[Shattered]
A dark blue lightning bolt erupted.
Melvin brandished his wand, pointing it at the spell.
The dark blue bolt struck the center of the transparent shield formed by the protective charm, producing a dull metallic sound. To seize the initiative, he cast a weaker spell, activating it with the tip of his wand. The destructive spell rebounded with greater speed.
Melvin felt a slight impact on his wrist.
The dark wizard wearing a moleskin mask dodged quickly, while the other three launched spells rapidly in succession.
[Falling unconscious]
[Petrified]
"..."
Melvin effortlessly countered the incoming spells.
Based on their previous conversation and the speed and skill of the four men, he quickly determined that the one in the moleskin mask was the leader, likely comparable to a MACUSA auror. The others were simply average adult wizards, the type who had failed Defense Against the Dark Arts at school.
This made Melvin sigh: dark wizards graduating from Hogwarts were very diverse.
But facing four dark wizards in that environment was overwhelming.
Trapped in a narrow alley, surrounded by enemies on both sides, with no cover to hide behind, spells rained down, relying entirely on shield charms to deflect them. It felt as though one wand was being outmatched by four.
However, a wizard duel was not a turn-based game. Extreme conditions limited both sides equally, and exploiting them effectively was key to gaining the upper hand. And he, a scenario designer, knew how to exploit the environment better than anyone.
A hidden magical energy spread along the brick walls on both sides.
"Boom, boom!"
Silently, the transfiguration enveloped the walls, and the bricks began to twist. Like vines, the bricks grew rapidly, sealing the alley's ceiling in an instant.
As the last sliver of dim light faded, the leader of the dark wizards, wearing a moleskin mask, observed Melvin's movements. He took the remnants of a withered hand from a box, fingers slightly closed, a candle cradled in the shriveled palm.
Melvin exhaled, and suddenly a flame burst forth, a pale light that flickered and vanished.
Shadows enveloped the alley, plunging everyone into darkness.
The dark wizards quickly understood Melvin's strategy but did not know how to respond or stop him.
The alley was barely a few meters wide, almost straight, with no obstructions or cover, yet there was still room to dodge. Previously, they had managed to surround Melvin with a clear line of sight, but now, if they cast spells hastily, they would likely strike each other.
A black veil enveloped the alley—and the hearts of the four dark wizards. The atmosphere grew tense; they could even hear the breathing of their companions... or perhaps their enemies.
The leader felt a knot in his throat.
[Lumos]
A silver beam of light emanated. Panicked, a dark wizard attempted a Lumos spell to see clearly, but the silver light from his wand prevented him from defending in time. Melvin waited. Just as the silver light appeared, a silent Repulsion spell struck.
"Bang!"
The spell hit the chest, sending the dark wizard who cast the Lumos flying, crashing into the brick wall behind him with a dull thud.
The three remaining dark wizards gasped. Because the spell had been silent, they heard nothing and could not distinguish what it was. They only saw a flash of green light, then one of their companions fell silent.
Judging by the color, it could have been a Repulsion spell or an Unforgivable Curse.
"..."
The leader took a deep breath, raised his wand, and cast a shield charm. He cautiously surveyed the darkness ahead and spoke in a weak voice:
"Sir, we are willing to pay the price of our ignorance and offense, merely to ask for your forgiveness."
Bang.
Another dull impact, and the second companion, not far away, fell silent.
The leader swallowed, his throat tight as a needle. He tried to speak but could only utter hesitant words.
"First... sir, we... you..."
Click, click, click...
Soft footsteps echoed in the dark alley, seemingly coming from both ahead and behind, as if death itself were approaching slowly.
Huff... huff...
The breathing of a companion nearby was clear, yet firm.
A thin drop of sweat formed on the leader's forehead. Suddenly, inspiration struck:
"Sir! Sir! We can provide maps of all magical villages in Great Britain, as well as those in Ireland, Belgium, Denmark... and more! There's a magical island in Norway; we can locate it too!"
"Ah?"
resonated the voice of the knight beside him. The faint light of a candle appeared from nowhere, illuminating Melvin's curious expression. "What's the price this time?"
The candlelight also revealed the alley. In the dimness, one companion lay unconscious on the ground, unsure if he would live or die.
The companion once thought to be at his side had long been replaced by an enemy lurking in the darkness.
The leader's pupils contracted suddenly, fear gripping him so hard he almost felt his heart stop. He stood beside Melvin, looked at his companion, and tried to speak, but no sound emerged.
Melvin remained calm. He picked up the wooden box from the floor and stowed the Hand of Glory:
"Tell me, how much for your map?"
The leader opened his mouth and gritted his teeth:
"If you allow me to take them, sir, I will give you the map for free."
"I do not traffic in people nor resell wizards..."
Melvin shook his head: "How about this? Still 12 Galleons, but I need you to mark the surface and population of these magical settlements. Even better if you can note the proportion of pure-bloods and half-bloods, housing prices, and per-capita income."
Eh?
The dark wizard looked slightly confused.
"I can pay in advance. Just have an owl deliver the map to The Savoy..."
Melvin approached, wand in hand, tip resting on his arm:
"But to ensure a smooth transaction, we need a contract."
Minutes later, a faint light illuminated the alley again.
The leader, wearing mole-skin, stood at the entrance, wallet in hand. At his feet lay his three companions, deeply asleep. Each had their left sleeve rolled up, a blue Ouroboros seal on their arm—a single stroke. The figure who had placed the seal had already left the alley.
Melvin, recalling his day, walked on without stopping.
Despite some setbacks, the deal had been successfully closed. After all, business was all about negotiation.
The seal was not the Dark Mark; it contained a minor curse but only seemed intimidating.
Upon leaving the alley, he looked back.
Occasionally, a dark shadow loomed over a corner, accompanied by a creak. Sometimes it was a black cat without ears or a neko, sometimes a house-elf carrying a wooden box. The apothecary nearest the exit of Knockturn Alley displayed glass jars in the window, with eyes floating in a purple potion.
The entire street resembled a damp, abandoned intestine of Diagon Alley, nestled in the cracks of London brick walls.
Half an hour later, at The Leaky Cauldron.
It was the busiest hour of the day. Wizards and witches, mugs of beer in hand, filled the bar, enthusiastically discussing the day's events. The noise was deafening.
Old Tom sat quietly in a corner, clutching The Daily Prophet, pretending to read attentively.
Melvin ordered a butterbeer and looked at him, so puzzled that he couldn't help asking:
"Old Tom, why do you hide here instead of serving customers at the entrance?"
"I'm very sad."
"..."
Melvin was silent for a while. Almost two weeks had passed since his arrival, and he still wasn't used to the way British wizards spoke.
"Why are you sad?"
"The Prophet."
"What? Is the newspaper closing?"
"No..." Old Tom shook his head, holding the paper. "The Prophet has a history as long as The Leaky Cauldron. As long as there are wizards in these lands, the newspaper will neither go bankrupt nor cease publication."
"Who? Which classmate or old friend has passed?"
"No, they don't have to run a bar, so they should outlive me."
"It's not someone your age. Is it an elder family member? A teacher from your student days? Or the neighbor you loved?" Melvin was most interested in the last one.
"Eh..."
Old Tom, noticing Melvin's speculation spiraling, quickly said: "I'm worried because the paper clearly has a story about me but doesn't mention my name."
Melvin, instantly intrigued, took the newspaper and skimmed it. The headline that caught his attention was:
"Robbery Report at Gringotts."
"The investigation of this afternoon's robbery at Gringotts continues. Believed to be the work of an unknown dark wizard or witch. The goblins of Gringotts reiterated today that they stole nothing. The underground vault inspected by the intruders had been emptied that morning. A spokesperson for the goblins stated: 'We have no information on the vault's contents, please do not interfere.'"
Melvin looked at the paper, then at Old Tom, pausing with a thoughtful expression.
Old Tom sensed something amiss: "Hey, I don't mean that! It's the page two news!"
Melvin turned the page.
"The Savior Appears in the Wizarding World!" Harry Potter enters Diagon Alley to buy school supplies.
London news: This morning, the savior Harry Potter, accompanied by Hogwarts gamekeeper **Rube
us Hagrid**, entered Diagon Alley for the first time to buy school supplies. The 'Boy Who Lived,' who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in childhood, officially joined the magical society on his eleventh birthday. At 10:15 a.m., a commotion broke out at The Leaky Cauldron...
Old Tom sighed and muttered sadly:
"Since we mention The Leaky Cauldron, why not say I was the first to recognize the lightning scar on his head and the first to shake his hand and congratulate him?"
"Then should we also mention Kodoli, who was second, and Digg, who was third?"
"How do you know?" Old Tom looked puzzled. "I remember you weren't in the bar then."
"The whole bar was talking about it, and I got my ears tired of hearing it."
That is Harry Potter, the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Who could resist feeling overwhelmed with excitement upon hearing his name and seeing his face again?
"True. Business at the tavern is much better than usual—mainly because the school year is about to start."
"Yes, it's almost time for school."
Melvin sipped his butterbeer, sweet and salty in taste.
A Muggle Studies professor was about to start as well.
During the following month, newspaper headlines continued covering the Gringotts robbery, without conclusion.
Supplements detailed the legendary story of Harry Potter. Rita Skeeter, having somehow uncovered information about the Potters, consulted several Dark Arts experts to reconstruct the truth of that night.
The plot was full of twists, even hinting at a hidden emotional entanglement involving the Potters and a mysterious person.
Old Tom, seated at the bar, read the newspaper and noted that the article dared to tell the story of a man unwilling to reveal his name directly. He felt an odd admiration for reporter Skeeter's courage.
Melvin lived on Charing Cross Road, wandering Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, seeking useful items and gathering interesting information.
The drinkers rarely mentioned Professor Lewynter, who had appeared in the papers, but students and parents with back-to-school lists kept repeating his name, and Melvin could feel the magic slowly growing.
Although he had yet to decipher the mechanism, it did not prevent him from benefiting from it.
...
Late August, mid-morning.
In a second-floor room at the Savoy Hotel.
"117 ml for small-format photos..."
Melvin looked puzzled at the developer and the photos on the table.
How small is 'small'?
Do different developer qualities require the same amount?
"It doesn't matter; a little extra won't hurt."
Melvin stopped hesitating, uncorked the bottle, poured the transparent developer into the tray, and immersed the photos he had received. Now all he could do was wait patiently.
He set the tray aside and took the cartographic material nearby, leafing through it page by page.
"West Overton in Wiltshire;
Dinworth in Cornwall;
Upper Flagley in Yorkshire; ..."
There were countless magical communities in the UK.
All were small, excluding large magical villages like Hogsmeade and Godric's Hollow.
Melvin put aside his carelessly drawn map and leafed through the accompanying data.
The small stack of parchment was all handwritten. The lettering was neat with no ink smudges, yet there was no segmentation or organization into statistical charts. Extracting numbers from long paragraphs was a bit tricky.
Although the four dark wizards had limited skills, their attitude remained honest.
Melvin quickly organized the information into a table and displayed it in his notebook.
He glanced at the table, tapped the paper lightly with his fingers, and muttered:
"Who said there are only 3,000 wizards in the UK? Do they understand the magical world?"
There were not only more magical settlements than expected, but also a larger population. These small locations housed hundreds—even thousands—of wizards. Including their family and relatives, the number was even higher.
It was truly a magical nation with a long tradition.
The photographs, submerged in the developer, had slightly faded; their edges blurred, the roughness trembling briefly before the figures began to emerge.
Pedestrians wore eccentric styles: medieval robes, steampunk blouses, Victorian dresses. Residents of different eras walked the same street. Shops on both sides also appeared from different times, some with new signs, others with old signs.
"Honeydukes Sweet Shop,"
"Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop,"
"..."