POV ?
The man walked with the unhurried gait of a man who always manages to be on time everywhere, because it can't be otherwise: someone else may be late or in a hurry, but he is always on time. His exquisite clothes, made of the best materials, are in perfect order, his gestures are smooth and measured, and on his face is the usual expression of indifference with a faint hint of boredom.
The squat two-story gray stone building looked like a low pile of stones, but to Muggles it was a wasteland with a hill in the middle, and it had a bad, even terrible reputation, so they didn't come here even for a test of courage and prowess. There were rumors that the Fae lived under the hill, the most terrible and evil of them, and that those who climbed the hill would be killed in the most terrible ways. Everyone believed the rumors, for no one had ever returned from here, and no matter how many of these brave men were searched for, it was to no avail.
Even some important men came and tried to measure something with strange devices, but all their equipment just burned, and the professors of mysterious sciences left without a penny to spare and never returned. In fact, there were a lot of rumors about the wasteland with a small hill, and each one was scarier and more outlandish than the other, but they all have the same essence: do not go there, or else — death. No way.
Yes, it was true, and the man who approached the mighty, heavy door, which was chained with heavy looking metal plates, could confirm almost all the rumors, except the most delusional ones about aliens from other planets. He didn't have to knock, and it was beneath him. As he approached, something clicked and rustled softly in the door, the most attentive observer could see a brief glint in the wall at the side, and then the door swung open.
The man didn't even look at the guards, two men over two meters tall, more like beasts with pudding fists, but with a twist for two. Yes, they were unbelievably stupid and dumb, but when properly trained, they made excellent guards, and that was all they needed. The trained thugs quickly grabbed funny bowler hats (ordinary hats looked funny on their heads because of their size and the size of their heads), put them on their powerful pectoral muscles, and bowed their heads low.
This action, too, was practiced, for mortals must know their place and honor their masters. Through a long, wide corridor with many doors on either side, the man walked to a crossroads where he turned left and reached a small storeroom located at a dead end. Uninterested in what the local employees were storing in the pantry, the man stood near the door and tapped on the stone with his cane. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then the wall shook, rippled like a muddy swamp, and then floated, gathering into a single bubble in the center of the exposed door.
The bubble morphed into a human skull on an iron pin. The skull and pin were completely covered in patterns of symbols and runes. With a wave of his staff, the door opened and the man began to descend the stone stairs, the darkness of the dank dungeon dispersed by the sparse lamps hanging from the walls.
It did not take long to descend and the man came to another door with six skulls, one in the center and five around it, all completely covered with sorcerous sigils like the first. Here, the man turned the staff around and touched the central skull with a metal plate, on which, if you looked closely, you could see a narrow ring that had been placed on the staff after it had been made.
The skulls hissed, shuddered, and flashed dead lights in their empty eye sockets for some time, until finally the glow in the central skull's eye sockets disappeared, and the door opened of its own accord. The man stepped inside and immediately heard the noise that was common to this place... for "this" place it might have been common, for in any other place it would have been eerie, making his blood run cold, making him cringe with horror, wanting it all to stop. He didn't care what was going on around him, he had come here on business and he didn't care what they were doing here or who they were doing it to.
He walked through a large hall with high ceilings, many chains hanging from it, and many different pieces of "equipment" attached to it or capable of being attached to it. There were no walls in this hall, meaning there was no division into separate rooms or cubicles, and everything that happened here was in plain sight. However, there were pillars, special shelves, massive tables for disassembling "material", powerful cages with still living "material".
In the stone floor there were special grooves, covered with iron grids, through which water flowed, which was used to wash away the "dirt" and scraps. Covering his face with a snow-white handkerchief, the man walked to the opposite wall, ignoring the voices of those who had not yet lost their minds in the cages, as well as those who "worked" here.
At this door sat a bored-looking man who looked exactly like those who guarded the entrance from the street. The tyrant jumped to his feet and opened the door in front of the gentleman, bowing his head. The man didn't even look at him, treating him like a piece of furniture.
Another part of the "workshop", its "storehouse", or rather, a full-fledged medieval dungeon with damp cells and iron bars in the heavy doors, of which there were only two: right and left, for men and women, respectively, with no division by age. And then there was a spacious room where the workers of the "workshop" could rest from their "righteous" labor.
This corner, from the general impression of a return to the dirty Middle Ages, was more pleasant to the eye, there were no unpleasant smells, it was also equipped with pleasant lighting and places to rest — sofas, armchairs, tables with chairs, even had a kitchen corner with everything necessary. With a quick glance at the group of people in dark clothing who were resting, the man walked to the farthest part of the room, where seven wizards were sitting at a rectangular table, with whom the man felt no shame in shaking hands.
The man took a few strange glances in his direction as an acknowledgement of his style, for against the background of his surroundings and the "suspicious" clothing of the respected wizards, he was an icon of style and a standard of elegance.
— Good evening, gentlemen. — He nodded importantly, glanced around the audience, and received the same polite response, with the correction that only men were present here, and the atmosphere was far from the ballroom of the Ministry of Magic, so certain liberties were allowed. — It went well. — The man didn't ask, because he had already received some of the information directly from the Ministry.
— Yes, — the older blond man nodded with a squeamish and superior expression on his face that seemed to be frozen in one position forever. — The boys did an excellent job: they came, they did the job, they left. Perfect. — The man raised his cup, met the head of the 'boys' with his gaze and nodded, to which he received a deeper nod.
— It's nice to work with professionals. — The newcomer agreed, taking a free seat next to a slightly younger man with a cheerfully crazy expression on his face. — The Aurors didn't find anything. — He added. — According to the reports of the Task Force, there was only a powerful burst of magic and the use of Portkey, the trace of which was erased by the Eraser. You have nothing, gentlemen. — The man allowed himself an arrogant grin that was mirrored by everyone at the table.
The important and respectable men began to discuss a small revenge on the arrogant bastard, not even revenge, but a warning before the "main course". This prelude actually touches many directions and will be the source for a new round of confrontation in the future. The leader of the group described the entire course of the operation in detail, and after reporting back to his comrades, he returned to his comrades, his pocket and rough man's heart warmed by a purse filled with uncut gems.
Payment for the operation and the continuation of the contract. Time passed, and the conversation of the important gentlemen shifted to other topics, more important and significant than the deed done. They talked about the present and the future, made plans and speculated about the "important" and the "great".
About thirty meters away from them, behind a thick, cold stone wall, a young girl with curly hair was trembling against it. She was choking on tears of fear, humiliation, and despair: upon her arrival here, her clothes had literally been torn off, exposing her nakedness to the eyes of several frightening men, and then she had been thrown into a stone cell where the only light was the diffused light from the next room, filtered through a pair of narrow windows in the ceiling.
She stopped herself from touching her painfully pulsing, torn ears, from which her earrings had been ripped. She was as scared as she had ever been, and she prayed that someone would save her. There were soft female voices nearby, and even animal growls....