Chapter 8: Allies

The Leaky Cauldron was quieter than usual, with only a few patrons scattered around the dimly lit room. Alex absent mindedly played with his pumpkin pie, his mind preoccupied with the complexities of magic, experimentation, and the connections he was beginning to weave.

He had come to understand that magic was not just a force to be wielded—it was a tool for influence. And influence was what he needed, especially if he wanted to solidify his footing in this unpredictable world. He needed allies. More than that, he needed followers—people who could be trusted or, failing that, controlled.

The door swung open with a low creak, and a familiar figure slipped inside. Harry Potter. He spotted Alex immediately, his expression a mix of relief and anxiety, and made his way to Alex's table.

"Alex," Harry said, his voice low and urgent as he slid into the seat across from him. His green eyes darted around the room, ensuring no one was listening. "I need to talk to you."

Alex leaned back, folding his arms with a composed demeanor. "What's on your mind?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer, speaking just above a whisper. "I overheard Mr. Weasley talking. He said Sirius Black... the guy who escaped from Azkaban... he's after me."

Alex stayed silent, letting the weight of Harry's words settle between them. The room's ambient noise seemed to fade as tension mounted.

"And how do you feel about that?" Alex asked, keeping his tone steady and measured.

Harry's hands fidgeted on the table, betraying his anxiety. "I'm not scared... I just—" He faltered, searching for the right words. "I don't know what to do. Everyone's treating me like a kid, saying I should stay out of trouble, but they won't tell me anything useful. I thought... maybe you'd have some ideas."

Alex gave him a small, reassuring nod. "You're right not to ignore this. Black's not coming for you by accident. But if the Ministry's keeping you in the dark, you'll need to make your own moves."

Harry visibly relaxed, as if Alex's approval alone was enough to steady him. The boy was smart, but he was still so eager for connection, so desperate for someone to guide him.

"Listen," Alex continued, keeping his voice calm and authoritative. "The Ministry of Magic might not tell you everything, but here's what we know: Black's escape wasn't random. If he's after you, there's a reason. And if that's the case... you're going to need allies."

Harry nodded, a flicker of determination igniting in his green eyes. "But who can I trust? I mean, I trust Ron and Hermione, but..."

Alex offered a small smile. "Leave that to me."

After Harry left for Hogwarts the next day, Alex knew it was time to act. If Sirius Black was out there and danger was imminent, people were going to need each other more than ever. The magical world could be a lonely place for those who didn't fit neatly into the old families or traditions. He had learned that the hard way.

But the future didn't have to mirror the past. Alex envisioned building something new—something better. He just needed to find others who felt the same way. He wasn't going to sit around and hope people showed up. The key was reaching those on the edges—people with talent but without the support they deserved. Muggleborns, for example. Too often overlooked, even when they were every bit as capable as the rest. They didn't need someone to "save" them; they just needed someone to recognize their potential.

So he started small, initiating conversations here and there at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't make big promises. It was mostly listening—asking about their experiences, their frustrations. Sometimes they hesitated, unsure why he cared. But the truth was, Alex did care. He knew what it was like to feel lost, trying to carve out a place in a world that didn't always make sense.

He told them what he believed: they'd be stronger together. Not as a formal group, not with rules or hierarchies—just friends who looked out for each other. No one left behind.

Some of them seemed cautious at first. But slowly, one by one, they began to see the value in it. A place to belong. A network of people who understood. And from there, the group began to grow.

Alex wasn't naïve; he knew things could change. People's priorities shifted. Life pulled people in different directions. He wasn't interested in controlling anyone—just making sure that whatever they built could last. Trust needed more than words to hold it together. It needed action, consistency, and, sometimes, a little magical help.

He used small charms—not to manipulate, but to offer comfort. Spells woven subtly into their conversations that made people feel safer, more connected. A nudge toward kindness, a little extra courage in moments of doubt. It wasn't about control; it was about making the path they were walking together a little easier.

Still, Alex wanted to understand them better—not to pry, but to know what they needed. That's when he began practicing Legilimency. It wasn't easy at first, but he learned that the key wasn't force. It was about listening. Not to secrets, but to emotions. To the unspoken thoughts that lingered just beneath the surface.

When he used Legilimency, it was never invasive. He wasn't planting thoughts or changing minds. He just wanted to be a presence—a reminder that they weren't alone. If he guided them at all, it was toward trust—helping them see that they already had the strength they needed. They just had to believe it.

With every new conversation, every shared experience, the group grew tighter. It wasn't just a collection of individuals anymore—it was becoming a real community. A place where no one had to feel like an outsider. A place where they could build each other up and face whatever came next, together.

One evening, after gathering a few Muggleborns in a back room of the Leaky Cauldron, Alex took stock of the group. A dozen people, all different ages, sat together on mismatched chairs. Some were chatting quietly; others fidgeted, glancing around the room. Nervous, but hopeful.

He stood at the front, offering a reassuring smile. "First off, thank you for coming," he began. "I know it's not always easy, taking a chance on something new. But I believe in what we're building here."

A few of them smiled back, though others still looked uncertain. Alex could see the questions in their eyes: Why are you doing this? What's the catch?

"There's no catch," he continued. "This is about something simple: having each other's backs. You've all seen how the magical world works—how easy it is to feel like you're on the outside, just because you weren't born into the right family or didn't follow the right path."

He let the words settle for a moment, watching their expressions shift. They knew what he was talking about. They'd lived it.

"But it doesn't have to be that way," Alex said, pacing slowly in front of them. "We can create something better. A place where it doesn't matter where you came from—only where you're going. A place where no one gets left behind."

He caught the eye of a tall girl sitting near the back—Emily Lang. She had a sharp look about her, like someone who'd learned not to trust too easily. Alex remembered her from their first conversation—how she'd mentioned her struggles with wandwork, how frustrated she'd been.

"Emily," he said, meeting her gaze. "You've had a tough time with wandwork, haven't you?"

She blinked, startled. "Yeah... How did you—?"

Alex gave her a small, understanding smile. "Because I've been there. I know how hard it is when it feels like you're falling behind. But that doesn't mean you don't belong. And it doesn't mean you can't catch up. We've all been through things like that. And we're going to help each other through them."

She nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. It was a small shift, but an important one. She wasn't the only one starting to believe.

"This isn't just a group," Alex continued, turning back to the rest of them. "It's a promise. We look out for each other. We help each other grow. And no matter what happens, no one has to face it alone."

He paused, giving them a moment to absorb the words. The room felt different now—lighter, more hopeful. He could see it in the way they sat up straighter, the way their eyes met his. They were starting to believe in this, too.

"We're just getting started," he said quietly. "But if we stick together, there's nothing we can't handle. The magical world might try to tell us we don't belong—but we're going to prove that we do. Not by tearing others down, but by building each other up."

A few of them exchanged glances, and Alex saw the flicker of excitement in their eyes. They were ready. Not for power or control, but for something better: belonging.

And in that moment, Alex knew—they weren't just a group of outcasts anymore. They were a community. And together, they could be more than any of them had ever imagined.

The Leaky Cauldron was quieter than usual, a low murmur of conversations buzzing faintly under the warm glow of lanterns. Alex swirled the last of his butterbeer in the mug, feeling the weight of frustration creeping in. His experiments in magic had proven... unpredictable. He was accustomed to results, to mastery through logic and precision, but magic didn't respond to the same rigid control he was used to. It was an unruly force, more akin to art than science, demanding intuition and emotion where he relied on calculation.

Despite setbacks, every failure chipped away at the larger mystery, revealing slivers of insight he wouldn't have found in books. With every mistake, he learned—sometimes painfully—that magic didn't obey logic alone. It required trust and, more annoyingly, patience.

But time was not a luxury he could afford. If he was going to survive and thrive in this world, he needed a way to push past these roadblocks. He needed to control more than just spells. He needed to control people.

And for that, he had to master the mind.

The next day, Alex made his way to Knockturn Alley. The air was thick with the scent of dust and mildew, the kind of place that bred secrets and whispered bargains. If he was going to learn the kind of magic no one would teach openly, this was where he'd find it.

He slipped inside the dingy storefront of Borgin and Burkes, the bell above the door giving a soft, eerie chime. Shelves sagged under the weight of cursed trinkets and dark artifacts, and the proprietor, Mr. Borgin, eyed him from behind the counter with a smile that was more suspicion than welcome.

"Looking for anything... specific?" Borgin asked, his tone oily.

Alex leaned on the counter casually, hiding his impatience. "I need a book. Something on Legilimency and Occlumency."

Borgin's eyebrows lifted, the faintest flicker of interest crossing his face. "Ah... Mind arts. Not the sort of thing most customers ask for."

Alex shrugged. "Most customers lack ambition."

Borgin smirked and slithered out from behind the counter. "Follow me."

He led Alex to a dark corner of the shop, where a locked cabinet sat collecting dust. With a flick of his wand, the doors creaked open, revealing a slim, weathered book bound in cracked leather.

"The Mind's Maze: A Treatise on Legilimency and Occlumency," Borgin whispered. "An advanced text. Tricky stuff."

Alex examined the book, thumbing through its brittle pages. It described techniques for penetrating minds and shielding one's own thoughts—skills that could be invaluable not just for defense, but for influence.

"I'll take it," Alex said, slipping the galleons onto the counter without waiting for a response.

Borgin grinned as if he had just made a deal with the devil.

Back in his apartment, Alex cleared the workbench of potion ingredients and spread the book out under the flickering light. The language was dense, full of theory and warnings. It described Legilimency as the art of reading thoughts, emotions, even memories, with enough mastery. Occlumency, by contrast, was the art of shielding the mind, an essential defense against intrusion.

He quickly realized this wasn't something that could be learned overnight. Legilimency was not about brute-forcing his way into someone's mind. It required finesse—subtlety. A mind was like a lock, and a skilled Legilimens slipped through the cracks rather than shattering the door.

Occlumency was even more frustrating. It wasn't just about building mental walls. The key, he discovered, was emotional control. To master Occlumency, one had to quiet the mind, still the thoughts, and suppress emotions—a daunting task for someone used to commanding their way through every problem.

And so he began his training.

The first week was... painful. Alex started small, practicing Occlumency by sitting in complete silence, forcing his thoughts into order. But the mind has a way of rebelling when one tries to control it. Memories surged unbidden, emotions rose like waves, and frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

Still, he pushed forward. He practiced every night, meditating for hours until he could slow his thoughts, compartmentalizing them like files in a mental archive. He visualized walls—stone barriers surrounding the deepest parts of his mind—and reinforced them with every session. Slowly, he began to feel the effects. His emotions dulled when he needed them to, his thoughts clearer and more focused.

Legilimency, however, was a different beast. It required a subject to practice on—and Alex couldn't exactly ask Harry to volunteer for mind-reading lessons. Instead, he experimented on strangers. Sitting in crowded pubs, he focused on nearby patrons, reaching out with his mind in the subtlest of ways.

At first, all he got was noise—random fragments of thought, flickers of emotion that slipped away before he could grasp them. But over time, he began to sense patterns. The trick wasn't to force his way into their minds—it was to drift along with their thoughts, like a leaf riding a current. When he relaxed, the fragments began to align into something clearer: a man worrying about his debts, a woman contemplating a breakup, a bartender wondering if he'd locked the back door.

It was intoxicating.

One night, after hours of practice, Alex decided to test the limits of what he had learned. He returned to the Leaky Cauldron, where a group of his new recruits had gathered. They were laughing, chatting, unaware of the magic simmering beneath the surface.

He focused on Emily Lang—the one who had struggled with her wandwork. Slipping into her mind was easier than he expected. Her thoughts were an open book, filled with insecurities and fears about falling behind in her classes. He nudged those fears gently, planting the idea that she wasn't alone—reminding her how much she relied on him, how grateful she was to be part of the group.

When he withdrew, she gave a small, unconscious shiver, glancing in his direction. Her eyes met his, and he saw something new in them: trust. Blind, unquestioning trust.

It was exhilarating.

But it wasn't without its costs. After each session, Alex felt the strain—the mental exhaustion, the lingering pressure behind his eyes. Legilimency took effort, and without complete mastery, it was easy to overextend. Occlumency helped manage the strain, but even that required constant practice.

Still, he could feel himself growing stronger. Each session sharpened his abilities, each experiment gave him new insights into the human mind. And the more he learned, the more dangerous he became.