Knockturned for The Better (Harry Potter Shopkeeper Quest)

Hey Everyone. So as per normal I starting drinking and another story idea came to me so please enjoy.

The Gathering

The freezing winter winds of Kopaonik howled through the mountains, a relentless force urging all creatures to seek shelter or risk the wrath of the storm. Even the foolhardy would struggle against the dense snow, wading waist-deep through the icy drifts. But should one persist, pressing beyond the storm's fury and venturing into the hidden valleys of the mountain, they would witness a sight few mortals had ever laid eyes upon—a gathering of witches as old as time itself.

Thirteen wooden seats formed a perfect circle around a roaring bonfire in a secluded forest clearing. Upon them sat thirteen witches, their bare skin aglow in the firelight, though their youthful beauty was nothing but a deception woven through powerful glamour. Some embraced the illusion of eternal youth, while others allowed faint traces of their true age to linger—a silvered strand in dark hair, a knowing glint in their gaze, a voice tinged with the weight of centuries.

The air was thick with the scent of burning herbs—mugwort, myrrh, and pine resin mingling in the cold night. The witches sipped spiced wine from carved wooden goblets, their laughter rich and unburdened by time. One traced glowing runes upon another's arm, watching as the symbols shimmered before sinking into flesh. Another idly shifted her glamour, letting her face shift through the ages, before settling once more into the illusion of youth.

The youngest among them rose first, stepping onto the frost-kissed earth. A slow, rhythmic dance began, feet skimming the frozen ground, breath curling into the frigid air. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows that seemed to twist and sway in time with them. Though the wind howled with winter's bite, none felt the chill—their magic keeping them warm so long as the flames burned bright.

Yaga exhaled, adjusting herself in her chair as the opening rituals commenced. As one of the eldest members, she had time before she would be expected to join. It was all ceremonial nonsense in her opinion—grand displays that could easily be accomplished with a well-placed stomp and a sharp command. But traditions had their place, and even she knew that some performances were necessary, particularly when dealing with the even older members of the Coven.

Taking a slow sip of her mulled wine, she resisted the urge to grimace before turning to the witch beside her. Circe lounged in a chair that was anything but modest—a grand wooden couch draped in silk, its cushion feather-stuffed and plush. Extravagant. Excessive. But that was Circe. Where Yaga valued hard work and practicality, Circe thrived on indulgence and attention, though she would never admit it. Different as they were, they shared one common trait—fierce devotion to those under their care. Circe had her nymphs. Yaga had her grandchildren.

And that was precisely why she was here, humbling herself for a favor she despised having to ask.

"So, I need a favor," Yaga announced, tapping her finger against the armrest of her chair. A thin veil of magic wove around them, ensuring their words remained private.

Circe sighed, swirling her wine as if the liquid moved slower than it should. "You were doing so well, Yaga. Could you not have indulged in small talk first? Pretended, even for a moment, to care for pleasantries before getting straight to business?"

Yaga snorted. "Oh, you mean something like, 'Are you enjoying the wine, Circe? Do you need a refill, Circe? Is it too cold for you, Circe? Shall I lick your feet clean while I'm at it, Circe?'" She scoffed. "Bah! Some of these young ones may worship the ground you walk on, but I'm old enough to remember when—"

Circe cut her off with a sharp glare. "Must you bring that up again? Honestly, Yaga, one would think that a mistake made in one's youth would be forgiven by now." She frowned before adding, "Especially if someone is about to ask for a favor."

Yaga grinned. "Forgiven? Oh, I forgave you ages ago. But forget? Why would I ever let such an entertaining memory slip away when it still riles you up so beautifully?" She chuckled, watching Circe's expression darken.

Circe exhaled dramatically, waving a hand. "And yet, you still go through the old rituals, playing along with our pomp and ceremony to keep us elder witches appeased. Why, if you were just going to ruin it all with your usual crudeness, did you bother at all?"

"Fine, fine. I won't bring it up again," Yaga said, waving a hand dismissively. "But I do need that favor."

Circe lifted her goblet to her lips, her expression unreadable. "And why, pray tell, would I grant you a favor after you've so thoroughly soured my mood?"

Yaga smirked. "Because it's not a request. I'm calling in a debt. You remember how I helped you get that Odysseus boy to the Underworld, don't you?"

Circe perked up at once, lips curling into a sharp, toothy smile. "Ah! So you're finally cashing in that favor? It must be something important, then." She leaned forward with intrigue. "Do tell, Yaga—what has the great Baba Yaga so worked up that she's willing to use her longest-held favor on little old me?"

Yaga pulled a small, aged photograph from her robes and flipped it onto Circe's lap. "If this young one comes to your part of the world, you are to do everything in your power to help him."

Circe raised a brow, unfolding the picture with practiced care. The black-and-white image revealed a young man—fit, handsome, dark-haired—seated beside Yaga, who sat comfortably in a rocking chair. Even without color, Circe could tell his skin was pale, his lineage unmistakably touched by something more than mortal blood.

"Oh," Circe murmured with delight. She traced a finger along the edge of the photograph, her smirk deepening. "Why, no problem at all, dear friend. I would be more than happy to assist such a promising young wizard." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Why, I might even prepare a room for him should he ever find himself in need of... hospitality while in Greece."

Yaga snorted, snatching at the photo. "I knew I shouldn't have bothered. Trust you to turn a favor into an opportunity for your own entertainment."

Circe chuckled, keeping the picture just out of reach. "Now, now, Yaga. Can you blame me? This is quite the occasion—the great Baba Yaga, cashing in her oldest favor for a man, no less! Tell me, which of your many great-grandchildren does he belong to?"

Yaga sighed, slumping back into her chair. "Does it really matter? All you need to know is that my hands are tied in how I can aid him, and I want him to have every advantage I can give. Even if it means calling in debts I'd rather keep." Her voice softened, a rare vulnerability seeping into her tone. "So, will you help him? And promise not to ensnare him in whatever schemes you're already plotting?"

For a moment, Circe was silent. Then, with an amused sigh, she licked her thumb and held it out. "Alright, you tiresome old hag. Consider it done. And I must say, it does feel good to finally clear that debt."

Yaga licked her thumb in kind and pressed it to Circe's. "Good. One less thing to worry about." She tapped her finger, dissolving the privacy ward, and rose from her seat with a groan.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must show these younglings how this is properly done. Tradition and all that nonsense."

Circe laughed, finishing the last of her wine before standing. "And here I thought I was the one who insisted on tradition." With a sly grin, she twirled into the firelit dance.

Yaga rolled her eyes but smiled as she followed, stamping her foot against the frozen ground. Perhaps, just this once, a little drama was worth indulging.

[Stock the shelves] High Expense, ??? Reward
Trinkets from Nikola's homeland are one thing, Galleons need to spent at these auctions that Morrigan mentioned to fill out the shop.

"And that one goes to that dark fella' there from the continent. Course, ol' Greyback may have a few problem's with that!"

(Please be aware this will be coming up later, Nikola doesn't have funds at the moment, that will come with the selling of Crocus)

Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

—

November, 1989, Belgrade.

It was a cold day, not overly unpleasant. But it's cold. Men and women milled about, filled with quiet purpose. There was no conversation, not here. Never here, too many things listening, inhuman and not. Too many eyes watching. There was a dearth of conversation due to the lack of the citizenry's ability to trust their mouth. It did little for their thoughts. But then, where and how the Legilimens operated was far above his station. The only sound was footsteps on pavement and the faint hum of machinery. The street was empty of cars, but then, it always was. Co-opted from the local government, it served as little more than a median between one patch of sidewalk from the other. After all, Witches and Wizards could fly, what would they need for cars?

Of course, few were allowed to fly these days. Much less apparate.

Nikola let out a slow breath, it misted in the air. He watched in silence as the people hurried by, the vast majority of them not looking up. Not wanting to be seen watching the building that loomed over all of them. Perhaps they thought it could see them? Perhaps they thought it knew them. Perhaps perhaps.

"Nikolic."

Nikola turned his head to look at the man approaching him. His dark blue uniform was sharp, well maintained, and matched his own. Nikola said nothing as he approached, watching the heavyset man make his way across the sidewalk towards him. The people that weren't watching before were now making it a rather deliberate effort. Rather doughy and with a mustache that only just barely reached across his face, Aksentije had a head that was seemingly a size too big for the rest of him. "Aksentije. They're ready then?"

Aksentije smiled, and Nikola had to smile back. To call them friends, Nikola thought to himself, would be overstating it. He didn't much like how the man carried himself, how the man acted, how proud the man was of his accomplishments. He reminded Nikola of a fat dog that prided itself as the guardian of the house, greedily eating up all the table scraps while being so morbidly out of practice that they'd struggle to kill a squirrel, much less a threat to the state. But that was a private thought, and such things were hidden with a smile, one easily perfected.

"Of course, and right on schedule too. Shall we?" Aksentije's smile widened into a grin.

It was two minutes late, but bringing that up would serve nothing. The Ministry was on time as it was always on time. The Ministry was right because it was always right. One did not go against this, even one favored such as him.

Then they were gone, reappearing on the lowest floor. In it, sat a small little archway made of stone, through which was… something else, somewhere else. Something connected to this world, yet something wholly alien and unexplored. And sitting, squat, just in front of it, was a man on his knees with cloth wrapped around his head. It was bowed, and so was he. His shoulder slumped, his right arm twisted and broken, hanging uselessly by his side, and as Nikola stepped forward, as he placed his hand on the man's shoulder and Aksentije grasped the other.

The man to be executed turned, looked at Nikola. Red splotches of blood painted the white cloth, creating a macabre outline of a face. And he laughed.

—

February, 1990, London.

A bit of movement within his coat, and then Fluffi stuck its head out of his pocket to 'sniff' the air. The bunny looked around for a moment before turning its attention fully onto the woman with narrowed eyes. The woman's eyes flitted to it for but a moment, before they landed on Nikola once more, her question still hanging in the air.

'Would he perhaps be in need of a Watchmen?'

It took him a moment to understand the word. His command of English, in his own opinion, was rather excellent. But the word was antiquated and rare. "I have posted no offers, nor have I made mention of a need for one. So I would assume you came here of your own volition."

Her mouth tightened, she said nothing.

"You shall need to forgive me, as the shop isn't open and I wasn't expecting guests."

Nikola continued to walk then, past the shelves and to his counter. Placing the briefcase upon it, he ran his hand over the leather surface for a moment before turning his attention to the trapdoor in the corner of the room. It was sitting open, and distantly he could hear Trimsy moving around down there. He knew it was her, as interspersed with some form of Goblin music he could hear the smacking of a hammer on wood. He waved his hand, the wand held between his fingers, and the trapdoor closed itself, blocking the noise entirely. He waved the wand again towards the opposite corner of the room, and a small fire started, warming up an already setup cup for coffee. Then he turned to face the ghost, a small smile on his face. "Now, Miss Hesperance, you shall need to forgive me as you do not have the look of a Guard. Shall we have a proper conversation?"

"I was… not meaning to surprise you sir." Hesperance replied.

Nikola's expression doesn't change, but his tone turns a touch exasperated. "You are one of the few types that could, not that it would avail you of much." He knew of Runes to trap ghosts, such things were rather simple, in fact, they were actually rather common… if hardly used these days. Poltergeists were rare and barely ever more than a nuisance. A ghost meanwhile was absolutely harmless, if annoying.

… Though they could be dangerous in other ways.

Stepping forward, the chair from behind the counter lifts over it and places itself on the floor just behind the floating woman. Nikola, meanwhile, simply leaned against the counter, staring at her. Distantly, the water for the coffee began to boil. "So, let's start from the beginning again. Yes, I am the proprietor of this shop, and you are seeking a job, which raises the most simple question. "Why?"

"I fail to see why I would need a reason." Hesperance replied, gently lowering herself onto the seat.

"Money, traditionally. Status sometimes, though a guard hardly brings the latter." Nikola replied. "And yet, you are a ghost."

"I… am sir." Hesperance confirmed.

"And you... want a job despite not being able to use money?" Nikolai asked, staring at the 'woman' across from him in the shop.

Hesperance had obviously been quite a beauty once, she was dressed in finery of a past age, which age you frankly couldn't say. It was a blue dress that hugged tight around the stomach, flared at the shoulders, then went all the way down to her ankles where it stretched out a good two feet in either direction. Eyes of an extremely pale green stared at Nikolai, and black skin glowed ethereally as she floated slightly above his spare chair as she 'sat' in it.

"It's something to do." Hesperance replied. "Would you say no to a security guard that doesn't need to sleep, doesn't need to eat?"

"No, but I come from a people suspicious of friendly spirits." Nikolai replied.

"I suppose then you have many others offering in this filthy alley?" the woman asked, looking towards the window. Hesperance had an interesting accent, British, mixed with something else that made every syllable drag out a bit, almost like a song that drifts in the wind.

Nikolai leans forward, staring at the ghost."And the real reason you want this job?"

"I have already stat-"

"Yes, that is the polite answer you give in interviews. Now, tell me the true reason."

The woman stared at him for several seconds, saying nothing. The room gets noticeably colder, distantly, at the very edge of his hearing. Nikola almost thinks he hears a piano playing.

"It's this… or I am exorcized." She replied quietly.

"And why, praytell, would you be?" Nikola asked.

Hesperance stared at him, she stared at him for a good long while without saying anything. Outside, the rain began to fall harder on the well-worn cobblestones of Knockturn Alley. Witches and Wizards began to move a bit more quickly as, distantly, thunder rumbled. "Because I do not wish to leave my home." A bitterness was in her voice, an anger at odds with her carefully pronounced speech. "It is mine, and has been for the past two hundred years. I bought it with money I had earned. But this government has declared ghosts can no longer own property. I refused to leave, even once my new guests arrived, and the government kindly informed me that I would be removed, permanently, unless I found a new place to haunt."

"Alright," Nikola said simply, staring at the woman across from him. He, frankly, had little opinion. There were few ghosts in Serbia, the vast majority having been removed quite some time ago, too dangerous, and it was a culture that had little tolerance for them. But still, this place was different… he would call it heartless, but she had likely been dead for well over a century in any case. "And why my shop?"

Hesperance's eyes searched his face for a moment, studying him. "Something about… this place feels." Her eyes move to one of the nearby shelves, going over its contents for a moment. "Comforting." Her hands move to her skirt, straightening it out, an act that does nothing. "I was unable to find anyone interested in Diagon Alley or Nocturn Alley, and all the other shops here are… unpleasant."

Nikola smiles thinly. "I see, being a ghost however, you cannot interact in any way that is helpful. In what manner is that conducive to being a guard?"

"I was a poor witch when I was alive sir. But I recognize the amount of traps you have already set in this place. There is little that can be done for you. But I can make quite a bit of a racket if necessary, and, since I do not need sleep, I can be a present figure at all hours."

In truth, Nikola didn't need a guard. It was something Morrigan had suggested, but he knew how to protect himself. He had to, more than enough people had tried to kill him before. Beyond that… she wasn't particularly useful, she could make noise, it was true. But she could do little else, and she may in fact attract rather poor attention. People tended to be, on average, rather distrustful of ghosts. So to take her on… it would be an act of charity, not good business.

Hesperance wrung her hands together, staring at him silently, waiting for his decision.

Nikola pushed away from the counter and made his way over to the corner. He said nothing, thinking it over as he poured out the coffee. He stared down at the light brown liquid for a moment, before reaching into his coat and producing a small, black leaf. Crushing it in his hands, he dropped it into the cup, then rubbed the slimy residue it left on his hands along the handle.

Taking it gently and holding it by the top, he ignored the numbness now permeating his right hand as he made his way over and offered the cup forward. "It's impolite to not offer a guest a drink."

Hesperance stared at the cup for a moment, watching the steam waft off of it. Then she stared Nikola in the face. A look of… quiet insult rested upon it. Nikola pushed the cup forward, and the woman was pushed back slightly as the handle poked her in the collarbone. On instinct she took it, her mouth open to say something in anger, before she realized she was holding the cup. Her eyes widened rather dramatically as Nikola released it. "It's also rather impolite for the guest to refuse, now then. In regards to your employment."

…

To hire her would grant him very little in terms of benefit, if Nikola was being honest with himself. He didn't know the woman for starters, and he had trust beaten out of him quite a long time ago. Trust was reserved for family, and then only after close scrutiny and background checks. On the other hand, there was nothing he would lose from turning her down. She was, after all, quite literally nothing. An annoyance to the government, a figment of the world's imagination. He knew the dead quite well, ghosts were the whole person, not memories, not figments like some presumed. Not naturally occurring like poltergeists, not a problem like wraiths. They simply were… someone who died that had reason not to move on, or had simply refused to. Serbia had gotten rid of all of theirs just about for being a security threat to the Ministry. Others, like America, did their best to cultivate them, however that worked. But, in any case. She had no legal status, she had no rights, the ICW gave them no form of representation or care. They couldn't harm anyone, they were useless to muggles, and they, a vast majority of the time, became ghosts of their own volition.

So, in truth. There was very little he had to gain from letting her on, and actually a rather decent amount to lose by keeping her around. Most tended to not enjoy being around ghosts, and where one was… others tended to be attracted much like a magnet.

So it would be pity then, simple pity and little more.

… He wondered if he had any pity left in him.

—

[] [Take her on]

[] [Refuse]