Steelalbatross5000: I hate to break it to you, but age-wise, he falls right into Harry's year. That said, Harry's screen time is minimal. The protagonist is driven by his own ambitions, and frankly, he doesn't care about the war between Dumbledore and Voldemort. :)
***
With a money pouch whose weight rested pleasantly against my hip and a family ring firmly slid onto my middle finger, I immediately felt more secure. The first part of the plan had gone perfectly. I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to head to Madam Malkin's for a new robe, but my thirst for knowledge triumphed, as expected. Even though I was only wearing plain Muggle clothes, I walked with my head held high—I feared no one.
With a brisk stride, I made my way toward Flourish and Blotts. The building, with its dark wood facade, looked majestic, though its frame was marked by time and countless spells. Above the entrance, a sign with elegant gold lettering swayed gently in the wind. I stopped by the display window. Behind the glass, stacks of volumes hovered and piled up, promising power and insight. However, my eyes skimmed over the classics, such as Jigger's Arsenic and Old Lace (Potions) or Scamander's Fantastic Beasts, only briefly. I was looking for something deeper than basic textbooks by Miranda Goshawk or Adalbert Waffling.
Among the popular titles on broom maintenance and humorous tales of dancing trolls, two works caught my eye, shining on the shelf like beacons: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. These were the foundations upon which I could begin to build.
Even from the street, it was clear that the interior of the bookstore was literally overflowing—shelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and the dust of old parchment drifted in the narrow aisles. Now, all that remained was to hope that among the thousands of books, I would find what I craved most: deeper knowledge of Legilimency and Occlumency.
I needed to master Mind Magic as soon as possible. While I already had the basics of Legilimency down, I was hitting an invisible wall with Occlumency. I lacked a precise method. Should I build an impenetrable fortress in my mind? Should I focus on infinite emptiness and darkness, or rather imagine a wall of high mountains? That uncertainty burned within me. I knew that if I adopted the wrong habits, my mind would remain vulnerable. The thought of Snape or Dumbledore reading my memories like an open book was unbearable. I had to learn to lock away my secrets before one of them came for them.
When I pushed open the door, a bell chimed, and I was enveloped by the scent of old paper and dust. Precarious columns of books towered from floor to ceiling, seemingly held together by magic alone. In the silence, only the faint rustle of pages could be heard.
The bookstore was clearly divided into sections. My eyes scanned the signs above the shelves: from Potions and Herbology to Ancient Runes and Defensive Magic. Although each category had its own corner, I saw no section for Mind Magic anywhere.
Occasionally, I caught the shop assistant's eye, but no one came to address me. Was it because of my frayed orphan clothes, which made me look like I didn't have a Galleon in my pocket? Or was it a local custom to leave customers in peace? In Muggle Europe, someone would have approached me by now, asking if I needed advice. Here, however, they left me at the mercy of the endless shelves.
I had no choice; I had to go to him. I stepped toward the sales counter, inwardly pleased that Diagon Alley wasn't full of people yet. The clerk was absorbed in a book whose title I couldn't read. As soon as he heard my footsteps, he casually hid it under the counter and looked up.
It seemed it really was a local custom—to leave people alone. I saw no dislike or resentment in his face, and I felt no negative emotions from him. Just pure, cold indifference.
"Good day, can I help you with something?" he asked in a dry, almost detached voice.
"Yes, I'm looking for literature on Mind Magic," I replied matter-of-factly, trying to sound as calm as possible. "Specifically, I'm interested in Legilimency and Occlumency."
The clerk raised an eyebrow at me in surprise. He did it so sharply and theatrically that I had to inwardly suppress my amusement. Strange, I thought few people could manage that gesture, flashed through my mind.
"You won't find such literature here," the clerk replied with the same monotonous indifference as before. "Legilimency and Occlumency are disciplines that are forbidden to study without permission from the Ministry of Magic. If you're interested in Mind Magic, you'll find some snippets in Professor Flitwick's textbooks for Charms class. I have nothing more for you."
In a second, a thought flashed through my mind: What now? I needed at least a book on Occlumency. I had no choice but to take a risk and head to Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burkes might have what I was looking for, even if it was a questionable neighborhood. But first, I had to get a robe. If I walked in there dressed as a Muggle, I might not make it out alive. Fortunately, Madam Malkin's shop was just around the corner.
I wasted no time and walked inside. Ignoring the flying measuring tape and scissors working on a piece of fabric in the corner, I headed straight for the counter. A young woman sat there. Likely an assistant; Malkin should be older, I thought.
"I'd like a simple black hooded robe in my size, please," I requested.
She nodded silently. An enchanted tape measure took my measurements quickly, and moments later, I was holding the finished garment. The girl simply pointed curtly toward the mirrored fitting rooms.
I quickly pulled the robe over my clothes. Finally, I looked like a real wizard, but a problem appeared—the long fabric completely blocked access to my trouser pockets. That was where my only tool of defense was hidden.
Since the robe had loose sleeves, I slid the dagger sheath toward my left forearm. It wasn't ideal; the sheath "danced" a bit under the fabric and wasn't firmly attached, but if I held my arm at the right angle, the dagger stayed in place. It was a risky arrangement, but one wrong move and the blade would be in my palm.
"I'll have to buy a proper forearm mount," I thought as I discreetly adjusted my sleeve. The makeshift solution would have to suffice for now. I stepped out of the booth, placed the required amount of Galleons on the counter, and left the shop with a firm stride.
I headed toward where the main road narrowed into a dark, damp crevice between the buildings—the entrance to Knockturn Alley. I felt no radiance of dark magic or any metaphorical "evil" from it. It felt gloomy for a simple, physical reason—the houses were packed so tightly together that their roofs barely let any daylight reach the ground.
I walked straight ahead with my hood up, assuming Borgin and Burkes was located directly on this main street. On the way, I passed figures in frayed clothing, hurrying somewhere with their eyes downcast. Probably poor souls who simply live here, I thought. I knew the world wasn't black and white, and in these shadows, there likely lived people who had less luck in life.
Nevertheless, I remained vigilant, discreetly sizing up everyone. No one stopped me. Although twilight reigned in the alley, it was still day, and I didn't expect to run into hags, vampires, or other nocturnal creatures at this hour.
After a while, I stopped in front of a shop over which the proud sign Borgin and Burkes shone. This place was different; it didn't look poor or neglected like the surrounding buildings. On the contrary, the display window breathed dark prosperity. I was in the right place.
I stepped inside and was immediately hit by a heavy waft of magic. The scent of old parchment, ink, cold steel, and dust carried through the air. The interior was surprisingly spacious, but I saw no clerk or any other living soul anywhere. On the walls hung a diverse collection of weapons—from daggers and swords to crossbows and massive halberds. However, I assumed they served more as decoration. No runes were visible on their blades, nor did they radiate any special aura.
Indifferently, I walked past counters filled with strange objects. What use would I have for shriveled hands or necklaces? Jewelry here would likely be cursed and undoubtedly overpriced. My attention belonged to the library at the back of the shop. The books caught my interest immediately, and I stepped toward them without hesitation.
Still no one. At least I had time to look over the titles in peace. On the spines of the books, titles like Curses and Their Counter-Spells or A Guide to Survival in the Shadows shone, but books on Legilimency or Occlumency were missing. Understandable, given they are banned by the Ministry, I thought. My hand, however, stopped at a thick volume titled The Rules of War and the Basics of Combat Magic. It lacked an author's name and a price tag. It was likely just a copy, but if it was on a publicly accessible shelf, it shouldn't be that expensive.
"I'll have to ask the clerk about Legilimency and Occlumency," I sighed inwardly and turned away from the library.
"Few people these days look for something so... war-oriented," a quiet, oily voice spoke from somewhere in the shadows behind the counter. The clerk materialized there so silently it was as if he were part of the dust in the room. "Most young men seek quick curses, not the rules of war and combat magic, Mr. Rosier."
I froze for a moment. How did he know my name? I immediately realized, however, that he must have been watching me from the moment I crossed the threshold. With the family ring on my hand, it didn't take him long to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He knew exactly who I was.
"Everyone has different interests," I replied curtly, fixing him with a gaze that indicated I was waiting for the introductions.
"Borgin. Mr. Borgin, at your service," he bowed so deeply that I felt he was mocking me. "The Rosier family was always known for its... refined taste for power. What would such an ambitious young man wish to find in my humble shop?"
"I need books on Mind Magic. Specifically on Legilimency and Occlumency," I announced without further ado.
"Ah, you have talent like your whole family. Surely you should have plenty of literature on this subject at your manor. The Rosiers are, after all, famous for their talent in this field," Borgin remarked, his eyes gleaming slyly. He was testing how much I would reveal.
"That's none of your business, Borgin. Do you have the books or not?" I snapped coldly.
He looked at me with interest for a moment. I felt the merchant in him battling with the curious man. He wondered why a young Rosier was looking for basics in Knockturn Alley instead of at home in the library. In the end, however, profit won.
"Of course I have," he hissed through his teeth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you understand that such under-the-counter goods... goods that the Ministry so dislikes seeing in the hands of young wizards... are not cheap. Not cheap at all."
He didn't wait for my answer. He went behind the counter, and for a while, rustling and muffled thumps could be heard, as if he were searching for something in the deep depths of the storage room. After a moment, he returned and placed a book on the counter with feigned respect, featuring a long, straightforward title: The Power of the Mind: Obtain the Secrets of Enemies and Protect Your Own.
The author was missing again. Was it intentional? Perhaps the writer feared for his life, or the book was compiled from the secret notes of several mages. According to the title, however, it was exactly what I was looking for—a practical combination of Legilimency and Occlumency without unnecessary talk. I showed no emotion.
"Impressive," I remarked coolly, though plans were already swirling in my head. "How much for this... anonymous piece and that book on the rules of war over there on the shelf?"
"Two hundred Galleons, and The Rules of War as a gift for you," he set the price clearly. I knew he had a habit of overvaluing goods and had no problem haggling.
"That's excessive; it's a visible copy, Borgin. Fifty Galleons," I firmly proposed a new price.
"A copy it may be, but it is illegal merchandise, Mr. Rosier. Many books in this field no longer exist outside of the Ministry's hands. One hundred and fifty Galleons will be a good price."
"We both know that price is overshot. One hundred Galleons and The Rules of War as a gift," I declared uncompromisingly. "Furthermore, I will need other items you can help me with. In the future, I will certainly come across interesting artifacts to which you could have priority access."
I didn't back down. It was true—Hogwarts was full of forgotten and lost items that no one missed. He sized me up for a moment. In his eyes, I could see him calculating the pros and cons, but a hundred Galleons in cash and the promise of future business with the Rosier family were too great a temptation.
"Agreed. How else can I help you?" he nodded. He immediately wanted to make more. A true businessman.
I considered for a moment. I needed to resolve the issue of the dagger dancing in my sleeve and a way to carry my property without drawing attention. Once I got my bearings with the basic literature, I could move on to darker pieces, but for now, I needed equipment.
"I need a magical forearm mount for my dagger. Something that will hold it in place but allow instant access. And along with that, a bag for items—lightweight, with an Extension Charm," I replied.
"A magical bag... I have two types in stock. The capacity is the same for both," Borgin began, lowering his voice. "The cheaper one costs twenty Galleons. The more expensive one, for fifty, has integrated protective charms bound to your magical signature. An excellent choice for... let's say, not entirely legal goods. It can be opened by force, but it would take hours even for the best curse-breakers. Aurors would spend days on it."
Borgin then leaned closer and held out his hand in expectation.
"As for the mount, I must see your sheath and dagger. Magical grips must be calibrated according to the material for the enchantment of the fasteners to work correctly."
Without hesitation, I pulled the sheath from my sleeve and placed it on the counter. I knew that if Borgin tried anything, it would ruin his reputation with every significant family in the country. And he couldn't afford that.
"Ah, dragonhide... may I?" he asked, indicating with a glance whether he could draw the blade itself. I simply nodded. If he got hurt, it would be his fault. However, I was sure that even if an accident occurred, he knew the counter-curse for Boiling Blood.
"A magnificent piece," he breathed appreciatively as he pulled the dagger out. "Sharpness, indestructibility, self-cleaning. Absorbing surrounding magic and transferring it into the crystal so that the Boiling Blood curse never loses its strength. This piece comes from the times of the bloody wars... it looks older than Hogwarts itself."
"Ten thousand Galleons," he proposed suddenly with a greedy glint in his eyes. I immediately shook my head. Galleons didn't interest me, and this dagger was a family heirloom whose value couldn't be quantified in money.
"The forearm mount, Borgin," I cooled him down immediately. "Don't suggest prices unless I'm offering you something. Or have you decided to insult me?" I asked in a tone that sent a chill.
I felt a sudden wave of concern and a slight hint of fear from him. I probably sounded harsher than I intended. However, my own squeaky child's voice still unnerved me—the mismatch between how I thought and how I sounded was frustrating.
"Forgive me, Mr. Rosier, I got carried away by this... magnificent piece," Borgin apologized theatrically and carefully put the dagger back into its sheath. "I have something here that will be ideal for you. Dragonhide forearm mounts with an enchantment for absolute lightness. Whatever you fasten in them will lose its weight. Your dagger will be practically weightless in your sleeve, ensuring perfect and lightning-fast movement. The price is fifteen Galleons. Unfortunately, I don't currently have any in stock that add invisibility to the lightness."
I nodded briefly. I didn't need perfection; I needed functionality.
"I'll take the book on Mind Magic along with The Rules of War, the bag bound to a magical signature, and the mount," I summarized the deal.
Borgin smiled oilily and began placing the items on the counter. "Excellent choice, Mr. Rosier. Will you be needing anything else?"
"Do you have second-hand wands?" I risked it.
Borgin froze for a moment. I felt a wave of pure surprise from him. After a moment, however, his expression changed—understanding sparkled in his eyes. Suddenly, everything made sense to him.
"I wondered why someone of your lineage was buying books on the mind arts from me, when the Rosier family owned one of the best libraries in the world... and for centuries belonged to the top tier in Legilimency. But I understand now. You grew up in the Muggle world, didn't you?" he asked with a waft of false sympathy.
"It is strictly illegal to sell second-hand wands, and it is one of the few things I agree with," Borgin continued seriously. "If the Aurors caught someone dealing in them, they would face twenty years to life in Azkaban. The Ministry has a special department that monitors every wand distribution in England. They perform regular random checks."
This time, I froze. He had unmasked me dangerously quickly. All I had left was to keep the conversation going and gather as much information as possible. I pulled back my hood and revealed my child's face.
"Why is that?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
"Because only thanks to wands are we at the top," Borgin replied, his voice sounding almost like a warning. "The International Confederation of Wizards and every nation in the world together guard this rule. If goblins, hags, or other creatures got hold of wands, it would mean disaster for our world. We would lose our dominance. You'll learn more about it at Hogwarts; they don't forget history of magic there."
"Thank you for the information. What would it cost for you to keep the information about my person to yourself?" I asked directly.
In my head, I quickly weighed whether I had to permanently silence him, but I immediately dismissed it. He was a grown, experienced wizard in his own shop; he undoubtedly had experience with such attempts, and in this young body, especially without a wand, I was at a huge disadvantage. If I were discovered, I would likely end up in the care of my aunt immediately, but I trusted no one I didn't know. Life in the orphanage suited me better for now—there, I was the one in control.
I saw Borgin greedily weighing the value of this information and thinking about what to ask for it. When he reached a conclusion, his face tightened into an oily mask again.
"Your identity is safe with me, Mr. Rosier," he replied with a quiet smile that held not a shred of sincerity. "I believe that in the future, we will close more magnificent deals together. Let's consider it an investment in our... future cooperation."
I understood. He had calculated that he would profit more from my existence and ambitions if we were allies. "Thank you, Borgin. I appreciate it," I replied curtly.
I laid out the agreed-upon Galleons on the counter. The sound of gold hitting wood was almost deafening in the silence of the shop. The new dragonhide mount fit my forearm perfectly; it took only a few movements, and the sheath with the dagger was in place, firm yet almost weightless. I put both books into the magical bag, which sucked them in as if they weighed nothing.
I was ready. I pulled my hood deep over my face and felt satisfaction from the sheath, which now sat firmly and stably on my forearm. With a short nod of farewell, I stepped toward the door. Borgin didn't forget to bow oilily, but his gaze burned unpleasantly on my back until I stepped onto the street and the shop door creaked shut behind me.
***
I had only walked a few meters from Borgin's when I heard a desperate child's cry. I knew I should ignore it. It was highly suspicious for something like that to echo in broad daylight so close to Diagon Alley. But despite logic, I couldn't help myself. If an adult were pleading for help, I would have walked on without hesitation, but this was a child's voice... and I, like a fool, let myself be guided by feelings.
I quickly headed toward the sound into one of the dark side alleys. The pleas for help grew louder and more urgent until I finally heard muffled crying as well. It was just around the corner.
I burst in there, the dagger on my forearm ready, but in that moment, my blood ran cold. It immediately dawned on me that I had taken the bait. It was a dead-end alley. At the end of it was no crying child—only a small wooden box from which that heartbreaking cry and child's weeping mechanically emanated.
Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind. The attacker tried to catch me in a "sleeper hold" and choke me, but it was only an incompetent, desperate attempt. He didn't have his arm properly locked across his biceps; his grip was weak and evidenced a complete lack of experience.
I said nothing. I immediately drove my right elbow sharply backward, right under his ribs. I hit the liver with surgical precision. The assailant folded like a piece of origami in an instant. He fell onto the dirty pavement, curled into a fetal position, and a strangled, painful wail escaped his throat.
His body had failed him, and he writhed there in the dust, uncontrollably gasping for air, sobs full of agony escaping through clenched teeth. I had plenty of time to look him over properly. In the dead-end alley, the sound of his suffering reflected unpleasantly off the damp walls. He was just a wretch in a tattered robe, emaciated from hunger. I didn't have the nerves for his wailing and needed to search him in peace, so I simply kicked him in the temple. Finally, he stopped twitching and sobbing. The last thing I needed was for his crying to attract more of his kind.
I searched him, but besides a few copper coins and an old key, he had nothing. Not even a wand... likely a Squib, since he tried to attack me physically. Anger boiled within me. I was angry at him, but mostly at myself. I had fallen for it like a total amateur. If I didn't know how to defend myself, I likely would have ended up very badly in this dark alley. Who knows if anyone would ever hear of me again? A missing orphan troubles no one.
What to do with him? He had no problem attacking a child. He couldn't have mistaken me for a goblin; I didn't have wide enough shoulders for that. He saw me as easy prey. An old proverb echoed in my head: "He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword." He didn't deserve to walk out of this alley alive. But at the same time, I felt I wasn't ready to kill. Not now, when I didn't even have whiskers yet.
With a swift, fluid motion, I drew the dagger from my forearm. The blade gleamed menacingly in the dimness of the alley. I decided to give him a chance at life—a slim one, but a chance nonetheless. It was more than he deserved for attacking a child.
Coldly, I inspected his left ankle and found the Achilles tendon. One precise cut, and his mobility was over. He would have to crawl to safety, and the pain from the wound would undoubtedly wake him from unconsciousness before it was too late. The Boiling Blood curse on my blade would ensure that every move he made was pure agony. If he didn't get help within an hour, he would die in terrible torment. I didn't care. The world was one assailant poorer.
I picked up the box that had so foolishly lured me from the ground without emotion and threw it into the magical bag. It would become my trophy and a reminder of my own mistake.
With a fast, confident step, I left the dead-end alley. When I returned to the main thoroughfare of Knockturn Alley, I didn't look back once. My mind was already elsewhere, focused on the next steps. I needed to finish my shopping in Diagon Alley and return to the home. I must start learning. Time is the only resource I couldn't buy, even from Borgin, and after today's experience, I knew that every minute without knowledge was a minute when I was vulnerable.
***
We continue our shopping spree in Diagon Alley. My protagonist got quite lucky—not only did he land a perfect hit on the liver, but because the attacker was so emaciated, there was no layer of fat or muscle to cushion the blow.
What do you think of the action at the end? I originally planned a shorter chapter, but in the end, I decided on a more detailed description so you could truly soak up the atmosphere.
If you enjoyed this part, I'd be grateful for every like and comment. Your feedback is what keeps me incredibly motivated to keep creating!