Capítulo 258: Hidden Bar
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Harry kept his eyes on the leader, his expression calm and unreadable. "I'm exactly where I need to be," he said coolly, not an ounce of fear in his voice. "You, however, are standing in the worst place possible."
The men around the leader snickered, clearly amused by what they perceived as bravado. The leader, still smirking, took a step closer, his confidence growing with every second. "Oh really?" he sneered. "And where might that be?"
Harry didn't miss a beat. "In my way."
The words hung in the air for only a moment before chaos erupted. In a blur of motion, Harry's wand appeared in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. Before the men could react, their wands were yanked from their grips, levitating high above their heads as if held by an invisible force. They gaped in shock as their wands floated just out of reach, their confidence evaporating as quickly as it had come.
Harry was the only one still holding a wand, and he pointed it directly at the leader, whose bravado had quickly turned to fear. The man's eyes darted to the floating wands, then back to Harry, realizing too late the mistake he'd made.
"How?" the leader asked, his voice trembling as he tried to understand the situation. Harry didn't bother answering. Instead, he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the group. With each step he took, the air around them grew heavier, the pressure almost tangible. It wasn't just a psychological effect—Harry was subtly using an advanced form of Wingardium Leviosa, manipulating the air above the men to press down on them. The weight of it forced the leader to his knees, his companions soon following, struggling under the invisible force.
Harry's wand flicked with precision, and the wands hovering in the air shot toward him, neatly landing in his hand. He held them casually. The leader's eyes widened as he realized just how outmatched they were. The smirk that had once adorned his face was long gone, replaced by fear.
"Now that we've cleared up any misunderstandings," Harry began, his voice cold and direct, "let's get to the point. I ask questions, you answer. If I catch even a whiff of a lie, I'll make sure you regret it. And let me be clear—I'm not the best at knowing when to stop, so you might end up with your brain fried." He gave a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes, watching the panic spread across their faces.
The leader swallowed hard, nodding quickly. He knew better than to test Harry's resolve now.
"Good. Let's start simple. Where can I find information about Bellatrix Lestrange and her recent movements?" Harry asked, keeping his tone neutral, though the weight of the question hung in the air.
The man hesitated, his eyes darting nervously to his companions, who looked just as scared, if not more so. Realizing he had no way out, he stammered, "Th-there's a bar down the road, called the Dragon Pit. They deal with all sorts of... unsavory types. If anyone knows about Bellatrix, it's them."
Harry hummed, searching his memory for any mention of the place, but nothing came to mind. "Are you sure you're not lying to me? I've never heard of that place." His gaze turned sharp, promising consequences if the man was deceiving him.
The man shivered, his voice trembling as he replied, "I-I promise it's true. The place is hidden, and not many know about it. You need a regular to take you there. There's a password at the door, and the runes prevent shapeshifters from entering. It's very thorough."
Harry considered this information, wondering if his disguise would hold up. After all, he was a type of shapeshifter, but he couldn't just ask about it without revealing too much. Instead, he scoffed, feigning arrogance. "Anyone can get past Polyjuice."
The man managed a shaky smile. "Ah, so you know the rune. Many have tried to enter using Polyjuice, but none succeeded."
Harry remained unimpressed. "Only Polyjuice? That's a low-level rune."
The leader looked confused, his brows furrowing. "What else should they guard against? It's not like they're letting animals in."
Harry understood he was referring to Animagi, but it didn't clarify whether the rune protected against Metamorphmagi. Rather than pressing the issue, Harry changed tactics. "Take me there."
The man grimaced, his voice low and cautious. "It's closed now. We just left and were heading home."
Harry frowned, frustrated by the timing but aware there was little he could do at the moment. He fished out a flask containing a green liquid and handed it to the man. "Drink this."
The man hesitated, eyeing the flask warily. "W-what is it?"
Harry's tone turned cold. "Do you really want to find out what happens if you don't drink it?"
The man, clearly weighing his options, decided not to test Harry's patience. He uncorked the flask with shaking hands and gulped down the liquid, wincing as it went down. The effects were immediate—his eyes widened in alarm as his body stiffened momentarily before relaxing. The fear didn't leave his eyes, but he now understood he was entirely at Harry's mercy.
"Good," Harry said, his tone firm yet calm. "You'll take me there tomorrow evening. I'll be waiting for you right here." He smiled, but it wasn't the kind of smile that brought comfort. The leader of the group, now kneeling in front of him, cursed inwardly, desperately wanting to flee and never see Harry again. 'As if I'd ever get close to you again,' he thought, already planning his escape. But something in Harry's gaze made him freeze, as if he could read his thoughts.
Harry leaned in slightly, his voice low and measured. "I suggest you show up. The potion you drank—it's a slow-acting poison. You've got about 36 hours before it kills you." He glanced at the pocket watch he pulled from his robes. "It's 10 o'clock now. By tomorrow at 10 in the evening, you'll be dead."
The man's eyes widened in horror as Harry straightened up, his posture casual but the threat very real. He didn't need to say anything more. The man understood that failing to comply wasn't an option.
Harry turned his attention to the remaining thugs, their faces pale as they trembled under his gaze. They had seen what happened to their leader, and now they were trapped with no good options.
"Your turn," Harry said, his voice calm but firm. He held up a few more flasks, identical to the one the leader had just consumed. "Drink this, or you can die right here. The choice is yours. If you show up tomorrow, I'll give you the antidote. If not, well..." He left the rest unsaid, the implication clear.
The men exchanged nervous glances, their fear evident in their wide eyes and twitching hands. One of them hesitated, looking like he might refuse, but the leader, still on his knees, barked out, "Just drink it! You saw what he can do!"
With that, the first thug snatched the flask from Harry's hand and downed the potion in one gulp. The others quickly followed suit, each grimacing as the liquid slid down their throats. Harry watched them closely, ensuring they complied without any tricks.
Once they had all finished, Harry pocketed the empty flasks and gave them a final, warning look. "Remember, tomorrow at ten. Same place. Don't be late."
The thugs nodded vigorously, their fear palpable. Without another word, Harry turned and walked away after throwing their wands back at them, his mind already shifting to his next move. He didn't need to look back to know they wouldn't dare cross him—not after what they'd just experienced.
As Harry disappeared into the shadows of Knockturn Alley, the thugs huddled together, whispering frantically among themselves, trying to figure out their next steps. But deep down, they knew they had no choice but to follow his orders. For now, Harry had them right where he wanted them.
Entering one of the shops in Diagon Alley, Harry glanced around, taking in the various items on display. The place was quiet, with only a few customers browsing through the aisles. Spotting the shopkeeper behind the counter, Harry approached with a casual smile, flipping a sickle between his fingers.
"I need to borrow your fireplace to get to Hogsmeade," Harry said, holding up the sickle. "May I?"
The shopkeeper, a stout wizard with thinning hair, eyed the sickle before nodding. "Of course," he replied, his tone polite but disinterested. He gestured to the fireplace at the back of the shop. "Help yourself."
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