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[Hogwarts] Ch 83: Knockturn Alley
🕑 Added 2025-07-06 17:59:55 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Lady Greengrass usually received a letter or two every week from her eldest daughter.
At first, Daphne's letters were filled with homesickness and affectionate updates—checking in on her and asking after Astoria's health. But after Daphne asked for that money… something shifted.
Those first ones were family letters. The rest? More like "The Hogwarts Chronicles of Tom Riddle." His name started showing up more than hers and Astoria's combined.
That's when Lady Greengrass began to wonder—who exactly was this Tom Riddle, and how had he managed to wrap her daughter so thoroughly around his little finger?
After meeting him in person today, she couldn't help but nod to herself.
No wonder. This boy was ridiculously good-looking. Without needing to know anything else, she was sure—he had to be the best-looking student at Hogwarts.
...Wait a second.
That money Daphne asked for—don't tell me it all went to this kid?
Oh well. It wasn't that much. Nothing worth fussing over.
What she didn't know, though, was that she'd guessed right… and also very wrong.
Not only did her money go to Tom—Astoria's savings did, too. All of it, straight into his pocket.
After a few more polite exchanges, her impression of Tom had only improved. He was respectful, articulate—very well brought-up. So much so that she made an offer:
"Tom, why don't you spend Christmas with us? Daphne's always saying in her letters she never could've improved so much this term without your help. Maybe you can keep her in check a bit—because trust me, at home, she doesn't listen to a word I say."
"Mom!" Daphne groaned, half-embarrassed, half-scandalized. Could she not expose all her flaws in front of Tom?
She'd worked so hard to maintain her perfect-lady image. Now it was ruined.
Still, she glanced at Tom with hopeful eyes. Maybe he'd say yes this time?
No such luck.
"Thank you, ma'am, but I'm afraid I can't this holiday," Tom said with a smile. "Daphne and I already made plans for the summer—I'll visit then, and probably stay quite a while, if that's alright with you."
"The longer the better," Lady Greengrass said warmly. "You're welcome anytime."
Tom nodded, said a few more pleasantries, and politely excused himself, leaving mother and daughter to their reunion.
...
An hour and a half later, Tom unlocked the front door to the children's home.
Good thing he brought the key. The house was completely empty. Seth was at his boarding school and wasn't coming back for Christmas, and the few other kids who had been staying temporarily had already left.
A fine layer of dust coated everything. Clearly, Mrs. Allman hadn't stopped by in quite a while.
Tom sighed, grabbed a broom and cleaning supplies, and got to work.
It felt a little weird—not having magic to rely on. He'd gotten so used to using spells for everything that doing chores the Muggle way now felt almost... clumsy.
After what felt like forever, the place was finally somewhat clean. He munched on a few snacks he'd brought from the train, took a quick shower, and passed out in bed.
...
The next day, he took the bus into the city and entered the Leaky Cauldron, slipping through into Diagon Alley.
It was crowded—lots of students home for the holidays. A few Hogwarts classmates nodded at him in passing.
Tom headed straight to Twilfitt and Tatting's and picked out a new winter cloak—thirty Galleons. He put it on right away, then made his way to a narrow side alley near Gringotts and slipped inside.
The path twisted and turned, just wide enough for three people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. After five minutes of navigating through the maze-like passages, the alley finally opened up a little.
Well... sort of.
Compared to the bright, clean streets of Diagon Alley, this place was grimy, cramped, and dim. The signs hung crooked, most buildings were in disrepair, and even the sky overhead looked foggy and gray.
This was Knockturn Alley—the black market of the wizarding world.
If there was something shady or forbidden, you could probably buy or sell it here.
Tom took a breath, shook out his expression, and stepped forward.
He played the part of a lost little wizard perfectly—wide-eyed, nervous, clearly out of his element.
Knockturn Alley wasn't just a single street, either. It was more like a spiderweb of narrow alleys and shady dead ends. Shops were crammed into every crevice, many with doors shut tight.
As he passed one potion shop, he spotted two human bones dangling from the sign. His face paled slightly.
"Lost, are we, dearie?" a voice croaked.
Tom turned to see a hunched old witch grinning at him, holding a tray of what looked like... fingernails. Dead ones.
She smiled with mossy green teeth.
He forced a relieved smile and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! I am—completely lost. I'm trying to get back to Diagon Alley!"
"Heehee… come with me, child," she said in her sweet, sickly voice. "I'll take you there."
Tom followed her deeper into the alley.
They turned corner after corner, weaving through narrow paths, until finally stopping in front of a heavy wooden door.
"Right through here," the old witch said, motioning for him to go inside.
Tom didn't hesitate. He pushed the door open and stepped into a small courtyard. A man was already there, a middle-aged wizard, looking a little surprised to see him.
The old witch followed, and the fake grin dropped off her face.
"Got lucky," she muttered. "Ran into a rich one—look at that cloak. This'll be a nice haul."
The man's smile turned greedy.
But something was off. The boy didn't look scared. In fact… he was smiling.
The man glanced at the old witch. "You didn't bring us a halfwit, did you?"
"He seemed normal just a second ago!" she said, frowning.
Tom beamed. "Don't worry—I'm not stupid. I'm just happy."
The man scowled. "Happy? Kid, do you not get what's happening right now? Give us your family's info so we can get a ransom, yeah?"
Tom shook his head. "I'm just happy I managed to check off two major goals today."
He smiled even wider. "And now, time to send her to meet my parents."
Before they could react, Tom's left hand shot out like lightning—frost bloomed across his palm and instantly sharpened into an icy spike, which he drove straight into the witch's throat.
Shhk!
The spike punched clean through her neck. She gurgled, clawed at her throat, but couldn't make a sound.
The man didn't even have time to react—he was too stunned to believe the little brat had just killed someone.
A second later, a Stunner dropped him where he stood.
Thud.
They hit the ground almost in unison—except the man was only unconscious. The witch… wasn't getting back up.
Tom stood there, watching silently as blood pulsed from the gaping wound in her throat.
There's a first time for everything—even murder.
He may have looked calm and ruthless, but that was only because this had been the plan all along. Now that the moment had passed, the aftershocks hit.
But he didn't let himself look away.
This was a valuable lesson. He forced himself to watch the blood drain from the old witch's throat, steady and silent, until the light in her eyes vanished completely. Only then did he exhale, kneel down, and begin rifling through her pockets.
Two wands. A handful of Galleons—maybe fifteen.
Pathetic.
He searched the house next and turned up a few dozen more Galleons and a few hundred Sickles. He didn't even bother with the Knuts. Not worth the effort.
His first thought?
"Poor."
These two had been in the black market game, clearly. And this was all they'd managed to scrape together?
It was a sobering reminder of what the bottom rung of the wizarding world looked like.
Tom wasn't sure what their relationship had been—partners, maybe. But one thing seemed clear: neither of them had graduated from Hogwarts.
Sure, almost every magical child in Britain got a Hogwarts letter… almost.
You only got invited if your magic surfaced before age eleven. But if your first magical outburst came late—too bad. Hogwarts wouldn't come calling.
That's where all those 'wizard crash courses' came in. Wand-for-hire training programs. Cheap knockoffs for people without a real magical education.
No diploma. No skills. No connections.
People like that were stuck clawing for scraps at the edge of society, living off shady deals and dirty work.
Between the two of them, the witch had clearly been the stronger one. Dark magic practically leaked off her, so thick it had even started warping her appearance. The man, by contrast, looked almost normal.
Tom tested both of their wands. The witch's wand rejected him outright—the magic backfired so violently he nearly burned his fingers.
The man's wand, though? Serviceable. Nothing compared to his own, but at least it worked.
Perfect. That's exactly what he needed.
Because as a minor, he wasn't legally allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts—and his wand was enchanted with a Trace.
But what if he just didn't use his own wand?
If he cast spells with a different wand, the Ministry wouldn't detect a thing. As long as he kept his personal wand well out of range during spellwork, he'd be off the grid.
The only downside? The new wand wasn't a great fit. Awkward in his hand. Uncooperative.
So, he practiced. Spell after spell, until the wand started responding more naturally. Once he had the feel of it, he plucked a hair from the dead man's head and dropped it into a vial of Polyjuice Potion.
He gulped it down—and immediately gagged.
His cute, youthful face contorted in disgust.
Damn Merlin, that taste was vile.
...
A few minutes later, a bell chimed over the door to Borgin and Burkes.
In walked Tom Riddle—or rather, Tom wearing the face of a scruffy, middle-aged wizard. Same eyes, same presence, but entirely different shell.
He took his time browsing the shop. A shriveled hand. Bloodstained tarot cards. Lifeless glass eyes. A whole collection of human bones.
"No way any of this stuff's making it past Hogwarts security," he thought.
"Ah, a customer!" a croaky voice called from behind the counter.
The door creaked open, and out shuffled a stooped old man with yellowing teeth and a hawkish nose. He froze for a second when he saw Tom, then broke into a greasy smile.
"Michael! What's this? Strike gold somewhere? You finally shopping like a proper wizard now?"
"Drop the act," Tom said flatly, tearing his eyes away from the merchandise and locking onto the shopkeeper's.
"I'm not Michael. You know that."
The man's smile faltered—then reformed, wider than before.
"Of course. My mistake. Just a humble shopkeeper here, no need for games, eh?" Borgin chuckled. "Always a pleasure to deal with such... efficient clients."
Tom didn't blink. "Let's keep it simple. Buyer and seller. No backroom politics, no double-dealing. Makes life easier for both of us."
"Smart and decisive," Borgin said smoothly. "Michael never had your kind of presence. If it weren't for that old hag protecting him, he'd have been picked clean by Knockturn Alley's scavengers ages ago."
"She's not going to be protecting anyone ever again," Tom said coolly. "You don't have to worry about her."
Borgin's eyes gleamed. His smile deepened.
"In that case, welcome, honored guest. Just yesterday, we got in some fresh stock—fair prices, I assure you."
"I'm looking for a fresh or well-preserved dragon heart," Tom said calmly, "plus a pair of sphinx eyes and claws."
Borgin's smile froze in place.
"A fresh... dragon heart?"
"Let me guess," Tom said. "Illegal, right? So illegal that if it weren't, I wouldn't be here asking you."
Borgin chuckled awkwardly, caught out.
Sure, Snape had a dragon heart sitting openly in his office at Hogwarts, and Ollivander used dragon heartstrings in wands—but they were master craftsmen, respected by the Ministry. If a dragon died in the wild or was culled, its parts went to people like them.
Not some random nobody walking in off the street.
"Right, well... sphinx parts I've got," Borgin said at last. "Eyes and claws. But dragon hearts? Not even a dried-out scrap."
Tom's brow furrowed.
Borgin added quickly, "But—if I hear of one, I can either sell it directly to you or keep it in reserve. Your call."
"How much for the eyes and claws?"
"Five hundred Galleons. One matched pair of each."
Robbery. A unicorn horn barely went for a hundred. Sphinx parts weren't that much rarer, and this was easily double market price.
But hey—this was the black market. "Fair" wasn't part of the vocabulary.
Tom paid the man without complaint. Between the gold Daphne had given him, what he'd already spent, and what he'd lifted off the dead duo, he was now down to less than three hundred Galleons.
After the deal, he asked, "What'll the dragon heart cost?"
Borgin stroked his chin, then held up three fingers.
"Three thousand."
A full-grown dragon could be worth anywhere from fifteen to thirty thousand Galleons, depending on size and magical potency. Dragon blood, hide, meat—wizards used every inch of the creature.
And the heart was the most valuable part.
Tom didn't argue. "Sounds fair."
Then he added, "I just don't have that kind of gold on me."
Borgin had started to smile again—until that line.
He froze.
Something about the way Tom had said it… it wasn't a polite 'sorry, I'll come back later.' It sounded more like—
A warning?
.
.
.
