Chapter 186: An Encounter in Knockturn Alley
Ron crouched in front of a fluttering night owl. There was something suspiciously dark red smeared across its beak.
"…What kind of meat does it eat?" His hand froze on the cage latch.
"Yesterday's thief left a finger behind," the shopkeeper said with a toothy grin.
"…Right. I'll take the brown wood owl," Ron said quickly.
Then he suddenly pointed toward a gray shape curled up in the corner.
"That one… its wing looks broken. Could it be two Sickles cheaper?"
"That one?" The shopkeeper's expression turned strange.
"That one," Russell repeated sharply, catching the subtle wording.
"Yes. He," the shopkeeper corrected with a nod. "A poor fool who botched an Animagus transformation. Never managed to turn back."
She smiled faintly.
"So? Still interested?"
Ron's face went pale. He shook his head vigorously.
"…I'll take a normal owl."
"Mother, why are you here again?"
A younger witch strode out, frowning, and pulled the old woman aside.
"My apologies," she said briskly. "My mother isn't entirely… well. Everything in the back isn't for sale. If you'd like to buy an owl, please come with me."
So this was the real owner.
Russell hadn't recognized her—he'd bought his previous owl from a different pet shop.
In the end, Ron picked a newly hatched owl. It was cheaper than most—not just because it was small, but because it hadn't eaten much yet.
He walked along with a silly grin, clutching the cage as he followed Russell.
Now, they needed to find the others.
Unfortunately—
Things weren't going much better on the other side.
Hermione and Wednesday had landed in Flourish and Blotts.
Hermione stumbled out of the Floo just as a Christmas display was collapsing under the weight of Modern Developments in Invisibility. The books teetered dangerously.
Wednesday tumbled out right behind her.
In the chaos, Hermione accidentally knocked into a floating candle—wax dripped onto a display of Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography. His dazzling smile twisted grotesquely under the heat.
"Where's Harry? He should've come out before us!"
Hermione brushed soot from her robes, scanning the crowded aisles.
"Did he leave already? That doesn't make sense…"
Nearby, a woman in a mole-fur coat was shoving The Monster Book of Monsters into a crying boy's bag—the book snapped its teeth viciously, biting onto the boy's scarf tassel.
"Honestly, how can a book be this savage?" Hermione muttered, frowning. Even she had limits when it came to reading material.
Wednesday's fingers brushed over the sign for "Defense Against the Dark Arts."
A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes.
It would be better without the word "Defense."
Behind a shelf, a loud crash echoed.
They circled around a towering stack of History of Magic volumes—only to find a house-elf sorting returned books.
One copy of Travels with Trolls had its title page scrawled over in purple ink:
"Fraud."
"So… what now?" Hermione asked.
They had searched nearly all of Diagon Alley—and still no sign of Harry.
"Don't worry."
Wednesday paused, then raised her wand and tapped her shoulder.
Hermione blinked.
From thin air, a jet-black raven materialized—perched calmly where nothing had been before.
"Hades," Wednesday said quietly, "find Harry."
Why hadn't she done this earlier?
Simple—she hadn't thought of it.
Moments later, the raven returned.
It landed on her shoulder, letting out a series of sharp cries.
Nearby witches and wizards began glancing over, drawn by the eerie sound.
Hermione flushed under the curious stares.
"Come on," Wednesday said, drawing her wand. "Harry's somewhere else."
She led Hermione toward the far end of Diagon Alley.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Hermione swallowed nervously. "Shouldn't we find Russell and Ron first… then go together?"
Before them stretched a long staircase, smeared with grime and filth. At the bottom, the light dimmed drastically—as if it belonged to an entirely different world.
"Two paths at once," Wednesday said calmly. "We go down. Hades will find Russell."
As soon as she finished speaking, the raven took off again, vanishing into the distance.
Hermione hesitated—then nodded. Harry's safety mattered more.
As they stepped into Knockturn Alley, a cold wind whipped at Wednesday's dress.
Above one shop hung a wind chime made of infant skulls—it let out a faint, crying sound.
Hermione's boot suddenly sank into a hollow in the ground.
With a sickening squelch, she pulled her foot free—dragging out strands of slime tangled with silver-threaded beetles.
"Disgusting," she muttered, quickly casting a cleaning charm.
"It's probably some kind of spider trap…"
"Interesting," Wednesday said suddenly, stopping in her tracks.
Hermione followed her gaze—and immediately covered her mouth.
"Oh my—"
To their left stood a shop labeled "Blood & Bone."
Blood seeped continuously down its glass display.
Inside, antique goblets rotated slowly, dripping liquid that burned into the snow below, forming the words:
"DANGER—KEEP AWAY."
To their right, a shop called "Venom Kiss" rattled violently behind iron bars.
A torn page from Advanced Curses drifted loose from its chains, landing near Hermione's feet.
She instinctively bent to pick it up—
"Don't," Wednesday said sharply.
"If you touch it, you won't make it out."
Hermione froze, then quickly withdrew her hand, shivering.
"Well now… aren't you two little sweethearts lost?"
A filthy old witch approached, her eyes gleaming with ill intent.
Meanwhile—
Harry tumbled out of a soot-filled fireplace, coughing violently.
Ash coated him from head to toe.
He looked around, confused.
The place felt… familiar.
The layout reminded him eerily of the Black family's basement.
Where am I? he thought. There's nothing like this in Diagon Alley…
Curiosity overtook him.
He began examining the shelves.
His fingers brushed against frost-covered glass jars—the cold stung his skin.
Inside, preserved magical organs floated in murky liquid.
A Hungarian Horntail's vocal cords trembled silently.
A unicorn heart pulsed with tar-like blood.
And deep within, a jar labeled "1943" held a stitched human hand, curled tightly.
"Well now… not many people come through that fireplace anymore."
A sinister voice slithered through the air.
Harry turned.
A hunched wizard emerged from behind the counter, his spine bent into an unnatural question mark.
A gleaming monocle rested over one eye.
"So," the shopkeeper said softly, "are you interested in… these?"