several times over."
"Hahaha, we're rich! Even two thousand Galleons would let us live it up for a good while."
"This little girl's got an older sister. If we can nab her too—"
The group chuckled darkly. "If we really catch her, it'll start at ten thousand Galleons, easy!"
The struggling bag finally stilled, as if exhausted.
They slipped into a secluded house.
Peering through the window, Wayne caught sight of the creature being released from the sack—a young girl, no older than six or seven, with shimmering silver hair and an ethereal, delicate appearance, like a porcelain doll.
But now, the doll's face was streaked with tears, her wide eyes filled with terror as they locked onto the five hooded figures surrounding her.
One by one, the men slowly removed their hoods, revealing pale skin and sharp, almost predatory fangs.
"I want to taste her blood..." one of them hissed, his lips curling with hunger as his eyes glinted with greed.
"Nonsense," the leader growled, his tone laced with irritation. "This is our money maker. If you ruin her, how can we sell her at a decent price?"
"I know, I know," the other man replied with a grin, his voice suddenly clearer. "I was just... thinking out loud. No need to worry, brother."
With enough Galleons, what kind of blood couldn't be bought? Why spoil the opportunity with a mere impulse?
Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open with a deafening crash, knocking two of the Vampires off their feet.
Wayne stepped in, unfazed, clearing his throat.
"Let the girl go. I'll take care of her."
The leader sneered, sizing him up. "Kid, you're asking for death."
Wayne could tell they'd realised their cover was blown, but seeing him alone, the leader's confidence swelled again. Five against one—he was just a child, after all.
The odds were in their favour.
The remaining three Vampires bared their fangs, their eyes glowing an eerie green. In a flash, they lunged at Wayne.
Their identities were clear now. Vampires—Dark creatures as feared as Werewolves.
However, unlike Werewolves, Vampires didn't undergo a first-embrace transformation as legend suggested. They were born into this cursed race.
Without recognition from wizards, they were unable to blend into Muggle society. They couldn't wield wands or cast magic, but they made up for it with incredible speed and deadly claws.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Wayne didn't hesitate. From his pocket, he drew a Desert Eagle with fluid precision.
The deafening shots echoed through the room, and the three Vampires crumpled to the floor. Their unnatural vitality kept them alive, but not for long. Wayne fired a few more rounds, each shot striking with clinical accuracy, until their bodies lay motionless, their fangs no longer a threat.
The two Vampires, who had been knocked over by the door, scrambled to their feet, shock and rage flooding their expressions.
"You're a wizard... and you're using a gun?" one of them spat, astonished and furious.
Wayne didn't even spare them a glance, uninterested in indulging their petty questions. He spun the gun in his hand, aimed, and fired.
The two Vampires, trying to escape, barely had time to move before the bullet met its mark.
Within seconds, Wayne had emptied the magazine, each shot sending the monsters back to whatever hell they'd crawled from.
The little girl, wide-eyed and frozen in place, stared at the chaos, momentarily forgetting her tears.
Wayne knelt beside her, his fingers pressing gently on her forehead. A soft hum of magic rippled through the air, and the dust-streaked fabric of her dress was instantly restored, pristine once more.
Gazing at the silent girl, Wayne said gently, "Don't be afraid. The bad people are gone. They won't hurt you anymore."
"Waaah!"
The girl burst into tears, babbling in French.
"Sister! Mama, where are you? Gabrielle's so scared!"
"Gabrielle?" Wayne pondered for a moment before asking in French, "Are you Gabrielle Delacour?"
The crying stopped abruptly as Gabrielle looked at Wayne with wide, tear-filled eyes, confusion evident in her gaze.
Wayne explained, "I've met Madame Maxime. She mentioned having a student named Fleur Delacour with a younger sister called Gabrielle Delacour."
Finding common ground with someone familiar, Gabrielle finally stopped crying and seemed convinced Wayne wasn't a threat.
Yet she clung tightly to the young man, burying her face deeply against him.
Helpless, Wayne could only carry the little girl towards the main street.
Throughout the journey, he tried to soothe her. By the time they arrived, he'd finally coaxed her into speaking.
It turned out Gabrielle had been shopping with her sister and mother when, while they were trying on clothes in a boutique, the Vampire from earlier had snatched her away.
After hearing this, Wayne wasn't sure how to respond.
How careless could they be, leaving such a young child unattended?
When they reached the mentioned boutique, they found the family long gone. The wizarding world, unlike the Muggle one, didn't have an abundance of police officers.
Wayne decided to first take Gabrielle for some comforting treats before delivering her to the Ministry of Magic.
...
Sitting in the pâtisserie, indulging in sweets that lifted the spirits, the little girl soon forgot her earlier fright and became lively again.
"Thank you, big brother! What kind of wand was that? It's much cooler than my sister's!" Gabrielle blinked her large eyes gratefully before asking curiously.
"That's a Muggle wand. I'm still underage, so I can't use magic outside school. I carry it for self-defence," Wayne explained with a smile, patting her head.
The gun had been given to him by Uncle Humphrey for protection, and killing those Vampires would undoubtedly draw Ministry inquiries.
To avoid complications, Wayne solved this problem the scientific way.
"Then I don't want to learn magic anymore! I want a Muggle wand too!" the little girl cheered, mimicking Wayne's earlier 'pew pew' gestures.
Watching her adorable antics, Wayne had a sudden thought.
A half-Veela... did that still count as a Veela? And did that qualify as a magical creature?
Would his Magical Creature Affinity work on Gabrielle?
Driven by curiosity, Wayne quietly activated his talent.
The playing child suddenly found herself feeling increasingly drawn to Wayne, as though he were family.
Before he knew it, she'd climbed onto a chair and planted a soft kiss on his cheek.