Chapter 69: Real Combat in Knockturn Alley
Regulus moved a little closer to Orion and lowered his voice.
"Someone is following us. Four of them. Two under Disillusionment Charms on the front left, and two near the alley entrance. One might be a werewolf."
Orion did not stop walking. He did not even turn his head. He only gave the slightest nod.
He had noticed them long ago.
From the moment they entered this side alley, those gazes had clung to them like flies.
With Orion's decades of experience navigating the wizarding world, this level of tailing was almost laughable. It was obvious, full of holes, and failed even the most basic standards of concealment.
Low level rubbish.
That was Orion's private judgement. They were most likely the dregs of Knockturn Alley, Dark wizards who could not survive anywhere else.
Unable to find proper work or afford proper materials, they lurked in remote alleys like this, waiting for a lone fat sheep to rob.
They probably did not even know who he was.
Anyone with a little sense, seeing the Black family crest on his robes and a face that appeared often enough in the Wizengamot pages of The Daily Prophet, ought to know he was not someone to provoke.
Still, if they did not recognise him, that worked just as well.
A tidy bit of waste disposal.
They finished inspecting the last shop, an underground clinic dealing in smuggled magical creature organs.
The shopkeeper was a former St Mungo's Healer, dismissed for illegal experiments and now continuing his research in Knockturn Alley.
As he escorted them to the door, he dropped his voice and said, "There are a few people outside who look wrong. They have been following you for three blocks. Want me to deal with them?"
As he spoke, he twirled a small knife through his fingers. The blade was thin as a cicada wing and shimmered blue in the dim light, clearly coated in poison.
Orion shook his head.
"No need."
Then he turned to Regulus.
"You handle it."
Regulus looked up at him, waiting for more.
"This is a rare chance to experience real combat," Orion said, in the same tone one might use to assign homework. "This sort of brainless bottom tier rubbish is not always available. Even in Knockturn Alley, anyone with half a mind would recognise the Head of the House of Black. Since they do not, it is the perfect chance for you to practise."
He added, "Watch your footing, and do not make too much noise. No one polices this area, but Aurors from the Ministry of Magic sometimes patrol through. It is a nuisance if we are caught."
Regulus nodded.
In truth, he had wanted to try this for a long time.
When sparring with Orion, he always felt somewhat constrained. It was not because he feared injuring his father. With Orion's strength, Regulus could not do that yet.
It was because some methods were simply too crude for a father and son duel.
The Dark Arts he had learned from dangerous books, for instance, especially the ones that leaned towards torture and control.
Or those near vicious applications of Transfiguration based on his understanding of matter itself.
Those were not suitable for family sparring.
They were, however, perfectly suitable for Knockturn Alley scum.
When they stepped out of the shop, the four people tailing them became visibly tense.
The two hidden under Disillusionment Charms on the front left shrank deeper into the shadows. At the far end of the alley, the werewolf let out a low whine in his throat, and the other wizard with the colder magical signature tightened his grip on his wand.
Regulus first assessed the surroundings.
The alley was remote, secluded even by Knockturn Alley standards.
Most buildings on either side were abandoned, their windows boarded shut. Dark moss climbed the walls. The ground was broken and uneven, full of foul puddles and stinking runoff.
There were no other pedestrians in sight.
Only a few rats nosed through rubbish.
A perfect battlefield.
Regulus walked ten paces forward alone and stopped in the middle of the alley.
Then he turned to face the corner on the front left where discarded crates were piled high.
"Come out," he said calmly. "Your Disillusionment Charms are dreadful. There is no point hiding."
The two figures in the corner stiffened.
Two seconds later, the Disillusionment Charms dropped.
Two wizards stepped from the shadows in ragged robes, black cloths tied over their faces so only their eyes showed. Their wands were already out, pointed at Regulus.
"Smart kid," said the taller wizard on the left, voice rough. "Hand over your money and valuables, then get lost."
The shorter, stouter one beside him added, "And your old man's too. Hand over everything."
Regulus did not bother replying.
His right hand lifted. His wand slid into his palm, and he attacked at once.
A spell slammed into the ground at their feet.
Confringo.
Silent and unseen, but the force of it was violent.
The sewage filled puddles exploded instantly. Filthy water and gravel burst upward and hammered both wizards, making them throw up their arms to shield themselves.
Regulus shifted half a step left, toes barely brushing the stones, and his body glided forward with startling lightness.
At the same time, his wand traced three arcs through the air.
Three spells flew out almost together, each on a different path.
The first was a Binding Curse. Magic condensed into a semi transparent rope studded with barbs. Once it wrapped around a target, the more they struggled, the deeper it bit. It also drank blood as it tightened.
The rope shot at the tall wizard.
The second was a Severing Charm. Magic thinned into a blade fine as paper, its edge vibrating fast enough to produce a faint shrill hum.
This version did more than cut flesh. It also disrupted magical flow at the wound, making the injury much harder to mend.
It spun through the air at the stout wizard's wand hand.
The third spell was the most subtle.
It struck the wall behind them.
Ripples spread across the stone like water, and then the entire surface softened and transformed.
The wall became smooth and reflective, like a mirror.
When the tall wizard saw the barbed rope flying at him, he instinctively threw himself backward.
He crashed directly into the transformed wall.
The mirror surface swallowed him on contact.
His body sank into it as though it were liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, he only produced ripples. He could not break free.
In the same instant, the rope coiled around his left leg.
The barbs bit in and began drawing blood.
The tall wizard screamed and slashed wildly with his wand, trying to cut himself free.
But the situation on the stout wizard's side was worse.
The Severing Charm was too fast.
He barely brought up his wand to defend. His Protego was only half formed when the blade cut across his right wrist.
At first there was only a thin red line.
Then his hand lost all strength at once.
His wand dropped from his fingers. Beads of blood welled along the cut, and his face drained white.
"My hand!" he shrieked, clutching his wrist. "Aaaargh!"
At the mouth of the alley, the werewolf and the cold faced wizard saw their companions overwhelmed and rushed in immediately.
The werewolf ran on all fours with terrifying speed, the whine in his throat turning into a beast's growl.
He could not fully transform, but his teeth were sharpening, his fingernails lengthening and darkening, and blood red was seeping into his eyes.
The cold faced wizard moved wide to the side, whipping his wand through the air and muttering a long string of clumsy incantations.
More than a dozen black ice shards formed around him, each one pointed at Regulus.
He slashed his wand down.
The shards shot forward together.
Regulus did not even look at them.
He flicked his left hand aside, and an invisible barrier unfolded in the air.
The instant the black ice struck it, their paths twisted violently. Every shard veered off, screamed past Regulus, and buried itself in the wall behind him, exploding into sprays of black frost.
At the same moment, Regulus's right hand snapped towards the charging werewolf.
Transfiguration.
The target was the air the werewolf was breathing.
When the werewolf was still ten metres away, the tip of Regulus's wand glimmered with a faint silver light.
The werewolf opened his mouth and dragged in a deep breath for the final lunge, chest expanding as his body prepared to surge.
Nothing happened.
The air entering his lungs no longer behaved as air should. It failed to do what it was meant to do.
His eyes widened at once, bloodshot and bulging.
His speed faltered.
His limbs lost strength.
Even so, a werewolf's resistance was stronger than an ordinary wizard's. Without a full transformation, his body still carried monstrous resilience.
Driven by instinct, he forced himself onward, lunging with his right claws extended for Regulus's throat.
Regulus did not retreat.
He stood where he was and made a sharp cutting motion with his left hand.
Clang!
A clear metallic crack rang out.
A patch of silvery white light burst into existence in front of him.
Of the werewolf's five black claws, the longest snapped off at the base. The other four split and cracked. The tips shattered away and spun through the air before clattering across the stones.
The werewolf's entire right paw jerked backward.
A crisp break sounded from his wrist.
He screamed and staggered, dragging the ruined hand back against his chest. Dark red blood dripped from his fingertips and struck the stone in scattered droplets.
The pain alone was enough to break his momentum.
Combined with the earlier oxygen deprivation, it finished him.
He dropped to his knees, bracing himself with both hands, mouth hanging open as he tried desperately to breathe.
But what he drew in was still useless.
The violent exertion had already burned through his remaining oxygen.
His body began to convulse.
His face turned from red to blue, then from blue to a deep, ugly purple.
His eyes bulged.
A rattling death sound scraped out of his throat.