The Weapon Maker

8

Summer 1957

Rigel was walking down the busy street and entered the pub that was invisible to muggles.
Ignoring everyone inside it, she went straight to the back.
The barman Tom saw her briefly, and she nooded at him.

She stood in front of the red stonewall, and with her wand, she hit the bricks in the right combination.
The wall opened, revealing the busy Diagon Alley.
Rigel stepped in and blended with the rest of the people.
She hated big crowds, so she tried to move as fast as she could.
Walking to the end of the street at her right, she turned right, entering the small dark alley next to Ollivander's.
Now that the Dark Lord had resigned from Borgin and Burkes, they had to use other ways to reach Knocturn Alley.

She didn't miss at all the heavy atmosphere there. It still smelled like mold, smoke, alcohol, human, and non-human secretions. It was an awful smell that made Rigel want to vomit.
Walking down the steps, she put on her hood, her hands in her pockets, her wand tightly in her fist.
She found herself in Basil's shop again.

The well-known shopkeeper greeted her.
"Hello, Miss Venenum. Long time no see."

"Business, Basil. Business."
She gave him one of her charming smiles,fluttering her eyelashes.

"How can I help you today?" He asked with a silly smile on his face, looking at her with his mouth hanging slightly open.
He couldn't stop admiring her face every time she came to his shop.

"The list is not big today." She passed him a piece of paper with everything she needed.
He took it and walked at the back of the shop.
He returned some minutes later with a box full of small bottles and vials.

"Here, Miss." He pushed the box towards her.
"Thank you, Basil." She put a hand over it.
"For you only 20." He added.
Rigel put a little pouch on the counter, winking at him, and lifted the box.
"Goodbye, Miss." Basil bowed slightly as she was walking out of the door.

She hadn't appeared for some months, and he thought she had changed supplier.
She paid well and everything up front.
Not everyone did that, even the wealthy ones.
Those were the worst. Their stinginess knew no bounds.
She was different. She seemed to come from a big pureblood family with values, but she hadn't revealed her true name. He knew that the name she had given him was fake.
But he didn't blame her. She was a proper lady, not unlike others.

Rigel left the shop and walked some meters, not far away, to a small pub.
She kept her hood up, took a deep breath, and entered.
The smell of alcohol, smoke, and sweat hit her.
It was one big room, full of old scrupulous tables and chairs. The atmosphere was thick, full of smoke, with oil lamps and candles to light the place.
There were a couple of parties here and there. All of them men.
Rigel didn't stop for no reason. She went straight to the bar. If she stopped, she would get attention she didn't want.

The barman was a hunchback man with greasy grey hair reaching his cheeks.
He walked to her.
"Fire whiskey." She just let the words without any other details, leaving the box on the counter.
The barman turned around, took a dusty dark bottle from behind him, and a small glass, that in other conditions Rigel would have never touched it. He poured some of the deep amber liquid and pushed it in front of her.
She seated herself on a stool and waited.

Minutes later, the door opened.
A man had entered, stopping at the entrance.
Every other man had turned around to see who it was. Suddenly, they all turned back to their business. Not daring to look at him again.
Rigel didn't even bother to turn around.
She brought the glass to her mouth while the man approached the bar, sitting on a stool right next to hers, on her left.
Again, she remained unmoving.