Maurise Black didn't give a toss about the unspoken etiquette of Knockturn Alley. To him, violence didn't require a formal invitation or a bureaucratic reason. He simply found Frick to be a tolerable sort of person and decided a helping hand was in order.
It was that simple.
Besides, the man standing before him, a greasy specimen named Klenke, was clearly a bottom-feeder. Worse still, Klenke had looked at Maurise, a supposedly defenseless child, with the sort of predatory glint that demanded a lesson in humility.
Maurise was, by his own admission, a very petty individual.
The moment the silent incantation for the Bone-calling Hex finished echoing in his mind, the air shifted. Without a single movement of a wand, three jagged shards of bone, each as thick as a man's forearm, materialized in the murky light of the shop. They hissed through the air like ivory bolts.
The speed was staggering.
Klenke's sneer hadn't even had the chance to melt into a look of surprise before the cold, sharp tip of a bone shard pressed firmly against his windpipe. A split second later, a sharp sting followed.
Klenke froze. His pulse throbbed against the point of the bone, a terrifying reminder of how close he was to the afterlife. He dared not move a muscle. He cut his eyes to the left, seeing one of his cronies pinned against the wall. A pale, wicked-looking spike was hovering millimetres from the man's temple, already drawing a tiny, bead-like drop of crimson.
His other lackey was in a similar predicament, though the spike at his head had pressed deep enough that a thin trail of blood was already wandering down his cheek and dripping onto the floorboards with a rhythmic, sickening tap.
The situation was, to put it mildly, quite settled. Three bone spikes. Three lethal trajectories.
The shop plunged into a silence so heavy you could hear the dust motes settling.
"Don't twitch," Maurise said, his voice light and conversational. "I'm still quite new to the nuances of this particular spell. Oh, dear. You're leaking already. My apologies."
Hearing those airy words, Klenke felt his blood turn to ice. He wasn't about to gamble on whether or not the boy had steady hands. After all, this was Knockturn Alley. Who knew what kind of monster was wearing the skin of this child?
A boy, barely old enough for Hogwarts, had neutralized three seasoned wizards in a heartbeat. And he had done it without a wand. It was the sort of thing that defied common sense. It was madness.
Frick stood by the counter, staring at the scene with his mouth hanging open, seemingly forgetting how to breathe.
"Don't just stand there catching flies," Maurise said, glancing at the shopkeeper with a look of mild exasperation. "The atmosphere is perfect. Do me a favor and knock them out, would you? Unless you'd prefer I send them to meet Merlin ahead of schedule."
"Right. Yes! Of course!"
Frick snapped out of his trance, fumbled for his wand, and sent three Stupefy charms into the chests of the terrified thugs. They didn't even groan as they crumpled into a heap on the floor.
Maurise leaned back against the dusty counter, looking thoughtful. While his bone shards had been fast, he knew that if Klenke and his lot hadn't been so busy feeling superior, they might have reacted in time. They could have cast a Shield Charm or at least ducked.
Their downfall was the oldest mistake in the book: they didn't think a child was a threat. Maurise intended to keep that advantage for as long as possible.
Once the bodies were dealt with, Frick looked at Maurise, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "Thank you for the assistance, Mr. Black."
If he had faced Klenke alone, the shopkeeper knew he'd likely be cooling on the floor right now, or worse.
"Mmhmm," Maurise nodded vaguely. "So, why were those three trying to decorate your shop with your own blood? Actually, if it's a long story, don't bother. I'm not that curious."
Frick let out a ragged sigh, the adrenaline finally leaving his system. "It's a tale as old as time, I'm afraid."
Maurise opened his mouth to tell him to keep it to himself, but Frick was already mid-rant.
"Three months ago, I took a small loan in Galleons. High interest, but I was in a corner. I paid it back, every last nut and sickle, by the end of last month. Standard procedure, or so I thought."
"But now," Frick continued, his voice rising in anger, "they've come back demanding another two thousand Galleons as a 'processing fee'!"
Maurise nodded. It was a classic protection racket disguised as high-interest lending.
Frick delivered a sharp kick to Krenk's unconscious ribs and spat on the floor. "Greedy curs. They get a taste of gold and they won't let go. They even threatened my family last time."
Maurise hummed in understanding. In the dark underbelly of the wizarding world, this was just a Tuesday.
"So, what's the plan?" Maurise asked, gesturing to the pile of wizards. "Are we burying them in the cellar?"
Frick jumped, looking horrified. "Oh, goodness, no! Nothing so permanent. A few Memory Charms will do the trick. I'll pluck the relevant moments right out of their thick skulls. By the time they wake up in a gutter, you and I will be nothing but a blurry dream."
He straightened his waistcoat with a touch of pride. "Believe me, there isn't a wizard in this Alley better at a delicate Obliviate than I am."
"That works," Maurise said.
The Memory Charm was a terrifyingly convenient tool. He made a mental note to study it properly when he had a spare moment.
Frick got to work. He pressed his wand to Krenk's temple and whispered, "Obliviate."
A silvery, thread-like substance drifted from the man's head, caught by the wand and dispersed into the air. He repeated the process with the other two lackeys with practiced ease. Once finished, he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I'll just... move these along," Frick said. He flicked his wand, hovering the three men into the air and stuffing them unceremoniously into a large, enchanted black sack. He dragged the heavy load out the front door.
Three minutes later, he returned, breathless but smiling.
"Done and dusted," Frick said, clapping his hands together. "They're a few blocks away behind a pile of dragon dung. Thanks again, Maurise."
Maurise shrugged. "If you really want to thank me, let's talk business. Gratitude is nice, but I prefer tangible rewards."
Frick paused, then nodded knowingly. "Fair point. What can I do for you?"
"Remember that human skeleton I asked about over the summer?" Maurise said, leaning forward. "The one in the back? I want it. Sell it to me now."
Frick's face went stiff. He looked like he had just swallowed a toad.
"Is there a problem?" Maurise narrowed his eyes.
Frick's expression shifted to one of profound embarrassment. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Black... that skeleton was stolen."
"Stolen?" Maurise stared at him, skeptical. "You're not just making excuses because you've found a better buyer?"
"On my honor as a merchant!" Frick looked truly pained. "About two weeks ago, someone cleaned out my back storage. The skeleton went with the rest of the high-value stock. The thief was a professional, didn't leave so much as a fingerprint or a magical trace."
Maurise sighed. Looking at Frick's miserable face, he could tell the man wasn't lying. For a man who made his living in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, admitting your warehouse was robbed was the ultimate humiliation. If word got out, he'd be the laughingstock of the Borgin and Burkes crowd for years.
The shop fell silent as Maurise tapped his chin, his mind racing. Then, his eyes lit up as they landed on his skeletal dog, which was sitting patiently in the corner of the shop like a macabre statue.
"Since you're out of stock," Maurise said, a slow smile spreading across his face, "I have a proposal for a partnership. Want to hear it?"
"A proposal?" Frick asked, tilting his head.
Maurise gestured toward the bony hound. "Tell me, Frick. A guard dog that never sleeps, never eats, and can be put back together if it's kicked to pieces... do you think there's a market for something like that?"