Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 773: Knockturn Alley’s Welcome Gift

Knockturn Alley was a favored gathering place for Dark Wizards and Wandering Wizards alike. It was a grimy, dilapidated street, with an air thick with an unusual scent—something eerily similar to the burnt aroma left behind when magical potions were boiled dry. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to that of its neighboring Diagon Alley.

Kyle had been here before but had never paid much attention. This time, accompanying Newt in search of the Werewolf, he noticed that the alley was home to a surprising number of shops.

From the entrance to its very depths, Knockturn Alley had nearly as many storefronts as Diagon Alley. However, most lacked proper signs, with some simply hanging peculiar objects by their doors—like a dried finger, a skull, or something resembling a gnarled root.

“These are for dealing with Ministry of Magic inspections,” Newt explained, as if reading Kyle’s confusion. “The withered finger signifies common dark magic items and stolen goods, while the skull indicates poisons and objects cursed with lethal magic.”

“But most of these shops only sell counterfeits or repackaged second-rate goods. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single genuine item on this entire street.

“After all, in Knockturn Alley, honesty is the most expensive thing of all.”

“Don’t people come after them when they get scammed?” Kyle asked.

If he had been sold a fake, he certainly wouldn’t let it slide.

“They used to,” Newt said, “but anyone who owns a shop here has something up their sleeve—something valuable or powerful. It’s difficult to take advantage of them.”

“Besides, the shopkeepers have long since formed an alliance. Targeting one means going against them all. Even the strongest wizards have to play by the rules here.”

“Rules? What kind of rules?”

“There are many, but the most important one is: no returns,” Newt replied. “You have to be absolutely sure before you buy anything, because once you’ve paid, there’s no going back.”

“Oh, I see.” Kyle nodded, but his gaze lingered on Newt, a question forming in his mind. Newt had always lived in Dorset—so how did he know so much about Knockturn Alley?

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“A few times.” Newt’s eyes suddenly became distant. “There are some things you can’t obtain through normal channels. When that happens, you have to come here and take your chances.”

From the look on his face, Kyle could make a pretty good guess—this was something from Newt’s younger days.

After being blacklisted by the Ministry of Magic in nearly every country, if Newt wanted to travel, he would have had to rely on illegal Portkeys or other unconventional means. And places like Knockturn Alley were the only places where such things could be found.

So, in a way, Newt could be considered a regular.

Kyle chose not to point this out. Instead, he looked around and asked, “But didn’t you just say that almost everything here is fake?”

“Almost everything,” Newt corrected. “Not all. If there weren’t any real items, this place wouldn’t be able to stay in business.” He coughed twice. “In fact, I’ve been swindled plenty of times. On average, I only manage to find one genuine item out of every five purchases.”

“That’s a pretty terrible success rate,” Kyle muttered, rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to the surrounding shops.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of movement behind a window—someone had been watching them but quickly retreated the moment Kyle looked over.

“It seems we’ve been spotted,” Kyle noted.

“We were spotted the moment we stepped inside,” Newt replied calmly. “The wizards here have their own way of communicating. They’ve known about us since the moment we arrived.”

The two walked deeper into Knockturn Alley.

The environment only worsened the farther they went. The few people they passed were wrapped in ragged scarves and hoods, either sitting in corners selling strange wares or hurrying along, avoiding eye contact.

Even so, the crowd was sparse. Clearly, business had suffered after the Death Eaters’ attack on Diagon Alley.

Here, Kyle and Newt stood out starkly. Though their faces were obscured, their clean clothing set them apart. And even without directly looking, Kyle could tell from the way heads turned ever so slightly that every person here was watching them.

“Are we being too high-profile?” Kyle asked in a low voice. “Should we hide ourselves a bit?”

”It’s fine,” Newt shook his head and said. ”Knockturn Alley has its own signs. Every outsider stands out like a Mooncalf in a herd of Manticores—there’s no hiding here, not even under an Invisibility Cloak.”

Kyle frowned slightly. “Then how are we supposed to find the Werewolf?”

Their every move was being watched—by the people on the street, by the figures lurking in the shadows of the shops on either side. It felt as if they were walking beneath a dozen searchlights. Finding someone under these circumstances was going to be difficult.

“Well… people in Knockturn Alley rarely meddle in others’ business,” Newt said calmly. “At least, that was the case when I used to come here. As long as it doesn’t concern them, they won’t interfere.”

The two continued forward, and as they went deeper into the alley, the number of people increased.

By now, Kyle had gradually adjusted to the stares that followed them from every direction. Just as Newt had said, no one approached them—people simply observed from a distance, their expressions detached, as if it wasn’t their concern.

Kyle turned a corner and found himself standing at a fork in the road. On the left side of the intersection was a shop with fang-shaped teeth hanging above its entrance. Though as dilapidated as the rest of the alley, it was noticeably larger than the surrounding stores.

Newt glanced up. “I think we can ask for directions.”

Kyle looked at the shop. Fangs… What kind of shop is this?

Before he could finish the thought, two unshaven, ragged-looking wizards stepped out of the store. Their clothes were grimy, their faces worn.

“Get out of here, wizards. This isn’t the place for you,” one of them rasped, his voice hoarse, as if forced through a tight throat.

Kyle reacted immediately. The long, yellowed fingernails, the voice—

Werewolves…

Lupin had mentioned before that Fenrir Greyback was extremely selective, only taking in young and strong werewolves. The old, weak, or those he deemed useless were left to fend for themselves, often gathering in places like Knockturn Alley.

Kyle stepped forward and spoke politely. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m here to find someone.”

“This has nothing to do with us,” one of the werewolves snapped. “Get out of here!”

“Don’t say that. If you’re willing to provide information, I can pay.” Kyle pulled out a handful of gold coins.

“You have things hanging outside your door, so you must be running some sort of business. Tell me what I need to know, and these will all be yours.”

The werewolf wizard’s eyes widened at the sight of the glistening Galleons in Kyle’s hand.

For a brief moment, greed flickered across his expression as he took in Kyle’s clean clothes and youthful face. The gold had caught the attention of others, too. Subtly, the crowd around them began to shift, bodies moving in a way that hinted at an encirclement.

The werewolf wizard quickly spoke. “Just so you know, this isn’t enough money for information.”

“No problem,” Kyle replied with an easy smile, as if oblivious to the tightening trap around him. “As long as the price is reasonable, I’m fine with any amount.”

“What do you want to ask?”

“A few months ago, a werewolf from the outside came to Knockturn Alley. I believe his name was Tor…” Kyle said. “Where is he?”

The moment the words left his mouth, the werewolf wizard’s expression twisted. His posture stiffened, and his voice turned sharp.

“What do you want with him?”

Kyle remained composed. “That’s right. We just came from the Black Forest—his friend asked me to bring him a message.”

At the mention of the Black Forest, the werewolf wizard’s face darkened further.

“What are you trying to pull, wizard?” he snarled, his voice laced with suspicion. “Do you take us for fools?” His gaze burned with hostility, an unmistakable murderous intent beneath the surface.

More werewolf wizards emerged from the shop and nearby alleyways, their expressions wary, their movements deliberate. Within moments, Kyle and Newt were surrounded.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Newt said, stepping beside Kyle. “After being abandoned by the stronger werewolves, the Black Forest is a source of shame for them. You just reopened their wounds.”

“I see,” Kyle muttered, suddenly understanding. Then he asked, “Well, if I apologize, will that make you feel better?”

“Apologize? Sure,” the leading werewolf shaman sneered. “One hundred Galleons, and I’ll accept your apology.”

“No problem,” Kyle agreed without hesitation, taking out a large bag.

“Here are exactly one hundred Galleons. Can I get my answer now?”

As the bag rattled, the crisp, metallic sound filled the air. When Kyle opened it, the golden glow inside caused an audible intake of breath all around.

These werewolves had never seen so much money in one place before. The sight nearly blinded them.

“So, now can you tell me where Tor is?” Kyle asked again.

“No,” the werewolf wizard grinned, baring his sharp teeth.

“These one hundred Galleons are your apology. If you want the information, you’ll have to pay another one hundred… no, five hundred Galleons!”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “It seems you’re not very sincere. Five hundred Galleons—do you really dare to ask for that?”

“Cut the crap,” another werewolf wizard hissed. “It’s not up to you anymore. Either you obediently pay another five hundred Galleons and leave, or we take what we want ourselves. But I can’t guarantee what will happen to you then.”

His gaze lingered on Kyle’s neck, and he licked his lips.

It was then that Kyle realized these werewolves were not as harmless as Lupin had described. The reason they hadn’t participated in the war wasn’t because they had refused—it was because no one had wanted them.

Neither the Death Eaters nor Fenrir Greyback had any use for them.

Kyle turned to Newt. “What now? They don’t seem sincere.”

“I don’t know either.” Newt shrugged, looking helpless. “Just do it your way.”

“My way?” Kyle glanced down at the wand in his hand.

The surrounding werewolves immediately tensed. Some raised their own wands, while others crouched low, baring their fangs, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

But the next second, Kyle lowered his wand and picked up the suitcase in his other hand.

The werewolves took this as a sign of surrender, believing Kyle was preparing to buy peace with Galleons. Shrill laughter rang out.

“Haha, I didn’t think he was a coward. Hurry up, don’t—”

“Roar!”

A thunderous roar drowned out the rest of their words.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a massive dragon appeared before them.

Its wings spread wide, nearly covering the entire street.

Norbert glanced around the narrow alley with mild irritation, snorting in displeasure. Twin jets of flame flared from his nostrils.

Before anyone could react, the dragon swung its thick tail, lashing out at the werewolf wizard who had just threatened Kyle. The impact sent him flying like a cannonball, crashing through a nearby wall.

For a brief moment, Knockturn Alley fell completely silent.

No one doubted the authenticity of the dragon now.

When the shock finally wore off, the witches and wizards who had gathered to scavenge cheap goods turned and ran, vanishing into the darkness of the street within seconds.

Rustling noises came from the surrounding shops, followed by silence. It was unclear whether the shopkeepers had hidden inside or escaped through secret exits.

The werewolf wizards wanted to run, too—but they couldn’t.

Under Norbert’s direct gaze, every muscle in their bodies locked in place. Fear had rooted them to the spot.

Kyle stepped out from under Norbert’s wing and spoke slowly, enunciating each word.

“Now can you tell me—where is the werewolf, Tor?”

Norbert lowered his head in time, opening his mouth. A wave of scorching, sulfur-laced breath washed over the werewolves.

One of them collapsed instantly, his eyes rolling back as he fainted.

Kyle turned to the other werewolf, who was in slightly better shape only because he hadn’t been standing directly in Norbert’s path. His face was pale, his limbs trembling, but he managed to lift a shaky hand and point toward a nearby house.

Just as he did, a shadow burst from the doorway, bolting into the distance without looking back.

Though he was quick, Kyle still caught a clear glimpse of him.

It was the same man he had seen at Borgin and Burkes when he had gone to investigate the Vanishing Cabinet.

What luck, Kyle thought with a smirk, raising his hand, ready to send Norbert after him.

But someone else acted first.

From all directions, spells shot through the air—red, green, and shimmering like fireworks—before slamming into the fleeing werewolf.

Tor hit the ground and didn’t move.

“This is our welcome,” a voice spoke from the shadows.

The owner of Borgin and Burkes stepped into view, leaning on a walking stick topped with a skull. He stood calmly at the edge of the alley, watching Kyle and Newt with an amused expression.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Scamander. I never thought I’d see you again in Knockturn Alley.”

Newt narrowed his eyes. “You’re Herbert Burke’s son?”

“That’s right,” the old man said. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

His tone turned colder. “I assume you still recall the rules of Knockturn Alley. Are you trying to start a war with all this commotion?”

“The dragon is powerful, but we are many.”

As he spoke, figures emerged from the shadows, stepping out of shops and alleyways on both sides.

Though the residents of Knockturn Alley rarely interfered in others’ affairs, the dragon posed a direct threat to their businesses. If it rampaged, at least half the street would be destroyed.

When their interests were at stake, they took action.

That was why they had collectively disposed of Tor—preventing him from becoming the dragon’s next target.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Newt said calmly. “I have no intention of starting a war. And this dragon isn’t mine.”

Borgin clearly didn’t believe him.

Who else but Newt Scamander could summon a full-grown dragon at will? Did the man take him for a fool?

Still, he didn’t press the issue.

“In that case, please leave. Knockturn Alley is no place for people like you.”

Newt didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he looked at Kyle.

Kyle nodded. He had sensed it earlier—the spells that had struck Tor included more than one Killing Curse.

Unless the werewolf wizard’s name was Tor Potter, he was dead.

Kyle opened the suitcase, and Norbert let out a small whimper of dissatisfaction before vanishing back inside.

Borgin’s eyes narrowed. If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now.

It was definitely Newt Scamander who had released the dragon.

“Leave,” Borgin repeated. “You are not welcome in Knockturn Alley.”

“Of course,” Kyle said. “Believe me, we wouldn’t have come if we didn’t have to.”

“That’s for the best.”

Kyle and Newt turned and retraced their steps toward the entrance of Knockturn Alley.

This time, even more eyes followed them than before.

Kyle walked calmly ahead, but his wand remained tightly clenched in his hand. He never once lowered his guard.

Fortunately, the people of Knockturn Alley weren’t foolish. No one attempted anything reckless, and no one attacked them from behind.

When they finally stepped onto the streets of Diagon Alley, Kyle turned back for one last glance.

The figures that had been watching them had vanished—fading into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.