"What's next? What should we do? Should we go directly to the commission?" Blake asked, glancing at the parchment in his hand.
Agatha pointed past the statue of the knight. Behind it stood a long, ticket booth–like window, with a line of witches and wizards forming steadily.
"Everyone who submits or accepts commissions has to confirm them at the counter," she explained.
To avoid drawing attention, the trio split up and lined up at separate windows. It wasn't suspicious for a single person to take multiple commissions—most assumed it was for a team. But three people taking over ten commissions together would raise eyebrows.
Blake's line moved quickly. Soon, he stepped forward.
"Submit or accept?" came a sharp, shrill voice from the booth.
Blake peered inside and spotted an elderly house-elf, but unlike most elves, this one looked sharp-eyed and commanding—not at all submissive.
"I'm accepting," Blake said, handing over his four parchment slips.
The elf scanned the documents and raised a brow. "Running errands for your own group, eh? That'll be three thousand Galleons total—deposit."
Blake blinked, slightly surprised, but without hesitation, tossed a bulging coin pouch to the elf.
The elf opened it, counted quickly. "Five thousand? Generous. I'll return two thousand." He handed back two smaller pouches and stamped each parchment with a heavy seal.
"Name of your organization?"
"The Fourth Natural Disaster."
The elf paused mid-quill. "Hmph. Never heard of it."
He scribbled the name down and handed back the stamped parchments. "Old rules—return with the commission papers when you finish the job. And don't think you can cheat the Chaos Origin. We always confirm every task."
Clearly, the elf assumed Blake's "organization" was a new one and felt compelled to issue a warning.
"Of course," Blake said with a smile, then rejoined Snape and Agatha.
Snape returned soon after, face like a thundercloud. Blake, using the Eye of Truth, saw right through Snape's Phantom Cloak—his expression was almost comically bitter.
"Agatha, you didn't tell me we had to pay a deposit!" Snape hissed.
"Did you think Chaos Wish would just trust us blindly?" she replied. "If a commission fails, they need insurance. Either you pay a fine, or they keep the deposit."
"If no one dies and the mission fails, the fine's the penalty. But if someone dies and there's no one to pay, they take the deposit," Blake added, clapping Snape on the shoulder. "Don't worry. If we succeed, you'll get your deposit back."
Snape flinched slightly. The dark mist coiling around him—residue of his magic—did nothing to Blake.
Blake grinned. "By the way, what name did you register under?"
"Violet," Agatha chimed in. "Same as always."
Blake turned to Snape. "And you?"
Snape's expression darkened. Before he could stop him, Blake snatched the parchment from his hands.
"Aha! 'Old Bat'? That's the nickname I gave you!" Blake laughed. "Severus, I didn't know you cared."
Snape gritted his teeth, mortified.
He hadn't known they'd ask for a name. Reflexively—perhaps because Blake had called him that so many times—he'd muttered "Old Bat." By the time he realized, it was too late. The elf had written it down and sealed it.
Now, Blake was grinning from ear to ear.
Snape, meanwhile, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"What about you?" Snape grumbled. "Don't tell me you used your real name."
"Of course not. I said 'The Fourth Natural Disaster.' That elf actually thought it was my team's name. What a bore," Blake said, pretending to sigh.
"The Fourth Natural Disaster? What does that even mean?" Snape frowned.
"You want to know? Join the gang! I'll tell you if you join," Blake teased.
Snape rolled his eyes. "..."
"Oh, come on. You're basically already in. You follow my old man everywhere, and we're close. So really, you're already halfway in the gang!"
"Heh..."
Outside Chaos Wish, Blake checked his pocket watch. "It's 2 PM. If we clear all our tasks in the next three hours, we'll be back in time for Nagini's dinner."
Snape and Agatha stared at him, speechless.
Ordinarily, completing these commissions would take a dark wizard organization weeks—if not months. And Blake wanted to do them in three hours?
As if he were popping out to buy groceries?
What's worse... he actually could.
"Alright, Old Bat! Let's knock out your commission first!"
"Stop calling me that," Snape muttered through clenched teeth.
"Sure, Old Bat. I hear you, Old Bat. I'll remember, Old Bat."
Suddenly, a radiant ball of light as bright as the sun exploded over a distant camp.
BOOM!
Screams rang out—then were abruptly silenced.
Blake strode directly into the heart of the fire, wand raised.
Agatha and Snape watched, stunned.
They'd expected a careful assault, a tactical infiltration of a dark wizard hideout.
Instead, Blake had arrived, found the camp, and instantly conjured a miniature sun.
One shot. One explosion. The place was incinerated.
Snape squinted. Was that… Gubrai's Immortal Fire?
It was. A legendary flame that devoured anything magical or living—and Blake wielded it like it was a casual firestarter.
"Aha! It dropped! Old Bat! Come look! Soul ashes!" Blake's voice rang out from within the flames, ecstatic.
Snape stepped forward—then stopped.
The intense, searing wall of Gubrai fire made it impossible to go any farther. Even someone as accomplished as he was couldn't get close.
"Put out the fire first," Snape said, exasperated. "And don't call me Old Bat again."
"Okay, Old Bat!" Blake replied cheerfully.
=============
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