Returning home, Victor flopped heavily into his chair with a dull thud and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. Deep in thought, he was interrupted when Crookshanks ran up to him and gracefully leapt onto the armrest, meowing loudly. A smile instantly bloomed on Victor's face.
— What's this, you glutton, are you hungry? — He reached out to affectionately stroke the cat. But Crookshanks flinched violently away from the touch, as if from red-hot iron.
Victor blinked in surprise, then looked down at his hand in bewilderment and noticed several bloodstains on it.
— Oh, right, exactly, — he said nonchalantly. — Sorry. This is the blood of two not-very-pleasant wizards who kindly helped me find my way. I'll take a quick shower now and then feed you, my ginger fluff-ball.
After he had bathed, Victor emerged in a fluffy white robe, a radiant and completely serene smile on his face. Filling Crookshanks' bowl, he hummed a cheerful tune. Before the cat could even touch the food, Victor, in a burst of inspiration, scooped him up and began to twirl around the living room, improvising a waltz.
— I found it! Soon Knockturn Alley will learn what it means when the hunter becomes the prey! I need to sharpen my swordsmanship anyway...
Victor suddenly stopped dead, frozen in the middle of the room with Crookshanks in his arms. While he was in a trance, the cat skillfully slipped from his grasp and ran back to the bowl, greedily devouring his hard-earned meal.
— Right, stop. I need to calm down. I can't just go charging in there, — he walked to the chair and slowly sat back down. — First, I need to find out exactly who is looking for me, how many of them there are, and how strong they are! No matter how cool I am, if there are too many of them and I burst in with two swords, they might give me such a gang-bang that even Brazzers would be taking notes on the sidelines.
Why hadn't Victor pried this information out of the two wizards he had already killed? It was simple. He had been so upset at wasting three days when Knockturn Alley was right there that he simply had an urgent need to blow off steam and enjoy the moment without being distracted by questions.
— No problems with protective amulets, I've got loads of them, but that's still not enough. Damn, I should have taken their wands, — Victor struck the armrest irritably with his fist. — Although, I could just buy a new one or take it from someone? Or...
Victor cautiously stood up, walked to the window, and looked thoughtfully at the street. Gradually, a mad, predatory smile began to spread across his face. Without taking his eyes off the window, he whispered in anticipation:
— I think a "rainy day" has arrived.
Victor remembered how, while studying Kendo, he had overheard one of the students mention that someone in his neighborhood was selling actual firearms. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had followed the boy. After spending half the night tracking them, he finally found the guys who were selling ammunition to shady characters. Following them further, he reached a huge abandoned factory where one of the warehouses was packed with crates of various firearms and ammo. There were plenty of people there who were definitely not military. Just as he was about to clear the place out, the realization hit him that it was better to save them for a day when he might be very bored. Or, if that day never came, he would just burn the whole factory and warehouse down before the school year started.
— Fitting, — he whispered, returning to his chair. — I've always wondered what would happen if someone took a gun into the wizarding world. Which is faster: magic or a bullet? Hahaha...
Over the next few days, complete and unprecedented chaos erupted in England's criminal underworld. First came the suicide of a shadow leader. As it turned out, that "successful businessman" was the head of a major drug syndicate that controlled all trafficking in the country. Then, the warehouse of another influential gang specializing in arms dealing burned to the ground. When the firefighters finally extinguished the blaze, the police discovered twenty-four charred bodies. Experts determined that they had all died before the fire even started. DNA analysis showed the deceased were notorious criminals, many of whom were wanted or under heavy surveillance.
The detective in charge of the case hastily concluded it was a gang war, despite a lack of direct evidence linking the first victim to drugs. He was absolutely certain of it. The gangsters themselves, however, were in utter turmoil. Both sides knew perfectly well that a "war" was nonsense: they had nothing to settle, as each gang stuck to its own sphere of influence. They reached a single conclusion: a new, ruthless power had emerged in England, one that wanted to rise and had decided to pit them against each other.
Following a secret meeting, they decided on a "purge." A merciless hunt began for smaller gangs, dealers, and arms sellers. In a few days, they destroyed more underground labs and found more illegal weapons than the police had in two years. Just as they calmed down and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the threat had passed, a new, daring incident occurred. While the drug traffickers were looking for another way to launder money—since the police had found accounting issues in the suicide's company and shut it down—one of their cash vaults burned to the ground, and all the guards were dead.
Thinking this was surely the work of their "allies," the arms gang, they immediately declared war on them. While England was mired in murders, fires, and explosions, and the police rejoiced thinking the criminals were destroying themselves, the true culprit of all this chaos was happy and content, stacking money at home.
— Talk about a lucky shortcut! I really should walk home more often, — Victor muttered to himself, looking at a massive pile of euro bundles. Smiling, he took a running leap onto the mountain of cash.
Lying on the floor literally in money, he joyfully made "snow angels" and laughed out loud. Standing up, he brushed off the banknotes, straightened his clothes, and put on a mockingly serious face.
— Alright, need to stay calm. It's just money... A pile of money! My pile of money! Hahaha! My money! Okay, okay, I'm calm now. Hmm... and where should I hide all this? Let's think... where did Heisenberg hide his money? Make a bed out of it? No. Maybe bury it? No. Oh, I know! — He went to a drawer, pulled out a seemingly ordinary duffel bag, and began quickly stuffing the bundles inside. No matter how much he shoved in, the bag never seemed to get full. When he put the last bundle in, he zipped it shut.
— Magic is just the best, — he whispered with a smile.