HP: Pure-Blood Glory

"Master, this man... is not trustworthy."

Quirrell's eyes were filled with impatience and disdain as he watched the scrawny, rat-like man eagerly calling for the waiter.

To some, people like Dorisk, though unremarkable in appearance, were reliable when it came to getting things done. But Quirrell, though not someone with vast experience, possessed a sharp mind.

He could clearly see through Dorisk's bravado and recognize his weak, unreliable nature.

"We can't find someone competent—someone neither of us could control"

Voldemort's voice was faint and frail, a stark contrast to his usual commanding tone.

For days now, he had refrained from sapping Quirrell's life force, knowing he had significant use for him. His previous overconfidence, fueled by revenge and initial successes, had been shattered when they were ambushed in the Forbidden Forest.

That encounter had been a sobering reminder: everything they had done so far was likely under someone else's watchful gaze.

Now, Voldemort chose to minimize his presence as much as possible, though he had carefully infiltrated Quirrell's body with his power. With just a single thought, he could end Quirrell's life.

Despite his hatred for this feeble state, Voldemort's returning rationality allowed him to make calculated decisions once more.

Quirrell outwardly betrayed no emotion but internally understood the implications. If their contact was too competent or ruthless, he and Voldemort might well become easy prey.

At first, Quirrell didn't fully grasp this—he was still too accustomed to following the "right path." His unfamiliarity with the murky dealings of the underworld was unsurprising.

Nevertheless, he didn't waver in his opinion.

The man before him, Dorisk—the so-called "glove"—was truly untrustworthy.

In the wizarding world, the population of wizards was sparse. Even Muggle-born wizards, often viewed with disdain, were still considered part of the elite. Jobs like servitude were usually reserved for goblins, half-breeds, or house-elves.

But these non-wizarding beings were often less effective than wizards in certain tasks. Even the wealthiest pureblood families couldn't afford wizarding "death soldiers," a luxury far beyond opulence.

Thus, the role of the "glove" became the go-to for dirty work: smuggling, murder, grave robbing, trafficking...

Gloves were the dirtiest of the dirty, even among dark wizards.

While Death Eaters could be said to lack moral boundaries, they at least adhered to a twisted ideology. Gloves, however, operated on principles of no principles—no ethics, no limits, no humanity.

They worked for money, asking no questions about origins or intentions.

This was the essence of a glove.

Dorisk picked up the glass of Dragonblood Whiskey, his face lighting up with a grin as he looked at the hooded figure across from him.

"Since you've come to me, sir, you must trust me. I won't beat around the bush."

"What's the job?"

He raised his glass to his lips, looking fearless as he asked the question.

"An attack on Hogwarts."

The simple and direct response slammed into Dorisk's ears like a charging Bludger. It hit his brain so hard it felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him—followed by a collision with a speeding Nimbus 2000.

The whiskey lingered in his mouth, unswallowed, as his hand began to tremble slightly. Though the shaking wasn't obvious and was quickly brought under control, the moment of fear was undeniable.

In situations like this, no matter how terrifying, showing weakness was never an option.

"This... while I shouldn't ask such questions in principle, I just can't hold back," Dorisk said, his expression twisted with disbelief as he looked at his peculiar client. "Why on earth do you want to attack Hogwarts?"

Then he saw the man lift his head, revealing a pair of snake-like eyes glinting with menace beneath the hood.

Dorisk shivered involuntarily but refused to back down.

This was far more dangerous than any task he'd ever undertaken.

This was like trying to pluck fur from a lion's neck...

"Naturally, it's to attack Hogwarts," Quirrell replied with a cold laugh.

Dorisk managed to restrain his discomfort, shaking his head slowly. "I'm afraid I can't take this job."

"We all know what Hogwarts represents. No one would risk it."

He wasn't stupid. Britain had only one wizarding school, and almost every wizard had studied there. Whether their time at Hogwarts was joyful or not, it remained an integral part of their life's journey.

Attacking Hogwarts? The backlash would be monumental. Forget continuing his career as a glove; he'd be lucky to leave the school grounds alive, let alone survive long afterward.

"You won't need to act yourself"

Quirrell said, his tone calm but with a subtle hint of mockery.

Dorisk, however, remained unmoved. Practicality always took precedence over bravado. Even if the client claimed he wouldn't have to act directly, he knew all too well that loose ends would inevitably lead back to him.

Never underestimate the investigative prowess of wizards!

"If you truly need my help, spell out the plan, and I'll decide for myself"

Dorisk replied, his expression broadcasting reluctance, caution, and detachment.

Quirrell stared at that aloof, almost cocky face and felt the urge to teach him a lesson.

And Voldemort, weakened and ill-tempered, was seething with fury.

Yet without the power to bend others to his will and defy all consequences, Voldemort had become uncharacteristically composed.

Though he wanted to punish this arrogant man with a Cruciatus until he lost his mind, he forced himself to endure. Losing control wasn't an option.

"Quirrell, calm down. This man still has his uses"

Voldemort's suppressed, angry voice echoed in Quirrell's mind.

But Quirrell, surprisingly, was unfazed. He didn't feel that Dorisk had been particularly disrespectful.

While he couldn't fully empathize, he understood the difficulties inherent in the task.

"Ahem. What we need is for you to procure a few suitable, dangerous magical creatures and deliver them to Hogsmeade. From there, I'll handle the rest."

As soon as the words left Quirrell's mouth, Dorisk let out an audible sigh of relief.

But almost immediately, his expression soured again.

This idiot! If all he needed was someone to smuggle magical creatures, why didn't he just say so?! Talking about attacking Hogwarts—does he even understand the weight of those words? This kind of plan isn't something you casually disclose!

Dorisk kept his face neutral, but inwardly, he cursed Quirrell as the biggest fool he'd ever encountered.

Quirrell and Voldemort, sitting across from Dorisk, didn't see any issue with the situation at all.

Quirrell was inexperienced, an academic through and through. Though intelligent, he inevitably had blind spots in certain matters. Voldemort, on the other hand, was used to arrogance. Even now, he had no qualms about speaking his intentions openly.

After all, when he brazenly broke into a Gringotts vault, it was as good as playing his cards face-up for all to see.

What's more, even if this information leaked, it wouldn't necessarily be detrimental.

At times, being lax could be surprisingly safe, while being overly cautious often created vulnerabilities.

Given the negligible difference between the two, Voldemort simply did as he pleased.

"That's fine. But I didn't hear anything about that earlier statement"

Dorisk said, exhaling deeply while still trying to cover his tracks. Though it was hardly foolproof, it was a small comfort to himself.

Then again, as a glove—a hired hand living on the edge—he had accepted the risk of betting his life the moment he took up the trade.

"Heh."

Quirrell sneered coldly again.

"Any specific requirements for the magical creatures?"

Dorisk asked seriously.

"No strict requirements, but they need to be dangerous and ferocious, preferably in large numbers."

Quirrell smirked and added;

"If you can get Dementors, even better."

Dorisk didn't other responding to that suggestion.

"Your budget?"

"Five thousand Galleons."

"Oh!"

Dorisk couldn't help but let out a gasp at the price. This was the biggest job he'd ever been offered.

But then, after a moment of thought, his expression sobered.

Taking on Hogwarts, even indirectly, for 5,000 Galleons? While substantial, it wasn't exactly life-changing money, especially for a job this risky.

"When?"

"When can you deliver?"

Quirrell asked back.

Dorisk didn't answer immediately. He contemplated for a long while before finally replying, "Three days from now."

"Three days it is. Deliver them to the cliff east of Hogsmeade"

Quirrell agreed without hesitation.

"Deal."

"Deal."

With that, Quirrell stood, picked up the glass of Dragon Blood Whiskey from the table, and unceremoniously poured its contents onto the ground before walking away.

Dorisk kept a smile on his face the whole time, showing no hint of embarrassment or guilt over the situation.

But the moment Quirrell exited the pub, Dorisk's posture collapsed. His previously composed demeanor gave way to a scowl as his brows knitted tightly together, and his face contorted in irritation.

The waiter, Kiel, approached with his usual polite smile. With a wave of his wand, he cleaned up the spilled whiskey from the floor.

Dorisk waved him off impatiently. Kiel gave a slight bow and left.

Once Kiel had gone, Beneto strolled over from the bar, sitting casually across from Dorisk without a care in the world.

"Looks like your little scheme didn't work out"

Though his words carried a teasing tone, his face remained impassive.

"The deal went through. I wasn't counting on the whiskey to do the trick anyway."

Dorisk shook his head, his face solemn.

"How much are they offering?"

"5,000 Galleons."

Hearing that figure, even Beneto raised an eyebrow.

But he also noticed Dorisk's conflicted expression, a rare sight even for someone as familiar with him as Beneto.

"Is there a problem with this job?"

At the question, Dorisk looked up and gave a grim smile. "Collect magical creatures and attack Hogwarts."

"F**K!"

Beneto swore loudly, his face full of disbelief as his mind raced.

"Are you insane? How can you even consider taking a job like that?"

Beneto looked at his old friend as if he were witnessing some new breed of self-destructive idiot.

5,000 Galleons? Even if it were 50,000 Galleons, it might warrant a moment's thought, and only at 500,000 Galleons would anyone consider actually doing it.

"This has to be a joke, right? Messing with Hogwarts is practically the same as slapping the entire British wizarding community in the face. Attacking Hogwarts? You'd have to be suicidal."

Even the Dark Lord fell there!

Everyone claimed Harry Potter defeated him, but those who knew the Dark Lord's true power couldn't possibly believe that ridiculous fairy tale about a baby taking down the second generation Dark Lord.

They would rather believe Dumbledore laid some kind of trap to take him out.

Dorisk's expression darkened as he replied, "I know I shouldn't have accepted it, but in that moment, I felt like if I didn't, I'd have no choice anyway."

He gave a bitter smile. His life-saving instincts—those that had rescued him from countless dangers—had flared up violently, warning him. Refusal, however unwilling, wasn't an option.

"Imperius?"

"Most likely."

The two fell silent.

After a moment, Beneto shook his head. "You don't have to go through with this."

Dorisk sighed heavily. "If they found me once, they can find me again..."

And besides, the client showed no signs of fear, which meant either they were foolishly bold or so powerful that ten of him combined wouldn't stand a chance.

"Still, I'm not planning to follow through in person."

After some thought, Dorisk added reluctantly, "But it's probably best to hand over the goods."

"Tsk, another losing deal." Beneto shook his head.

Dorisk gave a wry laugh. 'If last time was a scam, this time it's just sheer bad luck. Guess it's my fate to deal with clients like this.'

Beneto nodded in agreement. It was the only reasonable course of action.

"Once it's done, leave the country and lay low for a while."

"Of course. I'm not stupid."

As he spoke, Dorisk's leg suddenly stretched out, unnaturally long. Startled, he quickly pulled out a small flask and took a few gulps.

His leg reverted to its normal size.

"Luckily, I'm not that easy to track down."

He gave Beneto a self-deprecating smile.

"I'll stay out of sight. Whoever's planning this will probably act during a busy time—Halloween or Christmas, maybe. Once things settle down and there's no more noise, I'll come back."

Beneto thought for a moment, then reached into his coat and pulled out a handkerchief.

"Take this. Use it to find another contact point at a pub in France."

Dorisk sighed again, taking the handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket.

"I owe you big time."

Beneto shook his head.

"It's nothing. Just part of the job."

*****

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