Knockturn Alley
Finn's room was small. It was wooden, made with a sort of dark wood which made the cramped space feel even smaller. It smelt damp. Finn was pretty sure the only thing keeping the old building in one piece was a brand of ancient magic. It was an old place, even if it wasn't a nice one.
It had a window about the size of Finn's head. The window itself was blurry, and no amount of wiping had allowed him to see through it; like it had been cursed to leave a permanent layer of grime. Finn thought that was a waste of a curse, if that were true. During the day it let in just enough light for Finn to see around his room, and during the night light would continue to shine through the window from the other buildings around.
His neighbours preferred the night.
Finn lay in his cot. The mattress was just under the width of his arm, and the springs dug into his back a little, but it was still an improvement to when his bed hadn't had a mattress at all. Mertrude, the owner of the Haunted Hag Pub, had given it to him for his tenth birthday.
"For working so hard." She'd told him in her thick Knockturn accent. Her mouth split into a grin, and her golden tooth shined out at him. He would have been upset with her, for buying fancy things like golden teeth, but she only had five. He felt like she needed the extra.
His blanket was scratchy, but he liked it. A woollen green, and thick for the winter. It hadn't been snowing, but Finn was sure it was going to. Mertrude had cast a few warming charms into his room, but the building didn't take kindly to any sort of light charm cast within it. It was enough, though, to stop Finn's remaining toes from freezing off.
There was noise from outside his window, and noise coming from the pub. Night was always the busiest time in Knockturn Alley; the shouts and the screams grew louder, and often times Finn had found himself being lulled to sleep by them. But tonight he just stared up at the ceiling. The wooden floorboards creaked from something walking around upstairs. It might have been a werewolf, there'd been a stark increase in those sorts of clients as of late. It didn't worry Finn too much, since Mertrude had cut off a couple of animagi heads and stuck a few of them outside his door. She'd assured him that it scared the beasts off, and Finn had yet to be bitten, so he considered that proof enough. He still barricaded his door during the full moon.
He shivered through the warming charm, making sure to tuck all of his limbs into the blanket. He was ten, now, and his feet and hands would stick out of the end if he didn't curl into a ball. A loud scream from upstairs jerked him out of his sleepy stupor, and Finn grunted and rolled over. It was a woman, and from her screams and the blood dripping from the ceiling above Finn figured it would be a long night.
Finn reluctantly got out of bed, groaning and shivering as his feet touched the cold floor. He'd worn socks, but the chill still managed to find it's way through. He opened the stiff door of his bedroom, and it groaned as he did so. His room opened out onto a hallway. The guests rooms were upstairs, and Mertrude's room to the left of his. The door across was the kitchen, and Finn figured that would be the best place to find something to put the blood in.
It wasn't much of a kitchen. There was a black stove in one corner, and a couple of counters, leading out to the rest of the pub. The place was reasonably packed, as it usually was, and no one seemed to notice the boy walking into the kitchen in his pyjamas. Not that The Haunted Hag was the sort of place that asked questions anyway. The oven wasn't burning, and Finn wasn't surprised. Mertrude didn't usually bother unless someone actually ordered a meal, and that was pretty rare. It was mostly for the two of them, really, and fire supplies had become harder to find after the recent bout of arson. He would have appreciated the warmth, though.
He reached for a pan in a pile next to the door. This one was as black as the stove, though more from burnt food and overuse than on purpose. Finn was a little worried that might contaminate the blood, but he took it all the same. Mertrude should just be glad he remembered to collect it at all.
He shuffled back into his room and put the pan above the patch of blood on the floor. He had to move the bowl around a few times, as whoever was above him clearly wasn't content on doing whatever they were doing in one place. Once a few drops had drip, drip, dripped into the bowl, Finn stuck his finger in. Sucking his finger, the familiar taste of nickel bloomed in his mouth. Not very helpful, he thought to himself, noticing a hint of something else. That was encouraging; muggle blood didn't go for all that much, considering how often they liked to breed. Whoever it was had magical heritage, but it wasn't distinct. Likely a dark creature as a grandparent; it tasted a little like harpy. Probably their grandmother, then. Finn just felt sorry for the poor man that had been pulled into creating that sort of child.
Rare enough, though. It would go for a good price. Maybe the poor-man's version of harpy blood, but pickers couldn't be choosers, and the ministry had been cracking down on anything dark since the end of the war. Not that much could be done about his town. Finn remembered being delighted when one of the ministry members tried to shut down the antique shop down the road. He didn't have a head when he arrived, the vampire that owned the shop had insisted, and all his neighbours had gave statements of a similar nature. Eldron had even let him see the head afterwards. It's mouth was open in surprise and his eyes bugged out. Finn had put his finger inside it and giggled. He didn't giggle anymore, because he was a man now, but it was a fond memory nonetheless.
He sighed as the blood began to drip more slowly, and pulled the pan away from his ceiling. They hadn't bled all that much, whoever it was, and another sticky green substance was beginning to leak which Finn was pretty sure he should stay away from. He poured the mixture into a bottle and turned the cap, putting it lazily underneath his bed. It looked kind of weird, like it was some sort of thick red potion. Maybe he should claim it is; potions were always worth more than ingredients. Finn gave a large yawn, and realised he should probably head off to bed. Whatever the green stuff was, he could clean it up tomorrow.
"Wake up you lazy little brat!" He heard, and Finn jumped up in his bed. "It's five in the bloody afternoon and I've got to ope- what the bloody hell is coming from the ceiling?" She yelled, her four-pupil eyes widening in shock. Finn looked up, and saw that the goop had doubled in size since last night. "Well, you're cleaning that up and cleaning out front if you want any breakfast." Finn nodded, his stomach growling. Mertrude's words were usually empty whenever she threatened skipping meals, but Finn would rather not risk it.
Jumping out of bed he rushed past Mertrude into the kitchen. She yelled a little again, and Finn gave himself a moment to allow the warmth of the fire to overwhelm him. Before Mertrude could tell what he was doing, he picked up a dirty cloth from the sink and ran back past her. He wasn't really sure a dirty rag would be able to do all that much, but there weren't a lot of other cleaning supplies around.
He stood on his bed to get the stuff on the ceiling. It fell to the floor with a splat, and Finn laughed at the weird noise. Curiously, he reached his finger forward to try some. Mertrude had said the stuff was the equivalent of ghost shit, but it smelt alright. Sticking it in his mouth he decided it didn't taste anything like shit. It tasted worse; like rotting fresh and howling souls. It was pretty horrid, and Finn decided that was the last time. He wasn't going to eat anymore.
He ate a little bit more, but he didn't like it.
He managed to get rid of the worst of the gunk. It stung his fingers a little, and they'd gone kind of red, but the only thing left was a wet stain and a couple of green blobs here and there. Happy enough, Finn went into the kitchen to start cleaning up the pub.
Mertrude's six arms were making dinner. One stirring a pot of porridge, another boiling a pot of tea, and another two washing up dirty glasses from last night. She was a hunched old woman, wrinkly and straight, straw-like grey hair, but that never got in the way of her doing anything.
"Grab me the rest of the glasses," she told him. He went into the pub and did so, searching to see if anything interesting had been left behind. He used his wand to levitate a couple of the chairs and tables out of the way, but he didn't trust the old thing with glass. His magic was still pretty unstable, anyway.
He gave Mertrude all the pint glasses he could find. He'd found a couple of other things too. There's been a necklace under one the tables, and an interesting sparkly stain in one of the booths.
"Pixie dust, maybe." Mertrude told him. "Either that or muggle glitter. Merlin knows they bring the weirdest types round here." Finn scraped what he could into another bottle, and handed the necklace to Mertrude. She cast a spell on it, and it let out a puff of smoke like it had been holding it's breath.
"Tracking charm," she told him, "probably valuable then. Give it to Eldron, he'll give us a decent price." Finn nodded, because he liked seeing the old vampire. He'd travelled the world in his youth, and sometimes he'd tell Finn the most interesting stories. "Right, eat up. I want you back here before opening hours." She placed a bowl of porridge in front of him, and Finn eagerly dug in.
It was cold outside, and Finn noticed the frost had bit between the gaps of the cobblestone. Not that that deterred anyone in Knockturn Alley from conducting their business; some specimens were better frozen, after all.
The streets were narrow, and Finn wove his way through the tight alleyways with ease. A woman offered him a hand, but Finn had to tell her he had no interest in one. Mertrude had a couple hanging up at home already. When another man offered him a heart he was more tempted, but it turned out the creature had only been a muggle. There were some things that a muggle heart could do, but certainly not for thirty galleons.
He reached Eldron's shop a few minutes later, and Finn realised he had a hole in his shoe when he stepped in a particularly cold puddle outside it. His socks were wet, and he tried to spell them a little drier, but the illegal wand struggled with light charms almost as much as the pub did. He really didn't want to lose any more toes.
"Want a new pair of socks, kid? On the house." A warm voice spoke to him, deep and heavily accented. Finn laughed and rolled his eyes, looking up at the man. He was large, and took up the whole doorway, his face directly opposed the gentleness of his voice. His eyebrows were sharp, and his fangs sharper, but Finn had seen enough monsters to not be shocked by sharp teeth. His skin was dark, for a vampire, but had a light sheen to it that made it obvious there wasn't any blood there. Plus, he wasn't breathing. That was always a dead giveaway. Or an undead giveaway, Finn chuckled to himself.
"I need a new pair of shoes," Finn told him when Eldron stepped aside to let him through. His shop was crowded, like all of Knockturn Alley, and filled to the brim with bits and bobs. There was furniture and jewellery and some clothes scattered about the store. All cursed, in one way or another, but Finn supposed he wouldn't be selling them here if they weren't cursed. "Though I'll politely decline." He'd lost his toe trusting Eldron with something that was 'on the house'. He still felt it, sometimes, when he wiggled his feet. But his little toe was well and truly gone. He had managed to wiggle the toe out of the teeth they were caught in, though, and sold it for twenty galleons. He supposed it hadn't been a total loss.
Eldron let out a warm chuckle at that, the sort that a man who'd tricked a child into losing his toe probably shouldn't. But then, Finn supposed, he was probably also the sort of man that had killed children. Maybe even wizard children, and that gave Finn the shivers.
"So, what do you have for me today, kid?" Finn felt around in his pocket, and put the necklace on the table. It was blue, with a blood diamond in the centre, but the real price lay in the curse that was on it. Finn figured it wouldn't be too much, considering he could touch it without screaming, but that didn't mean it couldn't hide something more powerful. Eldron put on a little magnifying glass thing, attaching it to his eye, and examined it closely. Finn also thought, if it was worth a lot, he could probably skim a little off the top and buy some sweets.
And a new pair of shoes.
"Strangling curse," Finn's stomach dropped. Almost half of all cursed necklaces had strangling curses on them, "a decent one though. Impossible to take off. I'll give you," he paused, "9 sickles, 3 knuts." He told him. That wasn't too bad. It was a decent amount for a strangling necklace. It'd probably sell for a lot more with the right customer, it was very pretty, and wealthy people were into that sort of thing.
"11 sickles." He told him, because it would be embarrassing if he didn't haggle a little.
"9 sickles, 15 knuts. That's my final offer kid; not a lot of people looking for this sort of thing come through here." Finn supposed that was true, it's prettiness was really the only thing really going for it.
"Deal." He told him, as Eldron passed the money into his hand. He counted it out, because Mertrude had always told him to, and was pleased he wasn't any money short. "Glad to do business with you." He gave the man a smile, and put the money in the pouch in his trousers. It was a lot harder to pickpocket that way.
The next person he needed to visit was Martel. He wasn't a dealer or anything, but he was a wizard. From an old pureblood line, Mertrude had told him. Finn looked at the bedraggled man, and Finn found that pretty funny. At least he was born down here. He had an excuse. Most of the residents had turned to giving him any impure product they had lying around, because the man still had a large vault to his name, and it wasn't like he was spending the money on anything else.
Martel stood out in the open, shivering outside a siren lounge. There were a few girls there as well, but they stayed pretty clear of the man. He smelt pretty bad, so Finn didn't blame them.
"You got something?" Martel asked. He was always fidgety. His eyes darted about, as if he saw things that weren't really there. Mertrude had told him he'd been given The Sight. Apparently, he could see past, present, and future simultaneously. He'd thought that was pretty cool when he'd first learnt it, but then Mertrude said that it also meant he could see when he would die, when his family would die, and knew when the world was going to end. Finn supposed he'd be high all the time too, if he had to see that.
"Yup," Finn told him, handing him the vial of sparkly stuff. The man snatched it from him, shoving it into his tattered robes, and pulled out a coin purse.
"30 sickles," he told him, and Finn counted them out. He raised an eyebrow at the man, who snapped, "What?" Finn figured fighting the deranged man over the four missing sickles wasn't worth it.
"Nothing. Thanks. See you next time," he waved Martel goodbye, but the man didn't seem to notice, huddling himself into a ball and muttering to himself. Finn shrugged, until he noticed the man had peculiarly small feet.
Or, more importantly, peculiarly small shoes.
Without holes in them.
He tapped on the man's foot, who let out a yelp and a slew of curses, but otherwise didn't react. Finn figured he could probably take the shoes off then, and he'd be none the wiser. Casting a Stupefy, or at least, some version of it, Finn managed to wiggle the tight shoes off his feet. The foot underneath was purple, and the toes black, and Finn realised he didn't have any socks. Figuring the man probably didn't need his feet as much as Finn did anyway, Finn took off his shoes and socks and put the man's old shoes on. Wiggling his nine toes he realised the shoes were a little too big, but he managed to tie them tight enough to keep them on his feet. He left the shoes with holes in by Martel, not even trying to fit them on. These barely fit already.
A little happier to have new shoes, even if they came from a dirty homeless wizard, Finn walked to the final place he had to stop off at before heading home.
The potions shop was near the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and Finn often made a conscious effort to not go that way. It was a richer area, if Knockturn Alley had richer areas, and noble wizards and Master vampires were everywhere. They held their noses in the air, as if the whole place disgusted them, which Finn found ironic because it didn't stop them coming. At least, he thought to himself, dark creatures knew they were horrid, disgusting, scum; wizards seemed to want to be torturous animals whilst still keeping a façade of civility.
The potions shop was far better built than any in his area. There were tall, stone, Victorian walls with alcoves and patterns etched into them. The pillars were made of a glowing red marble that looked like blood moving through veins, and there were long black leather sofas. Finn wasn't even sure why a potions shop needed leather sofas, but there were a few wealthy looking people perched on them anyway. It was definitely very showy, and Finn felt out of place in his second-hand robes.
There was a lady talking to the potion master at the front of the shop. She was clearly noble and Finn was surprised her large skirt had even fit through the door.
"Mandatory, Montague. How far do you think the ministry will go?" She sounded angry, waving her hands about as the potions master seemed mostly disinterested. "Do you know what types of people this is going to bring in? First mudbloods, now this! My little Damian is going to Durmstrang, at least they know not to waste education." The potion master let out a non-committal noise, and leant slightly to the side. At least he looked equally as disinterested in him as he did the lady.
"Can I do anything for you?" He asked, drawling out the words as if the whole conversation was a chore.
"I've got harpies blood." Finn got right to the point. He didn't want this to take longer than it had to. He took the blood out of his pocket and put it on the counter, trying to manoeuvre his way around the woman's skirts.
"Boys like him, Montague. They'll be running around Hogwarts like rats." Her arms fluttered as she gestured to him, looking both disgusted and trying to smile as sweetly as possible. She leant down towards his face, and Finn noticed a spot behind her glamour. It was big and pussy, right in the middle of her chin, and Finn really wanted to pop it. "You don't want to go to Hogwarts, do you sweetie?" She asked, her teeth so white Finn had to squint. Finn didn't really have an answer, because he hadn't really thought of it before. "Of course not. What would you even do with an education? Sell it to the highest gilly weed dealer." She giggled, as if she'd suggested something terribly funny.
"No I wouldn't." Finn said indignantly, "Gilly weed is for pussies." The lady gave a shocked gasp, and marched out of the shop, twisting and turning to leave through the front door. That was one mystery solved, Finn figured. She slammed the door shut, and the potions master jumped a little at the sound. Finn turned back to him. "So, how much?"
"You'll pay for that," the potions master said, glaring at him, "Normally I'd buy it for seventy, but I'm not giving you more than fifty. That woman is a pain, but she pays like a money fountain." Finn didn't mention that the blood was probably only worth five sickles at most, and tried to look suitably crestfallen.
"Sorry," he told him, trying to look as apologetic as possible. The man handed him the money, and Finn had to blink twice.
50 galleons. 50 bloody galleons! He could definitely afford to buy some new shoes.
Finn was on clean up duty when he got back from his shopping trip. He'd eventually decided to risk getting new shoes, and a couple sizzling newts, though he still claimed he stole them off a homeless man. They were second-hand, with a mild warming charm on them, and Finn had felt a lot better as he'd walked home. He'd even got a bit of extra money for selling Martel's old ones.
"As if Rory even needs to go to school," Finn was cleaning up tables next to a pair of werewolves. Usually they stayed in the forest, and didn't go anywhere near busy towns like these, but they'd been flocking recently. "What does he need to learn? How to tear children apart?" The two seemed to laugh loudly at this, and Finn realised that some prats had stuck some gum under the table. He reached for his wand, knowing this was going to take a while.
"That's not actually a bad idea," his friend chuckled, "we could always do with a bigger pack." The two laughed again, and Finn used two hands to scrape the gum off.
"But seriously, not all kids need to learn fancy magic," now that the gum had come off, Finn wasn't really sure what to do with it, so he shoved it in his pocket. It seemed like it wasn't very sticky, and he didn't want to walk to and from the bin all night. "Like this kid," Finn wasn't the only kid in the pub. One of the bonuses of living in a place with almost no laws meant that teenagers would come and get drunk until early hours of the morning. They'd also have most of their stuff stolen, but that was the trade-off. Still, Finn knew he was probably the only kid close by.
He raised his head, hitting it on the table, and then found his way out from beneath. Great. He had gum in his hair.
"Yeah?" He said, trying to pull it out. The werewolves were big and bulky, like most werewolves were, and their faces were covered in scars. He'd be afraid, if the man on the table next to them wasn't a living corpse. Ugh, his brain was dropping into his drink.
"You don't need an education, do you kid? Who'd even pay for his supplies?" He said, and Finn realised he was more talking about him than to him. Which was fine, except now he had to get a wad of gum out of his hair. Maybe he should just shave his head, he wasn't trying to impress anyone anyway.
"The ministry is paying, apparently," the other werewolf said, as if that were the greatest mystery in the world, "I don't think they realise how many poor wizards there are around. Wizarding Britain isn't as developed as the muggle one." Finn decided he was at least going to cut the gum out, and tried to use his wand. The Diffindo was terrible, and barely even let out a spark.
"Ha! As if the snotty ministry would ever accept that! There'd curse your tongue off!" The other man exclaimed. Finn noticed they had really long nails, more like claws really. That could probably work.
"Excuse me," he went towards them, still tugging at the gum, "could you cut this out for me?" He asked. The two werewolf men looked up at him, apparently forgetting he was there. They looked a bit confused for a moment, and he elaborated, "your claws look pretty sharp." He explained. One of the werewolves, the louder one, laughed as if he'd just said something pretty funny.
"Sure kid," he told him, cutting out the chuck of gum. Finn was sure he looked pretty stupid, but he was just thankful to have it out.
"Thanks." He said, sticking the now hairy gum into his pocket as well.
"Did you know about this, kid?" The werewolf that cut his hair said, and Finn shrugged. He'd been half paying attention, but politics never really interested him. They never really affected Knockturn Alley anyway. "They're making school mandatory." Finn wasn't sure what that meant, but tried to look surprised anyway.
"It means everyone has to go," the other werewolf explained, and Finn really did look shocked.
"They can't do that," Finn said worriedly. There was no way to earn money at school, he didn't think, and he needed money to survive, "I'll starve!" He looked nervously between the werewolves, but they seemed to find the whole thing rather amusing. He supposed they would like to gnaw away at a wizard corpse, the bastards. Finn's heart sped up, as he realised that the stupid ministry was going to get him killed. And not in a nice way, either. He'd seen people starve, and it wasn't pretty.
"They feed you there, you idiot." The loud werewolf said, as if it were obvious, "Maybe they really do need to make school mandatory." Finn took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.
"So you can get jobs at school then?" Finn asked, and he realised he'd been shaking. He forced himself to calm down; he's getting anxious over nothing. Knockturn Alley was outside the law, anyway. He probably wouldn't even have to go.
"No. The food is free." The quieter werewolf said. Finn rolled his eyes at that. Nothing was ever free unless you stole it, and even then there was the possibility of the owner hunting you down. It didn't matter, anyway. The ministry probably didn't even know he existed, there was no way they could force him to go to school.
"Enjoy your drinks," Finn said, effectively finishing the conversation. The werewolves laughed as he got under the table to scrape off the rest of the gum. He really didn't understand what was so funny.
Mertrude had given him the night off for his eleventh birthday, as well as an extra pair of socks. It was nice, because now his feet felt really warm. He still decided to hang around in the pub that night anyway, not really sure where else to go, and chatted with a gang of teenage vampires who had decided to rebel against their master. They clearly weren't the sorts who spent much time in pubs though, because even Finn had managed to out-drink them. Maybe alcohol affected vampires differently?
However, this meant that Finn had a pretty severe headache the following afternoon. And when Mertrude woke him up at about four, he'd squinted into the light.
"Let me sleep." He told her, groaning. She rolled her eyes, but didn't curse him like she normally did when he refused to get up. Finn figured it might be because it was still technically his birthday, but she'd been pretty happy to give him a big bruise when she'd found out he'd gotten drunk. That might be the reason his face hurt, as well.
"Wake up. We need to talk." That was definitely alarming. Finn shot up, and regretted it immediately afterwards, holding onto his head and feeling as if he was going to vomit. Trying his best to hold it in, he continued to stand up, hoping Mertrude wouldn't be too mad if he was still in his pyjamas.
About half way into the pub he actually did vomit. Mertrude tutted, but didn't say anything else. Finn knew something must be very wrong, if she wasn't yelling at him to clean it up.
"Sorry," he said half-heartedly when Mertrude didn't respond anymore than that. She vanished the sick away, and Finn felt that on a normal day he'd argue at her for not doing that normally, but today she seemed very dour.
He sat on the table across from her, his head still held in his hands. She handed him a letter, but Finn couldn't read, so he passed it back. She probably couldn't read much of it either.
"It's from Hogwarts," she said. Finn could have guessed that, with the insignia looking similar to the robes of the kids that sometimes wonder around the nicer parts of the Alley. "I was told there would be a fine if you didn't turn up." Finn was still clutching his head, barely comprehending, but Mertrude wasn't the sort of woman that would let him get off the hook for the consequences of his own mistakes.
"How did they even know I was born?" He asked her. He was going to pass out at this rate, he was pretty sure. Mertrude shrugged, all six of her arms moving up and down.
"Your mum must have registered you at birth." She looked him up and down, and Finn felt distinctly uncomfortable, "most witches do that, you know." She didn't say it, but he knew what she meant. Most pure witches went implied. He'd never seen himself as a pure wizard, and no one else had either. There were even a couple of pure wizards round where he lived, though they were usually much older than him. But now she looked at him the same way she looked at a wizard client, like he didn't belong here. Which was hogwash, he was raised here as much as anyone else was.
"They're making everyone go, even werewolves." Finn told her, but her attitude didn't seem to change, "how much is it?" He asked. If it wasn't too much, maybe he could save up and pay the fine for her.
"100 galleons." She told him, and that hope was dashed against a rock. 100 galleons? 100 galleons? That was more money then Finn had seen in his whole life! Nobody had 100 galleons! Nobody except…"
"It's wizard prices." Finn said, "that makes sense." He could see now why she was looking at him differently. The fine for keeping a dark creature at home would probably be a tenth of the price of keeping a wizard. Finn squirmed in his seat.
If he went to school, became educated and high-class, would anyone ever talk to him again? Would he look down on boys like him, like everyone else did? Would Mertrude even want to keep hiring him, knowing that he could be getting a hundred times the salary? He didn't want to stop working here, he liked it. He liked all the weird people and their weird stories. But apparently that didn't matter now.
"Obviously, you're going. I can't even risk a fine of that much" She told him, and then her eyes narrowed even further, "and it should be clear I'm not buying you any school supplies. I'll give you the powder to floo to the station, but that's it." Finn knew that would be the case. He also knew neither he or she would be able to afford the supplies. He'd probably just go without them, and hope they had spares. If they didn't like it, it'd be their fault for forcing him to go anyway.
Finn looked around the place. It'd been his home the moment Mertrude had found him abandoned in the Haunted Hag, and he honestly never thought he'd leave it. He liked it here, with all its problems. Maybe the patrons got a little too rowdy sometimes, and they found a dead body upstairs at least once a week, but this was Finn's home. He didn't even know if he'd be able to survive outside a place like this. He was perfectly suited to it. Perfectly adapted to live where most of wizarding Britain would be too afraid to.
"Will I be able to come back?" He asked Mertrude, trying his best to sound nonchalant. Mertrude said he was a man, and men didn't cry, but even so Finn still heard the crack in his voice as he asked her. She rolled her eyes at this,
"Of course you will. Ain't nobody else gonna work for the meagre wagers I'm giving you." Finn brightened at that, his stomach still twisting itself in knots. "You'll always have a job here. Even when you're a big smart wizard." She patted him gently on the shoulder, and Finn nodded. So that was it. All he had to do was bare seven years of pretentious prats, and then he could come back here again. Live the life he was always meant to. "Now, back to work you lazy drunkard. There's a stain in the carpet the size of my head!"
Finn was glad things were back to normal, and he went to fetch the scourers. Carpet stains were the worst.