Chapter 67: Welcome to Knockturn Alley
Regulus's mind jumped to Snape — his Patronus must have been kept hidden too. Otherwise he would never have used it to guide Harry Potter to the Sword of Gryffindor.
That act was carried out to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Had Snape's Patronus been known, a single captured member of the hero's party would have been Snape's death sentence.
Orion shifted tone and continued: "Of course, if you genuinely need it, use it. Don't court danger for the sake of concealment.
Just one thing — when you do use it, disguise the extraordinary features."
He pointed at the Starry Sky Kite. "Make it look like an ordinary hawk — the build is similar. Wings swept tighter, starlight dimmed, eye color deepened.
A hawk is fine — it symbolizes wisdom and power, suits you well. Most people won't tell the difference."
Regulus tested it and found it was indeed possible.
A Patronus's basic form was fixed, but certain details could be adjusted — brightness, intensity. Making the Starry Sky Kite pass for a silver-white hawk was entirely feasible.
"Understood." Regulus nodded earnestly.
Orion relaxed. He trusted his son's judgment. Regulus turned his attention back to the Kite. Another thought crossed his mind: he was probably destined to forego the Animagus transformation.
An Animagus's animal form typically mirrored — or closely resembled — the wizard's Patronus.
His was the Starry Sky Kite. A legendary magical creature — obviously impossible to transform into.
That meant future attempts at Animagus training would either fail or produce something else entirely.
On reflection, though, it wasn't much of a loss.
The Animagus transformation was useful but never indispensable. With the Patronus at his disposal, many of the same functions could be replicated.
Moreover, a Patronus was a condensation of pure positive energy — it carried none of the risk of animal instincts bleeding through, the way an Animagus form could.
And the Animagus process itself demanded enormous time, was laden with uncertainty, depended too heavily on the weather and on luck. One misstep, and it was back to square one.
Besides, what was the appeal of turning into an animal? If he wanted an animal body, he could just use human Transfiguration.
The Animagus — better off without it!
Regulus flicked his wand gently. The Starry Sky Kite dissolved into silver motes and vanished, though the air seemed to hold a lingering trace of warmth, like residual starlight.
He committed today's feelings to memory. The awe at the cliff's edge as the sun went down. The elation of magic flowing in answer to his emotions. The soul-deep resonance of summoning the Patronus.
None of it would alter his path. He would remain rational, calculating, meticulous — power was still the root pursuit.
But something had changed. Magic was not merely a tool. It was part of his life.
The world was worth admiring and experiencing. And he — he was a living person. Capable of wonder, of longing, of delight in beautiful things.
That was fine.
They Portkeyed back to 12 Grimmauld Place.
The battered teapot lid whirled them through spinning color and sound, depositing them in the entrance hall. Kreacher was already waiting, hot towel in one hand, steaming tea in the other.
"Welcome home, Master. Young Master."
Orion took the towel, wiped his face, and told Regulus: "Tomorrow's the last day. Knockturn Alley to collect accounts. Rest early tonight."
Regulus nodded, went upstairs, and returned to his room.
He stood at the window gazing at London's nightscape. Compared to the grandeur of the Irish coast, the view here was thoroughly ordinary — streets, houses, lampposts, the occasional passing car.
Today's experience had injected a first stroke of color into a world that until now had been black, white, and grey.
Only a faint brush — but enough to teach him that the world was vast, and beautiful, and worth seeing.
And he had time enough, and resolve enough, to climb high enough to see all the views he wished.
......
The last day of Christmas break. The festive atmosphere had all but faded. Orion brought Regulus to the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
Unlike Diagon Alley's tidy brick archway, the passage into Knockturn Alley squeezed between two leaning buildings.
Its walls were stained an ugly brown by unidentifiable filth. The air carried a blend of mold, rot, and something sharp and chemical.
Regulus followed his father in. The light died instantly.
Alley walls were slick with damp; even without touching them, you felt the greasiness.
Overhead hung a few battered oil lamps, flames jittering sickly green behind cracked glass, throwing jagged shadows.
The ground was uneven. Puddles lay at staggered depths, their surfaces covered in an oily, iridescent film.
About twenty paces in, the passage opened out. Knockturn Alley spread before them.
An entirely different world from Diagon Alley — as though stepping from civilization into chaos.
Buildings on both sides leaned against each other at crooked angles, walls carpeted in dark moss.
Most windows were boarded up. The few with glass showed only heavy black curtains, revealing nothing of the interiors.
The alley was narrow — barely room for two carriages abreast — its surface strewn with refuse.
Splintered crates. Scattered burlap sacks. Rusted iron drums. Even a few skeletons of indeterminate animals.
Foot traffic was sparse. Everyone wore dark robes, hoods pulled low, steps quick, keeping to the walls, avoiding eye contact.
Regulus's perceptive gift sharpened acutely in this environment. He could feel the magical fluctuations radiating from the shops and passersby.
Most were turbid, disordered — flecked with the detritus of negative emotion.
He felt a pang of absurdity.
You had to stand in this alley in person to truly grasp the wizarding world's dark underbelly.
Every description he'd read of black-market Dark Arts trading and illicit goods fell short. Here, every brick, every measure of air, every corner was saturated with the essence of chaos and decay.
The only rule was power. Whoever was strongest spoke; whoever was weakest disappeared.
A person died here, and the body was likely dragged away and put to thorough use within moments.
No one asked. No one cared. Like a rabbit eaten by a fox in the woods — natural law, nothing more.
But what truly struck Regulus as absurd was this: every bit of it was illegal under British magical law.
Everyone knew Knockturn Alley operated outside the law. The Ministry knew. The Wizengamot knew.
Even Muggle families with a young witch or wizard probably heard from their children that there was a frightening place next to Diagon Alley.
Yet Knockturn Alley endured. Centuries old — always here.
The Ministry — or rather the wizarding establishment as a whole — tacitly accepted its existence.
Proclaiming law supreme, order sacred, on one hand — while leaving this vast lawless zone beside the busiest commercial district on the other.
Statutes spelled out clearly what was allowed and what wasn't, yet Knockturn Alley sat there like an open secret — a lie everyone recognized but nobody punctured.
Brazen. Unashamed.
A thought flashed through Regulus's mind: 'This is probably what politics looks like.'
The law's purpose seemed limited to a declaration: nothing here is legal. And that was that.
Declaration in one column, enforcement in another.
Regulus understood perfectly well why Knockturn Alley existed — it served a purpose.
Pure-blood families needed it to handle business that couldn't see the light. Dark wizards needed it for resources and intelligence.
The Ministry needed a place to concentrate the hard-to-manage people, things, and affairs. Pack them all into Knockturn Alley — out of sight, out of mind.
Britain being Britain, one might say.
None of this troubled Regulus personally.
As a wizard — as heir to the House of Black — he, too, would need Knockturn Alley to exist.
Everyone needed it. Pure-bloods needed it. Half-bloods needed it. The Ministry needed it. Even the white wizards who championed justice probably needed it.
There always had to be somewhere to handle the inconvenient things.
This was the wizarding world's other ecology — the reverse side of order.
Light and dark were never neatly separated. More often they coexisted, interpenetrated.
Knockturn Alley was Diagon Alley's shadow. Without the shadow, the light's existence lost its meaning.
In short: if it exists, it has its reasons.
At that point Orion halted and murmured to Regulus: "In here, use only your eyes. Don't speak. Above all, don't touch anything.
Every item you see may carry a curse. Every patch of ground may conceal a trap. Every person you meet may harbor ill intent."
His voice was level as he stressed: "Knockturn Alley is the back face of order. There's only one rule here — survive. Everything else is noise."
Regulus nodded.