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Chapter 7: I Have a Friend…
🕑 Added 2025-06-27 16:03:38 +0000 UTCBringing Fairytales to Hogwarts!
Harry instinctively took a few steps back, putting distance between himself and this strange man.
But something about Borgin triggered a memory: over the past ten years, strangers on the street had often greeted him or bowed as if the whole world somehow knew who he was. Looking back, some of those people did dress kind of like Mr. Borgin.
Still…
"Famous? Me?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Why?"
How had he never known he was famous?
The dim little shop was lit only by a weak butter-lamp, casting huge, hazy shadows across the walls. As the gray daylight outside flickered, the antique-packed shelves looked even more eerie and unsettling.
"Why?" Borgin seemed even more surprised than Harry.
"You're the Savior—the boy who defeated… that extremely famous… that gentleman I really shouldn't name. Oh dear, that'd be terribly disrespectful," he stammered.
Off to the side, Viktor thought for a moment before the name finally clicked.
"You mean the boy who defeated the Dark One? Harry Potter?"
He glanced at Borgin's expression and confirmed his guess.
"Looks like it."
"The Dark One?" Harry asked curiously.
"Don't really know much," Viktor replied casually.
"Heard about it during my interview at Hogwarts. Supposedly, right after you were born, you defeated some dark wizard trying to take over the magical world. Saved a lot of oppressed witches, wizards, and Muggles."
He turned to Borgin.
"Right?"
"You've got it exactly," Borgin nodded. "Mr. Potter brought… considerable trouble with him."
He shuddered, clearly unwilling to bring up the Dark One again, and bowed deeply.
"It's a great honor to have the Savior in my shop, but if I may… Mr. Vanderboom, next time, perhaps take him straight to Diagon Alley. If people see Mr. Potter here, rumors will spread—and that's bad for business."
He clearly didn't want to be seen with Harry.
Running a place like Borgin and Burkes, which often did business with supporters of the Dark One, getting involved with Harry was nothing but trouble.
"What, you're hanging out with the Savior now?"
"You turning over a new leaf or something?!"
That's how the pure-blood families who bought dark magic trinkets would react.
"Got it," Viktor said noncommittally, skipping right past the topic.
"Borgin, how do we get to Muggle London?"
"Just exit from the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley," Borgin said respectfully.
"Ask the barkeep Tom—he knows loads about the Muggle world."
"Alright."
Viktor nodded.
Borgin got the message, said no more, and quickly slipped into the shadows behind the counter. Moments later, he returned with a heavy cloth pouch and a strange-looking book.
He handed the pouch to Viktor first.
"One hundred and twenty Galleons."
Then he handed the book to Harry.
"Mr. Potter, a small token of appreciation. Perhaps meaningless to someone like the Savior, but I'd be honored if you gave it a look."
"What is it?" Harry asked, puzzled.
The moment he held it, he felt the book's weight. The texture of the cover was odd—as if it squirmed faintly in his hands. He shivered and looked down at the title.
From Bloodlines to Hexes
"A tome from the Black family," Borgin explained.
"Every Black child studied it. Since there's hardly any of them left, it ended up in my hands when the Ministry seized their estate. Might be a bit early for you, but there are some… interesting little curses inside."
Seeing that Viktor didn't object, Harry slowly gripped the book.
It was his first magical book.
Somehow, he knew this book would change his life.
Ding-a-ling.
The bell over the door rang again. Harry caught a glimpse of Borgin bowing one more time behind them, then slowly returning to the shadows behind the counter.
Harry turned and wiped his broken glasses before he could clearly see what lay beyond the shop door.
Outside was the busy, twisting alleyway known as Knockturn Alley.
The sky above the street was overcast, heavy clouds blotting out any hint of sunlight—just like the mist-shrouded woods near Viktor's house. Every shop shared the same eerie, old-fashioned aesthetic.
Borgin and Burkes was the largest among them, decorated with ominous dark wood and black paint. Across the street stood another shop with a similar design, but its display window showed a row of shrunken heads—chilling to look at. Two or three stores down, Harry saw a massive cage crawling with fat, hairy spiders. His back went cold.
Farther away, a few ragged witches and wizards saw them and murmured to each other in hushed tones from the shadows.
But no one approached them.
Viktor walked beside Harry, the brim of his pointed hat covering most of his face. Wherever he went, the crowd silently parted to make room.
Clearly, Viktor fit right in here.
He didn't find anything strange about the place at all.
To him, this was just another street.
In fact, the very first time Viktor discovered the existence of the magical world was here, in Borgin and Burkes, when he had stepped out of a mirror. Knockturn Alley had become his most familiar wizarding place since.
Now that he thought about it—it had only been a week ago.
Viktor wasn't technically human. As a conceptual entity, he didn't even experience death. He never bothered to study this world's magic in detail. All he'd done was skim through the basics.
After a while, Harry couldn't help asking:
"…So we're actually in London now?"
"No idea. I've never been to the Muggle side."
"Right…" Harry nervously tugged at the hem of his shirt, flustered as he changed the subject.
"Do you know anything about my past? I really want to know about my parents—and this 'Dark One.' My aunt told me they died in a car crash."
Viktor nodded faintly.
"There's no official conclusion from the Ministry of Magic. But I suspect it's a scenario I've seen often in my world."
"Apparently, the Dark One came to your house and tried to kill you—for reasons unknown. But he failed and died instead. I suspect you survived thanks to a fairy's blessing—or maybe an elven charm."
"W-what?"
"And your family's probably prestigious."
"…Why do you say that?"
"Fairy blessings usually require magical talent or special bloodlines. Families like that tend to produce ambitious members. They often end up as royalty or noble houses—at least, that's how it works in my world."
"There are exceptions though. I once had a friend who came from a very poor background—but had extraordinary magical gifts."
"What happened to him?"
"He got killed trying to steal someone else's princess and someone else's magic lamp. Died pretty miserably," Viktor said with a blank expression.
"The world is fickle."
Harry stumbled slightly, his footing thrown off. He stared up at Viktor's face, but it was as calm as ever—like he'd just commented on yesterday's lunch.
Was the magical world really this dangerous?
Harry felt a sense of dread rising in him. His excitement for magic dimmed a little. He nervously clutched at his shirt.
"You be careful too," Viktor said casually. "Don't pick fights unless you're absolutely sure you'll win—"
"Alright, we're here."
He stopped in front of a brick wall. Oddly, the sky overhead had gotten brighter—not like the gloomy clouds back in Knockturn Alley. Harry suspected the earlier darkness had been caused by magic.
There was an opening in the brick wall, with people constantly coming and going. A crooked little sign hung nearby:
The Leaky Cauldron
