The Hog's Head Inn, England.
Boom! Boom!
As always, the pub was filled with noise.
Clinking glasses echoed across the room, voices overlapping in drunken laughter or heated debates.
At the counter, Aberforth Dumbledore stood as he always did, wiping a glass, his eyes flicking over the rowdy crowd.
Alcohol had a way of loosening tongues.
Some wizards exaggerated tales of grandeur, while others—whether by mistake or intent—let slip secrets unknown to most.
Aberforth, ever the quiet observer, would sometimes pause in his glass-wiping whenever he heard something particularly interesting.
But tonight—
His attention was divided.
Between swipes of his cloth, his eyes involuntarily drifted toward the rectangular jade-like object resting on the counter.
It was crystal clear, its entirety tinged with a light green hue.
Inside, a golden dragon swam lazily, weaving through an intricate and endless path.
If one were to trace its movements, they would find it spelling out two words:
"Wizard Pay."
At the top of the cuboid, a long, shimmering strip continuously cycled through colors—
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
It changed in rhythm, shifting seamlessly like a flowing rainbow.
It was beautiful, almost like an exquisite piece of enchanted art.
But Aberforth knew better.
This wasn't just an ornament—it was a tool.
One that had been freely distributed by Kamar Taj to various businesses, including his own Hog's Head Inn.
And its purpose?
Transactions.
"Boss, check please!"
"That'll be six Sickles, ten Knuts."
Aberforth barely glanced at the wizard's table—three bottles of butterbeer, plus a few other things.
The wizard pulled out a black card and lightly swiped it across the rainbow-colored strip atop the jade cuboid.
Ding!
A soft chime sounded.
Instantly, the numbers 6 and 10 appeared on the surface, along with the symbols for Sickle and Knut.
The payment was complete.
This was "Wizard Pay."
It had revolutionized transactions in the wizarding world, eliminating the need for physical coins.
No more fumbling for change.
No more forgetting your money pouch.
With just a black wealth card, a wizard could transfer funds instantly.
It was simple, convenient, and—most concerning of all—beloved by nearly every wizard.
Even Aberforth couldn't deny that business had improved thanks to this device.
Not because of more customers, but because each customer spent more than they normally would.
It was almost unnatural.
And the mastermind behind this terrifying invention?
Gilderoy Lockhart.
Aberforth's expression darkened.
He wasn't just a bar owner.
He was Dumbledore's brother.
A former member of the Order of the Phoenix.
A duelist who had once fought Grindelwald himself—though ultimately defeated, he had earned his place among the strongest wizards of his time.
From his position, he could see the true danger of what Kamar Taj and Lockhart had created.
The once tangible wizarding currency—gold Galleons, silver Sickles, bronze Knuts—had now become a mere number on a screen.
Previously, at least, money had limitations—materials had to be minted, gold had to be weighed.
But now?
It was just data.
And the most terrifying part?
The entire wizarding world had accepted it without hesitation.
In less than a month—no, in just two weeks—this system had become a fundamental part of daily life.
It was unbelievable.
Even the most revolutionary spells or breakthroughs in magical theory took years for wizards to accept.
But this?
It was instantaneous.
It was as if the world had been changed overnight.
There was only one explanation.
Magic.
Not ordinary magic.
Something far deeper, something woven into reality itself.
Aberforth had tried to analyze it.
Tried to detect any traces of enchantments or compulsions.
But everything about Wizard Pay seemed natural.
Was he simply getting old?
Had his skills dulled over the years?
Or was this truly just a naturally adopted innovation?
His fingers unconsciously tightened around his own wealth card at his waist.
For the first time, he felt a strange, creeping unease.
Whoosh!
The sudden flutter of wings snapped Aberforth from his thoughts.
A gray owl landed before him, a letter tied to its leg.
It let out a soft hoot, tilting its head expectantly—waiting for its usual reward.
Aberforth glanced at the seal on the envelope.
His expression hardened.
But he kept his composure, reaching beneath the counter for a handful of owl treats, which he placed beside the bird.
The owl cooed in satisfaction and began pecking at its meal.
Meanwhile, Aberforth tore open the letter and quickly scanned its contents.
"The two Dark Lords have allied.
Durmstrang has fallen.
The Saints and Vice Headmaster Rozier have been captured."
"Grindelwald leads a counterattack."
"The alliance has fractured—Voldemort and Grindelwald are now at war."
Aberforth's breath hitched.
Voldemort had left England and attacked Europe?
And he had seized Grindelwald's stronghold?
Was he insane?!
Was he actively seeking death?!
What kind of fool provokes Grindelwald?!
This was madness.
Voldemort had always been reckless in his pursuit of power, but this?
This was suicidal.
Aberforth's fingers clenched the parchment, but his eyes widened as he read the next part.
"Voldemort claims that Lockhart orchestrated Tom resurrection.
He accuses Lockhart of masterminding the Gringotts catastrophe.
Lockhart, he says, is the true hidden power in Britain—
Using Kamar Taj to experiment on young wizards and manipulate the entire wizarding world."
Aberforth's gaze instinctively shifted back to the jade cuboid on his counter.
The glowing golden words—Wizard Pay—felt almost blinding now.
News that should have been laughable, even absurd...
Instead, it felt eerily plausible.
"Boss, check please."
The casual request snapped Aberforth back to reality.
He glanced at the wizard waiting to pay, then at the bottles of mead on the counter.
"Thirteen Sickles."
The wizard reached for his black wealth card.
Aberforth hesitated.
"Could you pay in Sickles instead?"
The wizard frowned, confused.
"I don't carry cash anymore."
He gestured at the card reader.
"Who even does these days?"
Aberforth felt a cold sweat forming on his back.
Instinctively, his fingers drifted to his own wealth card.
When had he stopped carrying cash?
He forced a smile, nodding as he pushed the card reader forward.
The wizard swiped his card, paid, and walked away without a second thought.
Aberforth, however, took a step back—as if staring at something dangerous.
With a flick of his wand, a quill and parchment flew into the air.
He began writing furiously.
Within moments, the sealed letter was stuffed into the owl's pouch.
"Go. Quickly."
The owl hooted but obeyed, soaring into the night sky—heading straight for Albus Dumbledore.
Aberforth had no doubt now.
The third Dark Lord had arrived.
And his name was—
Gilderoy Lockhart.
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