Before Kyle could even get another word out, Harry Potter was already gone.
It happened so fast that it left him stunned.
One moment, they were standing outside the Ollivanders, recovering from their exhausting shopping trip. The next, Harry's eyes had locked onto the cloaked figures—and he was off.
Not running.
Vanishing.
Harry's body blurred, and with a blur of robes and a gust of wind, he sped past witches and wizards, through the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. People stumbled aside, shouting in surprise, but by the time they turned their heads to look, Harry was already gone—headed into the most feared street in all of wizarding London.
Knockturn Alley.
Kyle stared at the space Harry had once occupied, mouth open. "Merlin's beard…" he whispered. "That wasn't normal."
He had known Harry was different—he could tell from the way the goblins had treated him, from the amount of gold he had. But this… this was something else. That kind of speed—fluid, almost windlike—was not something taught at Hogwarts. It wasn't magic Kyle recognized. It was instinctual, raw, and… ancient.
"I guess that's why he beat You-Know-Who," Kyle murmured, folding his arms across his chest.
He took a slow step forward, looking in the direction Harry had run. Knockturn Alley loomed, black as pitch and crooked as a snake's spine. It twisted off from Diagon Alley like a wound. Every child step foot in magical world knew better than to go near it.
The lanterns that hung in Diagon Alley stopped at the boundary. Beyond that point, Knockturn Alley was barely lit—shadows hung thick in the air, the buildings hunched and narrow, and strange smells seeped from the cracks. Shops with barred windows displayed rotting hands, cursed necklaces, and old spellbooks chained to shelves.
And yet… Harry had charged in.
Kyle took a step forward—then stopped.
His hands were sweating. His throat was tight.
"I can't go in there," he admitted to himself, trembling. "I can't."
Even in daylight, Knockturn Alley was a place for the desperate and the damned—Dark wizards, illegal dealers, practitioners of blood rituals and forbidden hexes. There were rumors of children walking into Knockturn Alley never coming out again.
And Harry had just sprinted into it without hesitation.
Kyle looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed. Or maybe no one wanted to get involved. Most people gave the alley a wide berth.
So Kyle did the only thing he could.
He stayed.
He stood guard at the threshold of Diagon Alley, biting his nails and watching the dark mouth of the alley like a hawk.
"Please come back, Harry," he whispered. "Please come back safe…"
Even as he said the words, a strange certainty settled in his chest. Something unspoken. A truth he didn't yet understand.
Harry would return.
Because Harry is the boy who lived.
And Knockturn Alley, for all its shadows, had no idea what was coming for it.
It is true that it was Harry's first time in the magical world. And it was the first time he arrived in Diagon Alley. But the moment he stepped into Knockturn Alley, Harry knew that this was a different world than Diagon Alley. It had a strange, dark atmosphere. It had black, unlit buildings. And it felt like stepping into another realm, even though Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were so close to each other.
Harry quickly realized that the people in Knockturn Alley behaved very differently. Most wore long cloaks with hoods drawn low, concealing their faces. Some leaned against the walls with wary eyes. A group of hags were clustered around a cauldron bubbling with a suspicious green liquid in front of a crooked shop. Nearby, a heavily scarred man was whispering urgently to a goblin who held a leather-bound scroll. The goblin kept looking around nervously.
Just like Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley had many narrow alleys branching off from the main street—sub-alleys that twisted into darkness. But unlike Diagon Alley, the light barely touched these corners. The air itself felt heavier, and Harry's breath came in shallow gulps as he tried not to draw too much attention.
He scanned the alley desperately, but the four wizards he had followed were nowhere in sight. They had vanished, swallowed up by the labyrinthine shadows of Knockturn Alley. Harry took a slow step forward, his senses alert, trying to pick up any sign—any sound—that might tell him where they had gone. Somewhere in this alley, a girl with pink hair had been taken.
And Harry was going to find her.
He turned a slow circle, searching for the four wizards but there was no sign of them—not even a flick of a cloak or the echo of a bootstep. His breathing grew heavier with frustration and uncertainty. Where did they go? What if she's already gone?
He took one step forward, then heard a voice slithered from the shadows.
"Well, what do we have here?" a man sneered.
A tall, sallow-faced wizard emerged from a narrow alley, his yellowed teeth bared in a cruel smile. His dark cloak billowed slightly as he raised his wand, pointing it directly at Harry.
"Little boy, are you lost?" the man asked mockingly, his tone thick with menace.
But before he could utter a spell, Harry moved.
Fast.
In a blink, Harry lunged forward and caught the man's wand arm mid-air. The wizard's expression collapsed into panic as Harry's fingers locked around his wrist with crushing strength. The wand clattered to the ground, and the man let out a strangled scream.
Harry's grip tightened. Bones shifted and groaned under the pressure. "I want to ask you a question," Harry said coldly, his voice steady, calm—dangerously calm. "Where did the four men go? The ones who were carrying the invisible girl?"
"I—I don't know what you're—AAARGH!" the man shrieked as Harry twisted his wrist ever so slightly. "Please! PLEASE!"
Harry leaned in, his green eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. "I'll give you one chance to escape. Just one," he said in a low, threatening whisper.
The man nodded frantically, sweat glistening on his brow.
"Tell me the truth, and I walk away. Lie to me, and you'll never cast another spell in your life."
"I swear!" the man gasped. "They— They went through a passageway on the right, just ahead—by the blacksmith's ruin! I saw them!"
Harry pressed his hand again.
"I'm telling the truth!" the man wailed, writhing in agony. "It's true! I swear on my wand!"
Harry let go. The man collapsed to the ground, cradling his mangled wrist. He scrambled backward, eyes wide with terror, and then scrambled to his feet and fled down the alley without another word.
Harry bent to pick up the wand that had fallen, giving it a quick flick through the air. It hummed with a soft crackle of unstable magic. Not ideal—but it would do. He tucked it into his pocket.
Without wasting another second, Harry turned and sprinted toward the passage the man had described, his heart pounding with grim determination. He had no plan—only a burning sense of purpose and an unshakable resolve.
He was not going to let the girl disappear into the shadows.
Not while he is alive.
The alleyway was narrow and suffocating. As Harry ran, the buildings on either side pressed closer, their grimy walls stained with time and filth. At first, there were signs of activity—darkened shop entrances, crooked signs swinging silently in stale air—but the further he went, the more desolate it became. Now, it was only silence and shadows… and then, faint voices.
Harry slowed his pace and crept to the edge of a corner, peering around carefully.
At the far end of the alley, barely illuminated by the flicker of an enchanted lantern, four cloaked men stood in a loose circle, whispering excitedly around what appeared to be an invisible object—though Harry could make out the faint shimmer in the air, and most disturbingly, the unmoving outline of a young girl.
"She's a Metamorphmagus," one of them—a bald, rat-faced wizard—grinned with greed. "We hit big this time. Petrov's gonna pay ten times more for this one—he's been looking for one of these for years."
"Are they really that rare?" another asked.
"Rarer than Veela," the bald man snorted. "You know how much they fetch in the flesh trade? They can change their face into anyone you want. Anyone. Royalty. Celebrities. It's like having all the girls in one."
They all laughed cruelly.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched. He could feel his body shaking—not with fear, but fury. Every word they spoke stoked a fire in him. He could feel something wild and powerful rising within his chest.
Without thinking, Harry stepped into the mouth of the alley, wand pointed, heart pounding. "Stop right there!" he yelled.
The four men turned sharply. Their wands rose instinctively—until they saw who had spoken.
A boy. A child.
Their fear shifted into amusement.
"Well, well," said the bald one, grinning. "Looks like we have another little pet to sell."
Harry's eyes didn't leave the girl. She looked like a statue—perfectly still, frozen in some magical stasis—but her eyes blinked, slowly, fearfully. She was aware.
He took a step forward, trying to stay calm.
The men, however, spread out, fanning along the walls to flank him.
Then—CRACK—a spell fired unintentionally from Harry's wand. One of the wizards ducked just in time as a bolt of raw magic scorched the stone wall behind him, leaving a deep, smoking crater.
The laughter stopped.
They stopped underestimating him.
Harry took another step forward. "I won't let you take her," he said.
But the men had already formed a semicircle behind him, sealing off the exit.
"Brave," one said mockingly. "But stupid."
"We've got ourselves a two-for-one deal now," said another. "A little Metamorph and her brave little knight."
One of the men raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
Harry's wand was torn from his hand and sailed through the air into the attacker's grasp. The other three burst into cruel laughter.
"Now what, little hero?" the bald wizard sneered. "Going to punch us?"
Harry's heart thundered in his chest. Fear surged through him—then helplessness—then rage. Pure, molten rage.
He screamed.
Not words. Not magic. Just a primal cry that ripped from his throat.
Above them, clouds rolled unnaturally fast. Thunder rumbled with a sound like the earth itself groaning. And then—
CRAAACK!
A blinding white lightning bolt tore down from the sky and struck the alley.
There was no time to scream. No time to react.
The four wizards vanished in an instant—disintegrated into ash and flame. Their robes fell empty to the ground, smoldering. The scent of ozone and scorched stone filled the air.
Harry stood frozen, breathless, heart racing. He hadn't cast a spell.
Had he?
He looked down at his hands, trembling. What just happened?
He stepped toward the girl. She remained locked in place—her eyes moving, terrified.
Nearby, among the fallen robes, he spotted two wands intact and took them—one from the bald wizard, the other he got from the stranger. The rest had been destroyed in the explosion. Then, next to the girl, he saw it: another shimmering fabric draped on the ground.
An invisibility cloak.
Harry didn't stop to question it. He carefully draped the girl in the cloaks, lifting her like a log across his shoulder, and began walking—limping slightly—back toward Diagon Alley.
Kyle was pacing by the entrance of Knockturn Alley when Harry emerged from the gloom, burdened but unbroken.
"Harry! Merlin's beard, where were you?! What happened in there?"
Harry gently laid the invisible girl on the cobblestone floor and pulled back the cloak slightly to reveal her face.
Before Kyle could say anything more, a crowd began to gather. Wizards and witches from Diagon Alley murmured with concern. A few pointed. One man, older and wearing Healer robes, pushed forward and knelt.
"Her eyes are moving," the man observed. "She's aware—but paralyzed."
He raised his wand. "Finite Incantatem."
A soft wave of golden light washed over the girl, and she gasped sharply as the magic holding her in place dissipated. Her arms twitched, then her legs, and she fell into sobs, curling into herself in fear.
"She's alive!"
"She was cursed!"
"What happened to her?"
The voices crowded in. People began to shout. Questions flew in the air like spells in a duel.
Harry panicked. What if someone finds out what I did? He didn't know if killing those men had been illegal—even if they were criminals.
He couldn't stay.
"Come on," Harry whispered, pulling Kyle aside. "We have to go. Now."
"But—Harry, you just saved—"
"We have to GO."
Without waiting for more questions, Harry pulled the invisibility cloaks over himself and Kyle, and together they slipped away from the chaos. Through the Leaky Cauldron. Past the bartender. Into the Muggle world.
And just like that, they vanished.
The girl was safe. The men were gone. But Harry Potter's journey into magic, heroism, and danger had only just begun.
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