Chapter 109: A Chance Encounter
Following Mr. Robert Wilson's instructions, Jon arrived at an inconspicuous jewelry store in Winchester.
After Jon explained his purpose, the jewelry store owner cautiously led him to the basement.
Jon felt no fear—armed with both a wand and a pistol, he wasn’t easily intimidated. Even if the man had malicious intent, he would not be intimidated.
When Jon pulled out a large bag of gold coins, the shop owner was stunned.
“Mr. Urien, do you mean...” he exclaimed, “to melt all these gold coins into gold bricks?”
“Of course!” Jon nodded calmly, wondering if the magical world had any laws against damaging currency.
“There might be... about a five percent loss,” the shop owner stammered.
“That’s reasonable...”
Two hours later, the large bag of gold coins had been transformed into dozens of gold bricks, neatly stacked in Jon's leather suitcase.
The gold bricks also came with legitimate certificates of authenticity.
At the current market price of around $400 per ounce of gold, more than 1,000 Galleons, after such simple processing, could be converted into nearly £600,000.
It was hard to say which was more valuable—over 1,000 Galleons or £600,000.
Over 1,000 Galleons was a considerable sum, but it couldn’t buy the loyalty of skilled wizards willing to risk their lives. And Jon doubted any wizard could face a resurrected Voldemort and a dozen Death Eaters with ease. On the other hand, £600,000 was enough to push a group of desperate Muggles into taking risks.
Truthfully, Voldemort’s resurrection had little to do with Jon... but better safe than sorry.
Somehow, Jon felt the plot would not follow its original course...
So, out of caution, he had to leave himself a way out.
Just in case.
...
With the money issue settled, Jon boarded a train to London.
A few hours later, he reappeared in the Newham district of East London. It had been nearly a year and a half since he last visited.
According to the information he got from Mr. Wilson, he found a young man named Angle.
Handing him a 50-pence coin, Jon said, “Please take me to Mr. Sergei Pavlov’s house.”
The young eyes lit up at the sight of the coin.
“Right away, sir!” he said quickly.
Soon, Jon followed him to a small flat.
The man seemed to be living in slightly better conditions than before.
“Knock, knock, knock!” Jon tapped lightly on the door.
A moment later, it opened to reveal a young girl, about ten years old.
“Ah!” She stepped back in alarm, staring at the tall, dark figure at the door. Stammering, she asked, “You... you are...”
“Natasha, who is it?” Sergei Pavlov’s wary voice came from inside.
“It’s me, Mr. Pavlov!” Jon said calmly. “Varian Urien!”
There was a rush of footsteps, and Pavlov’s familiar face appeared. He eagerly grasped Jon’s hand.
“It’s you... Mr. Urien...” he said gratefully. “I’ve been wanting to find you... but Mr. Wilson wouldn’t tell me how.”
Pavlov had not forgotten the oddly named American. More than a year ago, during his most difficult time in London, this benefactor had given him £3,000 to help him survive, asking only for a lock of his hair in return... To Pavlov, it had felt like charity meant to preserve his dignity.
“My daughter!” he said, introducing the girl. “She’s only eleven...”
The timid girl greeted Jon softly.
To be honest, she was a pretty little thing, her bright eyes and shy smile giving her a gentle, innocent charm.
...
Once seated, Pavlov immediately opened a bottle of vodka and poured Jon a large glass.
Unable to turn down the gesture, Jon took a sip... and nearly choked on the burning liquor.
“Ah...” he gasped, “Mr. Pavlov...”
“Just call me Sergei, Mr. Urien.”
“Alright... Sergei, there’s something I might need your help with,” Jon said seriously.
“Go ahead!” Sergei Pavlov replied without hesitation.
“I have an enemy who may bring a group of people to England in the next six months or so to cause trouble for me. Of course, it’s only a possibility, and there’s a good chance they won’t make it here at all—so it might end up being nothing.”
Jon gave a brief explanation. “I want to find some people to protect me when the time comes. If you can contact some of your old comrades, I’ll cover everything—the cost of bringing them safely to England, their equipment, and even housing.”
Jon spent over ten minutes laying out the situation in full detail.
Sergei agreed readily, then finished the rest of the beer in the bottle in a single gulp.
...
Just as Jon was preparing to leave, a slow knock sounded at the door.
“Is this the home of Miss Natasha Pavlov?” came a greasy yet familiar voice from outside.
“Hello, yes...” Pavlov hurried to open the door.
“I am a teacher from a school called ‘Hogwarts,’ a place for nurturing special talents,” said the thin, hook-nosed middle-aged man at the door. He swept a glance around the room. “I believe you should have received our letter not long ago.”
Jon nearly dropped his glass of vodka in shock.
“What are the odds?”
“Hogwarts!” Pavlov froze, astonished. “I thought it was just a joke...”
“Of course it isn’t a joke...”
“Well then, Sergei!” Jon stood up, feigning calm. “Since everything’s been discussed, I’ll take my leave.”
“Mr. Urien, won’t you stay a little longer?” Sergei Pavlov tried to persuade him.
“No need... I still have business in Glasgow later...” Jon said his farewell.
Then, he brushed past the greasy man.
He slowly made his way to the door...
But just as he was about to step out—
“Wait!” Severus Snape commanded coldly.
...
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.