Diagon Alley bustled with activity as the great Lord Voldemort walked through the crowded streets.
He had wrapped his head and face in cloth and bandages, preventing anyone from seeing his true appearance.
But this concealed appearance practically screamed "there's something wrong with me," which resulted in not a single person in the lively Diagon Alley being willing to approach him.
That suited Voldemort perfectly.
If the hounds of the Ministry of Magic caught his scent, they would immediately pounce on him. In the past, Voldemort would never have minded people coming to throw their lives away. But now things were different. He had lost the ability to cast magic and could no longer afford such trouble.
The reason Voldemort had risked coming to Diagon Alley was naturally to obtain a wand.
The injuries left on his body by that mysterious powerhouse had mostly healed already, but the violent magical power still interfered with the flow of his magic, leaving Voldemort incapable of casting spells without a wand.
However, if he could get his hands on a wand, everything would change.
As a master of spellcraft, Voldemort naturally understood what a wand meant to a wizard. It represented the leap from nothing to something, from zero to one. It was a qualitative transformation in spellcasting ability. Wandless magic and wand-assisted magic were completely different concepts.
Naturally, Voldemort could not swagger openly into Ollivanders and choose a wand for himself, so he turned his attention toward the shops in Diagon Alley that sold second-hand goods. Those places sold used wands.
The origins of those wands were, more or less, questionable.
After all, the importance of a wand to a wizard was self-evident. The wands that appeared in such places generally came from only two sources: damaged and discarded wands that had later been repaired, or wands taken from the dead.
"How much?"
Voldemort stared fixedly at the second-hand wands piled in the corner of the shop. In the past, he would have dismissed them with disdain, but now, looking at this pile of junk, he was practically drooling.
The shop owner sized Voldemort up with a scrutinizing gaze for a moment before slowly replying, "The ones on the left are three Galleons each. The ones on the right are five Galleons each. No bargaining."
The second-hand wands were not discounted very much simply because they were used. They were only slightly cheaper than the brand-new wands sold at Ollivanders.
Voldemort fell silent after hearing the price.
The reason was simple: he had no money…
After his resurrection, he had gained control over the power of death and had the members of the Society around him. Why would he ever need to think about money? In truth, ever since he chose to use the name Voldemort, he had basically stopped carrying money altogether.
After all, how could the master of the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord of the age, personally pay for things himself?
After hearing the shopkeeper's prices, Voldemort merely gave an indifferent "Mm" before turning and walking a few steps deeper into the shop. The shop owner immediately followed him.
Voldemort showed no signs of anything unusual. He simply wandered around the store, occasionally picking up an item or two to examine, and from time to time asking the owner several rather foolish-sounding questions.
He was waiting for the right opportunity.
How did one obtain a wand without money?
Simple.
Either steal it or rob it.
And Voldemort, who had grown up in an orphanage and later become the Dark Lord, was extremely familiar with both skills.
At the moment, there were not many people inside the shop, while several pedestrians lingered outside. It still was not the ideal moment to act…
Suddenly, Voldemort's eyes sharpened.
He had found his chance!
He lightly touched the shopkeeper's arm. The man immediately became alert, but Voldemort said nothing. He merely pointed subtly toward the outside of the shop.
The owner turned around and discovered a shifty-looking wizard quietly slipping merchandise from the outdoor stall into his pocket while the shopkeeper's full attention had been focused on the masked man before him.
Huh?
Had he misunderstood this masked fellow? The man was actually pretty decent!
Such a thought flashed through the shopkeeper's mind, and he immediately sprang into action.
"Hey!" the shopkeeper shouted. At the same time, he drew his wand from beneath his robes and instantly fired off a Stunning Spell.
The wizard reacted quickly and ducked. The Stunning Spell grazed past his hair and struck an unlucky passerby instead.
Taking advantage of the chaos, the thief violently overturned the stall in the shopkeeper's direction before turning and sprinting away.
Amid the confusion, Voldemort calmly walked out of the second-hand shop. With a flick of his robes, he secretly swept away a second-hand wand from the shelf, one that looked to be in fairly decent condition.
The shopkeeper was busy chasing after the thief and did not notice Voldemort's small action at all.
After succeeding, Voldemort quickly left the troublesome area. After turning several corners and entering a secluded alleyway, he finally began inspecting the spoils he had obtained after taking such a tremendous risk today.
It was a wand that appeared to be in fairly decent condition.
However, judging from the aged discoloration on the handle, the origin of this wand was clearly far from legitimate.
Voldemort let out a cold snort.
Many of the goods sold in Diagon Alley would never withstand serious investigation into their origins.
Still, compared to Knockturn Alley, the merchandise in Diagon Alley was far more respectable. The reason Voldemort had chosen to operate in Diagon Alley was because he feared that, without a wand and unable to cast magic, he might suffer a disastrous setback in Knockturn Alley.
With a casual wave, a shower of sparks immediately burst from the tip of his newly acquired second-hand wand. Voldemort let out a cold, cruel laugh.
Excellent.
He had finally reclaimed a portion of his power!
He could feel that although the circulation of his magic remained sluggish, he was at least capable of casting some simple spells once more.
"Hey, you seem to be in quite a good mood…"
Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind Voldemort.
Turning around, he saw two people standing at the entrance of the alley, completely blocking his escape route.
"How about telling us why exactly you're so happy?" the other man asked with an ill-intentioned grin, staring directly at Voldemort.
Voldemort: "…"
It had been a very long time since he had encountered something like this.
The atmosphere of Knockturn Alley really was just like it had been in his youth…
The strong preyed upon the weak, while darkness and crime flourished everywhere.
"I merely obtained a wand…" Voldemort said softly.
Then, before the two men could react, Voldemort suddenly threw a heavy punch, smashing it directly into the jaw of the man on the left and knocking him unconscious instantly.
The wizard on the right raised his wand, and a spell shot out like lightning. But Voldemort simply tilted his body and dodged it with ease.
Immediately afterward, a streak of sickly green light flashed through the alley—thud!
The second wizard slumped against the wall before slowly collapsing to the ground.
The man had already stopped breathing. A terrified expression remained frozen on his face, as though he had witnessed something unimaginably horrifying in the instant before death.
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