CHAPTER 14
After saying goodbye to Lucius, Severus didn't go straight back. He made his way to a small two-storey building with a dark wooden sign: Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary.
The moment he stepped inside, the smell hit him: herbs, potions, bitter roots, all of it layered together into something dense and deeply familiar. Shelves ran floor to ceiling along every wall, packed with glass jars of dried plants, powders, and ingredients of every conceivable kind.
An elderly man in a white coat stood at a small workbench, looking tired in the particular way of someone who had been tired for a long time.
"Hello there, young man. Can I help you with something?" He glanced up as Severus moved along the shelves.
"Yes." Severus took a folded list from his pocket and handed it over, still scanning the jars with interest.
The pharmacist put his glasses on, read quickly, and frowned when he reached the end.
"These last two: Stranger's Slime and Kelpie's Blood. I can't sell you either. The blood is out of stock, and the Slime requires Ministry clearance; it's most commonly used in cursed potions or Dark rituals."
"Cross off the Slime, pack everything else, and add a cauldron and glass flasks."
"Of course. Give me a few minutes."
"Take your time."
The man nodded, opened a door behind the counter, and went downstairs.
Severus closed his eyes and let a few quiet words pass his lips. A wave of pale light moved through the shop.
Pity. The place was webbed in tracking charms, some clumsy, some considerably less so, all of them calibrated to catch anything that looked like trouble. And there was someone watching, not with eyes but with magic, a steady pressure at the edge of awareness. Whoever it was had real power, roughly on Slughorn's level, which put them at the high end of what this world had to offer. A confrontation here would be a mess: Aurors, questions, the kind of attention he didn't need. He let the thought go and went back to browsing as though nothing had happened.
Ten minutes later the pharmacist returned with a tray and a startling number of jars.
"Three hundred and forty-nine Galleons. Would you like it delivered?"
"No." Severus took out his pouch and counted out the coins. He gathered the jars, flicked a casual hand, and transfigured them into needles, then slipped them into the spatial pouch at his side. The pharmacist watched this with wide eyes and said nothing.
"The simplest cauldron will be eleven Galleons."
"That's fine."
"I'll bring it up now."
A few minutes later, Severus walked out of the shop. The owner stood in the doorway, watching him go.
"Tuni. Did you feel anything?" the man said.
A small, wrinkled creature appeared at his elbow: huge green eyes, enormous ears, dressed in what had once been a cloth of some kind. It spoke quickly, on the edge of frightened.
"Tuni saw the young mage cast a spell. Tuni got ready to protect her master. But the young mage did nothing after, so Tuni did nothing either, like master said."
"He noticed you," the old man murmured, more to himself than to Tuni. He sighed, sat down, and reached for his pipe. "Troubled times. What a dangerous young man. That control." He shook his head slowly. "It frightens me. And I envy it."
After the purchase, Severus had under a hundred Galleons left, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. He kept walking, and eventually his wandering took him somewhere he hadn't planned to end up.
A narrow street branched off from Diagon Alley, and the change was immediate. The air cooled by several degrees. The light thinned. Even the cobblestones looked different, slick in a way that had nothing to do with rain. A few shops sat along it, but they were nearly empty of customers, and the few people moving through had the look of people who were used to being watched and didn't intend to be caught off guard: sharp eyes, tight mouths, hands tucked where wands could be reached quickly. This was clearly not the respectable part of the wizarding world.
Severus didn't particularly care. He walked.
"Borgin and Burkes." He stopped in front of a shop window dense with objects: glass cases full of rings, cracked mirrors, something that might have been a hand, things that seemed to watch him back. In one corner, tucked in a barrel like an afterthought, a row of swords lay stacked on each other. "Artefacts. Possibly antiques."
He went in.
"Good day, young man. Has something caught your eye?" The owner's voice carried a quality that put you instinctively on your guard: the tone of a man who made a point of knowing exactly how much he could get away with.
Severus gave him almost no attention and studied the ten swords with care instead. The owner, who had dealt with far stranger customers, didn't take it as an insult.
Every single one of them is cursed. Not gently, either: the kind of curse that sets into metal like rot, runs deep, and waits. Most of the things in this shop hum with it quietly. Which makes selling them illegal, and when you consider the street name, the location makes complete sense. Knockturn Alley.
Knockturn Alley was the black market of the wizarding world, where Dark artefacts, ingredients for illegal magic, and a broad range of other things best not examined too closely could change hands without anyone officially knowing about it.
"How much for this one?" Severus drew out a plain, worn silver blade: nothing special about it, no curses whispering from the metal, no dark resonance.
The disappointment on the owner's face was brief but genuine.
"I'd recommend something else. That one's ordinary. A Squib with no family connections brought it in; it has no antique value whatsoever."
"I want it."
With an irritated hiss, the owner went to the counter. "Thirty Galleons." He took the coins, made a note in his ledger, and lost interest in Severus entirely.
Severus transfigured the sword into a green needle, tucked it into his shirt pocket, and walked out.
Good enough for a start.
He hadn't reached the end of the street before he ducked into the next shop. This one dealt in poisons.
Half an hour later, Severus came back out into Diagon Alley with seven Galleons left and a quiet satisfaction, because he'd managed to get the last two ingredients. They'd cost more than they would have through proper channels, but they were his.
Now I can start work. The foundation first, then the potion. The early stages were always the worst: forcing the body to accept change required patience more than anything, and patience had never been his strong suit. I need Lucius to come through with the remaining ingredients before term starts, and I need him not to do anything clever in the meantime. And there's still the Parseltongue question to settle.
While he was sorting through all of this, a sharp gust came from a side alley, followed by a dull impact.
He looked down the alley.
Six cloaked wizards had a boy cornered. Regulus Black, unmistakably.
That's exactly what happens when you walk alone in times like these. Especially with a name everyone knows.
Three of the six fired simultaneously. Regulus threw up a barrier and held it, but the moment he braced to counter, the other three came in at the same time and pinned him. They weren't in any hurry to finish it. They circled him the way dogs circle something they've already decided is theirs, throwing spells between taunts: "Where's that pure-blood strength now, then? Gone quiet, have you?" and "Strutted around at school like a king, didn't you? Look at you now, you little runt." One of them laughed, loud and wet, and spat: "Blacks, Malfoys, you're all the same. When the Dark Lord falls, you're next. We'll personally make sure of it."
Regulus held himself in check. He knew exactly what they were trying to do. But the rage building in him was real, because they weren't just mocking the Dark Lord, whom he followed with genuine conviction: they were mocking his family. For someone raised to treat family honour as the most serious thing in the world, it was difficult to think clearly.
"Need a hand?" Severus asked.
A spell grazed Regulus's leg in that same moment. A transparent barrier rose in front of him and threw the blue beam straight back.
Regulus heard the voice, recognised it immediately, and wanted very much to tell him to go away. He ground his teeth instead and nodded once, sharp.
"Yes. Help me, and my family will repay it."
"Happy to," Severus said. He turned to face the six and smiled pleasantly. "No personal offence. You're going to die today."
The temperature in the alley climbed. Flames ran over his arms and shoulders, and a row of fiery spears formed at his back. They shot forward.
The six conjured shields. The spears went through them as though they weren't there, punched into their chests, and the fire took them. Their robes caught, their bodies folded, and then there was only the smell of burning and grey ash drifting down across the wet cobblestones. They hadn't had time to make a sound.
Regulus stood very still, and the cold that settled over him had nothing to do with the air.
That isn't ordinary fire. Ordinary fire doesn't move like that.
He was still trying to process it when a dark-haired woman appeared ten metres away, wand already up and aimed at Severus's chest.
"Everte —"
"Bella, stop!" Regulus shouted. Too late.
" — statum!"
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