Chapter 54: Covenant
Although Steven Mor was eager to rush off and write his letter, Wade assured him he’d be fine on his own. Yet Steven Mor still didn’t abandon his duties. After a long discussion about the wording of the letters, he began talking again about the Fantastic Beasts he’d been raising.
Professor Mor might not approve of him traveling to places where dangerous magical creatures lived, but he certainly didn’t dismiss Steven Mor’s dream outright. After graduating from Hogwarts, Steven Mor had acquired a farm, where he’d spent years raising a variety of “little lovable ones.”
Wade knew that Hagrid at Hogwarts had a fondness for dangerous creatures—fire dragons and the like—whom he affectionately called “lovable little animals.” He’d assumed Steven Mor was the same, but upon closer inspection, he learned the truth: these were genuinely harmless, sweet creatures. There were Ball-Run Birds, Silence Birds, Pufu Puffs, Pixies, Tail-Fox Dogs—some of the most endearing beasts in the wizarding world. The most dangerous among them was a Bird-Serpent, capable of stretching or shrinking its body at will, growing as large as a dragon, yet feeding only on insects, birds, and mice.
“I’ve always wanted to raise a Gralin,” Steven Mor said. “You know, a kind of flying horse. Gralins can fly and run faster than the wind. But apart from the legendary Sigurd, no one’s ever tamed one.”
“Hard to train, then?”
“They’re proud creatures—free-spirited, unwilling to be bound.”
Steven Mor went on to speak of other flying horses: Hogwarts’ Night Kneazle, Beauxbatons’ Sigil Horse, and the fire-breathing Iseron. Some wizards looked down on all Fantastic Beasts, considering them inferior to humans. But Steven Mor was utterly fascinated—his knowledge of the creatures was encyclopedic. Wade felt he’d already learned more just from listening than he had in weeks.
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of someone.
It was the blond wizard they’d met earlier at the Small Stone Platform—his face drawn, defeated, as if he’d lost a battle he hadn’t even known he was fighting. He approached Steven Mor with a quiet greeting, then turned to Wade, forcing a smile despite the weariness in his eyes.
“Mr. Greg,” he said, “I’m truly sorry we couldn’t collaborate this time. I hope you’ll contact me for any future work—you’ll find I can offer you a price that will satisfy you completely.”
He handed over a business card with his name and contact details.
Steven Mor’s eyebrows lifted. His gentle expression vanished, replaced by a cold stillness.
Wade took the card, smiled, and said, “I hope we get the chance.”
The man relaxed slightly, then hurried away.
“You’re not actually thinking of working with him, are you?” Steven Mor said, clearly displeased. “He got your surname wrong.”
“Yeah, he did,” Wade replied, tucking the card into his pocket. “But it doesn’t matter—I wasn’t planning to remember him anyway.”
Like a switch had been flipped, two more wizards arrived to bid farewell, each repeating nearly the same words and leaving their cards behind. This time, at least, they’d remembered Wade’s full name.
Once they were gone, Steven Mor leaned in and whispered, “—Don’t work with Bolton. He looks friendly, but he’s ruthless. He’s always twisting contracts, just not bold enough to screw me over. But you? You’d be an easy mark.”
Another wizard approached—middle-parted hair, a full beard—carrying a striking black wand.
“Mr. Gray,” he said, “I truly admire your talent. It’s a pity we couldn’t agree on price with Professor Mor. But I hope we can stay in contact. Perhaps new opportunities will arise in the future.”
“Of course,” Wade replied, accepting the card. “Thank you for your time and effort.”
The name on the card read: Cyrus Sharp.
“Sharp’s a skilled man,” Steven Mor explained. “He always manages to get his hands on rare items—things that are hard to find, even banned ones. Rumor has it he was imprisoned in Azkaban three times when he was younger. My father doesn’t like him much, but sometimes he still buys from him.”
“Wait,” Wade said, surprised. “He got out of Azkaban?”
He’d always thought Azkaban was a solitary island in the middle of the sea—impossible to escape, a place with no return.
Steven Mor misunderstood. “Oh, yes. He’s clever—good at hiding his crimes. Each sentence never lasted more than half a year.”
“Oh—ah—right. I see.” Wade realized he’d been foolish. The movies only showed Death Eaters sentenced to life. That didn’t mean Azkaban had no other punishments.
The guests continued to depart one by one—until only Machionni remained. He stepped out from the Small Stone Platform, walking with exaggerated complaints.
“Dear, beloved Professor Mor,” he called out, “I once was your student! And now, I feel like I’ve never received a single ounce of your favor! Of course, I’m not complaining—just letting you know, even though I’ve left school, I’ll always respect your determination. And I’d be so grateful if you’d spare me just a tiny bit of your attention… just a little.”
He held up his thumb and forefinger, pinching them together to show how small his request was.
“Cut the act, you little brat,” Professor Mor snapped. “When have you ever been hurt?”
Indeed, Machionni wasn’t suffering. His lips were twitching with amusement, his stride light and confident. He reached Wade, removed his hat with a flourish, and bowed deeply.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wade Gray,” he said, grinning. “Allow me to introduce myself—Marco Machionni, merchant of all manner of magical artifacts. I believe this meeting today is no mere coincidence, but a stroke of luck. I look forward to building a lasting friendship with you, and together, bringing positive change to the wizarding world… or, more accurately, making a great deal of money!”
“—Uh… hello?” Wade blinked, startled by the theatrical display. He instinctively glanced at Professor Mor.
Professor Mor nodded, then delivered the verdict plainly: “Machionni is offering fifty thousand Galleons for the Book of Friends’ technology license. And for every Galleon he earns using it, he’ll pay you three Sickles.”
Machionni’s grin faltered—just slightly. The offer was still highly profitable, but the thought of what he might’ve gotten with less sacrifice made him wince.
He immediately began muttering under his breath, complaining bitterly about how unfairly Professor Mor was favoring Wade—how he was bleeding dry a poor businessman.
Professor Mor ignored him, as if Machionni were just an annoying fly buzzing at the edge of his ear. Within moments, he’d drawn up the Covenant, then stood as a witness to ensure both Wade and Machionni sealed the agreement.
That was one of the great advantages of the magical world: there was no need to worry about betrayal. Breaking a Covenant carried a cost far worse than death.
(End of Chapter)
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