Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. Knockturn Alley? The name alone carried a weight of dread, whispered in the corridors of Hogwarts like a ghost story. It was the playground of the desperate, the hiding place of the Dark Arts, and the one place Mrs. Weasley had explicitly forbidden him from ever setting foot in.
"Mr. Jack," Harry whispered, his voice cracking slightly in his new, deeper register. "I have to ask... why are we going to Knockturn Alley? Isn't that where people go to... you know, disappear?"
Sebastian didn't stop. He was already standing by the grand, marble fireplace of Swann Manor, a pouch of Floo powder in his hand. "The clock is ticking on the Polyjuice, Leo. We have about fifty minutes of 'manhood' left, so let's not waste them on a debate. We'll talk while we walk."
He tossed a handful of powder into the grate. The flames roared a brilliant, emerald green. "Diagon Alley first. We'll enter the 'Flip-Over' through the side street. It's better for the optics."
With a swirl of heat and a stomach-churning spin, Harry vanished. He tumbled out of a fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, stumbling onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley just in time to see Sebastian step out behind him, looking perfectly composed in his tall, thin disguise.
"Let's go, Leo," Sebastian said, nodding toward the winding side streets.
Harry hurried to catch up, his long, unfamiliar legs nearly tripping him. "You said you'd explain. Why here?"
"I'm here to choose a very specific alchemical artifact for your birthday," Sebastian replied, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Harry's head was spinning with questions. A birthday present from Knockturn Alley? "Who in their right mind buys a gift there? And why you? You're Swann the Alchemist. You're literally the most famous creator in Europe. Is there something you can't make?"
Sebastian offered a small, knowing smile. "It's not a matter of skill, Harry. It's a matter of nature. There are certain artifacts that can only be found in the gutters of Knockturn because they were forged with... let's call them 'non-standard' methods. Items made with Black Magic."
Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "Black Magic? But... that's evil. Why would I want something like that?"
A wave of genuine resistance rose in Harry's chest. To him, the world was divided into the light of Hogwarts and the shadow of Voldemort. There was no middle ground.
Sebastian sensed the tension and pulled Harry into the shade of a nearby awning. "Listen to me, Leo. We at the Swann Workshop don't go around cursing people or experimenting on souls. But it's an undeniable fact that Dark Magic, for all its horror, occasionally produces effects that 'Light' magic simply cannot replicate. High-performance shields that feed on malice, or tracking charms that sense intent rather than location."
He saw the doubt in Harry's eyes and sighed. "If you were just a normal wizard, I'd tell you to stay in the sunshine and never look back. But you're a survivor. You're going to face enemies who don't play by the rules. A cat, whether it's black or white, is a good cat as long as it catches mice. You need to learn how to use every tool in the market to increase your power."
"But the side effects—"
"I'm an alchemist, Harry," Sebastian interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "I know how to strip the rot away from the bone. I won't give you anything that will poison your mind. But it's time you saw the other side of this world. It's not all candy shops and singing hats. There is a dark side to our society that isn't as glamorous as the Ministry likes to pretend."
As they crossed the threshold into Knockturn Alley, Harry felt the shift immediately. The air grew colder, heavy with a damp, metallic scent. The bright, primary colors of Diagon Alley bled away into shades of charcoal, moldy green, and rusted iron. The streets here were narrow, winding like the intestines of an old beast, and the buildings leaned over them as if trying to keep secrets from the sky.
The shop windows were thick with grime. Instead of racing brooms and jars of colored ink, Harry saw hand-sized shriveled heads, jars of floating eyeballs, and books bound in what looked suspiciously like human skin.
"Observe everything," Sebastian whispered. "This is a special lesson. Don't just look at the shops. Look at the people. Think about why they are here."
Harry looked. He felt like a tourist in a nightmare. He saw a man with a heavy cloak hiding a face that looked half-melted, and a woman in the corner nursing a bottle of something that glowed a sickly violet. Two or three times, strangers stepped out of the shadows, whispering about "special deals" or "exotic pleasures," but they melted back into the dark when Sebastian didn't break his stride.
Is this it? Harry thought. The dark side? It just looks... sad. And dirty.
But Harry's naive curiosity was like a beacon. His eyes darted from window to window, his movements jerky and uncertain. He was "Leo" on the outside, but his soul was still a twelve-year-old boy in a strange place.
From the shadows of a crumbling archway, four wizards watched them pass.
"Are you seeing this?" one whispered, his voice like gravel. "Fresh meat."
"Are you sure?" another asked. "The skinny one looks like he might have some bite."
"Don't be a coward. Look at the fat one," the leader sneered, gesturing toward Harry. "He's been goggling at the windows for ten minutes like he's at a carnival. He's an inexperienced newcomer. Probably some rich boy from the countryside trying to act tough."
"And the skinny one?"
"He's aimless. He's letting the fat one lead the way. He doesn't know the layout. We hit them near the apothecary, and we'll have their pouches before the sun moves an inch."
"Dammit," the leader hissed suddenly. "The old hag is moving in. We need to handle the thin one before she drags the boy away, or we won't even get a sip of the soup."
Before Harry could process the movement, a small, hunched figure materialized in his path. It was an old witch, her skin looking like crumpled parchment and her eyes milky with cataracts. She lunged forward with surprising speed, her claw-like hand clamping onto Harry's arm.
"Sweetheart," she croaked, her breath smelling of stale gin and ginger. "Is this your first time in the Alley? Are you lost? Poor little thing... you need a guide, don't you?"
She grinned, revealing teeth that were more yellow than white, and her voice took on a soft, cooing quality that made Harry's skin crawl.
"Just follow me, darling! I know all the best spots... the ones the Ministry doesn't tell you about," she said, tugging Harry toward a narrow, pitch-black gap between two buildings.
"No, ma'am! You've got it wrong," Harry stammered, his heart racing. He tried to pull back, but the old woman was shockingly strong. Her grip was like a vice. "I'm with my friend! I'm not lost!"
Harry struggled, his right hand clawing at her fingers, but he couldn't break free. He was being dragged toward the darkness. He looked around frantically for Sebastian.
Sebastian was standing just five feet away. He wasn't reaching for his wand. He wasn't yelling. He was just... watching. His arms were crossed, and he had the analytical expression of a professor watching a student fail a basic potion.
Why isn't he helping? Harry's panic surged. Is this part of the lesson?
Then it clicked. Sebastian had said he wanted Harry to see the "Dark Side." Harry had thought he meant the architecture or the items for sale. But Sebastian meant the people. He wanted Harry to experience the predatory nature of the world outside the castle walls.
So what now? Harry thought, his feet slipping on the wet cobbles as the witch pulled harder. I'm an adult 'Leo' right now. I have a wand. Do I hex an old woman? Do I deliver a 'good blow' to a lady who looks like she's a hundred years old?
Harry's hand moved toward his pocket where his wand was hidden. He looked at Sebastian one last time, pleading for a sign.
Urgent! I need a response! Do I blast her or keep playing the victim?