Wyzett stopped at a bustling stall and immediately spotted one of his targets—a cage full of live Horklumps.
They looked like plump, pink mushrooms, their tops bristling with coarse, inky-black hair. Thick tentacles curled beneath them, slowly winding around their feed and drawing it in with lazy satisfaction.
Crouching down, Wyzett asked, "Excuse me, how much for the fresh Horklumps?"
"Ah, a connoisseur!" The vendor shot Wyzett a shrewd look, then glanced over at Xenophilius and Luna, breaking into a wide, toothy grin.
"Swedish Horklumps are the best you'll find! This whole cage for just fifty-five Galleons. That's a bargain, isn't it?"
Wyzett pressed on, "What's the juice yield rate?"
The vendor's smile faltered a bit. "A sharp young wizard, I see—you know your stuff!"
"These Horklumps are top quality. You'll get at least twenty pints of juice out of the lot—guaranteed profit!"
Wyzett nodded, examining the cage. Inwardly, he slapped a "swindler" label on the vendor.
One pint of Horklump juice fetched three Galleons on the market. If twenty pints could really be squeezed out, the deal would be a goldmine.
He had to admit, these Horklumps were in decent shape.
But even if Snape himself handled the extraction, he'd be lucky to get twelve pints—twenty was pure fantasy.
Factoring in quality, Wyzett's real price was forty to forty-five Galleons for the whole cage.
His gaze swept the other stalls nearby—none of their Horklumps looked any better than these.
Straightening up, Wyzett turned and asked, "What do you think, Mr. Lovegood?"
Xenophilius felt a subtle magical tug at the back of his head and instantly caught on.
He bent over the cage with a brooding scowl, peering in as if appraising the Horklumps. "They look all right, but they're not worth that price."
"How are they not worth it?" The vendor, clearly unsettled by the dour expression, blurted, "So what do you think they're worth?"
Counting the magical tugs, Xenophilius rasped, "Hmm... thirty Galleons."
"Impossible!" the vendor shot back, jabbing a finger at neighboring stalls. "Where else are you going to find Horklumps this good?"
"They're all about the same, aren't they?" Xenophilius arched an eyebrow. He'd seen Wyzett scanning the competition.
Trusting Wyzett's judgment, he continued, "I'm a potioneer—I know exactly how much juice these can yield. Let's meet in the middle—forty-two Galleons. You're still making a tidy profit."
The vendor's eyes narrowed. "A potioneer, are you?"
"If I wasn't, why would I bother buying live Horklumps?" Xenophilius countered. "The boy's just curious about yield, but I'm not that easy to fool."
"Besides, how much juice you get depends on the potioneer's skill, doesn't it? Why don't you do the juicing yourself? I'll just take the finished product—and toss in five Galleons for your trouble."
The vendor hesitated, clearly thrown by the confidence of this shadowy customer.
"It's already afternoon, and I bet you haven't made a sale yet," Xenophilius pressed, sounding utterly unbothered. "Let's make it easy—I'll add another two Galleons."
"Forty-four Galleons..." the vendor muttered, wavering, but finally nodded. "Deal."
...
Hauling the iron cage along, Wyzett leaned over and whispered in admiration, "Mr. Lovegood, I never knew you had such a talent for acting."
Xenophilius rubbed his nose. "Ahem... Well, I do know a potioneer or two."
Luna chimed in, "Dad's the best! He's good at everything!"
"Of course!" Xenophilius's eyebrows nearly vanished into his hairline. "My darling knows me best!"
Street markets like this, free from shopfront overheads, offered far better prices than Diagon Alley. But the risks were real—if you couldn't judge quality, it was easy to get swindled.
Thanks to Wyzett's keen eye and Xenophilius's performance, they picked up a trove of potion ingredients and souvenirs—a truly bountiful haul.
Back at the inn, Wyzett set to work, processing the Horklumps into Baruffio's Brain Elixir. He made a mental note to gather another batch on the way home—something special for Snape.
...
After a restful night, the next morning dawned bright and early—sunlight pouring through the curtains as soon as they were drawn.
Their plan was to visit Djurgården, tour the aquarium and natural history museum, and cap it off at the Vasa Museum to compare the model Vasa with the magical Vasa.
But the aquarium was closed, cordoned off with police tape—a mysterious theft had occurred.
Wyzett studied the posted notice: three sharks had vanished, and the staff were searching frantically.
The announcement was vague and oddly brief, as if the sharks had simply vanished into thin air. Wyzett couldn't help but suspect magical involvement.
Xenophilius offered his theory: with Swedish Aurors busy chasing an Obscurial, perhaps a wizard prankster had spirited away the sharks for a bit of fun.
As the editor of a wizarding newspaper, he'd seen his share of such stories—wizards amusing themselves at Muggles' expense with all sorts of bizarre antics.
There were tales of wizards posing as locksmiths, enchanting keys so they'd shrink day by day until vanishing completely in Muggle hands.
Or masquerading as clearance vendors, selling bewitched cups that would suddenly spray scalding water on unsuspecting Muggles.
Such mischief was common. Usually, it was up to Ministry of Magic officials to sort things out and demand compensation from the perpetrators.
And when confronted, those wizards would roar with laughter, pay up, and—sooner or later—be at it again.
...
After touring the Vasa Museum, they rented a small boat to continue their day's adventure.
Stockholm, the "Venice of the North," was a labyrinth of waterways—perfect for a leisurely row.
Of course, with Wyzett's silent, wandless Levitation Charm, there was no need for actual rowing. As long as they held the oars and looked the part, the boat glided effortlessly through the canals.
They drifted into Stockholm's Old Town, where double-story Swedish wooden houses stood in quiet dignity—a place where time seemed to settle and deepen.
Upon entering Lake Mälaren, flocks of seagulls wheeled overhead, wings spread wide as they skimmed the water and filled the air with their piercing cries.
Luna seemed especially beloved by the birds—several groups circled above her, drawn by some invisible charm.
Noticing other tourists feeding the gulls, Xenophilius pulled a piece of bread from his pocket and pressed it into Luna's hand. "Go on, sweetheart—give them a treat, too!"
Luna nodded, pinched off a few pieces, squeezed them tightly, and tossed them into the air.
The seagulls had been waiting for this very moment. With a flurry of snowy wings, they swooped and spun, fighting over the falling crumbs.
A few made daring dives, snatching the bread midair—their eyes sparkling with a mischievous triumph...
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