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The solution to the problem of Hermione's parents' disbelief in the significance of the threat did not go unnoticed. For several days the girl wrote me about the shocked state of her relatives, who could hardly accept the fact that magic was destructive in some of its manifestations. However, by the end of the first week of vacation, they finally came to the conclusion that they could leave the country for a year or two until the problem was solved. If the problem can be solved at all, of course.

I myself did not suffer from idleness but tried to solve several accumulated problems. The first, and quite interesting one, is what to do with the skin? To solve this problem, I wandered around Diagon Alley and the adjacent streets and shops for two days without much result. I was also at Knockturn Alley, but not without disguise on my face - I learned how to make impenetrable darkness under the hood long ago when I absorbed the Grimoire. So I dropped by Borgin and Burkes.

The store was somewhat gloomy, and this gloom has not changed in the least since my last visit. It is noteworthy, by the way, that no one bothered me this time, although Knockturn was definitely more lively.

When I saw the same old man behind the counter, I addressed him, remembering to change my voice slightly with magic.

"Greetings, old man."

Only after my words did the old man carelessly turn his attention to me.

"I remember a similar image a couple of years ago," he replied with a grin in a hoarse voice. "How quickly time flies ..."

Not wanting to procrastinate with polite negotiations, I simply walked over to the counter and laid out a small piece of basilisk pelt. And a couple of galleons, of course.

"I want to know who can make items from this material. Silently."

The old man held his wand over a piece of skin and only after that took it in his hand, starting to examine and speak along the way as if thinking aloud:

"There are a couple of respectable wizards, yes..." he twisted the skin in his hands, examining it, almost tasting it on his teeth. "And what about the rest of the shops... refused? No wonder... Leather has been out of fashion for half a century, and all the craftsmen have either retired or moved away..."

And it's true. I had to go around a lot of clothing and equipment stores before I came here to Knockturn.

The old man looked up at me.

"I can facilitate. Not for free."

I pulled out another stack of galleons, ten of them, and put them on the counter.

"Show your friend this piece. Money for your assistance. I would like to contact him and discuss the nuances, as well as the range of possible services."

"It doesn't work that way," the old man shook his head with a smirk.

"You won't get all the material in your hands. Work at my suggestion, and no one will be left behind."

"However, in my shop, my rules ..."

The old man quite briskly tried to raise his wand, but I stopped his hand by telekinesis. There was no threat in his gaze, more of a test, so I was in no hurry to act radically. I stopped his hand, and with the same telekinesis, I grabbed his throat, squeezing it, increasing the density and volume of the magic circulating in the body.

"You shouldn't twitch your hands so imprudently, my corrupt friend," my tone was insinuating and soft, despite the sensations created by magic. The man who had worked with dangerous dark magic and curses for so many years easily sensed the change.

The old man was clearly frightened, but his face showed only a polite smile, along with an apology.

"I guess... kha... we both got a little excited..."

The old man put his wand away and took a piece of basilisk hide, and hid it along with the coins under the counter.

"In what way..." he rubbed his neck with his hand, "do you prefer to be contacted?"

"How long will it take for a reply from the master?"

"Twenty-four hours."

"I'll come on the third day at dawn."

Turning around but not stopping tracking the fluctuations of magic, I headed out of the store.

This is exactly what that simple trip looked like, during which a few days later, I received an address for owls to which I could write to the master. Of course, I used public mail in Diagon Alley because there you can conduct anonymous correspondence, and no one will ask your name - the owl just brings a letter to the post office, and there you receive it by a secret word. The guarantees of the safety of the letter are laid down in a service contract, simple and cheap. The integrity of the letter is certified by a special wax seal on the surface. In general, all ingenious is simple and has long been invented before us.