Chapter 7: Knockturn Alley
Charing Cross Road lies in the heart of London, between Oxford Street and Trafalgar Square. Dozens of bookstores line the street, the busiest of which is the flagship branch of Foyles, located diagonally across from No. 84 Charing Cross Road.
Melvin looked up at the bright red sign, then turned his gaze away and stepped through the door.
Though called a bookstore, it was closer to a shopping mall five floors tall, spanning more than 2,800 square meters. It was said to hold over 200,000 titles, and if all the shelves were connected, they could stretch down the entire street.
There was a whole section devoted to the works of Shakespeare, while Beethoven's music filled two walls, along with vinyl records and assorted souvenirs.
On the second floor was a café, its air scented with roasted beans and paper.
Sunlight filtered through the glass walls, complementing the warm carpet and tasteful décor, creating an inviting atmosphere. The thick carpet seemed to absorb every footstep, preventing even the faintest disturbance like that of the stooped witch sitting by the window.
The witch, nearly two hundred years old, was a portrait of age: back bent, her face creased like a spiderweb, her hair neatly combed, her head bowed over a book.
Learning becomes a struggle against time.
When faced with an entirely new body of knowledge, decades of experience do not help in fact, they often become an overwhelming obstacle.
She went over unfamiliar words and phrases, rereading them several times in her mind before grasping their meaning. But understanding was not enough; she had to abandon her magical mindset and think from a Muggle's perspective to absorb new knowledge.
Continents once divided by vast oceans had fused together; the very ground beneath her feet was constantly shifting...
Lightning that flashed across the sky was utterly different from the lightning conjured by wizards...
The old witch had to let go of all the magic she had learned in the first half of her life to glimpse even a sliver of scientific truth. But even that glimpse filled her with childlike joy. Every now and then, when she encountered something fascinating, her cloudy eyes would brighten.
Melvin approached, quickening his pace slightly. His leather-soled shoes made a faint, distinct sound, and a transparent spell spread out around them.
"Da."
Griselda Marchbanks, absorbed in her reading, looked up. The fine wrinkles on her face softened as she smiled gently.
"Professor Lewynter."
Melvin glanced at the title of the book it was the DK Children's Encyclopedia, the very textbook he had recently chosen.
"I'm afraid breakfast will be delayed ten minutes while we wait for the bread to finish baking," she said with a light chuckle.
Melvin sat across from her, speaking louder than usual enough for the elderly witch to hear, but the sound remained contained within a few feet, muffled by the spell barrier.
"You may call me by my name, madam."
"You truly remind me of a young Dumbledore," Mrs. Marchbanks said, noticing the faint shimmer of magic surrounding him. She smiled softly but did not elaborate on the resemblance.
Closing the book, she said calmly, "The book you recommended is excellent. The members of the Examination Authority have all been reading it. I must admit it's as comprehensive as its title suggests. The knowledge Muggle children absorb through this encyclopedia is something most adult wizards will never learn in their entire lives. This knowledge not only helps us understand Muggles correctly but also helps us understand the world itself."
"That is precisely what I hope for," Melvin replied slowly. "Natural science is the Muggles' magic wand. In my view, once science dispelled ignorance, its achievements over the past two centuries surpassed those of the previous millennia. Unprecedented change is coming. Wizards can no longer live sealed away from the world. They must correctly understand the relationship between the magical and non-magical communities and explore entirely new paths."
"Unfortunately," Marchbanks sighed, brushing the book's cover with her thin fingers, "science cannot dispel the ignorance and stubbornness of wizards. When the Ministry learned you planned to use Muggle textbooks, they began stirring trouble again. Those pure-bloods are restless as ever, demanding the Wizengamot reconvene to reconsider the issue."
"New ideas always bring controversy."
"We old folk don't have the energy to quarrel with them."
Marchbanks shook her head, her right hand trembling slightly as she reached into her pocket and produced a large parchment letter.
"Tofty the old man who sat beside me last time is the Deputy Director of Administration. He's decided to appoint you as a Special Consultant to the Examination Authority, focusing on the reform of Muggle Studies."
"..."
Melvin paused. "How's the pay?"
Marchbanks blinked at him, her raspy voice steady. "No pay only duties. You'll need to record your lessons, write detailed teaching plans, and document student feedback. However, every knowledge point you record will become part of the official test bank for Muggle Studies. For decades, perhaps centuries, your curriculum will define the standard for this subject."
"An ungrateful job."
"So it is."
"But I want to try."
The job wasn't as thankless as she made it sound.
No salary did not mean no reward.
For Melvin, the rewards were considerable.
Founded in the fifteenth century, the Wizarding Examination Authority had, over the centuries, become a powerful and well-funded institution.
It oversaw the grading, question formulation, and supervision of magical exams. Any organization capable of setting standards and judging other wizards had naturally amassed immense influence over five hundred years.
That influence was exactly what Melvin needed.
The two continued discussing the details of his syllabus for several hours. Only as the sun dipped below the horizon did Melvin finally rise to leave.
The bookstore stayed open until evening.
Mrs. Marchbanks remained seated by the café window, her encyclopedia open before her, her kind eyes resting on the street outside as if admiring the view.
According to the Authority's rules, appointed Special Consultants were usually retired professors. The oldest one before her appointment had been fifty.
Her exceptional recommendation of Melvin had come partly from Dumbledore's subtle persuasion, and partly from the elders' growing desire for change.
Normally, consultants had no power to set academic standards. Dozens of experts would gather, arguing for years before agreeing on even minor revisions. The Muggle Studies curriculum review had dragged on for over a decade stalled by the Wizarding War and You-Know-Who's rise.
Now, all those hundreds of thousands of words written by the old scholars were rendered meaningless swept aside by a single encyclopedia.
The old witch's eyes reflected the glow of streetlamps and the passing traffic, and in the distance, the silhouette of a young man striding purposefully down the pavement.
He was so very young.
Communicating with Mrs. Marchbanks, answering questions from the Ministry, adapting to London life and its strange magical slang, researching the future of magical education... By late July, Melvin returned to Diagon Alley.
The streets were packed with students and parents buying school supplies.
Melvin stopped outside a stationery shop, needing to purchase developing potion.
This potion animated magical photographs, turning still images into short, silent moving ones. The duration and frame rate depended on the potion's quality poor-quality brews produced blurry two-second clips, while higher grades yielded up to thirty seconds of clear motion.
The ingredients weren't rare, and the process wasn't complicated but it was extremely time-consuming, making large-scale production unprofitable.
Skilled potion masters didn't bother with such things, so most developing potions on the market were mediocre. Melvin had to take his chances.
"Welcome to Transforming Ink Stationery! How may I assist you, sir?"
"Do you have developing potions?"
"Of course, sir!"
The shopkeeper's eyes lit up few ordinary wizards ever asked for such things. He quickly pulled out several bottles. "This one takes two seconds just 19 Knuts per pint. This one takes four seconds 1 Sickle, 17 Knuts. And this one ten seconds only 3 Sickles, 7 Knuts!"
"..."
The prices made no logical sense.
Melvin narrowed his eyes.
Such chaotic pricing had to be the work of drunk Gringotts goblins.
"Which would you like, sir?"
"Do you have any with a longer developing time?" Melvin asked, rubbing his forehead.
"Even longer?" the clerk blinked. "You know, sir, the longer the developing time, the more expensive it gets. Each extra second doubles the cost."
"Let me see it first," Melvin said, hesitant.
He did some rough mental math. A 90-minute film, even without editing if priced by that logic
By the time he calculated how many Diagon Alleys could be bought with three Sickles and seven Knuts multiplied by two to the power of 5,400, the clerk proudly produced the store's prized item.
"Handcrafted by Master Potion-Maker Damocles Belby! Takes a whopping 23 seconds to develop 1,600 Galleons!"
"..."
Melvin was moved.
Even the rounding error made him wince.
After a brief silence, he exchanged a look with the clerk and finally bought a few cheap pints. The Belby potion, the store's crown jewel, would remain right where it was.
"I'd like to develop photographs lasting two hours. Any suggestions?"
The clerk, realizing the difficulty, hesitated. "Sir, you mean... Muggle videos, don't you?"
"You know of them?"
"I'm a half-blood my mother's a Muggle," the clerk replied with a grin. "I'd suggest you use a Muggle camera instead cheap, well-equipped, and sharper."
Melvin shook his head. "Cameras and projectors need electricity..."
Generating, transmitting, consuming electricity it was an entire industrial system.
By the time the wizarding world had electricity, both Muggles and wizards would have entered a new age likely a decade away at least.
Seeing his frown, the clerk glanced around and whispered, "If you really need it, sir... try Borgin and Burkes just next door, in Knockturn Alley."
"The dark wizards of Knockturn Alley have electricity?" Melvin asked in surprise.
"Even if the Ministry agreed, those pure-bloods wouldn't," the clerk replied flatly. "I mean, they might have... modified cameras over there."
"..."
Melvin left deep in thought.
Magically modifying Muggle objects was a gray area barely within the bounds of the Statute of Secrecy.
It fell under the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, a division of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once, it had been a progressive office that experimented freely with enchanted cars, elevators, and telephones.
But under Dolores Umbridge's control, it had become closed and conservative cracking down on such practices entirely.
Melvin exited the stationery shop and slipped down a nearby alley, emerging onto another street within minutes.
Before the Statute of Secrecy, magical shops had coexisted with Muggle markets. Wizards traded magical goods while Muggles sold everyday wares. Back then, Diagon Alley didn't even have that name.
London the richest city in Britain boasted this vibrant magical street at its heart, drawing wizards from across the country. Lone wizards came to buy spell materials; potion-makers sold rare brews to shops that could find buyers.
Sometimes, Muggle merchants traded grain, oil, and salt for finely crafted magical items treasures of transformation, like a scythe that harvested wheat by itself or a potion that cured any disease.
It was a golden age of commerce, when wizards exchanged transmuted goods for gold and gems, and both sides prospered.
But then came the Statute of Secrecy.
In just three centuries, everything changed.
Muggle and magical markets split completely. Wizards who once traded freely became pure-blood families who despised them. The thriving city fractured into two streets Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley.
Diagon Alley remained bright and orderly, supervised by the Ministry. Aurors patrolled regularly to ensure the safety of merchants and customers. All goods were legal and regulated no Muggle-related items allowed.
Knockturn Alley, too, had once been legal. But its twisting passages, tangled alleys, and blind corners made patrols impossible. Even Aurors couldn't ensure their own safety there. Eventually, the Ministry simply abandoned it.
Without oversight, wild growth inevitably breeds strange fruit.
Borgin and Burkes was one of those fruits. Ostensibly a shop for dark magic artifacts, its reputation grew among certain circles until it became a permanent, infamous fixture of Knockturn Alley.
(End of Chapter)
ockturn Alley.