CHAPTER 7: A DARKER MARKETPLACE
Harry moved stealthily through the dimly lit alley, his figure shrouded in the inky depths of his meticulously enchanted cloak—a creation of his own design, inspired by a chance encounter with a similarly veiled garment. The fabric clung to him like a second skin, its texture reminiscent of the chill exuded by a Dementor, its threads steeped in the macabre essence of sorrow.
The hood of the cloak concealed most of his features, revealing only a pair of eyes that glowed with an eerie luminescence, the color of acid-green. These eyes bore witness to a lifetime etched with hardships, the kind that only a son enduring the relentless struggles alongside his father could understand.
In the murky shadows, a vampire hissed from the recesses of a dingy corner near the notorious establishment known as the 'Ghoul's Claw,' a pub with a reputation as tarnished as the alley it inhabited. Its proprietor, rumored to be a ghoul itself, presided over the establishment with an air of malevolence.
Harry's attention was abruptly diverted as a tawny barn owl swooped down towards him. Without hesitation, he raised his arm, allowing the majestic bird to alight gracefully. Tied to its leg was a letter, adorned with a crimson seal and secured with a ribbon woven from threads of gold and red.
The script on the envelope was instantly recognizable to Harry. In the circles he frequented, whispers circulated about these letters—tokens of affiliation proudly displayed by the offspring of Death Eaters. Unaware of Harry's true identity, some of these youths had, at one point, taunted him. However, a sly smile and a fractured arm later, they learned not to trifle with the enigmatic figure they had unwittingly targeted.
The letter itself was addressed with an air of formality:
"Mr. H. Potter Cursed Cobblestone, Knockturn Alley London, England."
Harry's fingers traced the embossed characters, his mind already racing with the potential implications of this missive. As he readied himself for the unfolding events, the dark alley seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next chapter in the clandestine saga that had become Harry's life.
Harry treaded cautiously along the notorious Cursed Cobblestone road in Knockturn Alley, a place that the Ministry deemed as one of the darkest and most sinister corners of the wizarding world. Little did they know, hidden behind the façade of a few seemingly innocent pubs, lay an illegal black market thriving in the shadows—a clandestine world that eluded the watchful eyes of the authorities.
His expression darkened as he examined the letter, the bright green ink stark against the backdrop of the grim surroundings. Fortunately, the headmaster himself didn't personally pen these letters. Instead, a bewitched quill dutifully transcribed the names of all the children associated with a certain cause. A trace charm intricately woven into the missive ensured that the owl's journey left an indelible mark, revealing the specific area it traversed. The clever enchantment corrected any attempts to alter the recipient's name, ensuring the accuracy of the intended destination.
Lucius Malfoy's knowledge of this intricate charm remained a mystery to Harry, but the revelation only fueled his curiosity.
Waving his wand with a determined flick, Harry cast a spell over the parchment. The letter reacted as though agitated, its surface seeming to bubble and writhe before undergoing a remarkable transformation. Words shifted and melded, rewriting themselves into an entirely new message on the parchment—a skillful act of magical manipulation, concealing the true nature of the communication from prying eyes.
As the ink settled into its new formation, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he had just set in motion a series of events that would unravel the secrets concealed within Knockturn Alley. The shadows whispered conspiratorially, and the air crackled with an anticipation that seemed to echo through the darkened cobblestone expanse.
The newly altered letter now bore a different name:
'Mr. H. Obsidian,
The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley,
London, England.'
Harry felt a sense of satisfaction as the ink dried on the parchment, the name now a cloak concealing his true identity.
Yet, Harry knew the peculiar enchantment on the quill demanded a response. The pen would be perplexed if a letter was returned unopened, untouched. The ink's magic needed to dance on the surface of the parchment once more, and Harry pondered the appropriate words to ensure the continuation of this intricate ruse.
An unexpected voice disrupted his thoughts. "An owl? May I eat it, master? Is it a snack?" Coilis, the magical viper, had grown considerably in the past three years, now a five-foot length that exuded an air of predatory elegance.
Harry couldn't help but smirk at Coilis's proposition. "No, Coilis. We need this letter to find its way back to Hogwarts, or they'll grow suspicious of us."
"Ah, what a shame for you not to trust the old worm and his chicken," Coilis retorted with a hint of disdain, a clear jab at Dumbledore.
Suppressing a snort, Harry decided to forego the verbal sparring and instead transfigured a nearby rock into a quill. It was a temporary solution, but the ink it produced would last as long as the letter did. With a practiced hand, he spelled out in his distinctive, impossible-to-copy font, 'I shall be there,' on the backside of the parchment. The message conveyed assurance and commitment, a coded language only he and those in the clandestine circles could decipher.
Already knowing what he needed, Harry had the necessary items stored away in a large trunk, its contents protected by powerful spells to safeguard against any mishaps. As the ink dried on his message, he sensed the wheels of a covert plan set into motion, each carefully chosen word playing a role in the unfolding narrative of shadows and secrecy.
The owl emitted a strangely unsettling coo, its departure marked by a frantic flight, as if fleeing from an imminent threat—perhaps the hungry gaze of a nearby vampire or some other unseen peril. Harry, unaffected by the owl's distress, spun on his heels, navigating the labyrinthine alleys with a practiced ease. A scrawny dog, more hiss than bark, crossed his path, offering a fleeting snarl before darting away into the shadows.
A peculiar sight unfolded as a small second-hand shop emerged, its presence almost hidden from casual onlookers. The proprietor, a hag with a penchant for the eccentric, possessed an uncanny ability to perceive things that defied the ordinary senses. Yet, it was her collection of books, unparalleled by any other establishment, that drew Harry's attention.
The door creaked open, and a peculiar rattling sound echoed in response. Harry glanced upward to find a row of old cat bones suspended, poised to emit an eerie rattle at the slightest intrusion—a primitive yet effective security measure.
"Strange," Harry mused as he closed the door behind him, "But effective."
The hag materialized from behind the counter, her clumped black hair leaving bald patches on her scalp. Yellow eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity, and her bony hands, contorted like a raptor's claws, remained coiled protectively against her chest. A gleeful hiss escaped her lips at the sight of a new customer, and she shuffled with wretched enthusiasm toward Harry's side. The air was thick with the scent of ancient knowledge and the peculiar charm that only a shop such as this could exude.
"A wonderful child, you shouldn't walk these streets alone, child. Where are your parents?" The hag hissed, her arm tensing as if poised to seize something—or, preferably, someone. Harry calmly lowered his hood, meeting the hag's gaze with a frigid intensity.
Over the years since his father's adoption, Harry's appearance had undergone a significant transformation. This was not merely a conventional adoption; it involved a Pure-Blood ritual to designate the child as the heir, subtly altering certain features to align with the adoptive parent's lineage. Harry's once untidy black hair had acquired a subtle midnight blue hue and a straightness reminiscent of his father's. His cheekbones had become more pronounced, and he had grown leaner and taller.
Though he bore little resemblance to James Potter, it was enough to ensure the hag wouldn't recognize him as the lost child of the Potters.
"My, my, a very young child. Such a sweet, sweet little child," the hag cooed, her bony fingers gently grazing against his cheek. Harry remained stoic, unaffected by the palpable chill that emanated from her touch—no body heat accompanied her skeletal fingers.
"Enough," he uttered, a simple word resonating with an unmistakable authority. The hag frowned and took a few hesitant steps backward, realizing that the mysterious child before her was not to be trifled with. The air crackled with an unspoken tension as Harry asserted his control over the situation.
"I've come for something—a book," Harry clarified, his movements deliberate as he took a few steps and idly picked up a handful of peculiar-looking badges, stained black by what appeared to be blood. With a careful scrape, Harry discerned the unmistakable insignia of Auror badges.
"What for, little child? Sweet, sweet little ch—"
"A book titled 'Slovakian Wards.' You recognize it, don't you?" Harry interjected, cutting off the hag's attempt at cooing.
The hag fell silent, her gaze fixed on Harry with a morbid fascination and a touch of horror that someone of his age would seek such a dark tome. Unbeknownst to her, a Death Eater had recently reported seeing the very book in her possession.
"It is black, bound in dragon leather. The spine is adorned with silver, and there's a blood stain on the top right corner," Harry continued, providing a detailed description that left no room for doubt. The hag now knew precisely which book he sought.
"Why would you need such a dark, bloody book, ch—"
"Hand it over, hag," Harry interrupted sternly, the authority in his voice brooking no argument. The hag hesitated for a moment, caught between the allure of her collection and the unsettling determination radiating from the young seeker of forbidden knowledge. The air thickened with tension as the hag reluctantly acknowledged that resistance was futile in the face of the enigmatic child's unwavering demand.
The hag scowled, retreating against a shelf stacked with black and brown pots, each emanating a different and unsettling odor—one reeked of roasted cinnamon, while another exuded the putrid scent of decaying flesh. Unfazed by the surroundings, Harry maintained his uninterested demeanor, his attention fixed on a bag of crimson powder labeled "Fire-Floo Powder."
Originating from the clandestine markets of Spain, the powder possessed a dangerous capability. It would turn black when keyed to someone's blood, and if anyone other than the designated individual attempted to use the Floo network, stepping into the flames would trigger a lethal transformation, turning the fire red and ending the intruder's life. It was a highly illegal substance, and it baffled Harry that the Ministry had yet to catch wind of its existence.
"Fetch the book," Harry ordered once more, and the hag responded with a shrill laughter, revealing a mouth riddled with rotting gums and missing teeth.
"What makes you command me, precious child?" she shrieked, her amusement apparent.
Harry's smirk widened as a thick black rope silently snaked its way down the row of pots, approaching the hag. "Because, I think you value your life."
In an instant, the rope tightened, causing the hag's breath to catch in her throat. Her skin paled as elongated fangs and ruby eyes materialized, drawing near with a menacing intent. The air crackled with an eerie tension as the supernatural force asserted its dominance, reminding the hag that even in the darkest corners of magic, someone held a greater command over the shadows.
"She smells brutal. I don't wish to bite her, Master, and she would contaminate my prey for weeks," Coilis conveyed in his own unique way, essentially expressing a sentiment akin to 'She'd give me bad breath.'
The hag, momentarily still, threw her head back in laughter. "A clever child. Let me fetch that book," she hissed, strangely joyous at having been outwitted. Slipping out of Coilis's coils, she scurried back behind the shelf, handling a dark book with evident care. Her yellow eyes widened as she whispered cooing words and stroked the spine, a display that sent shivers down Coilis's scaled form.
"She is mad, Master, worse than the adopted egg-bearer on bloodlust," Coilis hissed with a disbelieving look on his scaly face. Odd as it may seem, this woman appeared to be more unnerving than Bellatrix on the battlefield.
"Here is your book, child. Give me the gold," she hissed, her crooked hands outstretched, almost begging. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust before dropping five gold coins into her outstretched hands. Without a moment's hesitation, she scampered away to sit against a corner, rubbing the gold against her cheek with a disturbing fondness. The scene unfolded in a surreal dance of shadows, as Harry claimed the coveted tome while the hag reveled in her ill-gotten reward.
"Let's go, Coilis. She's horrible."
"Yes, she is. Creatures like her are below the weakest worms."
Harry chuckled at Coilis's assessment and deftly slipped the acquired book into a small black bag on his side. As he exited the shop, venturing back into the main thoroughfare, a disheveled man hurriedly emerged from the central Floo Area. Harry eyed him with distaste as the man struggled to straighten his lopsided glasses and wipe soot from his orange hair.
The man, catching sight of Harry, immediately broke into a smile and approached.
"Coilis, stay out of sight. A light wizard is seeking my attention."
"The man reeks of this… undignified stench," Coilis remarked with a disdainful curl of his snakelike features.
Harry resisted the urge to smirk, opting instead to reach up and pull his black hood over his head, unfurling the concealed charms that allowed his face to be seen.
"I believe the smell is of Butterbeer. I know you hate it."
"Only humans drink that foul liquid," Coilis replied with a haughty air.
As the man drew closer, Harry prepared to engage in whatever conversation lay ahead, his mind already attuned to the subtleties of the shadows and the secrets concealed within the folds of his dark cloak.
Harry swiftly turned left, abruptly halting his conversation with Coilis. He noticed the man behind them, stumbling and offering hurried apologies to the creatures and wizards he shoved past. Unaware of Harry's attempt to evade him, the man persisted in his pursuit.
"Curse him to the depths," Harry muttered under his breath, heeding Coilis's advice as he darted into the nearest pub. Sauntering through the back entrance, Harry knew the proprietors turned a blind eye to such entries.
Yet, the relentless pursuer continued to race through the tavern, clearly disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Master, do you perceive that?" Coilis interjected urgently.
Harry knit his brows, straining to catch any telltale sound. "What is it?"
"The melody! The enchanting notes beckon—lead me to it, Master!" Coilis pleaded persistently.
Torn between losing the red-haired man and heeding Coilis's plea, Harry found himself acquiescing to the serpent's directions. "Guide me," he conceded, feeling the tug of the snake's urging.
"It's nearby," Coilis bubbled excitedly, attuning its senses. Even Harry now discerned the distant strains of music. Rounding a corner within an alley, his eyes alighted upon a girl standing at a corner, just a stone's throw from the main thoroughfare.
The music seemed to emanate from her, weaving an ethereal web that drew Harry in despite his pressing concerns.
Harry ascended a few steps, aligning himself with the girl's back. Her long, obsidian hair possessed a subtle verdant hue. Delicately pale arms moved with a graceful rhythm, deftly manipulating strands as her hypnotic voice filled the air with an otherworldly cadence, foreign yet alluring. Coilis seemed entranced, urging Harry to draw nearer.
"Hello, child," Harry greeted softly. Her weaving ceased, and she turned, revealing eyes reminiscent of vibrant algae. Swiveling on her stool, her verdant attire harmonized with her surroundings, her green dress harmoniously matched by the slight scale impressions on her legs and the faintly webbed toes. Opalescent nails, iridescent like a rainbow's gleam, adorned her toes, catching light in a mesmerizing dance.
"I am Shadow. What might your name be?" Harry felt an inexplicable trust in her presence, inhibiting any inclination to offer a fabricated identity. She delicately unfurled a spool of white silk from around her dainty fingers.
"I am Carpatha. I tend to receive many visitors, yet few are mortal," she divulged, a faint smile revealing flawlessly sharpened canines, hinting at her otherness.
"What manner of being are you?" Harry inquired, a quizzical tilt to his head as Carpatha mentioned 'mortals' as though she stood apart from them.
"I am of half Merrow descent, a lineage akin to the Mermaids, if that term resonates with you," she explained, her head tilting slightly, revealing her youthful appearance—a mere nineteen years yet seemingly timeless.
"A Merrow? A truly uncommon lineage," Coilis hissed, his demeanor lowering in an almost trance-like state. Carpatha smiled, extending her hand to stroke Coilis's neck tenderly.
"Indeed?" Her inquiry shifted swiftly. "And what might be your name, handsome DiamondCross?" Her touch withdrew, much to Coilis's surprise.
"You comprehend him?" Harry queried, surprised and intrigued in equal measure. Carpatha offered another smile, her hand gliding down Coilis's back.
"I do," she affirmed, a glint of amusement dancing in her algae-green eyes.
"I am of Merrow descent, a blend of creature and mortal. I possess the gift to understand all beings, large or small. Naturally, I can switch this ability on or off at will. I hold knowledge of all creatures; none can withhold their secrets from me, no matter how elusive," Carpatha disclosed in a hushed tone, her gaze returning to Coilis once more.
"I am Coilis; it is an honor to meet one of your kind, great water-tongue," Coilis greeted, flicking his tongue to capture her essence. Carpatha beamed and resumed caressing his neck.
"Unfortunately, I am the last remaining among my kind; my sisters have long passed. I've heard rumors of a colony in southern Greece, but Britain holds its own charms. Wouldn't you agree, Shadow and Coilis? Oh, and a bird whispers of a red-haired man drawing near. I must flee, away from the somber tavern," she whispered, glancing up at a small crow fluttering past.
With a touch of reluctance, Coilis coiled back around Harry's arm, bidding Carpatha farewell.
"May our paths cross again?" Harry inquired, finding himself drawn to the Merrow girl. Carpatha smiled and directed her gaze towards the crow, which promptly landed on her outstretched arm.
"Aye, Shadow, for I am aware of who you are. I shall dispatch a message to you through Cra, or any avian willing to heed my call," she promised, letting Cra, the crow, vanish into the vast expanse above. Returning her attention to the street below, she resumed her ethereal song, weaving a magnificent tapestry depicting a sea serpent and a Gridylow.
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