This story was written for Final Round 1 in the Fifth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Beater 2 for The Wimbourne Wasps.
Name of round: Knockturn Alley
Usually, unusual, dangerous and scary people walk around here. Today, however, QL has descended en-masse. Some of you may fall under these categories, and so we look to you to guide our way. As for the rest, please be careful what you touch, you never know what could happen.
Each position is tasked with exploring a different aspect of Knockturn Alley.
As Beater 2 I'm to write a story set in Horizont Alley.
To try and stop the team we're playing, I'm sending the following prompts at them:
5. (dialogue) "If you leave now, you get nothing."
7. (word) history
14. (quote) 'Money is the root of all money.' — Unknown
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created; it's all hers, from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts to all the people living there.
PS. Word-count provided by MS Word—
From Rejection to Money
Words: 1 628
"No. We don't need any help greeting customers or ringing up purchases. No, I don't need someone to sweep floors either. If you're not buying, get out."
Rejection.
"Forget about it. I don't have the money to pay another wage."
Rejection.
"Well, I suppose, we might need... What's your name? I don't recognise… Muggleborn? Ah. I see. Come to think of it, I have a handle on things. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."
Rejection.
You sit down on the steps to the white marble building that houses Gringotts Wizarding Bank, wilfully ignoring the glares from the goblin guards that tell you that you shouldn't be there, that you're too lowly to loiter anywhere near their fine establishment, disturbing their wealthy clientele, that your ilk isn't welcome and won't be unless the scraps of parchment in your pockets turn to gold. You're too tired, too discouraged to pay them much mind. Their disapproving scowls are only the last in a long line of ones you've endured today. You've been in every shop in the Alley, asking if they might give you a job. Rejection every time.
Through half-lidded eyes, you look at Knockturn Alley which you can glimpse through an archway. You don't want to go there. You don't want to do anything criminal, and too many people who frequent the street are involved in dark stuff. There aren't any other options to be had, however, so you get to your feet, brushing off some dirt from your threadbare robes and head down the alley. You peer at the store sings, and into dirty windows. None of it makes you comfortable, and you can't muster the courage to go inside. The people who walk the same cobblestones as you all hurry, hunched and with clothes that hide their faces. You meet a pair of black eyes curtained in wrinkles and grip your wand inside your pocket.
Wanting to get away from the alley, you turn down another street and stop short. It's another street filled with shops, one you've never been to before. The fronts look better taken care of than anything in Knockturn, better than Diagon too. The colours are bright, but not as mismatched. The buildings are made of stone, not bricks, and they have ornaments everywhere, around doors and windows, up by the roofs and on dividers between floors. The paving is different too. The rough cobblestones and muddy gutters of Knockturn have been exchanged for smooth flagstone. Spotting a street sign, you learn that the street is called Horizont Alley. It's a new land of opportunity. Re-energized, and filled with new hope, you start in on the first shop.
No bell jingles as you open the front door, something you've become accustomed too. The silence is jarring. The space that greets you looks nothing like any of the shops you've been to, continuing the trend. Large paintings in ornamental frames fill the walls. Under your feet there is a large oriental carpet, muffling the sound of your steps. There is a desk, with a leather chair behind it, and in the chair sits a large man, his shoulders are square, covered in robes of silk, and his nose is large. When he looks up at you, he does so with piercing, ice-blue eyes.
"What do you want?" he says, his voice like gravel and his countenance dark.
"I wonder if I could get a job here?" you say, making certain that you don't fidget, that you're not slouching, that you seem confident and calm. You're not confident, and although you're mentally collected, the intense beating of your heart and the tremble that's running through your knees says that you're not calm either.
"Heard about my expedition have you? Well, you're too late. I don't need any more hirelings."
The rejection stings even though it's familiar. "Are you sure?" you say. "I don't mind doing anything you might need. I'm always punctual, and I know a lot about—"
"Spare it, kid. The answer is no. You know where the door is. Use it!" He pulls out a wand that's larger than any you've seen before, like a small log rather than a fine stick. Not wanting to face any magic cast by it, you hasten to leave.
You lean against the smooth stone wall of the grouchy wizard's shop, waiting for the tremble in your knees to cease. The encounter took a lot out of you. You decide that you'll not be so quick to walk inside when it comes to the next shop. You'll have a look around outside first, gather some information first. For example, it might have been useful to know that you'd entered a place called Terrell and Sons.
You meander down the streets, eyes peeled for any information about the shops there. The problem is that for all that Horizont Alley is a wealthy neighbourhood, you've hardly left Knockturn Alley, and as you thought when you were there, this is a place where it's wise to keep your hand on your wand, not to mention your money bag.
A tall, thin man, with a pointy nose, bumps into you, and you instantly know something is wrong. When you feel for your pouch of money, it's gone. "Hey!" you yell at the man. Discovered, the thief begins to run.
Someone else has seen it happen, and magic is used, making the thief as still as a statue. A stout man, with his coat open, showing an impressive carpet of chest hair nabs the pouch from the thief. "You don't get to steal things from people in Knockturn, never mind this Alley. You're not good enough. Go out into Muggle London; there you might have a chance." The stout man uses another spell to throw the thief into Knockturn proper before releasing him from the petrification.
You close your mouth, unwilling to be caught gawking. Instead, you catch the pouch as it's tossed to you.
"Now that's dealt with. Tried your luck with my brother, did you? And let me take a wager, Bernard said no."
Something unintelligible makes it way out of your mouth. You clear your throat and try again. "Thanks for this, but who are you?"
"William Terrell, at your service."
"Thank you again, Mr. Terrell. I should get going."
"If you leave now, you get nothing."
You halt, waiting for Terell to continue.
"If you think you had bad luck finding someone willing to employ you in Diagon Alley, you are not prepared for the people in Horizont Alley. Yes, I've heard a thing or two about that. Word travels fast, and eventually, all information ends up with me. Bernard might have said no, but he's not alone in deciding things."
"Are you offering me work?"
"Not exactly. We don't need to hire anyone else. The grunts are dealt with. What we really need is a partner. Bernard has been tearing his moustache out trying to fund our expedition. If you put in five hundred Galleons, he won't be able to refuse. It'll be a three split of the profits."
You stare at Terrell. "If I had that type of money, I wouldn't have needed to come here searching for a job."
"Ah, my friend! You're not thinking big enough. Being part of this expedition could set you up for life. Invest a little now, and the output will be beyond your dreams. It's a harsh truth, but to make money, money worth the name, you have to have some money first."
"And just where do you suggest I find five hundred Galleons?"
"You've already proven yourself resourceful! You almost had old Hobbs hiring you, if you'd just lied about your blood status, you'd have had steady work. Boring. No long term security, but a job. I suggest you think smaller before you think bigger. There are lots of people around this place who needs a hand. Bounties to collect. Errands to run. Not employment. Odd jobs. Work hard, and you'll have that money collected in no time. I'll even help you out."
"What's in it for you? Why do you want me"
"Those NEWT Outstandings that you've been bragging about over in Diagon, History and Ancient Runes? We could really use that kind of knowledge. You did actually do that well in those classes, right? That wasn't a lie? Because if so, you really need to learn how to lie about the right things."
"I've not lied about my grades."
"Well, there's your answer."
"I still don't understand," you confess, "I don't know anything about your expedition."
Terrell chuckles, a small explosive sound. "I should have known that. Well, kid, we're pretty sure we've found the location of Avalon, and getting there and finding what's hidden there won't be easy. You up for it?"
"Avalon?" Your heart rate increases, as excitement fills you, hot and bubbly like Butterbeer. "Is it in France or here in England?" you ask. "How did you learn where it is? People have been searching for centuries!"
"Woah, slow down. If you agree to help fund this expedition, I'll tell you everything you need to know."
It's crazy. Saying yes would be insane. You don't have any money, or any current means of making money, but this wizard says that he can help you make it happen, and you can only imagine with type of wealth might be hidden on the island—is it an island?—of Avalon. And even if there is no artefacts or piles of gold waiting to be found there, there will be knowledge and fame, and that would mean money too.
"Alright," you say. "I want to try this."
"Perfect. Now let's see what kind of trouble we can stir up."
The End