Chapter 68: The Real Magical World
The first shop they entered had no sign. Only a string of dried bats hung from the doorframe.
Their eyes had been replaced with glowing rubies. In the dim light, they looked like dripping eyes.
Inside, the shop was darker than the alley. Most items on the shelves were indistinct, reduced to the vague outlines of bottles and jars.
Behind the counter stood a wizard thin as a skeleton. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, and his fingers were long and narrow like bird claws.
When he saw Orion, he grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow and black.
"Mr Black," the wizard rasped, voice like sandpaper on wood. "This month's goods are ready. Same as always."
He dragged a black leather case from beneath the counter and lifted the lid just enough to show what was inside.
Regulus saw rows of glass jars packed neatly in foam. Each jar held preserved biological specimens suspended in cloudy liquid. Some were unmistakably human. The longer Regulus looked, the heavier the air seemed to become.
Orion did not touch the case. He set a cloth bag of Galleons on the counter.
The wizard took it, weighed it in his hand, and nodded, satisfied.
"Tell me what you need next time," he said, closing the case again. "Supply is tight lately. Werewolves are making noise, and the Ministry is cracking down."
"Understood," Orion replied, curt as ever.
He turned and left.
Regulus followed, expression unchanged, eyes open and attentive.
The second shop sold Dark magic items. Several pieces were displayed in the window as if daring the world to look away.
A wand carved from bone, its shaft etched with curse runes.
A mirror that reflected a person's deepest fears, its frame pieced together from pale bone.
A set of ritual daggers, blades stained dark, handles inset with memories that felt wrong to touch.
The owner was a witch in black robes, wearing a pure white mask with two eyeholes. In those holes, two ghostly flames seemed to burn.
She saw Orion, extended a gloved hand, and pointed to a pile covered by black cloth in the corner.
Orion walked over, lifted a corner, checked what lay beneath, then nodded and handed over another bag of Galleons.
No bargaining.
No discussion.
Only confirmation and payment.
The third shop was more secluded still, hidden at the end of a dead end passage. There was no sign, only a twisted symbol smeared on the wall in dried blood.
Orion stopped before it, traced a reversed pattern in the air with his wand, and the door slid open without sound.
Inside was a small room. Chains and shackles covered the walls like decoration.
A half human, half beast creature crouched in the corner, body folded tight as if it had learned the shape of pain. It might have been a hybrid, or the result of failed Transfiguration. Whatever it was, it was alive, and the chains ensured it could not forget that fact.
When the door opened, it growled low in its throat. The sound was hostile, but it carried something else too.
Fear.
A hunched old wizard emerged from an inner room, ledger in hand.
"Mr Black," he croaked. "This month's accounts. There was a problem with the chain. Two shipments were intercepted by Aurors. The loss must be recorded."
Orion took the ledger, flipped through it, and frowned.
"Why were they intercepted?"
"Someone inside tipped them off," the old wizard spat. "It has been dealt with. The goods cannot be recovered."
"Do not let it happen again," Orion said.
He signed the ledger without hesitation.
"If it happens again, you will cover the losses yourselves."
As they left, Regulus noticed the chained creature staring at him. Its eyes were filled with hatred, pain, and something that looked uncomfortably like a plea.
Regulus did not respond.
He shifted his gaze and followed Orion out.
Shop after shop, Regulus saw the things he had only read about in dangerous books.
Artefacts that claimed to snare souls.
Candles rendered from materials no decent person would name.
Fresh hides taken in ways that should not have been possible.
Crystal spheres that held other people's pain.
Experimental records that trampled ethics so completely that the words on the page felt like crimes.
None of the managers in the Black family's Knockturn holdings looked respectable.
The skeletal wizard in the first shop carried an aura of death. Corrosive marks ringed his finger joints, like long exposure to preservation fluids had eaten the skin away.
The masked witch's magic was chaotic and distorted, as if multiple varieties of Dark magic had been forced together and stitched into place with sheer malice.
The hunched old wizard's eyes were a cloudy yellow, pupils thin like a snake's. He looked at people the way a merchant looked at inventory.
Regulus understood why Orion had brought him here.
This was not only a property inspection.
Orion wanted him to see the real wizarding world. Beyond Hogwarts classrooms. Beyond Diagon Alley shopfronts. Beyond Quidditch and banquets and polite cruelty.
There was this too.
Smuggling chains.
Dark wizards.
Werewolves.
Illegal experiments.
Human trafficking.
Organ trade.
Things that rarely entered polite conversation, yet existed all the same.
Some boundaries were blurred so thoroughly that law and crime overlapped. Diagon Alley could hide illicit dealings behind bright windows. Knockturn shops could survive because someone in the Ministry looked away at the right moment.
Regulus was not truly a child. He understood how societies worked.
The Muggle world had slums, black markets, and underground trade.
The wizarding world had Knockturn Alley.
The principle was identical. Shadows beneath light. Chaos outside order.
Where there was demand, there would be supply. Where there was a ban, there would be a market. Where there was law, there would be loopholes.
So Regulus did not flinch.
He did not panic.
He did not feel moral discomfort, not here, not now, not while he was still gathering information and measuring the terrain.
He watched.
Carefully.
Intently.
Like a scholar studying an unfamiliar ecosystem.
Orion watched his son in return.
From the moment they stepped into Knockturn Alley, Orion had been measuring Regulus's face.
Jars behind counters. Bone crafted tools. Chained creatures. Ledger books that spoke of intercepted shipments and covered losses.
Regulus showed no revulsion.
No hesitation.
Only observation.
Orion exhaled, relieved, and then felt something more complicated rise beneath that relief.
Of course he wanted his son to be steady. In Knockturn Alley, even a flicker of weakness could become a target.
Regulus was perfect by pure blood standards. Calm. Rational. Focused. Exactly what a Black heir was meant to be.
And yet, watching an eleven year old remain composed in places like this, Orion could not stop a quiet ache.
An eleven year old should still have harmless fantasies about the world. Should still believe good and evil were clearly separated. Should still expect justice to arrive because that was what stories promised.
Regulus had never been like that.
He saw too much. Thought too deeply. Understood the world's cruelty too early.
Orion's mind returned to yesterday's Patronus.
A Starling, legendary, luminous, a symbol of freedom and exploration and breaking through obstacles.
That was Regulus's deepest desire, bright and hopeful and alive.
Yet the same child could walk through Knockturn Alley without blinking.
Light and darkness existed together inside him.
Orion did not know whether that was good or bad.
But he was certain of one thing.
Regulus would become a very special wizard.
Special enough to surpass every Black ancestor before him.
Special enough to be called great.
As they left the seventh shop, Regulus sensed something wrong.
The alley looked the same. Dim. Dirty. Sparse foot traffic.
But the air held extra attention now. Several gazes moved across him and Orion, carrying malice without any attempt to hide it.
Regulus did not turn his head.
He kept his pace normal and his posture relaxed, half a step behind his father. His senses spread outward, quiet and precise.
He locked onto positions one by one.
Ten metres ahead on the left, two figures hid beside a heap of discarded crates. Their magic was faint and murky. A Disillusionment Charm covered them, but the casting was poor. In the dim light, their outlines still distorted the air, and when they shifted their weight, their footprints appeared in the dust.
Farther down the alley, near the shadowed doorway of a crooked building, two more waited.
One had wild, unstable magical fluctuations. It felt feral, animal, close to snapping. A werewolf, most likely, and close to transformation.
The other's magic was colder.
Four people. One group.
Two close for pursuit.
Two positioned for support.
A clean ambush pattern.
Chapter 68: The Real Magical World
The first shop they entered had no sign. Only a string of dried bats hung from the doorframe.
Their eyes had been replaced with glowing rubies. In the dim light, they looked like dripping eyes.
Inside, the shop was darker than the alley. Most items on the shelves were indistinct, reduced to the vague outlines of bottles and jars.
Behind the counter stood a wizard thin as a skeleton. His eyes were sunken, his skin pale, and his fingers were long and narrow like bird claws.
When he saw Orion, he grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow and black.
"Mr Black," the wizard rasped, voice like sandpaper on wood. "This month's goods are ready. Same as always."
He dragged a black leather case from beneath the counter and lifted the lid just enough to show what was inside.
Regulus saw rows of glass jars packed neatly in foam. Each jar held preserved biological specimens suspended in cloudy liquid. Some were unmistakably human. The longer Regulus looked, the heavier the air seemed to become.
Orion did not touch the case. He set a cloth bag of Galleons on the counter.
The wizard took it, weighed it in his hand, and nodded, satisfied.
"Tell me what you need next time," he said, closing the case again. "Supply is tight lately. Werewolves are making noise, and the Ministry is cracking down."
"Understood," Orion replied, curt as ever.
He turned and left.
Regulus followed, expression unchanged, eyes open and attentive.
The second shop sold Dark magic items. Several pieces were displayed in the window as if daring the world to look away.
A wand carved from bone, its shaft etched with curse runes.
A mirror that reflected a person's deepest fears, its frame pieced together from pale bone.
A set of ritual daggers, blades stained dark, handles inset with memories that felt wrong to touch.
The owner was a witch in black robes, wearing a pure white mask with two eyeholes. In those holes, two ghostly flames seemed to burn.
She saw Orion, extended a gloved hand, and pointed to a pile covered by black cloth in the corner.
Orion walked over, lifted a corner, checked what lay beneath, then nodded and handed over another bag of Galleons.
No bargaining.
No discussion.
Only confirmation and payment.
The third shop was more secluded still, hidden at the end of a dead end passage. There was no sign, only a twisted symbol smeared on the wall in dried blood.
Orion stopped before it, traced a reversed pattern in the air with his wand, and the door slid open without sound.
Inside was a small room. Chains and shackles covered the walls like decoration.
A half human, half beast creature crouched in the corner, body folded tight as if it had learned the shape of pain. It might have been a hybrid, or the result of failed Transfiguration. Whatever it was, it was alive, and the chains ensured it could not forget that fact.
When the door opened, it growled low in its throat. The sound was hostile, but it carried something else too.
Fear.
A hunched old wizard emerged from an inner room, ledger in hand.
"Mr Black," he croaked. "This month's accounts. There was a problem with the chain. Two shipments were intercepted by Aurors. The loss must be recorded."
Orion took the ledger, flipped through it, and frowned.
"Why were they intercepted?"
"Someone inside tipped them off," the old wizard spat. "It has been dealt with. The goods cannot be recovered."
"Do not let it happen again," Orion said.
He signed the ledger without hesitation.
"If it happens again, you will cover the losses yourselves."
As they left, Regulus noticed the chained creature staring at him. Its eyes were filled with hatred, pain, and something that looked uncomfortably like a plea.
Regulus did not respond.
He shifted his gaze and followed Orion out.
Shop after shop, Regulus saw the things he had only read about in dangerous books.
Artefacts that claimed to snare souls.
Candles rendered from materials no decent person would name.
Fresh hides taken in ways that should not have been possible.
Crystal spheres that held other people's pain.
Experimental records that trampled ethics so completely that the words on the page felt like crimes.
None of the managers in the Black family's Knockturn holdings looked respectable.
The skeletal wizard in the first shop carried an aura of death. Corrosive marks ringed his finger joints, like long exposure to preservation fluids had eaten the skin away.
The masked witch's magic was chaotic and distorted, as if multiple varieties of Dark magic had been forced together and stitched into place with sheer malice.
The hunched old wizard's eyes were a cloudy yellow, pupils thin like a snake's. He looked at people the way a merchant looked at inventory.
Regulus understood why Orion had brought him here.
This was not only a property inspection.
Orion wanted him to see the real wizarding world. Beyond Hogwarts classrooms. Beyond Diagon Alley shopfronts. Beyond Quidditch and banquets and polite cruelty.
There was this too.
Smuggling chains.
Dark wizards.
Werewolves.
Illegal experiments.
Human trafficking.
Organ trade.
Things that rarely entered polite conversation, yet existed all the same.
Some boundaries were blurred so thoroughly that law and crime overlapped. Diagon Alley could hide illicit dealings behind bright windows. Knockturn shops could survive because someone in the Ministry looked away at the right moment.
Regulus was not truly a child. He understood how societies worked.
The Muggle world had slums, black markets, and underground trade.
The wizarding world had Knockturn Alley.
The principle was identical. Shadows beneath light. Chaos outside order.
Where there was demand, there would be supply. Where there was a ban, there would be a market. Where there was law, there would be loopholes.
So Regulus did not flinch.
He did not panic.
He did not feel moral discomfort, not here, not now, not while he was still gathering information and measuring the terrain.
He watched.
Carefully.
Intently.
Like a scholar studying an unfamiliar ecosystem.
Orion watched his son in return.
From the moment they stepped into Knockturn Alley, Orion had been measuring Regulus's face.
Jars behind counters. Bone crafted tools. Chained creatures. Ledger books that spoke of intercepted shipments and covered losses.
Regulus showed no revulsion.
No hesitation.
Only observation.
Orion exhaled, relieved, and then felt something more complicated rise beneath that relief.
Of course he wanted his son to be steady. In Knockturn Alley, even a flicker of weakness could become a target.
Regulus was perfect by pure blood standards. Calm. Rational. Focused. Exactly what a Black heir was meant to be.
And yet, watching an eleven year old remain composed in places like this, Orion could not stop a quiet ache.
An eleven year old should still have harmless fantasies about the world. Should still believe good and evil were clearly separated. Should still expect justice to arrive because that was what stories promised.
Regulus had never been like that.
He saw too much. Thought too deeply. Understood the world's cruelty too early.
Orion's mind returned to yesterday's Patronus.
A Starling, legendary, luminous, a symbol of freedom and exploration and breaking through obstacles.
That was Regulus's deepest desire, bright and hopeful and alive.
Yet the same child could walk through Knockturn Alley without blinking.
Light and darkness existed together inside him.
Orion did not know whether that was good or bad.
But he was certain of one thing.
Regulus would become a very special wizard.
Special enough to surpass every Black ancestor before him.
Special enough to be called great.
As they left the seventh shop, Regulus sensed something wrong.
The alley looked the same. Dim. Dirty. Sparse foot traffic.
But the air held extra attention now. Several gazes moved across him and Orion, carrying malice without any attempt to hide it.
Regulus did not turn his head.
He kept his pace normal and his posture relaxed, half a step behind his father. His senses spread outward, quiet and precise.
He locked onto positions one by one.
Ten metres ahead on the left, two figures hid beside a heap of discarded crates. Their magic was faint and murky. A Disillusionment Charm covered them, but the casting was poor. In the dim light, their outlines still distorted the air, and when they shifted their weight, their footprints appeared in the dust.
Farther down the alley, near the shadowed doorway of a crooked building, two more waited.
One had wild, unstable magical fluctuations. It felt feral, animal, close to snapping. A werewolf, most likely, and close to transformation.
The other's magic was colder.
Four people. One group.
Two close for pursuit.
Two positioned for support.
A clean ambush pattern.