𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍; 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫.

𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢: 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐓𝐖: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧-𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢❜𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞. 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞!

𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃, 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘. She bid farewell to the boys, and a very tired Remus, in the morning and set off for Hogsmeade alone. Remus had had a full moon three nights before, and—they suspected it was due to him being closer to becoming of age—he'd transformed three different nights, in a row. Poppy, for her part, agreed with them. 

Amara was earlier than most. Her plan, essentially, was to follow Rosier until he was alone, corner him, and force his secrets out of him—by any means necessary. 

His familiar form came into view, and Amara squinted, before drawing her cloak tighter against herself and stepping forth to follow him. He was flanked by Mulciber and Avery. They walked briskly, glancing around themselves, down the cobblestone walkway. 

Amara frowned. Very suspicious. 

They passed the Three Broomsticks, and Zonko's, and then Honeydukes, and then they stopped in front of a dingy bar, with a low-hanging sign labeled The Hog's Head.

"Sketch," she muttered, watching Evan go inside. Mulciber and Avery stayed outside, leaning against the wall, arms folded. 

That was going to be a problem. Amara drew her cloak up higher around her face, and dug through her pockets for a Dungbomb.

Bingo.

She took it out and threw it straight at them, coming up from a sharp right. They sputtered, pushing each other away as the foul stench absorbed them. Amara whisked past them into the bar, shutting the door quick.

She scanned the dingy room for Evan, and found him sitting at the bar. He was engaged in furious conversation with a cloaked, thin man—so furious, in fact, that his usually neat dark hair was threatening to flop down his forehead. He was gesturing wildly.

The cloaked man leaned forward, and whispered something in Evan's ear. Amara watched as his whole body tensed, and his fist clenched and unclenched. 

They exchanged something; Evan drew forth a small, jingling satchel, which Amara could've sworn was filled with Galleons. But what was he buying? And why?

He looked up, and Amara jumped as if stabbed; he was looking right at her. She was absolutely screwed. He'd caught her. 

She immediately rose from her table and strode towards the exit, the back door. It definitely led to some sketchy behind-store alleyway, but she didn't care. There was no way in hell Amara was going to walk back out past Mulciber and Avery—especially after dropping a Dungbomb on them.

She stepped out of the door, wincing as the fresh, cold, November air hit her face. Amara had been right; it was, in fact, a sketchy alleyway, and not very well lit. 

The door opened again behind her, and Evan Rosier stepped out from inside, strode forward aggressively, and shoved Amara against the wall.

She yelped, but was silenced when he thrust a hand around her throat. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Evan hissed, eyes boring into hers. "Why are you following me?"

"What sort of deal did you just make?" Amara narrowed her eyes. "What did you buy?"