Chapter 28: Heading to the Gathering
"Hangman's Rope.
Opal Necklace.
Suffocating Marionette…"
The items that had sat on the shelves for years were taken down, leaving faintly cleaner marks on the dusty wooden boards. Each was carefully wrapped in special brown paper to prevent any leakage of black magic or curses, then packed into a wooden crate and securely locked.
The process was somewhat tedious, but fortunately not complicated. Mr. Borgin was absorbed in the pleasant busyness of it, pacing back and forth across the shop several times and still feeling somewhat unsatisfied when he finally finished.
Borgin returned behind the counter and looked up to see Professor Lewynter waiting beside him. He studied the professor's expression, but unfortunately could read nothing from it.
Snapping back to his senses, worried that he might seem as though he were trying to haggle, Borgin sighed dramatically and said, "These items are of great value though they do have some minor defects. If one could find a skilled alchemist, they might even restore their former splendor. Professor Lewyn, considering our friendship, I'm already selling them below cost cheaper than what I originally paid."
Melvin glanced at him. "This is only our second meeting, and your 'friendship' already earns me a 30% discount. I'm impressed."
"It's an honor to know Professor Lewynter," Borgin replied quickly, smiling so wide his face nearly split. Adjusting his spectacles, he asked in a syrupy tone as he wrote up the bill, "Would you like us to deliver these packages? We offer free owl service they'll arrive at Hogwarts by this afternoon…"
Melvin paused. "I'll mail them myself."
These items were meant for level-design purposes, and though they had legitimate uses, dark objects were still dark objects and damaged ones even more so. Bringing them back to Hogwarts unreported in a trunk would be a flagrant disrespect to the headmaster's authority.
Sending them by owl was safer at least Dumbledore could see the manifest when he signed for them.
It would be even better if he could get the invoice reimbursed…
"When does the gathering mentioned in your letter begin?" he asked.
"We leave in half an hour."
A "Closed" sign was hung in the window.
Several alarm charms were placed on the bell.
After locking the door, Borgin cast layer after layer of protective and anti-locking spells on the outside.
He performed the entire process with almost religious precision a procedure more elaborate than sealing a cursed object. His meticulousness could have easily earned him top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Melvin remained silent for a while, gaining a newfound respect for the business practices of Knockturn Alley.
After five minutes of security measures, the two officially departed, winding their way into the maze of alleys.
Knockturn Alley was still as dark and damp as ever. The narrow streets twisted endlessly hardly a straight path to be found, each route requiring several turns.
Only a few shops had signs. Some clerks brewed unidentifiable potions, others hung moldy herbs and tarnished cauldrons to dry. A few simply sat idly in their doorways, glancing sideways as the pair passed by their faces blank and lifeless.
As they passed the nearby candle shop, Borgin slowed his pace but stomped harder, making his footsteps echo noticeably. Before Melvin could ask why, the half-closed door suddenly creaked open and a gaunt old wizard stuck out his head, shouting at the top of his lungs:
"Borgin! Since when do you give guided tours?!"
"Shut up, you old salamander! Watch the shop for me!"
"…."
Melvin followed Borgin, slightly startled but understanding.
The shouting broke the suffocating silence that hung over the alley. The damp, stagnant air seemed to lift, bringing a flicker of life back to the place.
Knockturn Alley was, after all, a very peculiar place isolated from the normal wizarding world. Its trade channels were unstable and irregular, with little contact with Muggle society and no access to cheap, everyday goods.
From his previous visit, Melvin had already guessed at how things worked here.
The merchants and residents weren't all true dark wizards. The elderly witches who offered directions charged only a few Sickles providing a surprisingly courteous service. The thugs who occasionally jumped people along the road acted menacing but knew barely any real dark spells. They were desperate to make whatever deals they could. Borgin himself even went for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron in his spare time…
All these signs pointed to a strange truth: the people here still lived by a certain order.
"How do they survive without steady business?" Melvin wondered. "Do their children go to Hogwarts? How many of them are pure-bloods and how many are Muggle-born?"
Every witch or wizard who came to Knockturn Alley for the first time probably wondered the same thing.
"Mr. Borgin," Melvin asked curiously, "it doesn't look like there are many customers here, and the shops seem rather run-down. How have you managed to stay open all this time?"
"With help from the Ministry of Magic and the generosity of pure-blood gentlemen."
"Would you mind elaborating?"
"Heh…"
Borgin smirked slyly. "You see, high-ranking Ministry officials need achievements to earn promotions, and Aurors need arrests to fill the empty cells of Azkaban. Every now and then, they conduct inspections not just here in Knockturn Alley, but also among the noble pure-blood families, especially those with… Death Eater connections."
"Whenever that happens, the 'honorable' pure-blood wizards have to dispose of things they'd rather not be caught with. Some items have dubious origins; others are simply too dark. But they're all valuable relics collected over the years. They can't just toss them in the gutter or destroy them outright so they come to us."
"Whether it's illegal Dark artifacts or forbidden potions, they sell them off through Knockturn Alley. We haggle, buy low, and then resell to other countries Albania, Africa, you name it. A single cycle can earn us thousands of Galleons."
"I see."
Borgin chuckled darkly. "The Ministry gets results. The pure-blood families unburden themselves. The Dementors of Azkaban get fresh souls to feed on. And we the rats get to feast on the scraps. Then comes a period of calm… until the next round of inspections."
"A cyclical business model," Melvin noted.
"Every wizard has their way of surviving."
…
After winding through the narrow alleys for more than ten minutes, they turned the final corner and the view suddenly opened up.
The wide, clean street ahead was nearly empty. From a nearby road came the faint honking of Muggle cars a scene straight out of London.
Melvin glanced around, roughly mapping the area in his mind. Judging from the distance, they were neither in Knockturn Alley nor Diagon Alley anymore, but in a neighborhood near Charing Cross Road just two blocks from the Leaky Cauldron.
The gathering was being held in a Muggle appliance repair shop.
"…"
Melvin looked up at the sign, a bit taken aback.
The fact that a secret wizards' meeting was taking place inside a Muggle repair shop suggested a mix of magic and technology and that piqued his interest even more.
Following Borgin toward the entrance, Melvin noticed a suspicious figure nearby.
The person wore a brown linen cloak with a hood pulled low over their head. The hem was dotted with holes of varying sizes, the overall look sloppy as if the cloak had been made from a potato sack. The figure was hiding behind a sign, peeking nervously toward the shop.
Everything about him screamed "first-timer."
He seemed extremely anxious, pacing back and forth, glancing at the sign every few seconds. After several minutes of hesitation, he still hadn't gone inside.
As Melvin watched, the figure noticed them, froze briefly, then spun around and hurried away. Perhaps in his haste, the tip of his hood lifted slightly just enough to reveal a tuft of bright red hair.
"Weasley…"
Melvin smiled faintly.
(End of Chapter)