The next day, the sun struggled to pierce London's perennial thin fog, casting its meager light across the grimy windows of the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry still woke up early and ate a simple breakfast in the pub.
The oppressive feeling brought on by Fudge the night before had not fully dissipated, but the news of Ron and Hermione's imminent arrival supported him like a faint but steady light.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder, his wand hidden in his sleeve, ready to be drawn. Noctis silently landed on his shoulder, its cold weight constantly reminding him of his mission—bait.
Stepping into Knockturn Alley once more, Harry's senses were sharper than they had been the day before.
He forced himself to slow his pace, his gaze casually sweeping over the dim shop signs on both sides and the depths of the narrow alley.
He could feel countless eyes fixed on him, filled with scrutiny, greed, and even undisguised malice.
Some gazes lingered briefly on the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, then turned even more complex and dangerous.
Noctis perched steadily on his shoulder, its obsidian-like eyes scanning the surroundings with precision, occasionally turning its head, as if assessing every suspicious figure.
Harry's heart pounded, and the hand gripping his wand was slick with cold sweat.
Every chill gust of wind blowing from the mouth of a side alley made him tense, half-expecting a disheveled, wild-eyed shadow to leap out at him.
He repeatedly recalled Sagres's words: "Stay vigilant," and "Emotions are a distraction."
He controlled his breathing, forcing himself to look like an ordinary teenager idly curious about Dark Arts items, even as his green eyes remained taut with tension.
He passed the eerie display window of Borgin and Burkes, where various bizarre antiques were showcased.
He detoured around several Wizards whispering over a deal in a corner, who immediately fell silent when they noticed him. He even paused briefly at a stall piled with rusty cauldrons and strange plant roots, where the vendor—an old Witch missing several teeth—scrutinized him like merchandise, her cloudy eyes appraising as she let out a hoarse laugh.
Time ticked by second after second, each one stretching unnaturally long.
The oppressive atmosphere of Knockturn Alley and the constant sensation of being watched washed over him like a cold tide, steadily wearing down Harry's nerves.
Noctis remained highly alert but gave no special warning or reaction.
When Harry finally escaped the suffocating confines of Knockturn Alley and returned to the comparatively "bright" entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, a bone-deep weariness settled over him.
The sunlight chased away some of the chill, but it could not dispel the heaviness in his chest, nor the faint disappointment.
Black still had not appeared.
Harry went back to his room and collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted.
Noctis flew from his shoulder to the top of the wardrobe, resuming its silent vigil.
Harry closed his eyes, the sinister gazes and grim sights of Knockturn Alley still swirling endlessly in his mind.
Sirius Black… where are you? When will you finally appear?
With these thoughts, Harry fell into a deep sleep.
…
Days passed, one after another, stretched taut like a drawn string.
Harry followed Sagres's plan with mechanical precision.
Every morning, he appeared punctually at the Leaky Cauldron's breakfast table. After that, he would step into the sunlit Diagon Alley for a brief respite, and in the afternoon, unfailingly enter the spine-chilling depths of Knockturn Alley.
More than ten days passed like this. More than ten days of repetition, and more than ten days ...without results... tch.
Every time he set foot in Knockturn Alley, the sensation of being watched by countless unseen eyes lurking in the shadows made his scalp prickle.
Noctis was his only reassurance. The raven's dark eyes silently conveyed a single message: the Professor is watching.
Harry forced himself to keep his head high and his steps steady, but whenever malicious whispers brushed past him or cold gazes swept over him, his heart still thudded wildly in his chest.
He didn't dare linger too long before any strange shop, let alone enter one. He wandered the narrow cobblestone path like a lost soul.
He kept an iron grip on his spending.
The mountain of gold in his Gringotts vault seemed to have become a distant illusion.
In Diagon Alley, aside from basic necessities and the cheapest ice cream—which became the only indulgence he allowed himself each day—he barely spared a glance for the tempting goods displayed in shop windows, especially the Firebolt that still haunted his dreams.
However, it was precisely this restraint—so out of place for a teenager lingering on the most bustling commercial street in the Wizarding world—that drew the attention of certain shadows.
A teenager who appeared with clockwork regularity for over ten days, lingered only briefly in the sunlit areas, ignored the dazzling array of merchandise, and repeatedly ventured deep into Knockturn Alley… that alone was suspicious.
Even more strangely, some had seen him coming out of Gringotts, had noticed the bulge of his money pouch. That was more than enough to nourish greedy thoughts in the darkness.
That afternoon, the sun once again bathed Diagon Alley in a lazy glow.
Harry, as usual, paused at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, breathing in the familiar scent of ink as his gaze swept over the new-term textbooks displayed in the window.
He didn't buy ice cream as he had on previous days; his only thought was to begin his afternoon "patrol" as quickly as possible.
He failed to notice that, at the entrance of the sweet-smelling shop beside the bookstore, two familiar figures were emerging, each laden with a towering stack of new books.
"Hey! Is that Harry?" Ron, sharp-eyed as ever, pointed at the slender back that was just about to turn away from the bookstore.
Hermione followed his line of sight and caught only a fleeting glimpse of Harry's profile as he disappeared into the crowd—along with the direction he was hurrying toward: the dark, narrow entrance to Knockturn Alley.
The surprise on Ron and Hermione's faces froze the instant they saw where Harry was heading.
"What's he doing in Knockturn Alley?"
Hermione's voice was tight with strain. She deftly stuffed the stack of books into a bottle enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, her face full of shock and worry.
"That place is far too dangerous!"
"Maybe he's just cutting through?" Ron guessed, though his tone lacked confidence.
"Impossible! He was walking so fast, so deliberately!"
Hermione made up her mind in an instant. "We're following him. It's far too dangerous for him to be alone!"
Without waiting for Ron's response, she immediately hurried after Harry in the direction he had gone.
…
Harry forced himself to step once more into the suffocating depths of Knockturn Alley.
He took a deep breath, repeating silently to himself: Black could be hiding in some corner. For his parents, he had to endure.
He deliberately slowed his pace.
After so many days of near-numb observation, the initial fear had indeed dulled; at the very least, he no longer constantly imagined a shriveled hand reaching out from the cracks of those dark shop doors to drag him inside.
And yet today, the moment he entered the alley, a strange sensation crept over him—like cold vines slowly wrapping around his heart.
He had a constant sensation that someone was following him.
Several times he turned sharply, his gaze cutting through the twisted alleyways and shifting shadows behind him. He even instinctively glanced at Mr. Noctis on his shoulder, searching for confirmation.
But the dark bird merely crouched there in silence, its small eyes keenly scanning the surroundings, giving no special warning.
Harry could only force down the rising unease and continue deeper into the alley, thick with the stench of mold and strange potions.
He reached a relatively secluded corner where the towering, crooked shops on either side nearly blocked out the sky, leaving the light here especially scarce.
A powerful intuition seized him.
His heart slammed in his chest, and almost instinctively he whipped out his wand and spun around.
But the moment he saw who it was, all color drained from his face. Incredulous shock and sharp panic flooded his eyes.
"Hermione? Ron?! What are you doing here? How did you get here?" His voice shook as he blurted, "Get out! It's too dangerous!"
"Dangerous? So, you know it's dangerous?" Hermione snapped, anxiety and anger mixing together. Ignoring her fear, she stepped forward and grabbed Harry. "What are you doing, Harry? Why are you coming to this horrible place? And Mr. Noctis… you are here too? What is hap—"
"Now isn't the time for this!" Harry cut in urgently, his eyes sweeping the darkened doorways and narrow crevices around them. "You have to leave immediately—"
Before he could finish, a strange voice drifted out of the darkness, cold and venomous like a viper, catching them completely off guard.
"Did you hear that? They want to leave."
As the words faded, several tall, burly figures seemed to peel themselves from the shadows of the buildings, or condense out of the foul air itself.
They moved soundlessly, blocking the path the trio had come from as well as the exit of the narrow side alley.
Greasy, dark cloaks enveloped their bodies, hoods drawn low enough to reveal only the lower halves of their faces.
On those exposed faces were all manner of unpleasant sights: twisted scars, yellowed teeth, and openly greedy, malicious grins.
________
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