Diagon Alley, London, Great Britain
The three men walked toward Knockturn Alley, pausing near a street sign. Two of the men wore the robes necessary to pass for residents, though the abilities they had were quite different from those around them. They were deferring to the third person in their group who was guiding them. He was a nearly bald, short man wearing an outdated, worn jacket that needed cleaning.
"Here, now, once we are in here, just defer to me. I know practically everyone down in here, so we shouldn't have any problems."
"What is the name of the place you are taking us?" inquired the red-headed man.
Mundungus Fletcher grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "I was thinkin' we'd try our luck first at The White Wyvern. If that don't pan out, we'd go on to The Broken Dragon Tail. They're a few other places we could check, but the one's I mentioned seem to be the ones favored to meet what you asked for."
"We are not here for a pub crawl," drawled the third man with his aristocratic Eastern European accent. He was tall, blonde, and appeared to be very bored. He turned to the red-head. "Are you sure this is the necessary course of action, Jason?"
Jason Blood regarded his companion. "Werner, we need information if we are going to know how to respond. So we get it."
Mundungus shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He was a little less sure of the deal he had made with the two men he had just met, but the gold they were paying him was not something he was going to shirk away from anytime soon. "How about we just head to the pub and see who is about, yeah?"
Jason nodded, motioning for him to lead the way, Werner mumbled something in his native language which Mundungus didn't have a clue about, so shrugged it off.
Fletcher led them through the dingy street with its many dark corners. He was surprised when a few hags he occasionally saw there seemed to quickly seek to be elsewhere when they got a look at his guests. Usually the hags would try and wile away his customers, but they didn't seem to want anything to do with them today.
His uneasiness eased away one they were inside The White Wyvern and had a table in a dank corner along with two cups of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Jason, however, had the Swott Malt Whisky. Fletcher had ordered a Gigglewater for Werner who looked to want to kill the conman after sampling some and suffering a fit of the giggles. Jason reminded Fletcher to mind his manners or there wouldn't be any bonus in his pay, and to appease Werner Jason got him a glass of Superior Red wine.
Mundungus wasn't sure what to make of the two men. Werner had the attitude of an aristocratic pure-blood, but hadn't known what Gigglewater was. He also hadn't seen the man reach for his wand when he got angry with Fletcher. He reached out for him like a muggle would. Then there was Jason. The man was intelligent, strong, and seemed very formidable. Yet somehow, Mundungus thought the man might be cursed, a thought that the hags actions out in the alley practically confirmed. But, he didn't think Jason was a werewolf. And since it was daylight, he knew the man wasn't a vampire either. If it wasn't for the gold the men offered, Mundungus would not be anywhere near the two men.
"Are any of the men in here the ones we seek?" demanded Werner.
Mundungus made a show of looking around. "A few small fries, I think, but none of the big bobs you was askin' fer." He took another sip of his drink. He glanced around the place and couldn't grinning to himself. This was the best part of his plan. Sitting here comfortably, having his drinks paid for while he supposedly looked around for Death Eaters for them. Supposedly, they just wanted to talk to the high up among the Death Eaters. Unfortunately for his two clients, Fletcher highly doubted any of those would come in here, especially at this time of day. Not that he planned to mention that to them.
"Who?" asked Jason.
"Who what?" Mundungus responded.
"Who here do you know is a Death Eater," Jason expounded.
Fletcher frowned. "I thought you was wantin' one of the bigwigs to speak to."
Jason stared hard at the dumpy wizard. "It would be a good idea to know who could possibly turn against us if our attempt to talk to these Death Eaters go wrong, wouldn't you say?"
Mundungus frowned, but took out a battered cheap cigar and lit it. "Well, yeah, I guess there is somethin' to what you say," he said, blowing smoke up at the ceiling. Carefully as he could, he indicated three men at a far table as being Death Eaters. He pointed out another five scattered around the room as people he suspected of being a Death Eater, or soon would be.
"What about the bartender?" asked Werner.
"Old Bob? Pfft. Doubtful," said the wizard. "Unless he's an unmarked spotter just fer workin' in the bar. See there, he's got short sleeves. No dark mark tattoos on 'em, so…" He leaned over conspiratorially and tapped his brow. "See, I knows things, I do." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, as if he'd made his point. "Course that doesn't mean Old Bob isn't aligned with the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Hard to tell with Old Bob since he don't talk politics. Says it's against his religion." He shook his head. "I happen to know he don't go to any church, so that's a right lie right there."
Werner looked scornfully into his drink. It was almost as annoying as listening to the fool that brought them there pander on and on without saying much of anything. And this atmosphere… this dive was beneath him. "How long are we going to suffer this fool?" Werner hissed, waving away the cigar smoke that smelled like burnt, dirty socks.
Jason leaned back in his chair. "We can wait awhile, Werner. After all, that is what you do when you are fishing. You wait for some fish to come along to bite your hook."
Mundungus tried asking various questions in order to learn what the two men were after. He knew Dumbledore would be interested in the goings-on here as well and would pay his somewhat nominal fee for it as well. At least he could usually get a decent meal as well if he flooed into Hogwarts to meet him.
Werner asked him about a card game that some of the wizards were playing at another table. Fletcher pulled out a deck of cards he had and had been cheerfully willing to show the dupe how to play when someone he recognized entered the tavern.
"He doesn't look like a friendly sort," Jason muttered.
Fletcher scrunched down in his chair, trying to make himself smaller. "He's not," Fletcher murmured, his voice betraying a tremor.
"I take it he is one of those we want to make contact with."
Jason was about to stand when Mundungus quickly reached out and grabbed his arm. "Not him! One of the others, please! You don't want to be around Walden Macnair!" he squealed in hushed tones. His bloodshot, baggy eyes seemed to want to bug out of his head.
Werner chuckled darkly. "Looks like the matter of whether or not we meet him has been taken out of our hands."
"What'cho mean?" Mundungus asked, refusing to look toward the door.
"Because he's coming right to our table."
Before the little crook could run, Jason reached out and gripped the man's arm so painfully hard, Fletcher couldn't seem to move, except to grimace.
Walden Macnair had originally been coming to the The White Wyvern due to reports of a pesky hobgoblin that had been somehow breaking into the backrooms of several of the establishments that serve alcohol in Knockturn Alley. Aurors had proved useless, so now Macnair had been given the go ahead to deal with the matter. He'd been looking forward to the hunt, not that he did much executing in the Alley proper. But that is what made it all the more interesting to Macnair. It also gave others a chance to see him doing his job and give more people reason to fear him.
Being a hunter, he was good at spotting creatures hiding, which is why he almost immediately took note of Dumbledore's snitch trying to cower behind in his chair.
Sporting a nasty grin, Macnair walked confidently over. The blonde man across from Fletcher seemed amused at the thief's fear. Macnair assumed him to be a foreigner from his features. The redheaded man with the distinct large lock of white hair at his brow seemed relaxed and confident. The redhead had made no threatening moves, but something about the man told Macnair that he was the biggest threat at the table.
"Stop squirmin' behind that chair like the worm you are. You're embarrassing yourself, which is a difficult feat for such a pathetic wizard as yourself," barked Macnair. It was Macnair's wish that, when the dark lord firmly establishes himself in the government, Macnair can add pathetic wizards like Mundungus Fletcher to his execution duties.
"Everythin' all right here, Macnair?" Gibbon, a scruffy wizard who'd been playing cards at one of the tables, came over, his wand in hand but pointed to the floor.
"Not sure." Macnair never took his eyes off the two men that had been sitting with Fletcher. The blond seemed somewhat bored and seemed to be studying Gibbon. The redhead with the thick white streak in his brow seemed the more foreboding of the two, though not in a sinister way. He did note that his particular redhead didn't resemble any of the regular redheads that followed Dumbledore around, but that didn't mean there wasn't a connection. "What are you lot doing with this scum?" He emphasized his dislike by spitting on the terrified wretch who squealed like a terrified, little girl.
"Mr. Fletcher has been hired to be our guide, Mr… Macnair, was it?" Jason spoke with a relaxed tone, but he was ready for most anything this wizard cared to try.
"A guide?" Macnair frowned. He hadn't been expecting that. "What is he supposed to guide you to? Fletcher is a useless, lying, coward of a thief. And those are his good qualities."
"But he did guide us to you," Jason responded silky tone.
"Me?" Macnair swung his axe down from his shoulder. "Are you saying this waste of magic was to lead you to me?"
"Not necessarily you, per say," spoke Werner on the other side of the table. "But one from your nocturnal organization."
"What do ya mean, 'nocturnal organization'?" Gibbon snarled, pulling his wand out, ready to fire on the trio.
Jason Blood chuckled. "My friend Werner is referring to the group of yours that goes about at night dressed in black robes and masks."
"What is this?" Gibbon motioned back to some of his companions back at his table to come back him up. "This some kind of auror setup?"
Jason didn't look over at the mewling Mundungus Fletcher trying to crawl under his chair, nor did he look about to see which bar patrons were rising to circle him and Werner. His senses kept track of everyone and what they were prepared to do.
"We came all the way to England to meet with you," Jason answered, only for Fletcher to begin making even more blubbering noises.
"You lookin' to join?" Macnair voice, like his axe, held a deathly threat if their answer was otherwise. "Little late fer that." Gibbon cracked a grin at this turn of events, lowering his wand to the floor, but also towards Fletcher's direction.
Jason gave a tightlipped smile. "We were hoping to find someone to talk to about your group." He leaned forward. "Right, Werner?"
Werner knew his cue. Standing up, he held out his empty hands, and caused everyone to suddenly experience their worst feelings of vertigo times twenty.
Jason, even though also being affected by the widespread vertigo, rushed forward towards Macnair.
The deadly executioner was not totally caught off-guard. Having served years in his field, he's had to rely on his reflexes in a split second's notice. That gave him just enough of an opportunity to dive and roll to the side, even as he lost his mid-morning snack of goat sausages.
Jason realized he'd lost his opportunity to do a quick snatch-and-grab with Macnair. Even with everyone puking up their last three meals, he knew that someone was bound to perform some type of magic that would interfere with the extreme upset to the senses that Count Vertigo was causing. And they still needed a stoolie to take with them.
Jason stumbled to his right and practically fell over Gibbon. The death eater, his head resting in a puddle of puke of his own making, was trying his best to become catatonic as a way of avoiding the massive swirling waves in the air that induced his internal upset. Jason grabbed tight onto the death eater, while taking out a portkey that he'd been given earlier that day.
"Time's up, Werner!" he called out, activating his portkey, taking Gibbon with him. Count Vertigo activated his own portkey, following his teammate.
The inside of the bar was filled with a disgusting smell. Men and the few females there groaned pitifully as they tried to make sense of what part of the world was up. One brave soul tried standing only to slip in his own stomach leavings, and crashed with a splash.
Macnair kept his eyes closed as he laid flat on his stomach while trying to just let his senses settle back to normal. After what he assumed was five minutes, he could hear other people starting to move. Blinking his eyes, he started to look around and sit upright. He wiped his mouth and spat while trying to determine what all had happened. He'd never experienced a spell like that before. And it had evidently covered the entire room, too. The two men were gone. Mundungus was gone, too. And then he noticed that Gibbon was missing, too.
He clutched his axe painfully as he silently cursed. He was going to have to be the one to report this situation to the dark lord. Macnair could only hope that he wouldn't be punished to harshly.
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AuThoR's NoTeS: Mundungus was fun to write. He's a petty little thief who always has a scheme in the works. Macnair is definitely going to be meeting with the Suicide Squad again. I had to let him get himself into a better position to put up a decent fight. Jason Blood and Count Vertigo seemed the best ones to go looking for someone to interrogate since they could pass themselves off as having the attitudes of pure-bloods.
Next time we'll go back to see how Harry is getting along.