How I Met:
mundungus fletcher, failed mugger
thebluefrenchhorn
Chapter Text
"Please don't eat me!"
Damon wanted to laugh. There, trembling before him, pudgy face turning as red as the ginger locks adorning his head, was the hobbit on crack.
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," his lips curled into a grin, elongated canines peaking out ever so slightly in anticipation. "I'm just going to rough you up a bit. Take a couple bites. Gnaw off a limb if I'm feeling extra adventurous," his eyes flashed red for the briefest of seconds, "we're going to have lots of fun together, Mr. Fletcher. I can promise you that."
Mundungus Fletcher had been an unfortunate side effect of hunting down Hariel Potter.
Not that Fletcher had even a semblance of understanding about who Damon was searching for or the fact that he was largely unaware of the wizarding world to begin with. Instead, he had just seen Damon, zeroed in on his ridiculously gaudy daylight ring, and attempted to mug him with all of the dignity of drunkard.
Damon was not amused.
In the slightest.
Which was how he found himself, brooding down upon the portly man with enough displeasure that Stefan would be jealous (of course, it went without saying that Stefan should be jealous of all things Damon excelled in and, those he interacted with, as unfortunate as they may be, to a further extent) in the back alley of some abandoned Scottish street. Apparently his hunt for that frustrating redhead—Hariel, according to his clinically insane lunch mate from last week—had devolved into a trip around the British Isles.
"I'm very sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else," Damon's rather unfortunate victim stuttered out, desperately attempting to alleviate the other man's anger. He was failing miserably. It was to be expected. He was clearly an addict of some sort. A kleptomaniac at best. "I'm Mundugus Fletcher, sir. A connoisseur of rare artifacts."
The vampire just rolled his eyes in response, not bothering to hide is snort at the smaller man's ridiculous attempts at placating him. His unfortunate stutter ruined any chance of what he said to come across as genuine. It was entertaining, though. Damon would give him that. "Now, why would I believe you?" he drawled. "Especially after you tried to rip this off of me?"
Damon wiggled his fingers, the lapis lazuli of his daylight ring glimmering a dazzling shade of blue in the midmorning sun. He grinned sardonically, not the least bit unaware of what exactly would have happened to him if Fletcher had actually been successful on nabbing his family heirloom.
Of course, he never had a chance of getting it to begin with, but that didn't make Damon any less angry.
"No," Damon continued, pale eyed darkening as thick veins crept up his face like tendrils of ivy, "I think what I'm about to do is perfectly reasonable. It's a transaction more than anything else. Your suffering as payment for assaulting me. You're a business man, after all. I'm sure you understand."
Fletcher began shaking more at that, desperation taking over. By this point, his face had grown to reflect the appearance of an overripe tomato and, if Damon was being generous, he might cede that the shorter man was doing a wonderful rendition of a drug-addled child actor.
"Please, don't," he hurried out, "I can give you anything you want. Riches, artifacts, secrets, or celebrities. You want to see the family grimoire of the Burke family? Copper shards from the lost city of Atlantis? An autograph from Hariel Potter?"
Damon froze at that.
"What, did you say?"
Fletcher latched onto the statement like it was his lifeline. Honestly, it probably was. Damon hadn't killed someone in weeks and his self-restraint was fraying at an exponential rate. "Copper shards from the lost city of Atlantis?"
"No, no, after that," Damon pressed.
"An autograph from Hariel Potter?" He hedged, noting Damon's interest and confidence overtaking his features as a result. "I know her personally. Fought with her in the War. You know? You didn't strike me as the wizard type earlier, a bit muggle looking, mate, but I see it now. She's a mighty fine gal. I'm sure I can hook you up with a deal."
Damon had no idea what Mundungus Fletcher was going on about nor did he particularly care all that much. It was something he could look into at another time. This, those words right there, were far more important. Fletcher had said that he knew Hariel. Not that he solely knew of her, but that he genuinely knew her on a personal level; that he could provide Damon access to her, even it was for something as strange as an autograph. Hariel wasn't famous, right?
That was the closest Damon had gotten within the entire last month and he wasn't about to give it up.
A smirk slid across his face.
"Looks like you're in luck, Fletcher."
Author's Note: And so the quest for Hariel Potter continues. In which Damon meets the scumbag of the Wizarding World and Mundungus Fletcher proves to be an even bigger asshole than previously thought, releasing the secrets of the Wizarding World to a complete outsider.