A wide street stretched out before them, lined not with shops but with ramshackle stalls hastily set up along the sides.
Melvin inhaled the slightly damp air, tilting his head to gaze at the sky. The stars and moon shone brightly, but the high walls flanking the street blocked most of the view. Save for the flickering kerosene lamps that appeared one by one, there were few landmarks to pinpoint their exact location.
It was a warm midsummer night in late July, and Budapest, nestled along the Danube, wasn't oppressively hot. Judging by the air and temperature, they were likely still near the river.
According to the information provided by a few wizards, this was the entrance to the market. A straight walk to the end of the street would lead to the exit—a simple, no-nonsense commercial strip dedicated to shopping.
Melvin had initially come along to keep Hagrid company, but now a spark of curiosity flickered within him, urging him to explore.
Summer was peak season in Romania, and Budapest was no exception. Even at night, the market buzzed with travelers and merchants. The stallholders were remarkably well-mannered, their goods neatly arranged, the surrounding area spotless—cleaner, even, than many Muggle streets.
Perhaps because it was nighttime, their approach to attracting customers was restrained.
Most vendors wore hooded cloaks or veils to obscure their faces, refraining from calling out to passersby. When someone paused at their stall, they'd first make eye contact, then offer a nod and a smile. Only if the customer responded would they launch into a pitch.
"Fresh dragon dung, just delivered—still warm!"
"Scales from a Ukrainian Ironbelly, naturally shed—two for five Galleons!"
"A manuscript from the legendary wizard Voynich—care to take a look?"
"Hermes' golden goblet—brews wine that'll make you feel young again."
"…"
Melvin strolled along, listening with rapt attention. The goods were bizarre, the trading customs endlessly varied—truly an eye-opening experience.
Freshly harvested dragon dung, Ironbelly scales… Romania had just gone into lockdown, so how these items were smuggled out was anyone's guess. Or perhaps they were counterfeit, made from something else entirely.
The legendary wizard's manuscript? Free to look at, but you had to share any parts you could decipher with the vendor.
As for Hermes' golden goblet, Melvin wasn't mistaken—it was filled with Polyjuice Potion, which could transform you into someone else's likeness. In a certain sense, that was a return to youth.
The most outrageous item was a stone tablet, supposedly dug up from who-knows-where, claimed to be an authentic Emerald Tablet.
The vendor, noticing Melvin's youthful appearance, struck up a conversation and realized he knew a bit about alchemy—but not too much. Beaming, the vendor enthusiastically pitched the tablet, claiming it held the ultimate secrets of alchemy: the Philosopher's Stone, the Prima Materia, the Salt of Wisdom—all could be crafted for the low price of three thousand Galleons.
Melvin was tempted but firmly declined.
If the ultimate secrets of alchemy truly existed, Nicolas Flamel would've scoured the world for centuries and claimed them long ago. They wouldn't be languishing at a small stall like this, waiting for some gullible buyer to fork over three thousand Galleons.
There were also all sorts of dragon-based potion ingredients, their authenticity questionable. The vendors swore they were fresh, crafted by renowned potion masters—one even name-dropped Snape.
Rare magical creature eggs were on offer too: Ashwinder, Thunderbird, Occamy, even a phoenix egg. Curiously, no dragon eggs.
If any of these items were genuine, the entire street would've been shut down by now, and the vendors would be looking at a decade in Azkaban.
There were a few guaranteed-authentic items, though. Some vendors were even willing to swear Unbreakable Vows to seal the deal, but those goods came with steep prices, clearly marked. Some only accepted bartering.
"Invisibility Cloak woven from Demiguise hair: trade for a translation of a Sumerian cuneiform text."
"Original fire spell: trade for another fire spell."
"…"
Hagrid trailed quietly behind the two professors, marveling at the oddities. He was surprised to realize some of the things in his own hut were worth a fair bit, but the thought of selling them never crossed his mind. What use did he have for Galleons, anyway?
As they made their way through most of the market, it wasn't quite what Melvin had expected, and he began to relax. His eye caught a well-preserved loose-leaf notebook.
It looked like an ordinary book, bound with a brass clasp, each page adorned with a paper bookmark. It wasn't particularly ornate but radiated an alchemical aura. This wasn't just a notebook—it doubled as a wizarding address book. Give a bookmark to another wizard, draw their portrait on the corresponding page, and you could communicate through the bookmark and page.
Professor Kettleburn stood quietly nearby as Melvin stepped forward to inquire about the price.
"Sir, may I take a look?"
"Of course, young sir!" the vendor said warmly. "This is a communication book from who-knows-which family. Brand new, special deal—just six thousand."
"Silver Sickles?"
"Ha, you're a funny one, sir. Gold Galleons, of course."
"Double-sided mirrors are clearer and more convenient, and even those aren't this expensive."
"You can't compare them like that, sir. A double-sided mirror only connects you to one person. This book lets you talk to a whole group."
"Mirrors have other advantages, though."
Melvin haggled patiently. He did have six thousand Galleons in his pocket, but at a market like this, not bargaining felt like missing out on the full experience.
Just as they were about to enter the next round of negotiations, a clear, crisp female voice cut in: "Six thousand Galleons. I'll take it."
"?"
Melvin turned, surprised. Beside him stood a witch draped in a voluminous cloak, her face obscured by a veiled wizard hat. Her deep emerald eyes glinted faintly, her features unclear, but her voice sounded young.
Those eyes felt familiar to Melvin.
The witch met his gaze, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes—perhaps she felt a bit guilty for cutting in. After a brief pause, she said, "Sorry, I really need this book. I can compensate you."
"No need. Business is business."
Melvin shook his head. He remembered those eyes now—the Auror from the security check in Romania earlier that day, the one who'd inspected their wands and identities.
Her presence here, at this hour, likely meant she was investigating the dragon egg theft.
A lone witch probably didn't have six thousand Galleons to spare for a communication book. This was likely on the Ministry's dime.
Best not to compete with the local authorities in unfamiliar territory.
"Thank you."
Melvin gave her a slight nod, brushing off the minor incident, and continued down the street with Hagrid and the others.
…
Eleven o'clock at night.
Fresh from a bath, Melvin felt refreshed.
Dressed casually in pajamas, he sat by the window with a glass of juice, sipping slowly.
The evening's market stroll had been fruitful. His suitcase now held a few dark magic items: a notebook that etched words onto the writer's skin, a cursed rune that induced nightmares with a glance, a mirror made from a Boggart that reflected one's fears—each with a distinct, exotic flair.
Old Aberforth's hotel still hadn't fixed its soundproofing issues.
Right on cue, synchronized snoring erupted from the next room, rising and falling in harmony. Apparently, professors of magical creatures shared similar habits. Melvin chuckled, packed his things into his suitcase, and prepared for bed.
Crack!
Amid the snoring, a sharp sound pierced the night—a distinct tremor in the air, coming from the courtyard. It stood out starkly in the quiet.
That was the sound of someone Apparating.
With the dragon egg theft in Romania earlier that day and a mysterious wizard appearing at this hour, it was hard not to make connections. Melvin paused, then cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and decided to investigate.
He eased the wooden door of his room open, then quietly closed it. His form blended seamlessly into the night, shadowless, as he moved through the corridor to the balcony.
Two elderly figures stood by the courtyard wall, whispering. It was Aberforth, the hotel owner, and the old witch from the previous night. They were discussing something, their voices muffled by a Muffliato-like spell.
"…"
Their gestures suggested an argument. Eventually, Aberforth relented, stepping aside with a resigned look to let the old witch lead the way.
They seemed to be heading somewhere.
Melvin watched their retreating figures, hesitated briefly, then decided to follow at a distance.