The human heart is never satisfied—like a snake trying to swallow an elephant.
Mundungus was a greedy fellow. And if he were just greedy, that might be tolerable. But he was also disloyal.
Worse yet, he never learned his lesson.
John had already warned him not to mess with the fund. But of course, Mundungus just had to dip his hand into the Silverhand Angel Investment too.
With behavior like that, there was no reason to keep him around any longer.
John instructed Tommy to fire him. And if Mundungus couldn't return the money, the security team was to pay a visit to his home.
By the time Mundungus got back, it was already past 9 p.m.
Mundungus was quite satisfied with his current life. Compared to his old days—no place to sleep, sneaking into the World Cup with fake tickets—this was heaven.
Harry, meanwhile, had been shoved back into his room by the Dursleys. Meals were simply brought to his door three times a day.
Life had abruptly returned to its original, miserable state, and Harry was experiencing the full sting of that contrast.
It worked out great for Mundungus—no need to babysit like before.
"Hey, didn't you see me walk in? Where's my salute?" Mundungus barked, putting on airs and laying down little rules—like demanding the shop staff greet him when he walked in.
The security team didn't give him the time of day, but the clerks used to play along.
Only today, he noticed the usual obedient staff just gave him a cold snicker.
He was a little angry—after all, he was one of the founding members of the Silverhand Johnny Specialty Shop.
"What kind of expression is that?!" Mundungus shouted. "Apologize to me at once!"
He saw the clerk's expression shift, suddenly bowing with great respect toward him, which made Mundungus very pleased with himself.
But soon, he noticed something was off.
The clerk was bowing—but not to him.
He turned around and found himself face-to-face with the silver mask.
The familiar scene made him drop to his knees instinctively.
"E-Esteemed Lord Johnny Silverhand," Mundungus groveled, laying himself flat on the floor in the most flattering posture he could manage.
He stayed in that position for a long while, beads of sweat the size of pearls dripping down his face. He sneaked a glance upward—his boss made no move to tell him to rise.
"Mundungus," John finally spoke, voice low and slightly raspy, "do you remember what I told you?"
Mundungus shivered, sweat pouring, and stammered, "L-Lord Johnny Silverhand?"
"Seems you really did forget." From beneath the silver mask, no expression could be seen—but Mundungus could feel it. He was angry.
A strange force lifted Mundungus off the floor, and a choking pressure gripped his throat.
That familiar sensation turned his face bright red.
The strength of that hand was nearly enough to crush his neck—death loomed over Mundungus's head.
"You're too greedy. I already gave you a chance."
Mundungus struggled frantically, unable to speak, his body twitching like a fish thrown onto a beach.
He was truly done for. He saw those eyes—cold, emotionless.
That's right. He remembered now.
It was just like this the last time.
Mundungus regretted everything. He shouldn't have done it.
Too many days of comfort had made him forget. After he helped Johnny Silverhand negotiate the World Cup advertisement deal, he thought he was on top again.
In reality, he was still just a petty thief that could be crushed at any moment.
Just as Mundungus was about to suffocate, the hand finally let go.
As though granted amnesty, Mundungus gasped desperately for air.
"You're fired, Mundungus."
The cold, indifferent voice was like a death sentence.
Mundungus froze, then scrambled to John's feet, crying, "My lord, I didn't do anything—why are you doing this to me?"
"Did nothing?" A cold laugh echoed from beneath the mask, followed by a report smacking Mundungus in the face.
When he saw the name Fat Dun's Surfing Lessons on it, he knew he was done for.
He even forgot to cry. He couldn't get a single word out.
The way he looked now—he was nothing but a pathetic clown.
John stared down at him and said, "Hand over everything that belongs to the Silverhand. Everything you have is confiscated."
With just one sentence, John sent Mundungus back to square one.
No matter how loudly he cried or begged, it was useless.
John wouldn't keep a loose nail around.
Mourning like he'd lost his entire family, Mundungus was dragged away. Even the Silverhand uniform he wore was stripped off.
Thrown out stark naked into the street.
Tommy said coldly, "You'd better get that money back—fast."
Money?
Mundungus shivered.
He didn't have a single Knut left.
He'd already spent it all.
He'd used the money to purchase flying carpets—because Kim had mentioned they were planning to import goods for resale.
But once the carpets arrived, he discovered they were banned for travel.
The country didn't allow such conspicuous means of transport anymore.
That batch of carpets couldn't be sold at all, just collecting dust in storage and nearly going moldy.
Which meant Mundungus would have to pay out of his own pocket—but if he had money, he wouldn't have needed to scam the Silverhand Angel Investment Fund with a fake project in the first place.
"It's all over…"
Mundungus wanted to run, but the thought of Johnny Silverhand's terrifying reach made his blood run cold. If he so much as tried to flee, he'd be found dead in a gutter within three days.
He couldn't think of a single solution.
Was he just supposed to wait for death?
Despair spread through his body. Everything he had turned to smoke and ash in a single day.
He regretted it deeply—why had he let greed get the better of him?
…
Old Barty's election was approaching, and John held an application form for a werewolf community councilor in his hand.
There was a werewolf community under his jurisdiction. After a period of heavy investment, not only had they opened a school for young werewolves, but they'd also created job opportunities.
A massage parlor run by werewolves had become especially popular.
Ever since the Wolfsbane Potion was developed, discrimination against werewolves had eased significantly.
But discrimination couldn't be completely eliminated—and John didn't intend to make that happen either.
Even in Muggle society, discrimination based on skin color still persisted.
What he wanted was to leverage the power of this community to win more votes for Old Barty.
The first step was to grant werewolves this power.
The best way to do that was to have the werewolves elect one of their own as a councilor.
This councilor would represent and serve the werewolf community—essentially acting as their leader.
That power wasn't insignificant. On the contrary, it held limitless potential.
As for the issue of werewolf discrimination, there were quite a few voices in the Ministry of Magic advocating for its eradication.
Werewolves were different from house-elves. House-elves were born to serve, a result of evolution and magical wars.
But most werewolves had been turned against their will—especially those in this community. While the true culprit had already been sent to Azkaban, many of the young werewolves were still victims.
As long as they could maintain human reasoning, there were plenty of people willing to fight for a place for these poor werewolves.
John headed to the werewolf community—this was actually his first time visiting in person.
Previously, he had always left it to his subordinates.
Calling it a "community" was generous—it resembled a settlement more like Hogsmeade.
Old Jack was beside himself with excitement when he heard that Sir Johnny Silverhand had come in person.
The young boys he had taken in also gathered around.
They were all victims who had been bitten by werewolves, and had once been indoctrinated with hatred toward wizards. Thankfully, Old Jack had adopted them and corrected their thinking in time.
To them, Johnny Silverhand was like a savior—someone who had rescued them and ensured they had full bellies.
"Lord Johnny Silverhand," Old Jack greeted respectfully.
Compared to when they first met, he looked even older now.
The werewolf massage parlor had been his idea, created to help jobless werewolves.
Though his magical ability wasn't strong, he held great prestige.
Among the werewolves, he was seen as their leader.
"Old Jack, it's gotten lively around here," John said with a smile, helping the man to his feet as he looked around. Jack had managed the place well.
That gave John the confidence to hand him the application form.
When Old Jack saw what it was, he was utterly stunned.
"M-My lord… is this real?" Old Jack couldn't believe his eyes.
Werewolves, long subjected to discrimination, now had the chance to become a member of the Ministry of Magic?
John chuckled lightly. "That depends on you. The Ministry will be sending someone to inspect the place soon—I hope you'll present your best side."
In truth, there was no need for anything overly enthusiastic. As long as the Ministry officials saw that the werewolves had curbed their aggression, everything would go smoothly.
But Old Jack still couldn't stop thanking him. After John experienced a werewolf massage, he headed back.
Even after John had left, Old Jack remained caught up in his excitement.
But not long after, someone came knocking.
When Old Jack saw who it was, his expression immediately darkened.
"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly.
The visitor looked a bit more haggard compared to his days under Johnny Silverhand. He wasn't wearing that signature suit anymore, just a plain outfit.
Lupin looked at the guarded Old Jack and gave a bitter smile. "I want to talk."
"Talk? You ungrateful bastard! Lord Johnny Silverhand gave you a job, and this is how you repay him?" Old Jack fumed, his beard bristling and eyes blazing with anger.
Among werewolves, working at the Johnny Silverhand specialty store was considered an honor. Lupin had walked away from it, and that infuriated Old Jack.
Lupin had come under Dumbledore's instruction, hoping to win over members of the werewolf community.
Dumbledore knew that once Voldemort returned, werewolves would certainly be one of his recruitment targets.
Just like giants, werewolves were also a formidable combat force.
But Dumbledore had underestimated one thing.
Werewolves were no longer what they used to be. With funding from the Johnny Silverhand specialty store, their situation had improved drastically.
What's more, Old Jack had just received a Ministry-issued application form for a council seat—an opportunity to change the werewolves' status once and for all. There was no way he was going to let that slip by.
Lupin tried to persuade him again, but Old Jack had already started cursing.
"Seven! Ais! Show him out!"
After getting thoroughly scolded by Old Jack, Lupin was escorted out by a young werewolf boy and girl.
Old Jack had adopted six werewolf children in total.
They were: Chudai, Jack, Zoffy, Seven, Ais, and Tailuo.
Chudai was the eldest and had received a magical education before becoming a werewolf. He later founded an elementary school in the werewolf community.
Zoffy trained under a werewolf security guard from the Johnny Silverhand store and aspired to become the captain of the security team.
Jack was the first among them to enroll at Hogwarts.
Old Jack's six kids were famously known as the "Six Werewolf Brothers."
___________
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