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"Gargamel" was the name Dudley had chosen for himself.
In his mind, Gargamel was someone who barely cast spells — he spent all his time brewing potions.
Dudley felt that suited him perfectly.
Though, unlike the real Gargamel, he had a full head of hair and could knock out twenty scrawny men like that in one go.
You think that place was a gathering spot for wizards?
No.
Dudley still didn't have access to that kind of environment.
It was a meeting place for Squibs.
Since they couldn't use magic, the building wasn't protected by an Undetectable Extension Charm.
And if down-and-out wizards didn't exactly look respectable, one couldn't expect anything better from Squibs.
Life in the magical world wasn't easy for them.
Without magic, they couldn't take magical jobs.
Without jobs, there was no income.
Not everyone was lucky enough to be someone like Mr. Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts.
If they didn't want to rely on family support, they had to find other ways to survive.
They were the lowest tier of magical society.
That was why they frequently moved between the Muggle world and the wizarding world.
Ironically, they were the group from the magical world that Muggles were most likely to encounter.
After all, wizards who considered themselves superior rarely spared Muggles a glance.
…
The attendant guiding Dudley was one of the more "presentable" ones there.
Even so, his clothes looked greasy and stained.
With very few exceptions — like Mrs. Figg — most Squibs weren't particularly concerned with hygiene.
They refused to use Muggle detergents or cleaning products.
Yet they couldn't cast a magical "Scourgify."
Sloppy was the only word for it.
Wizards at least had Hogsmeade.
Squibs didn't have that privilege.
They lived in buildings constructed by Muggles.
As they passed one of the rooms, Dudley caught fragments of conversation drifting out:
"magic"… "crash course"…
With a sycophantic smile, the attendant led Dudley to the innermost room.
That was where the transaction would take place.
Dudley was a major client.
Naturally, they treated him with extreme caution.
Inside, several Squibs were already waiting.
The moment he entered, they all stood up, wearing ingratiating expressions.
"And the goods?" Dudley went straight to the point.
The stench of the place was unbearable.
With his heightened sense of smell, he had no intention of staying longer than necessary.
"Respected Mr. Gargamel, here is what you requested."
One of the Squibs — the cleanest among them — handed him a small shoulder bag.
Dudley opened it immediately.
The bag had been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
From the outside, it looked small.
Inside, it was larger — though not by much.
Enough to hold more items.
Inside were neatly arranged glass vials containing common magical ingredients:
leaping root,
gillyweed,
bloodrot herb,
angelica,
sneezewort,
and others.
Along with a few magical books.
This should last me a while.
The quality wasn't exceptional.
But it wasn't bad either.
Since he couldn't purchase directly in the wizarding world, this was already more than satisfactory.
"Everything checks out. But next time, I want slightly rarer materials. Fire snake eggs, leaping toadstool caps, troll mucus, fluxweed, African tree snake skin."
"Those items aren't easy to obtain…" the Squib said, rubbing his fingers together in a universal gesture.
"But… for the right price, nothing is impossible. Since you're satisfied, regarding the payment…"
In truth, many of the items Dudley mentioned were restricted.
Difficult even for ordinary wizards to acquire.
Let alone Squibs.
He also wanted powdered unicorn horn — but that was far too restricted.
There was no point asking.
"If you can get them, money won't be an issue."
He placed the briefcase on the table and opened it.
The Squibs' eyes gleamed.
Under the dim yellow candlelight, something shone brilliantly.
Gold.
The currency for their transactions could not be pounds sterling.
They only accepted gold.
Not because they were old-fashioned.
But because gold still held value in the magical world.
If not for the Philosopher's Stone disrupting the market, it would have been perfect currency.
After all, one of the primary components of a Golden Galleon was gold itself.
Gringotts did offer pound-to-galleon exchange — five pounds per galleon.
But there was an annual limit of one hundred galleons.
And only for Hogwarts students.
No one could exploit arbitrage loopholes.
The goblins were not fools.
Their greed surpassed imagination.
Even that briefcase full of gold would yield only a modest number of galleons at Gringotts.
A Galleon is gold.
But gold is not a Galleon.
It requires special processing and minting by goblins.
After deducting costs and fees, the Squibs only earned a small portion.
Most of it went to the goblins.
It was curious how wizards entrusted control of their own economy to a defeated race.
…
"Deal."
Dudley carefully stored the expanded bag.
He didn't even glance at the gold on the table again.
He didn't need money.
He needed ingredients.
And he had discovered that, when properly brewed, certain potions could rival common spells.
Some were formidable.
"Deal," the Squibs echoed, satisfied.
They never once considered robbing Dudley.
Magical ingredients were useless to them.
And generous clients like him were rare.
Besides…
They couldn't cast spells.
Resort to physical force?
One look at Dudley's absurd physique was enough to extinguish any such thoughts.
…
Dudley left the alley and reentered the car at the agreed location.
The driver took him to a discreet property.
It was a building he had purchased solely to store his potions.
There was still some time before lunch.
He needed to secure the items before heading back.
It wasn't time for his parents to find out.
Especially Petunia.
Not yet.
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