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Chapter 15 — A Saint Among Scoundrels
Darren squinted carefully at the man in front of him — Mundungus Fletcher.
The beard was scruffy and uneven, his build short and stocky.
His legs bowed slightly, his greasy hair stuck out like a bird's nest, and when he looked down, those red, bloodshot eyes made him look half-mad.
And the smell—
Merlin, the smell.
A choking mix of tobacco, alcohol, and something that might once have been soup.
At first glance, Darren had mistaken him for a down-on-his-luck nobleman who'd lost his fortune.
Now? He was pretty sure the "walking stick" in the man's hand was someone else's umbrella.
So this is the famous Mundungus Fletcher…
In the original story, he'd been Dumbledore's "loyal" informant — except for all the stealing, lying, and indirectly getting Mad-Eye Moody killed. Even Mrs. Weasley had run out of patience with him.
Darren hadn't expected to bump into this guy on a "Holy Father" mission.
And the man was actually trying to threaten him?
laughs internally
Brother, you clearly don't know who you're dealing with. The last guy who messed with me is still wandering around St. Mungo's.
If Snape found out that someone had bullied the son of Lily Evans, Mundungus would be lucky to survive long enough to regret it.
> [Accept Quest: ✔️]
Alright, whatever. A skill is a skill.
Even if it's "stealing," at least it's something.
Darren closed his eyes dramatically.
When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with noble resolve — the sort of courage one would expect from someone ready to die for humanity.
He clenched his trembling fists, stepped forward, and said, voice low but steady:
"Sir, if you must kill someone… kill me. Just please, don't hurt them."
He swallowed hard, his lips quivering slightly. "If such a cruel man as you truly exists, then I don't regret standing in your way.
It's only a pity… I haven't met my brother Harry Potter yet. I miss him so much."
> [Ding! Quest complete. You've gained: Mundungus's Stealing Ability.]
Within three meters of a target, there's a 50% chance to randomly obtain an item from their body.
Darren blinked.
Fifty percent? Not bad!
…Although, if he used it near Dumbledore, he'd probably "randomly obtain" a trip to the afterlife.
Still, not bad.
He sighed — a soft, regretful sound. It wasn't meant to draw attention. But it did.
The crowd fell silent.
Then, outrage spread like wildfire.
A poor, trembling child — Harry Potter's younger brother, no less! — offering his life for Muggles, while a grown wizard threatened to kill him?
Unthinkable.
People's eyes hardened.
Wizards all around began muttering furiously.
How could anyone be so cruel?
He's a Death Eater, that's what he is!
Send him to Azkaban! Let the Dementors have him!
Even those who hadn't noticed what was going on before were now glaring daggers at Mundungus Fletcher.
He, on the other hand, looked completely lost.
What—what just happened?
He'd only been pretending to scare the boy — just to look tough!
And now every witch and wizard in Diagon Alley was looking at him like he'd kicked a puppy and burned down an orphanage.
"Wait—hold on—" he stammered, backing away. "It—it was a joke! Just a joke!"
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Hermione, meanwhile, stared at Darren as if she were witnessing a miracle.
How… how could anyone be this brave?
A boy so small, yet standing firm in front of a grown wizard.
Even Dumbledore — the greatest wizard alive — didn't seem as good as this boy in that moment.
He hadn't even met his brother yet, and he was ready to die for strangers.
He wasn't even a Hogwarts student yet, and he was already protecting others.
That frail, thin figure… somehow looked taller than a mountain.
Hermione's eyes burned. He's… incredible.
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Before Darren could bask in the "Holy Father glow," a cold voice cut through the air.
"Before you dare touch this boy, I think you deserve a beating."
Ropes shot out of nowhere, coiling tightly around Mundungus's arms and legs.
Then, with a satisfying crack, a fist landed squarely on his eye socket.
Thud.
Punch.
Kick.
And just like that, half of Diagon Alley joined in.
Wizards who had been watching quietly now pulled out their wands — and their frustration.
"Don't fight! Don't fight! I was wrong!" Mundungus screamed.
"I was joking! I've never killed anyone!"
"Ow! Who jabbed my backside with a wand?!"
"Help! I'm Mundungus Fletcher! I work for Dumbledore!"
"I'll turn myself in! Just stop hitting my—AAAGH—face!"
The chaos lasted a good five minutes.
When it was finally over, Mundungus looked… unrecognizable.
His nose was swollen, one eye was black, his robes were torn, and he had a strange, wand-shaped burn mark on his leg.
Even Darren — who'd seen a lot of tragic things — winced and looked away.
Merlin's beard… they really went all out.
He sighed softly again.
"Truly miserable," he murmured.
"May the Holy Father bless his recovery."
And somewhere, under the pile of wizarding fury, Mundungus whimpered pitifully,
"...I just wanted to sell cauldrons…"
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