Harry had indeed written to Uncle Vernon while he was still at school, but he hadn't asked his uncle to come and pick him up. The letter simply said, "I'm coming home."
Still, his wording had been extremely polite, carefully avoiding anything that might offend his rather sensitive uncle.
To Harry's surprise, Uncle Vernon had actually sent Hedwig back with a reply—a rare occurrence—asking when exactly he would be arriving.
This left Harry somewhat puzzled.
He walked to the platform entrance and pulled a Muggle banknote from his pocket. He hailed a taxi and climbed inside.
His trunk had already been stowed in an Undetectable Extension Charm pouch, and Hedwig was keeping Padfoot company, so he traveled light and didn't have to drag any heavy luggage.
Magic really is wonderful.
"Lovely weather today, isn't it?" the taxi driver, a middle-aged man, said as soon as Harry got in.
Harry glanced out the window. The sky was overcast and gloomy, making it impossible to tell whether it would rain or not.
"Yes, quite nice," he replied.
They chatted on and off during the ride, which was slowed by one traffic jam after another. By the time Harry reached the Leaky Cauldron, nearly an hour had passed.
He stepped inside. Old Tom spotted him immediately and hurried over.
"Mr. Potter, sir! What an honor…" he said.
"Hello, Tom," Harry replied. "I'd like a room."
Old Tom led him upstairs and showed him to a room. Once the landlord had left, Harry took out the Ageing Potion he had prepared in advance.
Moments later, a seventeen-year-old Harry stood in the room.
He changed his clothes, tucked the remaining potion into his pocket for easy access, and thought for a moment before pulling on a pair of black gloves. Then he left the room.
The Leaky Cauldron was as noisy as ever. The sudden appearance of a seventeen-year-old Harry drew no attention at all.
He walked up to the wall, tapped the bricks in the correct order, and the entrance to Diagon Alley opened.
He didn't head to Knockturn Alley first. Instead, he decided to eat something at one of the restaurants in Diagon Alley to settle his stomach.
He had barely eaten anything in the taxi—just the little he'd had that morning—and a full day of traveling had left him starving.
Only after he had eaten his fill did Harry stretch lazily, get up, and leave the restaurant.
He had to admit that wizarding French cuisine was genuinely excellent and delicious.
This time, when he stepped into Knockturn Alley, no one came looking for trouble.
The Dark wizards weren't fools. After Dawlish's mishap last time, they had become much more cautious—especially around men who wore glasses.
Harry used a spell to conceal his scar, still feeling a little puzzled.
Huh? Why isn't any Dark wizard coming to bother me?
How am I supposed to get wands this way?
He did a quick mental count: one for Ron, one for Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Cedric… and there might be new members joining the Dueling Club once term started. Better to be prepared and stock up on several spares.
But with no Dark wizards approaching him, things weren't going quite as planned.
After thinking it over, he decided to visit Borgin and Burkes first.
He pushed open the door. As usual, no one was standing behind the counter.
Harry walked up and rang the little bell.
The tinkling sound rang out, and shortly afterward Mr. Borgin appeared.
"Oh! My esteemed Mr. Sebastian!" Borgin exclaimed in an oily voice, spreading his hands. "What an honor, what an absolute honor to see you again!"
His respectful attitude was no coincidence. The last time "Sebastian 'None of Your Damn Business'" had visited with Dawlish, the unfortunate man had been turned into a Flobberworm and stomped into a splatter.
Running a shop in Knockturn Alley for so many years had honed Borgin's ability to read people to perfection. He had instantly decided that "Sebastian" was the one who mattered.
Of course, Borgin could also understand why Sebastian had such a short temper. A man of such ability was entitled to it.
Harry shook the man's hand briefly, then withdrew his own. "Mr. Borgin, I need some hard-to-find items. Last time I learned that you are a capable man, so… I hope you won't disappoint me."
"Certainly, certainly!" Borgin said proudly, patting his pigeon-like chest. "In all of Knockturn Alley, if there's something a buyer can imagine, there's nothing Borgin and Burkes can't sell!"
"Excellent." Harry idly wiped the holly wand with his gloved hand.
Borgin's eyes went wide at the sight of the wand, but he only stared for a moment before looking away.
"What can I get for you today, sir?" Borgin asked.
"Phoenix tears. Do you have any?"
"Yes, yes!" Borgin nodded quickly. "And cheaper than anywhere else. Just two Galleons and seven Sickles per vial."
He held up a test tube for comparison.
"I'll take some," Harry said. "Give me two ounces of phoenix tears."
Borgin calculated for a moment. "That'll be nine Galleons and eleven Sickles, if you please."
"Counting money really is tedious work, isn't it?" Harry said, pushing the coins across the counter.
"Indeed, indeed," Borgin agreed, nodding repeatedly. After carefully checking the money, he smiled. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Sebastian?"
"I also need a dragon heart."
"Ah…" Borgin hesitated.
"What? You don't have any?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"No, no, I do," Borgin said with a smile. "But dragon hearts are in high demand, and the price…"
"If the price is fair, I'll buy it," Harry said casually.
"Very good, very good." Borgin hurried to continue. "I have the heart of a Hebridean Black here. It's a bit more expensive—thirty-six Galleons, ten Sickles, and seven Knuts."
"Why such an odd number?" Harry frowned. "Tell you what—if you'll sell it for thirty Galleons, I'll take it."
He had no intention of being overcharged. The last time he'd bought a dragon heart, it hadn't been nearly this expensive.
"That won't do!" Borgin cried dramatically. "Mr. Sebastian, these are fresh hearts—taken from the dragon less than two days ago and properly sealed with magic. My price is completely fair!"
"Your price doesn't suit me," Harry replied calmly, twirling his wand absentmindedly while staring at the carvings near its base.
"Mr. Sebastian, just look around—where else in Knockturn Alley can you even find a dragon heart these days?" Borgin pressed on. "The Ministry requires proper documentation proving the intended use. Apart from me, who else would sell you one without any qualifications?"
"Thirty Galleons," Harry repeated, unmoved.
"Thirty-two Galleons, Mr. Sebastian," Borgin sighed. "I won't make a single Knut on this—cost price! Consider it a gesture of friendship!"
"Thirty Galleons," Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
"Thirty-one!" Borgin sighed again. "Don't make me lose too much… Black-market business isn't what it used to be."
"Thirty Galleons."
Borgin took a deep breath.
"Fine! I'll sell it at a loss!" he said through gritted teeth, as if the deal were costing him a fortune. "Since you'll surely be a regular customer, consider it my way of making a friend!"
He turned, reached under the counter, and pulled out a small enchanted box.
"Here is the heart of the Hebridean Black." Borgin opened the box carefully and showed it to Harry.
Harry recognized it at once. After confirming the goods, he closed the box and slipped the heart into his pocket. Then he counted out exactly thirty Galleons and placed them on the table.
"Thank you, my esteemed sir," Borgin said with oily politeness.
Inside, he was secretly delighted. *Six Galleons profit on this one—not bad at all!*
Harry gave Borgin a half-smile. He knew perfectly well the man had made a tidy sum, but he didn't want to push things too far. Dragon hearts truly were difficult to obtain; letting Borgin earn something was acceptable.
After all, what Borgin said was true—there was nowhere else to buy them.
"One last item," Harry said. "I need basilisk fangs."
Borgin froze.
"Pardon?"
He had heard clearly; he simply couldn't believe what Harry was asking for.
"I said I need some basilisk fangs," Harry repeated casually. He picked up a handful of sand from the table and rubbed it between his fingers. "This is Time-Turner sand, isn't it? Give me five ounces."
"Right away, my esteemed sir." Borgin scooped out five ounces with a small shovel, then added apologetically, "I'm sorry, Mr. Sebastian, but I don't have any basilisk fangs."
"Didn't you say you could get anything?" Harry asked, watching him calmly.
Borgin waved his hands. "Everything *except* basilisk fangs. The Ministry strictly forbids breeding basilisks. If I had a supplier, I'd certainly sell them—they're not illegal to trade—but I simply don't have access."
"Do you know where I could find a basilisk?" Harry asked.
"I truly don't," Borgin said, shaking his head. "Basilisks are extremely rare. They're impossible to tame and only obey Parselmouths. Ever since the Gaunt family died out, there haven't been any natural Parselmouths left. So no one breeds them anymore."
The Gaunt family has died out?
Harry felt a twinge of melancholy but no sympathy. Apart from Ominis, the one decent boy in that family, the rest had all been awful. Calling them twisted would have been a compliment.
"What about Greece?" Harry asked again. "I remember the Greeks were fond of breeding basilisks. The first one was created by that vile Herpo the Foul. Surely Greece still has some?"
"The Greek Ministry has banned the breeding of such creatures," Borgin sighed. "Alas."
"Alas," Harry echoed, shaking his head. "It's a shame such a fine tradition wasn't preserved."
Borgin suddenly looked up at "Sebastian" with a complicated expression.
*Merlin's beard… What kind of "fine tradition" is that? Are you misunderstanding the term?*
Still, on some level, Borgin had to agree with him. Basilisk fangs and shed skins were valuable commodities—once used, they were gone forever.
Everyone knew *someone* was secretly breeding basilisks. The demand was simply too high. But no one dared speak of it, because breeding them meant a one-way ticket to Azkaban.
"In that case, I'll take my leave," Harry said politely, giving a small bow. "May Merlin guide your path, Mr. Borgin."
"And yours as well, Mr. Sebastian," Borgin replied with equal courtesy.
This trip to Knockturn Alley had fulfilled about half of Harry's goals.
The materials needed to open the Slytherin study were now only missing the Angel's Feather stored at Gringotts. As for the wands he wanted to prepare for his Dueling Club classmates, those were still on the persons of Knockturn Alley's Dark wizards.
He *could* buy wands from Ollivander's, of course—but that would require paying.
When he could acquire them for free, why spend money?
Harry's math on the matter was very clear.
He would simply borrow some wands from the Dark wizards. Since they weren't coming to him… he would go to them.
With that thought, Harry pulled his hood lower and walked deeper into the alley.
He slipped into a narrow side passage, looked around, and spotted a closed door.
"Revelio!"
Under the effect of the detection charm, Harry sensed a Dark wizard lying inside the house.
He knocked politely.
"Who is it?" came a rough voice.
The door opened moments later, revealing a face that clearly belonged to no decent person.
The wizard gave a menacing grin.
"What do you want, kid?"
"Hello. I'd like to borrow your wand," Harry said courteously.
The wizard's face twisted in fury.
"Are you mocking me, you four-eyed little—"
"Oh, so you're unwilling."
Harry raised an eyebrow and pointed a single finger at the wizard's chest.
"In that case—my apologies. Imperio!"
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