"Hangman's Noose;
Opal Necklace;
Strangling Puppet…"
Items that had sat on the shelves for years were carefully moved, leaving slightly cleaner patches on the dusty wooden boards. They were packed in special parchment to contain any dark magic or curses, then sealed in a wooden crate with a lock.
The process was a bit tedious but not overly complicated. Mr. Borgin was immersed in the pleasant bustle, weaving through the shelves several times, and when he finished, he seemed almost reluctant to stop.
Back behind the counter, Borgin glanced at Professor Levent waiting nearby. He studied the professor's expression but couldn't read anything from it.
Snapping back to focus, Borgin worried Levent might haggle. He sighed theatrically. "These items have quite the history, just with a few flaws. If you find a skilled alchemist, they might even restore them to their former glory. Professor Levent, for the sake of our friendship, I'm already selling at a steep discount—lower than what I paid to acquire them."
Melvin shot him a look. "Friendship? This is only our second meeting, and it's got you offering a thirty percent discount. That's surprising."
"It's an honor to know you, Professor Levent," Borgin replied smoothly.
Realizing Melvin wasn't going to haggle, Borgin's face lit up with a grin. He adjusted his pince-nez glasses and, while tallying the bill, asked in his slick tone, "Will you be taking these packaged goods with you? Our shop offers owl delivery service, free of charge. They could arrive at Hogwarts by this evening…"
Melvin considered for a moment. "Send them by owl, then."
These items were for designing challenges, technically for a legitimate purpose, but dark artifacts were still dark artifacts, even flawed ones. Sneaking them back to Hogwarts in a suitcase without reporting them felt a bit like thumbing his nose at the headmaster's authority.
Owl delivery, on the other hand, was more appropriate. At least Dumbledore could review the inventory when signing for them.
If he could get Dumbledore to cover the bill, even better…
"When does that gathering you mentioned in your letter start?"
"In half an hour. We should head out now."
…
A "Closed for Business" sign was placed inside the shop window.
Warning charms were cast on the brass bell.
Outside, the door was locked, followed by protective spells and anti-unlocking charms…
Mr. Borgin completed the meticulous process with more care than he'd taken packing the cursed goods. His caution would've earned top marks in a Defense Against the Dark Arts exam.
Melvin watched quietly, gaining a new perspective on the business environment of Knockturn Alley.
After five minutes of anti-theft measures, they set off, stepping into the winding lanes of Knockturn Alley.
The alley remained dark and damp, its narrow, twisting paths offering few straight stretches. Every few steps required navigating another turn.
Most shops along the street lacked signs. Some shopkeepers were brewing unknown liquids, impossible to identify as potions. Others were airing out moldy herbs or tending to cauldrons. A few just sat idly by their doors, only glancing up to size up passersby.
Expressionless. Lifeless.
As they passed a candle shop, Borgin deliberately slowed his pace, his footsteps heavier, making a noticeable sound. Before Melvin could ask why, the shop's half-open door swung wide, and a gaunt old wizard poked his head out, shouting, "Borgin! Since when did you start playing tour guide?"
"Shut it, you old newt. Keep an eye on my shop."
"…"
Melvin followed behind Borgin.
He was a bit surprised, but it made sense.
Their shouting shattered the alley's oppressive silence, lightening the damp, heavy air. For a moment, the lane felt almost alive.
Knockturn Alley was a peculiar place, existing on the fringes of the mainstream wizarding world. Its goods lacked stable distribution channels, and there was no direct connection to the Muggle world for cheap supplies.
Melvin knew little about the local business model, only what he'd gleaned from his last visit to Knockturn Alley.
The merchants and residents here weren't true dark wizards in the strictest sense. An old witch might guide you for a few Sickles, offering decent service. Thugs who mugged passersby put on a fierce act but lacked powerful dark magic and still honored coerced deals. Even Borgin would pop into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink in his spare time…
All signs pointed to a strange sort of order among the witches and wizards here.
How did they survive with so little business? Did their children attend Hogwarts? How many were pure-blood supremacists, and how many were Muggle-born?
Many first-time visitors to Knockturn Alley wondered: how did these so-called dark wizards and shopkeepers keep going?
Curious, Melvin asked, "Mr. Borgin, Knockturn Alley seems to have hardly any customers, and the shops look like they're barely scraping by. How do you all keep this place running?"
"Thanks to the Ministry of Magic and the pure-blood families," Borgin replied.
"Can you explain?"
Borgin gave a sly grin. "Ministry officials need achievements for promotions. Aurors need criminals to fill Azkaban's empty cells. Every so often, they launch a crackdown—not just on Knockturn Alley but on certain pure-blood families, especially those tied to former Death Eaters.
"When that happens, those esteemed pure-bloods need to offload things that can't see the light of day. Maybe the items' origins are shady, or the objects themselves are questionable—valuable relics from their collections they don't want to toss out or destroy. That's where we come in.
"Illegal dark artifacts, banned potions—they sell them to Knockturn Alley shops like ours. We buy low, then offload them to places like Albania or Africa, usually turning a tidy profit."
"I see."
Borgin paused. "The Ministry gets its wins, the pure-bloods shed their baggage, Azkaban's Dementors get fresh snacks, and we rats get to eat. Things stay quiet for a while until the next crackdown."
"Your business model's practically a cycle."
"Different wizards, different ways of surviving."
"…"
They wound through the alley for about ten minutes, turning a final corner. Suddenly, the view opened up.
A wide, clean street stretched before them, nearly empty of pedestrians. The faint sound of car horns from a nearby street gave it the feel of a Muggle neighborhood.
Melvin glanced around, piecing together a rough mental map. Judging by their route, this wasn't Knockturn Alley or Diagon Alley but a street on the outskirts of Charing Cross Road, two streets away from the Leaky Cauldron.
The gathering's location? An electrical repair shop in a Muggle community.
"…"
Melvin looked up at the shop's sign, feeling a mix of amusement and curiosity.
A wizarding secret meeting held in a Muggle repair shop—it was like magic and technology colliding. He was growing more intrigued by this gathering.
Following Borgin toward the door, Melvin caught a glimpse of a suspicious figure in his peripheral vision.
The figure wore a brown linen cloak, hood up, with uneven holes dotting the hem—a sloppy design, like it was transfigured from a potato sack. They were hiding behind a signpost, sneaking glances at the repair shop.
Everything suggested they were here for the gathering, too.
The figure seemed nervous, pacing back and forth, occasionally looking up at the shop's sign. After a few minutes of hesitation, they still didn't enter.
As Melvin observed, the figure noticed them. After a brief pause, they turned and hurried off. In their haste, the hood slipped slightly—just enough to reveal a glimpse of red hair.
"A Weasley, huh…"
Melvin's lips curved into a faint smile.