Robert and Garick left the Dragon Reserve at five o'clock in the afternoon, and just a few minutes later, they appeared in a room at the Ministry of Magic. That was the downside of using a standard Portkey: whenever you returned to England, you had to make a stop at the Ministry first. Romania didn't have such tedious regulations—when they'd gone there, they'd appeared directly at the entrance of the Reserve.
"Three minutes past five, from the Romania Dragon Reserve," a voice confirmed as they landed.
"Good afternoon, Basil," Garick replied familiarly. He used Portkeys often and was well-accustomed to the process.
When the Ministry staff saw that it was Garrick Ollivander arriving, they didn't even bother asking questions and let him pass immediately.
"Good thing it wasn't Lambert. We'd have been stuck here for at least ten minutes," Garick said cheerfully, clearly pleased with the outcome of their trip to the Dragon Reserve.
Robert had learned for the first time that acquiring high-quality dragon heartstring and nerve tissues wasn't as straightforward as it sounded. Even someone as respected as his grandfather had to "snatch" them from under the noses of competitors.
With Dumbledore's assistance, they'd clearly secured a generous haul. According to Garick, Gregorovitch and Akajor had looked positively ill when they left, unable to hide their discontent.
The two left the Portkey room, passed through the bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and returned to the Leaky Cauldron via the Ministry's fireplace network.
Once back, Garick disappeared into his room, locking himself in to tinker with whatever materials he'd brought back. Robert followed suit, spending most of his time in his own quarters, though he occasionally went down to sit in the Leaky Cauldron for a change of scenery.
The wizard in the cowboy hat hadn't reappeared in days, but the pub never lacked drunkards who would start bragging and boasting once they had enough Firewhisky in them. So there was always some form of entertainment to be had.
This continued until the end of July, when owls began appearing frequently in the skies above London.
One evening, as the sky dimmed into twilight, Robert stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron as he usually did. As he passed by Knockturn Alley, he instinctively turned his head to glance down the dark street.
"Huh?"
That fleeting glance made Robert stop abruptly. His eyes had locked onto something an old witch was holding in her hands.
It was a dried lizard. Normally, that wouldn't raise any eyebrows—dried lizards were common ingredients in potions and spellcraft. In some African wizarding tribes, they were even used as currency.
But this lizard was different. It was completely translucent, like it was carved from crystal, and stood out starkly against the dim surroundings.
Without realizing it, Robert's feet began to carry him into the alley, just as they had many times before.
As he drew closer, the details became clearer. The back of the crystal-like dried lizard bore naturally occurring rune patterns—distinct on the left and right sides.
It was a Rune-Marked Chameleon, more commonly known as a Transfiguring Lizard. Not exactly rare in the magical world, but incredibly difficult to catch. These creatures could alter their appearance to mimic their surroundings flawlessly. One moment they'd appear as a stone, the next a dead leaf—or even an old discarded light bulb. You could never guess what they'd become next.
Capturing one required large-scale detection spells cast over entire forests—an exhaustive and luck-dependent process. If fortune favored you, perhaps one or two would be found after days of scouring.
Knockturn Alley lived up to its reputation as a haven for magical black-market goods. If it was illegal, you'd find it there. And the method used to preserve this particular Transfiguring Lizard made it obvious it had come from North America—only there did handlers straighten the tails.
In other words, it had been smuggled in.
But the question that nagged at Robert was: wasn't this old witch a poisoner? Every day she was handling fingernails or juggling skulls. How had she suddenly become a smuggler?
"How much?" Robert asked, his brow furrowed.
"Five hundred galleons," the old witch cackled, her grin exposing blackened, green-stained teeth.
With her straw-like hair and dirty, shapeless robes, she looked like she'd walked out of a Muggle fairytale—the kind where she'd be selling poisoned apples or bubbling cauldrons of frog stew. Especially at night, she sent a genuine chill down Robert's spine.
"Too expensive," he said, subtly stepping back. "This thing goes for a hundred galleons—less, even, in Knockturn Alley."
"No bargaining," the witch croaked. "But feel free to find the seller and negotiate yourself. They'd be very happy to talk to you."
She laughed then—dry and strange, as if scraping rusted metal.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps behind him.
Robert's senses screamed danger. He immediately turned to leave—but stopped cold. Two shadowy figures had appeared behind him.
He spun again.
Three more figures emerged from deeper within Knockturn Alley.
With the witch included, there were six in total.
A trap.
Robert realized it instantly. The Transfiguring Lizard had been bait. But why?
"Are you sure you've got the right person?" Robert asked, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm just a regular Hogwarts student."
"You're not ordinary at all, Robert Ollivander," one of the figures stepped forward. His voice was hoarse, like it had traveled from a great distance.
He was draped in a wide, black hood that obscured his face. Even the moonlight around him seemed to fade, his silhouette blurred and indistinct.
His words, however, made Robert's heart drop.
They had come for him.
Why? He wasn't Harry Potter. He didn't bear a scar or a prophecy—he was just an apprentice wandmaker.
"I know what this is about," Robert said suddenly, narrowing his eyes. "You're after wands—Ollivander's wand shop."
The hooded figure paused mid-step.
After a moment, his voice turned almost curious.
"How did you know?"
So he admitted it—openly, without even trying to hide it.
"I guessed," Robert replied, shrugging.
"No need to rush things," the figure said, drawing a wand and gesturing for Robert to move deeper into the alley. "We can talk as we walk."
Robert obeyed, analyzing aloud as they walked:
"You knew my name, and that I sometimes wander into Knockturn Alley. You must've asked around. And she—" he pointed toward the crooked witch on the left—"has only been here for a month. She replaced a stall I used to visit frequently. The usual vendor vanished. You killed him, didn't you?"
He didn't wait for a reply.
"You probably learned from him that I have an interest in magical creatures. So after some time, you put a Transfiguring Lizard in front of me. You knew I couldn't resist."
Things were clicking into place now. All the recent strange faces in the alley. The fact that such a rare magical item hadn't been snatched up earlier. It all made sense.
A month-long setup, just for this moment.
Robert's eyes flicked to the wand in the leader's hand.
His mind raced.
What exactly did they want? A ransom? Information? A hostage to manipulate Garrick Ollivander?
One thing was certain—he wasn't going to go down quietly.
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