August is a good month of summer. At least, I've always thought so.
Delacour, in his reply letter, promised that he would only send the Portkey on the fifth. He also wrote whose specific territory would have to be healed, where it is located, and other things, but no one will meet the "Plague Doctor"—not every wizard has a desire to personally see a dark wizard for one reason or another.
Do I trust Delacour? Not particularly. It's not even about possible suspicions of his involvement in the trap, although he might have motives too—it's that he negotiates with wizards completely unknown to me, whose lands were cursed for one reason or another. One must realize the extremely low probability that someone would shit on a quiet, calm, and harmless wizard, cursing the land, making it unfit for existence, and it doesn't matter in what form this curse is expressed. Such wizards definitely pissed someone off greatly, but not enough to kill them. So they shit on them. Murder, by the way, is generally extremely unwelcome in the wizarding world for quite understandable reasons—there's nothing to take from a dead person, no use, and there are so few wizards on Earth anyway, and if compared with ordinary people, then generally...
And all this means only one thing—the trip is worth preparing for. Ideally, one should attend to flying to another country, finding and inspecting the object, but this does not make much sense unless...
Only if from the moment I receive the letter until the activation of the Portkey there is enough time, one can simply banally get to the object by ordinary transport and check everything for traps. But how to find the needed plot on the territory of a whole country, and I am sure that one will have to search in this way, because even if wizards use the system of ordinary people for numbering their houses and plots, inscribing them into the existing scheme in the city or outside it, but here's the trouble—they don't indicate cities, and the fact of the existence of identical street names in cities is not a secret.
This, by the way, is quite amusing—I remember, in my past life I was repeatedly surprised by the complete absence on maps and directly on the street itself of a house with some number, while neighboring houses stood literally a step away, and their numbers subtly hinted that there should be one more.
There is a solution, of course—buy all maps of all cities with exact designation of house numbers, and having an address on hand, find streets with the same name, and already on them look for houses that are not there. This sounds quite easy and simple for a person accustomed to developed digital technologies, but in reality, it is extremely difficult to find all maps, and moreover sufficiently relevant ones, on paper media. Of course, in every country there are services engaged in accounting for land resources, all sorts of cadastres, but here I possess neither knowledge nor understanding of what and where to look for, and banal sorting through such documentation can take a huge period of time. So here, unfortunately, I am powerless. But if the letter indicates the city, then the situation will change dramatically. But for now—only preparation for an instant reaction to aggression immediately after the transfer.
Approximately such a command decision I made on the morning of August second, before going to my standard physical training sessions. Still, should diversify classes with some apparatus. Sword there, spear. But I haven't received a concrete vision of this apparatus for myself yet, therefore I am in no hurry to grab the first idea that comes across.
The sunny morning quickly began to turn into a cloudy one as my training progressed, and now instead of positive playful rays of light, everything is only graying and darkening. Looks like the weather will not be very good.
Immediately after breakfast with parents, as soon as they went out the door, the first drops of so far fine and rare rain began to knock on the windows, and a minute later an owl joined them in this matter—knocking on the window. The bird brought a message personally to me, in which the address of the meeting place was indicated—from Mrs. Malfoy. It seems yesterday they didn't go anywhere shopping, and very few do so, because this is still plus or minus a tradition.
Treating the bird with an owl treat—a universal delicacy for them, true, not particularly liked by Pigwidgeon—I went up to my room, put on my magical homemade suit and began to change it by willpower. In fact, outwardly it became ordinary black clothes, closed, without any frills, and a hood appeared on the robe. Assessing that there is absolutely no individuality in the suit at all, I left the house.
Raindrops flowed down the clothes, but were not absorbed. It was extremely cloudy and gloomy outside. Hiding myself with magic, I walked literally a hundred meters and Apparated to the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron—this is also possible, but not recommended, for "yard" is only in name, but in fact just a small patch of space surrounded by walls. Can arrange some accident during such movement. But this time everything went well and I was alone here. Immediately opened the passage to Diagon Alley and immediately went to the magical street.
Here it was also gloomy and cloudy, and the rain was gaining momentum. There were almost no wizards at this rather early hour, and the few present decided to stand under the awnings of shops or inside stores for now, choosing goods more thoughtfully or just looking at the sky covered with clouds. Raindrops drummed loudly on roofs, glass, awnings, turning into an ever-increasing continuous noise, bringing with it a feeling of freshness.
I took only a couple of steps in the direction I needed, and nearby, along the walls of houses, streams from gutters gurgled. Did anyone pay attention to me? Unlikely, because despite the notability of a tall figure in black, whose face is hidden under a hood, I now have a semblance of averting eyes. Not complete invisibility, no—I don't need it right now. But thanks to such measures, those who are looking specifically for me in the crowd will not smear their gaze past without even realizing that they saw someone at all, but will notice.
Walking a little, turned into an alley bearing the sonorous name "Knockturn". The situation changed albeit not immediately, but quite quickly, as soon as I walked literally two dozen meters. Gloomy houses stood quite close to each other, everywhere there were various alleys-lanes, some houses were connected by arches of passages on the second floors. The atmosphere was strikingly different, yes, but it wasn't somehow frightening or anything. Just old and very dense buildings with a bunch of constantly winding paths and alleys, among which there were no straight sections longer than fifteen meters—created the impression that you are in a cramped anthill, and local "ants" can appear literally from around every corner. Gloomy signs, compared to those on Diagon Alley, did not add colors to the alley. Although, what kind of alley is this? This is a real big quarter.
The contingent here was also gloomy, and there were especially many wizards closer to the entrance, and as if on purpose they looked repulsive and frightening, but by no means untidy—in this matter, some visitors to the Leaky Cauldron will give them a head start. Oh, there is its own tavern here, the White Wyvern. Cute. Even a pity that nothing is visible through the windows. My path lies to a fairly well-known shop—Borgin and Burkes.
By the way, contrary to popular belief, this alley, Knockturn, is a quite official, legal place, the bad fame of which began to gain momentum only in the post-war years. Actually, around the same time, "light" sentiments began to gain momentum in the masses, such as rejection of dark magic, and the like. Well, and the fact that not the richest, and sometimes frankly marginal layers of society gather here—is entirely the merit of the Ministry of Magic. At least it seems to me that it is beneficial for the Ministry that all these masses be in one place, and not wander around burrows throughout the country. And in such areas, which became criminal in the worldview of ordinary people, often, albeit specific, but strict order is maintained. Shards of an elf and a dwarf, and own logic only confirmed this.
But did I feel safe? No, and it's not just about Knockturn—painfully many events happen in general, and the sense of security as such disappeared somewhere recently, before I could come to my senses.
Reaching the shop I needed with large and bright windows and no less large, but gloomy signs, I stood at the entrance so as to see everything around, so as not to lose a millimeter from the field of view, despite the hood on. Stood, and leaned against the wall. Clean wall, even if it couldn't be said by look.
The rain was gaining momentum. Even in such a place as Knockturn, where two carts won't pass between houses, visibility dropped noticeably due to many heavy large drops, pouring from the sky in a huge stream. The stone-paved road was covered with a thin layer of water quickly flowing into lowlands—its surface rippled from drops leaving bubbles. The noise of the rain drowned out absolutely everything. The situation does not contribute to safety, therefore I launched small sharp triangles into the air in advance—they could not be noticed in all this weather bacchanalia. If necessary, they can not only cut and make through holes in the bodies of a conditional opponent, but also put up small layers of Protego of several modifications parallel to their plane.
Wizards in black, hurrying about their business, sometimes passed me. Like me, they wore hoods and it is unclear whether from rain or from people. Even if Knockturn is, in principle, a quite legal place, its fame is bad. Wizards somehow connected with dark magic are not liked, feared, afraid of, hence the rejection—you never know which of them will turn out to be a psycho with a loose roof, and what dirty trick such a wizard is capable of pulling off. Well, and just to scare children—nothing for them to climb into dark magic, and who has profile knowledge in the family, will learn what is needed without prejudices. Although, this is only my opinion, based on a bunch of fragmentary knowledge about this world, but knowledge from second, and sometimes third hands.
Through the curtain of rain, I saw a rapidly approaching female figure in a black coat with a wide hood. In the gait of the figure, Mrs. Malfoy was recognized, even if now she moved without mannerisms and other nuances that she showed in public in the company of her husband, son, or just like that. She was moving exactly to the entrance to the shop near which I stood, but noticed me and was now walking towards me. Yes, really her.
"Refreshing weather, isn't it?" smiled politely. "Good morning."
"Good morning," she smiled just as politely and gestured invitingly to the shop. "Shall we go in?"
I opened the door for her, simultaneously imperceptibly returning the triangles to place, a soft chime of the entrance bell rang out, and we went inside, only now allowing ourselves to take off the hoods.
Borgin and Burkes—there is a lot of talk about this place among those who do not accept dark magic. Scary place, where there are full of dangerous and prohibited things, where it is scary even to look at them, and generally... Reality turned out to be somewhat disappointing. In magic, I really felt this place differently, but the objects here, of which there was a great multitude, but which were in strict, albeit not immediately understandable order, did not cause a feeling of any danger. Yes, dark magic was felt in them. Not the one as I understand it due to shards, but the one as locals see it—distorted neutral energy. Distorted to amazing closeness by its essence to the energy of death, but different. But frankly cursed objects, really dangerous, were not so many, and they all lay on glassed showcases or on individual glassed stands—even if you want to, you won't touch just like that.
Assortment? Different. From tiny trinkets, to bulky things like furniture, strange cabinets and chests. There was even a rather elegant and decorated Iron Maiden here. Sure, it has absolutely no torture purpose.
"Take this sheet and familiarize yourself," Mrs. Malfoy handed me a folded parchment in half, in which a simple runic chain of self-destruction through burning at the will of the author or by condition was felt—a safety measure. "Tell me when you finish."
"Okay."
"Among other things, I would like to introduce you to the owner of this shop..."
We went towards the counter, behind which there was no one, so far. While we walked, slowly, along the showcases and past various interesting and not very objects, I unfolded the sheet and read into the text. Its content was simple, but even in the text Mrs. Malfoy did not give specific names, calling those ladies by words unequivocally characterizing one of them: vulgar—Sylvia; boring—Callida; redhead—Amber. Opposite each word was a list of disciplines or specializations for which one can turn to each of them. Nothing particularly unusual, and really Dark Witch among them was only Amber. The rest—more "socially approved" specialists. Although, I am not entirely sure about rituals with Callida, and blood magic with Sylvia raises questions, the main of which—what does blood magic represent in this world? That this is not idiotic absurdity from fantasy about bloody spears and all such nonsense—definitely. But the combination of blood with alchemy with the same Sylvia—is already interesting. Yes, really diverse ladies.
"Oh, Mrs. Malfoy," the voice of the seller approaching the counter rang out. "Haven't dropped in on us for a long time."
This seller was not young. I would even say—old. In a white shirt and vest, slightly stooped, with unruly gray hair sticking out like a dandelion. He looked at us with an attentive gaze through neat glasses on a chain.
"Read," I said, as Mrs. Malfoy asked.
She glanced briefly at me, at the parchment in my hands, and it flared up with a cold blue flame, simply disappearing in a fraction of a second. Amusing. Mrs. Malfoy herself loves and diligently engages in runes and charms. Not those charms with which the school curriculum is associated, but complex, cascading ones—so it was written. If I understood correctly from what was studied at Hog, and even then only from additional literature, cascading and complex charms—are truly complicated things, and one academically correct cast, with observance of waves, words and images, can stretch for half an hour of continuous work. In fact, Fidelius Charms refer to cascading charms, but this is not certain—I haven't reached materials so far beyond the school curriculum yet.
"Good morning, Mr. Burke," Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "Sorry for not coming in for a long time."
"Ah, nothing terrible," the seller waved it off, and judging by the surname, co-owner, or maybe sole owner of the shop. "I understand everything. Family, affairs, hobbies, and dark... he-he... deeds are now handled by Lucius."
"Can say so. Today I wanted to introduce this young man to you."
"As always, without names, please," Mr. Burke nodded, looking at me. "The less I know personal information about new people—the better. In the current situation. Eh... What times? What morals? Some thirty years, and old me is no longer a respected expert and appraiser in the field of dark and cursed things, but an old suspicious geezer engaged in dark deeds."
"Don't slander yourself," Mrs. Malfoy smiled. "Those who need to—remember and respect."
"Only this warms the soul. Sometimes it seems to me that the hour is not even, and the Ministry will begin to push through bans on dark magic. As soon as the old men die, and the end. Everything more complicated than Lumos will be banned."
"You are exaggerating, but many have such fears."
"Yes, exaggerating, joking," Mr. Burke nodded.
"In every joke there is a fraction of a joke, Mr. Burke," I inserted my five Knuts.
"Quite wise words, young man. So, since you were recommended, I want to say right away that I will not deal with objects bringing death. Neither buy, nor sell, nor evaluate."
"I understand," although I don't quite understand why I should be here at all... although... I saw books, specific things that may be useful in one activity or another, and generally... "Not that level of trust."
"Exactly. Even if Mrs. Malfoy introduced us, trust is not a thing that comes with words alone. And should remember that this shop is more than legal, even if Knockturn's fame does not imply this at all."
"I understood. But I already see some things that may be useful to me. Or may not be useful."
"Hmm... Diamond eye, huh?" Mr. Burke smirked, shifting his gaze to Mrs. Malfoy. "Even if I am glad of your visit, everything has its time. Now it is restless. I would recommend you refrain from visiting my shop without urgent need. And generally, this applies to all of Knockturn. All sorts of empty-headed loudmouths have already prepared buckets of slops and are just waiting for someone to pour them on, and so that it turns out scandalous."
"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Burke," Mrs. Malfoy nodded with a smile. "I with pleasure..."
Outside, some noise, hubbub and screams were growing. Growing very quickly. The wand was already in my hand purely just in case, as well as Mr. Burke's. Mrs. Malfoy delayed with this matter—not a fighter, but I knew that anyway. Along with how the wand ended up in my hand, triangles flew off the bracelet, obeying my will. Just in time. An explosion rang out outside—I immediately created Protego Duo around us with the wand, and several layers of all types of protection with triangles. The window shattered, as did the front door. The shock wave was not strong. Puffs of smoke and steam, dust. Shards got stuck in the protection. I felt that the fight was on the street. Quite a few wizards. Some moved very fast. Apparition... No. Barrier, like at Hog.
It seems the day ceases to be gray.
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