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A short, squat fellow with shaggy ginger hair blew out a foggy breath as he sighed. The air was rather nippy; it had been drizzling a few hours ago and looking up at the sky let him know that it wasn't quite done yet. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and continued pacing the street. The precinct was deserted, well nearly. A janitor could be seen at the far end, ambling his way towards the platform, barely visible under the dim tubelights. He whistled as he did his work, the wheels of his cart rattling as he pushed it around, the echoes spreading on all sides.

Two mendicants came straddling down the street, bickering among themselves in hushed tones and when he spotted them, his grotesque, pudgy face grew even more distorted since he found the two of them sauntering into this alley of notoriously shady reputation.

"Oi! What're you two doin' 'ere?"

"Looking for you, of course." The tall blonde said, checking down both sides of the street, before approaching him with his partner. "I can't- I can't do this anymore. We have run dry..."

"Yeah," his partner, the heavy-built man looked helpless. "You've got to do something, Mundungus. Help us! Give us something. Once the group broke up we didn't try a single job. Come on, how about a little loot or murder? Heck, even some pick-pocketing-"

"I'm starving!" The first one raved. "I need to have my fill. You said you could get me some virgin blood-"

"Ssshhh! You crazy?!" Mundungus checked to make sure no one had eavesdropped on this highly suspicious conversation. But no, there wasn't anyone close. "Be quiet, will yeh? I told you I'm tryin'. There aren't many jobs as it is, then there's the added threat of the Ministry all up in our arses sniffing around all the time. I can't have you poking around me workplace too. I told you, never bother me out here in the street. It's where I do business. It's a muggle area. No one knows who I am or what I did. I made a deal with the guy who owns the place and I can't have you two fuck things up like you always do. Now, away with yeh!"

He shooed them away and they left, begrudgingly, passing under the flickering neon sign of the building, all the way down to where the darkness seemed to engulf the road, and out of sight. Mundungus let out another sigh. There was a raucous sound coming from inside the bar, of music mixed with inebriated words of sloshed customers, which perhaps helped blur the more whispered exchange of moans and pillow talk, occurring upstairs.

With a grunt, Mundungus seated himself at the foot of the stairs at the side entrance of the bar-cum-brothel. It was true; since the Dark Lord fell, their market had died. It was a miracle that he had survived; he had a gift of slipping away with the likeness of a sleek little fish. But within a few months of laying low, his hands itched for the next heist. Not so much of a con had worked out, so he had been resorted to dealing drugs at this lesser known part of muggle London. The owner of the bar/brothel had enough dealings with dodgy men as it is, so he didn't care about his identity and let him prey on people travelling down the street, occasionally even suggesting him to his customers, in exchange for a cut of whatever money he could get from dealing. Business was not booming but it was getting there and the two of them had developed a mutual beneficiary relation.

Tonight, however was slow, with not a soul in sight. Most of his usual customers probably thought better not to brave the rain, that was coming at intervals and the daily passengers who spilled out of the trains had also gone home earlier than usual. The few men who were seen earlier, shouted 'Piss off!' and went on their way when he tried to approach them to sell his wares.

"You ok?"

Mundungus had his head in his hands and he looked up to see the owner/bartender, Butch, who had appeared on the doorway, with a garbage bag. He gave a weary smile. "Yeah. Fine."

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