Chapter 185: In Diagon Alley
Perhaps, in the nuns' eyes, children like him weren't much different from vampires.
The dining hall radio droned with the Queen's speech. On the grease-stained long table sat thirty-seven foil-wrapped baked potatoes. The limping caretaker, as usual, hid his whisky inside a hollowed-out Bible case. When drunk, his curses grew harsher—always adding, "damn Satan's spawn."
Behind the frozen latrine pipes, Russell once found fresh graffiti—someone had drawn a hanging figure in red brick dust, a pattern tied around its neck identical to the one on his own cufflinks.
At midnight, a rat dragged in half a page of The Times. In the obituary column dated December 25, 1977, one entry had been circled:
A man mysteriously melted inside a Scottish castle… among his belongings, a monocle.
"But that's all in the past now, isn't it?" Sirius said, clapping Russell on the shoulder.
"You're practically a rising star in Britain's wizarding world now. Recipient of the Order of Merlin."
"You're right," Russell replied with a faint smile.
The next morning, before leaving to visit old friends, Sirius placed a box of Floo Powder on the table.
"You've all used the Floo Network before, right?" he asked. "If not, ask Ron—he's probably the most experienced."
Russell volunteered first.
Grabbing a pinch of powder, he stepped into the fireplace.
"Diagon Alley."
As the powder flared, the world spun violently—then snapped into place.
He stumbled out of the fireplace as green flames burst into golden sparks.
He glanced around.
Familiar.
This was the Leaky Cauldron.
Behind the counter, Tom looked up lazily—then froze.
The half-polished beer mug slipped from his hand and clattered onto the bar, amber liquid spilling toward a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Good heavens—it's Russell Fythorne! Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class!"
Tom's bald head gleamed with excitement. With a flick of his wand, he cleaned the mess instantly.
"He's the one who helped clear Sirius's name!"
"My granddaughter's at Hogwarts—she's told me all about you! The professors say you're destined for greatness!"
The noisy pub fell silent.
Then chaos erupted.
A witch rushed forward first, thrusting a self-writing quill right under Russell's nose.
"Could you sign my grandson's Defense Against the Dark Arts book? Right next to the Dementor chapter!"
From her arms, a Niffler suddenly leapt out—snatching a silver Sickel from Russell's pocket.
"Of course—uh, yes," Russell replied, still slightly dazed.
One hand signed automatically.
The other shot out—grabbing the squeaking Niffler mid-air and retrieving his coin.
The creature puffed its cheeks indignantly before retreating into its owner's arms.
When Ron emerged from the fireplace, he was immediately shoved aside—ending up near an overturned oak barrel, arms suddenly full of gift boxes from overenthusiastic witches and wizards.
"Tell us how you exposed Peter Pettigrew!"
A wizard in a sable coat, clearly drunk, nearly splashed mead onto Russell's shoulder.
"I bet fifty Galleons you used Veritaserum!"
"Honestly," Russell tried to explain, "it was mostly because no rat lives that long—and happens to be missing a finger—"
His words were drowned out by flashing cameras.
Reporters who hadn't even secured interviews were already crowding in.
One wizard shoved a microphone-like device right between them.
"Say that again, please! The Greatest Deceptions in Magical History column is about to go to print!"
Russell blinked.
A Muggle device—magically modified to function here.
Apparently, even the wizarding world had learned to adapt.
Arthur would probably get along very well with that reporter.
Meanwhile, Ron was struggling to free his wrist from the grip of an overly enthusiastic, fiery witch when a commotion suddenly erupted outside.
Three wizards burst in, holding banners that read "Clear Our Names!"
"We've been wronged too! The Ministry framed us, we—"
They barely managed a few sentences before being dragged away by Diagon Alley guards.
"Pay them no mind," Tom said dismissively.
He brought over a towering pile of Christmas pudding for Russell, the icing constantly shifting colors.
"Thank you," Russell nodded politely—but still, there was no sign of Harry or the others.
"Where did they go?" he asked.
Ron shoved the gift boxes into Russell's arms and shrugged.
"There's more than one Floo exit in Diagon Alley. They probably got routed somewhere else."
"Well then," Russell said, "let's go buy an owl first."
Ron pressed his nose almost flat against the frosted window of Eeylops Owl Emporium, his breath fogging up the glass.
Inside, a chorus of hoots echoed, mixed with the dripping sound of melted snow falling from copper perches.
"What about that chestnut-colored one?" Russell tapped lightly on the frosty windowframe with his wand. "Looks sturdy."
"And Ron, let's go inside—it's freezing out here."
"That scar on its beak reminds me of Fred's chipped tooth…"
Ron's handprint slowly faded from the glass.
"Or maybe that snowy owl? Wait—is it rolling its eyes at me?"
The moment they stepped inside, the smell of bird droppings hit them like a wall.
Feathers immediately stuck to Ron's clothes—he looked like he'd just exploded into fluff.
Behind the counter, the shopkeeper was trimming an owl's talons with hinge-like silver shears. The clippings fell into a cauldron, releasing curling purple smoke.
Potion ingredients, Russell noted silently, studying the liquid.
"Welcome, and Merry Christmas," the shopkeeper said without looking up.
She gestured vaguely toward a corner.
"You can take a look at the eagle owl hatchlings—new arrivals."
"If you're on a budget, though, you might want to check the stock in the back."
Russell was about to pick one from the shop, but Ron tugged at his sleeve awkwardly.
"Let's check the back first," he said quietly—clearly trying to save Russell some money.
Out back, snow-covered wooden racks held seven cages, each draped in black cloth.
When the shopkeeper pulled back the third cover, a rust-colored owl suddenly spat out:
"Mudbloods, get lost."
"It's been tampered with—dark magic," the shopkeeper said calmly.
She lifted its leg chain with her wand, revealing a burned-in skull mark.
"Came out of Knockturn Alley."