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Harry Evans Chapter 66-67: Fencing
🕑 Added 2024-04-04 03:00:02 +0000 UTCThis document contains both Chapter 66 and 67
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Perhaps being allowed to go off alone was unsurprising when one considered the context in which Harry existed within his family. For the most part, he was treated as an adult. This had already been the case years ago, and now that he was getting older, he was getting more and more freedom.
But, anyway. There he was, packing the things he was going to take to Manchester. His aunt and 'Ted' had had a very nice talk over the phone.
Just like Penny's parents had allowed her to visit Harry and go to France with his family, Harry was now packing his things to go visit Tonks.
He wasn't taking a lot of things, just some ageing potions, books and other necessities. It was frustrating to see that he'd already made a significant dent in the literature that he'd copied and brought with him to Hogwarts, but there wasn't really a solution in sight.
He expected to get a very rude wake-up call when he graduated, wanted to look up a topic, and didn't have a gigantic library to immediately give him, if not an answer, then at least a direction.
Packing away the books he was planning to leave on the train, mostly stuff about enchantment this time, he sighed and stood up. "All done," he muttered, looking at the two trunks he'd prepared. One full of necessities for his trip to Manchester, one full of stuff he'd looted from the room of requirement.
Since he was already going to London to catch his connection, he didn't see a reason to not drop by Knockturn Alley first. And while he could have then with the money he was going to get bought himself a direct floo trip to Tonks, he wanted to save his soon-to-be sizable sum of wizarding currency for actual emergencies.
Also, Harry was 100% sure that while Tonks was 17 and could invite whoever she wanted, her parents had warded the floo-network to log who exactly she was inviting. His magical sensing was useful for not walking into magic he didn't want to walk into, but appearing through the floo kind of meant that by the time he noticed the ward, he would have already tripped it.
The train was preferable. He could read anyway, so it wasn't like he was losing any time.
The only thing Harry was leaving behind was his wand. He'd already suspected in the past that the thing radiated a zone in which any magic use would alert the ministry, but now that he'd basically confirmed that, the tool was staying firmly locked up in the cupboard under the stairs.
It was sad that the ministry had turned what was supposed to be his biggest tool, into an object he had to be suspicious of. This was why he'd started looking more into the books on Wards and Enchantments. The Trace wasn't really a curse, so his curse-breaking reading wasn't of help here, but an enchantment could be broken just as much.
They were all oddly similar, these things. A curse was an enchantment born out of negative emotions, generally with the intent purpose of harming whoever came into contact with the item. An enchantment was the consecration of new magical qualities onto items and warding was the same, just that it essentially affected the concept of a space.
For example, if one warded a house, one didn't have to necessarily walk around it completely, tracing the circle one wanted to create with a wand. One could just cast the spell and have it ward one's concept of what that specific house was.
Naturally wards, enchantments and curses were all incredibly complex magic. Learning to dispel them was easier than creating them because it was always easier to destroy than to create, but even that was beyond Hogwarts' curriculum. If he ever wanted to gain any expertise in the field, he would need to gain it on his own.
If anything Flitwick would have likely been the biggest help in dispelling enchantments and wards, but the man likely wouldn't look too kindly on Harry's ever-broadening plethora of interests.
Maybe it could wait until he won the U17 tournament, be it this year, the next, or the one after. Harry had five attempts overall, as the rules of the tournament allowed entrance also for people who were turning 17 the year it was held. This meant it wasn't really an under-17 tournament, but more of a 17-and-under tournament. Harry had never cared particularly much for sports, so this had been a surprise for him.
"Can we leave already," the hat grumbled from its perch on Harry's desk chair.
The boy rolled his eyes and put it on. A wave of his hand and some intense concentration shrunk his trunk which had no magical stuff in it. Another wave made it featherlight. It disappeared into his pocket. The other one, he had to take manually. He wasn't good enough to shrink stuff that had magic inside of it. And some of the objects in that trunk were enchanted or cursed.
He paused in his stride as he made to leave.
Maybe he'd keep some of the enchanted stuff to try and dispel the enchantments. You had to start somewhere, right?
He opened the trunk, took out an enchanted quill which let one cycle the input ink through all the colours of the rainbow, and closed it again.
Then he went down the stairs, said goodbye to his aunt, and let his uncle drive him to the train station.
"So you're going to visit a girl?" Vernon asked once they were alone in the small car blue beetle.
"Yeah, her name's Tonks," Harry replied.
"Different from the blonde one we took to France last year," the man muttered but didn't say anything after.
The boy rolled his eyes as he looked out the window, at the passing houses, lawns and cars. It made sense that his family would start getting interested in the women he was spending time with. But, it wasn't really a conversation he ever wanted to pursue ever again. He'd already gotten the, 'we're expecting babies, so be a gentleman,' from his old family, and while he'd loved them, he'd never really agreed on them having any sort of influence on his love life.
He didn't pick the topic up, and neither did Vernon once it became apparent that his nephew wasn't interested in pursuing it.
They stopped at the train station where he clapped his uncle on the shoulder, they grunted at each other, and he was leaving again. He noticed how he was spending less and less time at home with his family. But that was just the natural progress of life. It was just that he was an early bloomer. Hehe, early boomer.
He'd already been home for a few weeks now, but other than doing his own thing and relaxing in the garden with a good book, he hadn't done much. He enjoyed cooking with Petunia, helping Vernon in the garage and helping Dudley with his homework. But on a purely conversational level, besides asking each other how they were doing, there wasn't that much to discuss with his family.
Neither one of his parents had gone to university and they still didn't read a lot, preferring the television. This left most discussions bereft of depth. Additionally, the further that he sunk into magic, the more they lost him to a world that they had no access to.
As purchased his ticket and sat down on the train, Harry wondered if he was a bad son. After some introspection, he came to the conclusion that he was just a son and that those tended to leave the nest at some point anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to let go of the responsibility he felt towards his family, to hang out with them, to be their perfect child.
At the end of the day, while it would certainly be nice of him to spend more time with the Dursleys, to thank them for his upbringing… It certainly wasn't a moral obligation, and he spent enough time with them anyway.
Perhaps he should ask Tonks once he arrived in Manchester; how much time she spent with her parents; if she ever felt guilty that it wasn't enough. He suspected that the general answer he'd receive from any teenager would be that they didn't think too much of it.
Letting go of the topic he pulled out a light read from his trunk and started lazily going through the pages of his Arithmancy textbook. It looked like maths, really, from the outside. It was just upon closer inspection that the whole thing looked a bit made up.
The train chugged on at the same pace with which he flew through the pages, and before he knew it they'd arrived at the station he had to get off at if he wanted to go to the leaky cauldron. It was too cramped here to slip into a toilet and come out looking a decade older. Too many cameras. So, Harry made his way through the station with its bustling suited adults, trash cans, pigeons and drunk young adults onto the main street. From there it was just a 20-minute walk to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry quickly slipped inside.
The magic and the smell hit him. Warmth radiated through the entire building on a meta-physical level, the smell of butterbeer and fire whiskey hung damply in the air and the laughter of witches, wizards and hags reverberated through the air.
It was a different world. More dangerous perhaps, but still real. Where people talked to each other and lived for more than just work. In a way, Harry felt torn. While his interactions with people were mostly superficial on both sides of the fence, they were starting to become easier on the magic one. Perhaps he'd have to go to Muggle higher education to find his people there, but at the moment, other than his family and some flings he wasn't planning on calling again, nothing was tying him down there.
Here, he mused as he walked through the pub and right back out on the other side; here he had friends, ambitions and a riveting history. He wasn't just Harry Evans, the child of a rapist and a mudblood anymore. He was Harry Evans, inventor of the word-searching spell, werewolf slayer -even if no one knew it-, wielder of the sword of Gryffindor and future duelling champion.
It was just a different kind of legacy than the one he had in the muggle world, where his only accomplishment was that he'd graduated secondary education relatively quickly, through no real hard work or talent of his own. Just happenstance.
He idly glanced at a newspaper discarded on the floor, something about the faster processing of search warrants in case of dark artefact suspicion pushed through by Dumbledore.
Then he closed his eyes and felt around him, making sure nobody was coming.
A quick chug of one of his ageing potions transformed him into an older version of himself. He'd specifically brought looser clothes just for this occasion. But quite frankly, he was hitting a growth spurt anyway with all the physical training he was doing, and at 1.66m he was probably almost as big as he was ever going to be. He didn't have many aspirations of going beyond 1.83m.
The disillusioned sorting hat joined the rest of his ensemble on his head.
'You're sure about this?' the hat asked once it touched its brim to his forehead. 'We could always just wait, none of that stuff expires.'
"Nah," Harry drawled as he started opening up the passageway to Diagon Alley. "Let's sell some shit," he said. The bricks slid to the side and he walked onto the shopping street, getting lost in the crowd almost instantly. A hood was pulled up over his red hair and he became truly anonymous.
It was time to visit Knockturn Alley.
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The entrance to Knockturn Alley was quite undramatic, really. It was simply a side street to the larger Diagon Alley, situated between two p
The entrance to Knockturn Alley was quite undramatic, really. It was simply a side street to the larger Diagon Alley, situated between two perfectly normal stores. An apothecary and a quidditch supply store. Sure, it wasn't as well-lit as the main street, which was weird considering there was no light source other than the sun outside currently. There were also weird figures hushing about and the space looked leaky, somehow, but in a shadowy way, maybe.
Ok, yes, Harry was scared, sue him. He'd never been particularly scared, in his past life or this life of being robbed or whatever, he'd been privileged to live in countries with very low crime rates. London itself wasn't nearly as bad now, in 1991, as it was going to get by 2010. However, he'd always known that bad areas existed, he'd just never explicitly entered them with the intention of fencing off partially illegal goods.
"C'mon, Harry. You killed a werewolf, what are you scared of," he muttered to himself.
The invisible hat mentally cleared its throat. 'Excuse me, I killed a werewolf.'
'Yeah, but you were using my body, so I killed a werewolf.'
'Did not.'
'Did so.'
'Did not.'
'Did so.'
'Did not.'
'Did so.'
'Did not.'
'Did so.'
'Bloody hell just go in there already you fucking twat!' the hat shouted mentally, providing the kick in the ass that Harry needed to get going. The boy grimaced, reassured himself that he looked as intimidating as anyone could ask him to look in his older form, clad in all black and that, and entered the alley.
It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, actually, and he managed to confidently walk the first ten metres or so with his chin up. Sure, it was dark, sure, the magical atmosphere reeked of some very hateful emotions, and sure, there was a hag sitting on the floor with a collection of eyeballs and organs in front of her, hawking her wares.
But at the end of the day, just with the hat on his head, Harry was one of the more dangerous people present.
He flagged down interesting stores that he would perhaps feel like visiting when he had some money. There was a second-hand store which seemed to focus mostly on books. He was quite interested in that, but perhaps not out of any practical reason. He just really liked books. Currently, Hogwarts provided him all that he needed in that regard.
'There are many works Hogwarts doesn't have, some books are warded against copying after all. Grimoires.' the hat provided in his head as Harry passed a pharmacy, wondering what it offered that wasn't available in Diagon Alley.
'Maybe worth a look then,' Harry replied, passing a pub which had a pair of vampires sipping a drink that probably wasn't tomato juice on one of its outside tables. He squinted and identified Borgin & Burkes in the distance. Frankly, he'd passed several second-hand stores already, but maybe it was his sentimentality that made him want to visit the one he'd read about.
"What are ya carrying in that trunk of yous, boy?" A voice suddenly rasped from behind Harry and he was halted in his steps as the trunk he was dragging with him was held down by a strong pair of hands. The boy turned around to look at the ghoulish-looking man who'd grasped at the trunk, wisps of hair floating gently in the air despite there being no wind.
He felt calm, actually, despite the eyes he felt on him. From the vampires, passerbyes and from inside the shops. All looking at how he would react. Well, he'd been dragging the trunk instead of floating it so that he'd have some magic free to incinerate any idiots bothering him, but actually, he had a better idea.
"That wasn't very smart of you," he informed the perhaps attempting robber.
"Why's that," the man asked confusedly, looking down at his hand still latched onto the trunk.
"I warded it with a mind disintegration curse. Should be kicking in any second now. Keep your hands off other people's stuff if you're too incompetent to have developed a magic sense, really," he said blithely, causing the man to let go of the trunk and take a step back, drawing his wand.
"Ya think-" the man started, and then the hat on Harry's head got his cue.
'Ah, you're talking to me,' it said, before extending a tendril, or rather, a lance, at the man who'd so bothered their peaceful walk.
'Something impressive, but not deadly,' Harry cautioned as the ratty man aborted his attempts for a wand, whatever shields he had breaking like an egg on the pavement. He stood straight, rigid, and utterly silent, his face pulled in a rictus of agony. His arms started trembling, his wand clattered to the ground, and then he just collapsed. No sound, but the impact of a body on the floor. A sort of dusty flop. Like a mop being dropped, but without the hilt.
Harry turned around and continued on his way to Burgin & Burges, people now giving him a much wider berth than they had before. He felt a magic signature from behind him dragging off the man who'd put his hands on his trunk. He felt them both retreating into a side alley. He tried not to think about it.
He reached the shop he'd been aiming for. Dusty vitrines facing outwards. Dried tongues, seemingly human, a blood-stained pack of cards, a gigantic grandfather clock showing the time with a pair of bones. He entered, feeling the stares of the evil-looking masks scattered on the walls and the wards he'd just passed through. "Charming," he noted, looking around. Burgin, or was it Burkes? Was involved in a conversation with another customer at the moment. Behind his desk in the middle of his dark magic emporium, he could only see the back of the woman he was arguing with, frilly but expensive-looking dress, blonde hair weaved in a French braid.
He took the opportunity to look around, checking up on the objects available in this demented thrift shop. His magical senses helped him avoid touching stuff that he shouldn't, and he realised that the store probably wouldn't take everything that he'd brought. It seemed to be a bit high-end. So, likely, there were only a few things he had with him he could sell, the others would have to go to other second-hand stores.
He examined a dagger which seemed to be enchanted, not cursed, to hold the blood it extracted in a ball of liquid at its tip. 'For ritual magic,' the hat informed him. It was during this examination that the negotiation at the counter seemed to come to an end.
"Perhaps I'll just take my business somewhere else, in the future," the woman said loudly enough for Harry to make out. He turned around and saw something that made his blood freeze. A little book on the counter. The moment he laid eyes on it he recognized it for what it was. It was actively hiding from him, but he could feel it. Darkness. Evil, for lack of a better word. As the woman, Narcissa Malfoy, presumably, scooped it up and was about to storm out of the store, he was forced to make a split-second decision.
"See if I care, fallen house like yours," Borgin, or Burkes, was in the middle of muttering when Harry stepped up to the counter and slapped down a hand on the diary horcrux before Narcissa could put it back in her purse.
"My, my," he drawled, meeting the woman's eyes as he slowly slid the diary towards himself. "Borgin, or Burkes," he said, turning to the man who was looking him up and down curiously. "I respect your business acumen and your sense of self-preservation for not wanting such an object in your store, or anywhere near you, really, but some things you just have to have. It's history!" he chided.
The old slumped man grunted at him. "History is nice if it doesn't kill you while you sleep. Also, I deal in curiosities," he said with a broad gesture directed at his store. Then he glared at the diary. "Not in abominations."
"Well, I do," Harry said. He was stuck in an unfortunate position. He'd told Dumbledore about the Horcruxes and the man had presumably been doing something. However, this inadvertently led to Narcissa Malfoy trying to get rid of the diary. Hadn't Lucius originally given it to Ginny when Arthur had started putting forth legislation that would allow the search and seizure of homes due to suspicion of the presence of dark artefacts? If she couldn't sell it here, he didn't know what else she would do with it. Perhaps just throw it in the ocean. In which case, they were all fucked anyway since neither Dumbledore nor Harry would be capable of finding it. Voldemort would be actually immortal. The diary was mostly safe as long as one didn't write in it, so Harry couldn't excuse himself from the situation here, saying that it wasn't his problem. He had to take it, so it wouldn't be potentially lost forever.
"Excuse me," Narcissa said coldly. "But the diary is mine."
Harry gave her an annoyed look. Wasn't she supposed to be around 36 years old right now? She was about his age, but still behaving like a child. "Please, you're trying to get rid of evidence. You should be paying me to take this off your hands. The very idea that you thought Burgin, or Burkes would pay you for the privilege of potentially being possessed by this monstrosity is ridiculous."
Narcissa glared at him with her blue eyes, before sniffing aristocratically. "Who are you even?" she demanded, looking disdainfully at his cheap black robes and the tattered trunk he was pulling behind him. Seemingly not satisfied with waiting for the answer she made her second mistake of the day. She tried to probe his mind.
Harry respected the attempt, really. She wasn't even using a wand, seemingly. But as he felt the, in comparison to the hat, little worm of mind magic tried to wiggle into his mind, he got a bit angry. He gripped the probe, mentally and squeezed it, holding it in place. Narcissa shifted her posture from arrogant, to rigid, and tried to retreat. He didn't let go. This was an opportunity to practise against someone who wasn't the hat, and at the same time have it be legitimate self-defence, while also impressing on Borgin, or Burkes, that he wasn't to be messed with. He flayed the upper layer of the probe. Slowly. Narcissa flinched. He incinerated the next one and she reeled back. Then he crushed what remained.
"Ha- have it then," she spat with a stutter, turned around and rushed out of the store. Harry was lucky she'd tried to face him in the only field he could have trounced her in. He would have lost a duel, but occlumency was where he'd made real efforts to shine for quite a while now.
He looked at the ancient man behind the counter, now looking at him warily. "Women," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.
The old man cracked a grin. Misogyny, the attitude that allowed generations to connect. Beautiful, really.
"I'm Burkes," the old man grunted, looking at the diary that Harry had trapped under his hand. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked warily.
Harry picked up the Horcrux and put it in his inner breast pocket. He didn't quite know what he was going to do with the thing yet, other than keep it very far away from himself until he found a way to give it to Dumbledore. Had the man tried to search the Malfoy residence through legal means? Instead of simply breaking in and taking it? The diadem was gone, presumably destroyed, but Harry was starting to get worried about what kind of tactics the headmaster had been using to get a hold of the other Horcruxes.
He couldn't really speak those plans aloud though, if he said loudly in the presence of the diary that he wanted to destroy it, it would throw everything it had at trying to possess Harry, or escape, never to appear again. Already he felt a light brush against his occlumency. But, in comparison to the hat, it was nothing. He batted it away and the attempt stopped. He felt the Horcrux draw in on itself. "It's a fascinating magical artefact," Harry thus said. "I can feel the power inside it, probably quite important really. Considering that we both know that the owner isn't as gone as some would believe, perhaps it would be good to hand it over once they resurface. I'm sure a finder's fee could be arranged." He said. He wasn't sure how, but he somehow felt the diary relax at his words.
At the end of the day, the thing was just a very dark and powerful artefact controlled by the mind of a quite frankly, mentally ill 16-year-old. It was only as strong as its weakest link.
Burke looked at him doubtfully, probably thinking correctly that Harry had no other fate than death if he ever walked up to Voldemort and gave him back his school diary, thus revealing he knew the man's real identity. "Well, you have it all figured out," the man mumbled. "How did you recognize it?" he asked suspiciously.
Harry, knowing he had to upkeep a certain image in this situation, simply snorted. "Is any wizard worth their name incapable of developing the ability to sense magic after they graduate Hogwarts?" he asked rhetorically.
The shop owner, who probably possessed the ability himself; how else would he know what to buy or sell, idly nodded. "Well, I guess we are both worthy of the name then," he mused with a chuckle. "However, speaking about names…" he trailed off with a pointed look.
Having witnessed what had happened to Narcissa, and obviously being smart enough to connect the dots on how well a mental invasion was likely to go, thus there was nothing to the look. But, it was penetrating enough. Watery blue eyes perhaps hinted at age, but that wasn't anything to underestimate someone over. Especially an old, probable dark wizard like Burkes.
"You can call me Charon," Harry said, already having predicted that he would need a fake identity if anyone asked him to introduce himself.
"A fake name for a fake body." Was the reply to that.
Harry, or rather Charon, just smirked. "What is all this attachment to the original when it is so much more fun to be anyone you want?" He refused to be drawn into a discussion about his identity. He was here to sell some stuff. "But I didn't come here to discuss philosophy, or to divest foolish noblewomen of their powerful artefacts. This is a pawn shop, and I recently came upon an interesting room holding some curiosities."
"A pawnshop," Burkes muttered, offended. "We deal in antiques and artefacts, not second-hand books on beginner potions." He crooked a finger upwards. "But show your wares, Charon. A wizard of your quality probably found at least something interesting."
Charon bent down, lifted up the trunk and slammed the whole thing on the table. It was an old ratty and partially dusty thing. It fit in perfectly with the vibe of the store. Burkes didn't even flinch and simply watched as Harry unlatched the trunk. A bunch of items were revealed, most of them in a bad state. But, Harry's magical senses and his own wits told him that there were at least some things he'd dared take from the room of requirement that Burkes would likely be interested in. He hovered a hand over the trunk, and through telekinesis unearthed the first treasure. A little black statue. One of those horrible jagged and bronze things that artists copying Giacometti liked to make. This one was thin as a rail and was holding out its hands as if trying to encompass the world. It was cursed, badly. Dark magic. Harry hadn't been able to identify what it did exactly, but he did know that its effect radiated outwards to those who had insufficient mental defences.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Harry asked, despite not knowing at all what the thing fucking was. "Its effect radiates outwards to encompass the whole room if you let it."
Burkes warily eyed the statue as it hovered in front of his face. He bent down and seemed to search for something under his counter, before coming back up with a pair of leather gloves which he used to pick the thing out of the air. "Seems to be an amateur and modern rendition of the seven deadly sin statues," he muttered.
Harry nodded, pretending that he knew what that meant.
'A series created by a mad catholic wizard in the 9th century. He created seven cursed statues which caused an area-wide effect related to the sin. He believed it would show who was truly devoted, as any true Christian should have been able to refuse indulging in sin. However, his madness was too great and the curses became too powerful. Anyone who spent too long in the presence of the statues died without fail. Either gorging, copulating, or sleeping themselves to death. I think his name was Aelfred?' the hat helpfully provided.
Harry immediately used that information. "Perhaps it's an attempt to fake an 8th statue having been created, or just proof of concept. Anyway, while we both know that Aelfred would be rolling in his grave at such a 'weak' curse being used to truly test the faithful, the thing in itself is still quite strong and interesting."
Burkes looked at him suspiciously. "Oddly well informed, but yes. There have been many fakes created over the years. However the issue is, copies lose value to the originals no matter how well made, and this isn't even well-made."
"Lower your defences and test it?" Harry prompted. "If you go insane in some way we can agree it's well-made and you pay more, if you don't, then less is fine by me."
The old man snorted in amusement and pulled out his wand, casting some silent and quick charms on the statue. "I would say it’s a medium-strength curse. The craftsmanship is… Too muggle to be quite frank, to interest my clientele much. I'd give 50 galleons for it."
Harry snorted, but on the inside, he was boggling. 50 galleons was a lot. "I call bullshit, but let me keep showing you stuff. If we can't agree on a price for a single one of the items we're discussing I'll take the lot of them and sell them elsewhere. 50 galleons," he muttered derogatorily.
Burkes put down the statue on the counter next to the trunk and waved him on to keep going. Harry picked another item from the pile, levitating it up. It was a book, old, for sure. Burkes' eyes lit up when he saw that it was untitled and he quickly snatched it out of the air to peruse its pages.
"It's a grimoire," Harry said. Grimoires were the accumulated secret research results and spells of entire groups or families that went unpublished to keep an advantage over their competitors. This one had belonged to some dark family that had been extinct for a while, and Harry had no idea how it had come to the room of hidden things, and how Voldemort hadn't taken it. It was filled with spells on torture and other dark magics. Useless to Harry, since he wasn't interested in learning dark magic, and furthermore, didn't believe he needed more than the three Unforgivables if he ever decided to do so. "It's mostly shit we all know already, but I imagine there's some purebloods out there who like collecting stuff like that. Have a secret little library full of grimoires from dead families. It's about the feeling, not the usefulness of the spells."
"The Syracuses," the shopkeeper said. "Extinguished in the mind wars of the 17th century. Everybody and their mother was learning occlumency when a prodigy published a book on how to defend one's mind. New tools for information gathering were being created. The Syracuses mostly focused on novel torture methods that didn't risk the victim going insane and thus useless halfway through the process." He paused. "15 galleons. A decent addition to someone's collection, as you said, but of no real value magically."
Harry nodded along. 15 galleons was actually a decent price in his opinion. Nowadays large compendiums on magic went for one galleon in a normal bookstore, if it was really extensive and well-researched. "It would be ten times more valuable if the magic inside was anything but a pile of rubbish," he agreed. "Twenty is a good price, a bit higher than what you offered, but that's because I know exactly that you have a list of pureblood families that still exist, are your clients, and had a feud with the Syracuses when they still existed. Having one of their grimoires is just the icing on the cake. Just from spite alone, they won't be able to resist."
Burkes hesitated at his words, before putting the thing down next to the statue with a sigh. "I agree, unfortunately. I know just the person who'd go for a sentimental purchase like this."
Harry pulled out the next thing from the trunk. "A blood quill," he said, simply, putting it down next to the statue and the book. "I'd say five galleons. Don't really make them anymore but it's hardly that special. Some dark families would probably like one to discipline their children with." Then he pulled out the last truly interesting item. A cursed dagger, it was a curved and ugly thing, serrated to look like it was the jaw of some beast. The effect was similar to the statue in power but more localised.
He actually knew exactly what this was, and by the widening of Burkes' eyes, so did he. Harry had found similar daggers during his research into curse-breaking. There had been a collection made by a Hungarian witch in the 16th century. 72 daggers, knives and swords. A work of a lifetime. "One of the 72, if I identified it correctly. Seems to be a late one as well," he said, spinning the dagger so the bottom of the hilt was pointed at Burkes. He wanted to show the stylised R and the number 59 on there, the calling card of the creator. She'd been a genius, of a sort. Her most famous dagger had the mystifying effect that the wounds it created appeared on the people most closely related to the victim. It had been used to cull entire families before it was confiscated and destroyed by the person who'd been using it. Another creation turned whoever it was used to harm against everyone the person, or animal, or creature, had previously considered allies.
The dagger that Harry had brought didn't have such a crazy effect. Or else, despite his hesitation to get involved with dark magic, he would have kept it for himself. Not, it had the mostly harmless, harmless in the way that the same effect could be created through a spell, the effect of mummifying the person it killed. It was probably meant to help prep the body to be turned into an inferi. But since the whole process could also work manually, probably just as fast, he didn't have any qualms about anyone getting their hands on the thing. What were they going to do? Use to create an army of inferi they were going to create anyway? There were places where well-preserved bodies were kept for any necromancer to take advantage of. They were called graveyards.
The doors to the shop suddenly closed behind Harry as Burkes raised a hand. He glanced back to see that the sign had switched, now showing him the open sign, and whomever was outside the closed side of it. He turned around to raise an eyebrow at Burkes, who was reverently holding the dagger, before frowning.
"I'm not going to try and cheat someone capable enough to get their hands on one of these," the man said. "The issue is I don't have enough liquidity to buy it," he admitted. "Would you be willing to trade?" he asked, looking at him intently.
"I'm not principally against the idea," Harry admitted. "But you seem to focus quite heavily on dark magic. I'm not really interested in that, I find using emotions to fuel magic disdainful." Negative ones, at least, he added in his head.
'You should probably take the deal even if you don't walk away with exactly what you want,' the hat cautioned in his head. 'He seems to want it a lot and might be willing to attack you for it. Usually, it would be fine with my help, but we are in the wards of this shop, and they probably aren't overly pleasant.'
Harry mentally agreed. Burkes scratched at his chin and started pacing around, dagger still in hand. "With dark magic, you mean only the part that necessitates emotional fuel. Not all the additional stuff the ministry bans just because they're a bunch of morons, right?" the man eventually asked.
"Yeah, I'm obviously proficient in the mind arts, and a plethora of other things the ministry wouldn't want me to know anything about," Harry said. "Are you thinking of offering me books?" he asked, at which Borkes slowly nodded.
"I know you're not interested in collecting things for no reason. Otherwise, you wouldn't be selling me what you're selling. Knowledge is useful, however," the man said.
It probably helped that Burke wouldn't really lose out on anything if he gave Harry a bunch of books. After all, he would have had ample time to copy them all by now. But, in a way, Harry would appreciate the books more than gold. He would get a lot of it, probably, anyway. Some things money couldn't buy, and Burkes probably didn't use the book deal a lot, he didn't want to create powerful dark wizards just running around wildly in Britain, which was why none of this supposed library was on display.
"I like books, the thing is, I have quite a nice library myself," Harry said, musing how sucky it would be if he ended up getting replicas of stuff available in the forbidden section.
Burkes chuckled. "I think you underestimate me, boy."
"Boy?" Harry queried. "I could be older than you for all you know."
"Nobody born older than me would use the word 'yeah,'" the man snorted.
"Just because someone is old doesn't mean they can't live in an environment that forces them to evolve their language," Harry said with a roll of the eyes but conceded the point. "Before we get to the books, let me tell you the physical items I would be interested in if you had any," he said, causing the shopkeep to perk up.
"What are you interested in?" he asked, "I have a fascinating deck of cards that allows you to divine the future by sacrificing muggle eyes. Very efficient resource management." The assumption here was that Harry killed lots of muggles anyway, and had up until now not had any use for the eyes, and was thus wasting them.
"Well, I was more thinking something along the lines of," Harry started, before pausing. "Basilisk venom." If Burkes had any, then he could get rid of the diary immediately. Unfortunately, the man shook his head, giving him a queer look. "That would probably be more valuable than the dagger," the man muttered.
"Sad," Harry said. "But anyway, do you have any vanishing cabinets?" he asked instead, at which point Burkes' eyes lit up, before dimming.
The man obviously knew that Harry would be able to tell immediately if the thing was broken. "I have one, but not the pair. Can’t go through either. The other one must be broken." he admitted.
"I'll take it anyway," Harry said. The action might prevent an attack on Hogwarts in the future. He would be able to shrink it, right? If not then he would just have to come back for it later. It was a big fucking thing made from wood, how had the original Draco lugged this thing around? It didn't even fit in the floo.
While he was worrying about that, Burkes simply nodded, seemingly pleased.
Harry looked at him expectantly. Their eyes locked. The younger of the two developed an eyebrow twitch. "Go get the books man, one broken and unpaired vanishing cabinet isn't nearly enough to clear your tab," he muttered darkly, and the shop-keep scurried off.
While Burkes was gone Harry examined the rest of the items on sale. With not very many exceptions they were dark somehow. Either they harmed the user or helped the user harm someone else. Harry didn't see the point, really. If he wanted to harm someone he didn't need a cursed spear to do so, he could just blast them in the face with a disarming jinx.
'It's from another era, this focus on curses. Most of their effects can be replicated by wand magic these days, but back then having a cursed spear was pretty good since you only knew a few select spells anyway. It seems mostly tradition now, to create these items and to put value on them.'
"Culture, basically," Harry muttered, not finding anything of real use. Sure, there were some interesting things, like the hand of glory which could help a thief in the dark. But, Harry already had a quickly developing magical sense, what did he need a candle for? It was mostly curiosities and collectables. Just like antiques in the muggle world. Was a table from the 16th century more useful than one of the same material from the current century? No, but if the old one belonged to the queen of England, it would go for tens of thousands of pounds. The new one could be commissioned for a few hundred. The only real use of cursed items like this was to attempt an assassination. However, anyone difficult to assassinate wouldn't be done in by a cursed necklace, while everyone who would actually fall for the old nursed necklace trick, would just as likely die to a killing curse in the back.
Shuffling steps alerted Harry of the return of Burkes, who was carrying a small mountain of books with him. About 13, mostly fairly thick tomes stacked up in his arms? Why wasn't he levitating them? Harry extended his senses as he came back to the counter and saw and felt that the books were protected against tampering. Perhaps a good practice object for his future enchantment-breaking sessions.
"I left out the ones on dark magic," the man muttered as he spread the books out on the table. Most of them still had quite ominous titles regardless. 'A Complete Guide on Obliviation,' was the shortest book available. It turned something in Harry's stomach so he promptly shoved it back towards Burkes.
"No need for that," he muttered, letting the man assume what he wanted. Perhaps he thought Harry was already a master at obliviation, the truth was he simply hated the spell and wished it had never existed.
'That one looks interesting,' the hat said, pointing towards a large book in lime green. 'A compendium of the mind arts, defence and offence, an arms war,' by Zorian Kazinscki. Harry picked it up, opening it at a random page.
"Good eye," Burkes praised. "Zorian was an infamous wizard specialising in mind magic in the 18th century. He was Polish, and this is the only copy that was translated into English. Some say he taught Grindelwald himself, but that his pupil killed him once he'd learned everything the man had to teach."
Harry read a few passages and noted that this wasn't just a compendium, but a full-on instruction manual on the mind arts.
'Would be nice to see how the field developed. I'm hardly the end all be all of the mind arts. Perhaps even a bit outdated,' Chanithachuah admitted.
Harry pulled the book towards him. "I'm taking this one," he said, before examining the rest. 'Fire that burns,' looked interesting, and a short analysis showed that it had clear instructions for fiendfyre as well. He took it so that he could destroy the diary himself if necessary. He pushed away all the books on potions, of which there were three. They probably didn't have anything Penny would want to know about if Burkes was selling them. And, it would be a bit hard to explain where, how and why he'd gotten the 'All the poisons in the world and how to use them.'
His hand hovered over a book on ritual magic. Voldemort had used a ritual to come back from the grave, he decided it would perhaps be good to know something about it. He took that one. The rest were, oddly enough, history books. "The ministry does love their editing of history, but as much as I'm curious, I'm not that curious," he muttered but ended up taking one of them anyway. He looked up at Burkes who was looking down at the pile and the selection Harry had made. "These five books, the vanishing cabinet and 500 galleons. The statue is worth 200, the book 20, the blood quill 5 and the dagger 775 to round things off nicely. Pay one-third of it with cash along with the other items, while each of the other things you're giving me clears 100 galleons of the debt."
Burkes nodded, probably because he was getting a good deal. But he had a sour expression on his face. "I can only put forward 450," he said, notedly not arguing about the price of the statue. Harry had known that the man had been fucking with him.
"Well, what else do you have to offer me?" Harry asked blithely. "I'm feeling gracious so you can give me a curiosity and a wand and we'll call it even."
"I have a book on time magic, very illegal, very impossible. Just a bunch of kooky theories that never lead anywhere. The author claims he used to work for the Unspeakables, but I can't imagine how considering the stupidity he spouts. Bunch of nonsense about sands of time," the old man grunted.
Harry paused. "I've honestly never looked into the topic, but sure, bring it."
Sands of time, he mused internally. Now wasn't that something he'd heard before?
Burkes came back with the book alongside a fistful of wands. Harry took the book and hovered his hand over the wands, emitting magic to try to find a good vibration. A longish black wand ended up being the best match and he promptly picked it up. He went over to shrink the vanishing cabinet, which took him most of his concentration and energy. It was immensely difficult to shrink magical objects, and perhaps this one only worked because vanishing cabinets were supposed to be shrinkable anyway. How else were people supposed to transport them? If it was inadvisable to shrink, then it was probably a very bad idea to apparate with the thing.
When he came back to the counter, he found that Burkes had removed everything off it that Harry hadn't purchased, and was rummaging through the trunk Harry had brought.
"Useless knick-knacks, all of it," the man grunted. "You can probably get five galleons for the lot? But you'll have to sell them individually and barter for every sickle." He passed Harry a heavy coin pouch, bulging, literally, and the size of the bag matched something one would use to shop for food. Looking inside confirmed that it was a lot of fucking gold. Real too.
"Five galleons are five galleons I guess, nice making your acquaintance, old man," Harry said, quickly clearing away the books he'd gotten into the trunk. He went for the exit, but Burkes stopped him.
"Come back if you find more interesting stuff," the man said. "But not before you've gotten rid of that dairy, don't want that thing in my store ever again." That was apparently the goodbye, and Harry left.
He was in a bit of a pickle now, because he'd miscalculated. He thought he'd go to the pawn shop to get rid of all his illicit goods, and go to Tonks with a bag of money. Now he not only had a bag of money, but also a horcrux, a vanishing cabinet, and five very illegal and banned books. And he was bringing them to the house of his friend who wanted to be an auror…
Before he could properly think of the dilemma, however, Harry noted that once he exited the store, he wasn't really alone. A woman was waiting for him. A blonde one and she wasn't Skeeter.
Comments
bor902
Fixed both. Chapter 66 is now included at the start of 67 so I don't have to create a new post. Thanks for pointing it out!
Cristian
Chapter 66 is missing
EmikoIto
Narcissa sure has some balls, to be selling a horcrux in the middle of the day... not even in disguise, lol.
Thomas Brusilovsky
I always appreciate the Mother of Learning references. Crazy influential story
carebear90
Zorian Kazinscki... that was an unexpected but very nice reference! Will there be mentiones of mindreading spiders? ^^ As soon as you described the Woman arguing with Burkes in the beginning, I kinda expected it to be Narcissa trying to get rid of the Diary, at least temporarily. No idea why. I just assumed after reading about the upcoming searches of private collections in the paper. Very fitting.
Hawk
Tftc!
bor902
I'm an obvious guy
bor902
Sad sad, shouldn't have been naughty. What would Santa say?
Izaya Silman
I wanna say it's Narcissa that's waiting for him but that's probably to obvious to be true.
xPYROTECHx
Is Draco gonna be calling someone Daddy soon? Otherwise, good chapter. Nice to get a look at what our boy is gonna be learning during his summer break.
Green0Photon
Green0Photon was a naughty boy who this a week ago, when he realized a few days after the prior chapter came out that he was able to read it when it was briefly emailed and taken down. Naughty naughty. I assume the blonde woman at the end is Narcissa? She's canonically blonde, though her hair isn't described earlier in the chapter. Sad that it's going to be me continuing to wait for another Harry Evans chapter. 😢
