Tver didn’t mind, wandering around the shop at his own leisure.
Dervish and Banges could be considered the most famous alchemists in the British wizarding world.
Of course, they rarely advertised themselves as such; most people simply assumed they were merely the shopkeepers of a magical item shop.
Then again, their shop was relatively small, and the magical items they sold focused mainly on practicality.
In terms of popularity, they were far behind novelty shops like Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop or Zonko’s Joke Shop.
If the Foley family archives hadn’t recorded the history of the Dervish family, noting that they possessed an orthodox lineage of alchemy, Tver wouldn’t have chosen to come here.
The other half of the shop displayed Quidditch supplies.
Aside from maintenance shears and the like, he also spotted some unusual Golden Snitches.
His knowledge of Quidditch came entirely from Viktor, but even he knew that standard Golden Snitches didn’t come in these designs.
Some had wings resembling the bone spurs of a dragon; some Snitches were shaped directly like small birds; there were even square Snitches.
Intrigued, he picked up the bird-shaped one.
It instantly came to life, flapping its wings in Tver’s hand.
It gave a faint flutter but failed to take off.
It was just like a remote-control toy plane out of battery from his previous life.
“That’s an experimental Golden Snitch from the old days, made by one of my ancestors—I’m not sure how many generations back.
But obviously, it was never adopted.”
Dervish and Banges had finished their discussion.
While Banges tidied up the shop’s merchandise, Dervish walked over to Tver.
“Sir, I need to know your identity,” Dervish said, gesturing to the badge in his hand.
“Producing this kind of item on a large scale…
outside of the Ministry of Magic, I can’t think of any legitimate organization that would need it.
The Dark Force Defense League?”
Tver knew about the Dark Force Defense League he mentioned.
It was an anti-Dark Arts organization, but in reality, its members rarely had close contact; it functioned entirely as a loose alliance.
However, the wizards in it did have some methods of identifying Dark Magic, and Tver was not about to go looking for trouble by provoking them.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Tver said with a polite bow.
“Tver Foley, Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.
These items are prepared for my students.”
“Hiss…”
Dervish took a sharp, deep breath.
“You are that new professor from Durmstrang?”
“Oh?” Tver was somewhat surprised.
“You know of me?”
“Of course,” he said, unconsciously wearing a slightly flattering smile.
“We certainly know the grand reputation of the Foley family.
Besides, Hagrid often drinks and plays cards with us.”
Tver shrugged noncommittally.
“In that case, can you make this batch of badges?”
He understood Dervish’s concerns.
If an illegitimate organization relied on these badges to commit unspeakable crimes in the wizarding world, they would certainly face blame.
People on the side of justice always had a few more worries.
If it were those people in Knockturn Alley, they would get you anything as long as you paid enough.
“If it’s you, then of course there’s no problem.
How many do you need us to make?” Dervish respectfully handed the badge back.
The Foley family had once produced a Minister for Magic—coincidentally, Tver’s grandfather.
However, he had been a political failure, stepping down after only ten years in office.
Even so, they remained a prominent pure-blood family.
Tver made a quick estimate.
There were eighty students in a single year, so three year-groups would require two hundred and forty.
Although the first-years wouldn’t need them yet, preparing in advance was never an issue.
“I need two hundred and forty badges.
You can supply them in three batches—eighty at a time is fine.”
A big client!
Dervish’s eyes instantly lit up.
As for whether Tver could afford it?
That would be severely underestimating the wealth of a pure-blood family.
Even a family as impoverished as the Weasleys had ancestors who were once wealthy.
“I will indeed need some time to make them.
According to the progress, the first batch will take about two months.
Once we get used to it, we can go a bit faster,” Dervish said excitedly.
That would be November, which was even earlier than Tver’s teaching schedule.
He nodded in agreement straightforwardly.
After discussing a few more details, Tver dropped eighty Galleons and left.
One Galleon each, making it two hundred and forty Galleons in total.
Not expensive.
And he had managed to cultivate a relationship with these two alchemists, Dervish and Banges.
The world’s largest alchemy research center was in Egypt, so most alchemists were based there.
These two brothers were the only ones he could find in Britain.
Borgin from Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley could also be considered a decent alchemist, but Tver looked down on him.
Returning to the street, the pedestrians in the village had thinned out considerably, and most shops were preparing to close.
Compared to the rich nightlife of Muggles, the wizards’ lives could be described as dull.
As Muggle technology advanced day by day, wizarding society seemed to have hit a pause button.
Aside from conventional newspapers and publications, there was only a rare bit of music for casual entertainment.
This was the current state of the wizarding world.
Stagnant!
Tver had not intended to linger here, but then he spotted a familiar figure by the street.
Quirinus Quirrell.
His signature large turban was covered by a large hood, and his face was hidden in the shadows, revealing only his chin.
But the stench of Voldemort on him could be smelled by Tver even from across the street.
This evil aura was something Tver was all too familiar with.
He pulled out a black cloak—a standard item he kept in his wallet—and blocked his face in the same manner.
A quick tip: whether you are a Dark wizard, a Light wizard, or somewhere in between, learning a few tricks to hide your appearance is the first step to stepping out into society.
Tver could also use Human Transfiguration to slightly alter his appearance—a specialty of his mentor.
It was just that there was no need to do so right now.
Following Quirrell, Tver trailed behind two people before entering the dilapidated pub.
The Hog’s Head Inn.
This was a narrow, rustic little pub.
It was so narrow that with only a dozen or so people inside, it already created a crowded feeling of a hundred;
It was so old-fashioned that the windows were caked with grime, as if it had accumulated for hundreds of years, making it almost impossible for the light inside to escape.
The same grime existed on the tables, the chairs, and the floor.
And in this place, not showing one’s face was the most normal thing.
Except for people like Hagrid, who couldn’t easily conceal themselves, basically everyone wore hoods or veils.
Therefore, when Tver walked in, he did not attract anyone’s attention.
Only the bartender of the Hog’s Head walked over indifferently.
He didn’t look like he was addressing a customer, but rather like he was dealing with a nuisance as he asked:
“What do you want?”