Chapter 2: Diagon
A/N: Currently my posting schedule is going to be a chapter a week, until we reach the end of Part 1 (which is shaping up to be 30ish chapters). I'll bulk post all the remaining chapters once I'm done, though.
Sticking firmly to the sunny part of Knockturn, Emily hoped she wouldn't be accosted by any other critters on her way to meet Ron. Had the Alley been constructed with any iota of sense, without its dips and curvatures and magical expansion, she'd already been the warm reclines of the pub-she didn't live that far from it, after all. But the Alley's street had no sense to it-magic distorted reality, if nothing else. Maybe she should've flooed. At least the smell was better the further up she went.
Emily made it as far as seeing the curved spinal structure of Gringotts before stopping again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she saw the distinctive red: Aurors. There were six of them in total, including a gold-rimmed Auror Captain. They seemed to be focused on a building and not her. She didn't draw her wand, noticing the crowd of people formed around them. With careful steps forward, she joined the gathering.
The Aurors were more than just law enforcement. In each country around the world, they were the Master's primary method of control, each headed by an Auror Chief. England's was Bellatrix Black, infamous for her proclivity for the torture curse and using it on live executions. When it came to magical talent and skill, the Aurors had no equal. Well, perhaps other than the Death Eaters, that was.
The politics of Nurmengard escaped her, but she knew enough as most people did that Igor Karkaroff, Master of the Sphere of Law and Head Auror, had no love for his other enforcement equal, Lord Voldemort. Which is just how the Master liked it; why have one enforcer when you could have two, busy fighting each other instead of you? But whereas the Aurors at least pretended to follow the word of the law, the Death Eaters shared no such qualms. If you saw their dark robes and enchanted silver mask: chances were, you were already a ghost and already dead.
The crowd maintained a respectable distance, ever far beyond the conjured, glowing red ticker tape. They stood before one of the many shacks of Knockturn. Emily knew she should just keep walking, but a part of her was curious. Besides, Aurors in Knockturn typically meant some witch or wizard got killed. She shoved past an older squib and his elf, and found a box to stand on.
A body lay strewn on the ground, clad in purple robes, face down in a pool of drying blood. Two Aurors examined it, while the rest went inside. The Auror Captain held up his wand, and it glowed a blue-gold, ejecting a dome of transparent energy surrounding him and the crime scene.
The purple clad murder victim appeared then, standing straight and glowing a dimmer blue, as if he were a ghost or magogram. Emily knew this was highly advanced magic-beyond anything taught at Hogwarts. To be able to reconstruct a crime scene like this, before the murder… The wizard walked forward, unaware of the drawn crowd and his own corpse. He kept walking, right through the Auror Captain, and into the building.
The crowd waited. A minute later, the wizard was flung from the window on the second floor, collapsing right on top of his present-corpse. The Auror Captain dispelled the illusion, and started rubbing his chin.
Emily started dispersing with the majority of the crowd, her mind racking who might've killed him. At least she didn't know the man. He was just yet another nameless victim of Knockturn. As places went, it had one of the highest murder rates in the world. Not that there were any statistics. If there wasn't at least a single corpse rotting out in any given day, something would have to be going seriously wrong.
Maybe a creature did the wizard in. A vampire, like the one that accosted her. But then, why was he flung from the window? Vampires liked to hide their dead victims in the dark, to return to them for a second draw if need be. Maybe it was another wizard or witch, for whatever personal reasons. Or, a Muggle or squib? Despite what the Ministry said, Muggles could kill their magical brethren. It wasn't easy, and one needed a lot of luck and skill, but it could be done.
Ultimately it didn't matter. He was dead, and she was not.
At least she knew why the Aurors were here. Any time a wizard or witch died, no matter how slam-dunk the case, the Aurors had to be called. Muggles and creatures weren't afforded the same luxury-they were lucky to have a single Hitwizard look into the case. The only exception were the Goblins, who had sole right to investigate crimes against their Nation.
With no other distractions, Emily made it to the tunnel separating Diagon and Knockturn a few short minutes later. The U-Shaped arched passageway looked as dark as ever, with only a few blue flaming torches lighting the way. The tunnel curved downwards before shaping back up top once more. A dozen Hitwizards on the ground, plus another dozen on the parapets above, stood guard. Judging by the chevrons on their shoulder pads, these were veterans-as always, the Ministry put the hardiest of the fighters in the most critical of locations. Ministry propaganda covered the walls before the tunnel.
While travel wasn't necessarily restricted per se if one had magic, the Hitwizards loved to sniff out potential troublemakers before they entered the well-to-do's abode. Emily, dressed in non-descript black, yet with a haughty up-turned nose in the air, cultivated after seven years in Slytherin, walked past the guards without a second glance.
Down in the tunnel, the stale, cold air chilled her passage. Here the crowd thinned out; few enough people had legitimate business in Diagon. Even if travel weren't restricted for Muggles and other creatures, they wouldn't be able to afford anything in the shops. Only Ministry officials, Goblins, and other magical industrialists had enough to shop in the heart of London. The rest made do with the open-air shops, like those in Knockturn.
In a few short paces, she was out once more into the open air. The difference between Diagon and Knockturn was like night and day. Whereas Knockturn had the ephemeral stench of rot and decay; Diagon smelled clean and orderly-artificial even, as if it was all hosed down with heavy chemical potions. The people, all prim and proper, who looked like they belonged. Their clothes were pressed, their skin delicately cared for, and their wands sharp. Their strut was unheeded by anything: vampires, or werewolves, or even grubby beggars. The Ministry was the law here.
Emily stopped at the entrance of Diagon to let a marching column of eight Hitwizards, let by their Captain, pass. Their boots echoed on the paved marble floor, each step a triumphant blast of power. Every few feet, there were two more of them standing silent vigil, their heads firm and affixed, but doubtless their eyes darted back and forth, looking for any risks.
Just as in Knockturn, the buildings swayed back and forth: some floating, but often because of the random, illogical construction standards. Unlike Knockturn though, everything here was just… white. The road was white, the buildings were white, and the white sun shone freely through the large empty spaces above, making it even whiter in reflection. That was the thing-Diagon was free and open and liberating, while everything in Knockturn was clamped together, held up sometimes with nothing but a sticking charm; a single breeze more than enough to knock it all down. Even the haze above London was gone, replaced instead by blue skies and dotted white clouds (an illusion, she knew).
In front of her lay Madam Malkin's-a robe store. To pay for one of her tailored one's, she'd have to save up enough galleons to feed half the Muggles in Knockturn. Next to it, Osgun's: a spellbook store. Above that, a stairway leading to the Muggle slave auction pens.
She looked to the left to make sure no other troops were approaching and saw Ollivander's (a wand store where she had gotten her Holly wand) and Gringotts, the latter standing above all else. The Goblin bank looked as terrifying as always. Thick, slanted marble, cast in the Greek style with tall inlaid pillars. Above the entrance lay the enormous, curled stone dragon-enchanted to burn any thief on exit. For now, it lay silent and unmoving. Not that anyone could ever thieve from Gringotts.
Four Goblins-short, stocky creatures, with green-brown skin-stood guard, their faces a permanent snarl. Each carried his own weapon: a greataxe, a hammer, a sword, and a spear, and each weapon was at least twice the size of the Goblin carrying it. In their offhand lay a wand. Unlike wizarding wands, Goblin wands were of a rougher make. They replaced wood with bone, and the cores were derived using blood magic. The result was more or less the same as wizarding wands, although theirs were mostly suited for offensive spells and curses.
Goblins hadn't always had the right to bear wands. That came with the Master, whom they helped take over the formerly British Ministry during the fall of the Isles. For their loyalty and sacrifices, Goblinkind was elevated to grandeur they hadn't dare dream of. On most days, the Goblins rivalled the Ministry in terms of sheer political power and influence. They ran the major industries. They minted the currency. The entire world revolved around Goblins. Only the iron will of the Aurors and Death Eaters kept the Goblins in check. For there was no doubt: there were more Goblins than wizards, and the average Goblin was worth far more than the average wizard.
She'd been in Gringotts all of once her entire life. She didn't even have an account. Why would she? Her parents left her nothing, their monies frozen when they were executed, and every galleon she ever made she spent, quick as it came. Even if she saved a little to deposit, the fees alone would've bankrupted her. Had she continued on in the Ministry, her first account would've been opened in two years on her behalf, with all fees taken care of for five years. But that was all past now, and Emily doubted she'd ever muster enough reason to enter the Goblin den ever again.
Emily looked right, and seeing no oncoming Hitwizards or traffic, started moving towards the Cauldron. Along the way, she saw several other shops, more displays of vanity and wealth. She could've avoided this by using the lower tunnels, which would've swung her out to Greater London and then back to the Cauldron, but this way was quicker.
It didn't matter: the Leaky Cauldron finally came into view, and with it, the promises of: a good meal, nice atmosphere, but most importantly, whatever the hell Ron wanted to talk about.