Chapter 67: Welcome to Knockturn Alley
Regulus thought of Snape.
A Patronus like that had to be hidden. Otherwise it could never have been used to guide Harry Potter to the Sword of Gryffindor. That act existed for one purpose, destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes. If Snape's Patronus had been exposed too early, and if one of the trio had been captured, Snape would have been finished.
Orion shifted the conversation back onto practical ground.
"Of course," he said, "if you truly need to use it, then use it."
He watched the Starling hover, light spilling from it in soft silver dust.
"You cannot let yourself fall into danger just to hide what you can do. But when you use it, it is best to hide its more unusual features."
He gestured towards the Starling.
"Make it look like an ordinary hawk. The outline is close enough. Pull the wings in a little. Hide the starlight. Darken the eyes."
He considered it for a moment.
"An eagle would work too. It symbolises wisdom and power. It suits you. Most people will not know the difference."
Regulus tested the idea within his control.
It was possible.
The Patronus form was fixed in essence, but details could be adjusted. Brightness could be restrained. Features could be muted. Turning the Starling into a more ordinary silver white eagle was entirely feasible.
"I understand," Regulus said, and he meant it.
Orion exhaled quietly. He trusted his son's judgement.
Regulus looked back to the Starling, and another thought surfaced.
He would probably never become an Animagus.
An Animagus form often matched, or at least resembled, a wizard's Patronus. A Starling like this was a legendary creature. It was not a normal animal form anyone could take.
That meant that if he attempted Animagus transformation later, he would likely fail, or turn into something else entirely.
On reflection, it was not much of a loss.
Being an Animagus was useful, but it was not necessary. A Patronus could replace many of its functions. And a Patronus was condensed positive energy, without the risk of animal instincts warping the mind.
Animagus training also demanded too much time, too much uncertainty, too much dependence on weather and luck. One mistake could force you to begin again from the start.
And besides, what was the appeal of turning into an animal?
If he truly wanted a different body for a purpose, he could pursue human Transfiguration.
Animagus was optional.
He could live without it.
Regulus flicked his wand lightly. The Starling scattered into silver specks and vanished, leaving a lingering warmth in the air, like starlight that refused to cool.
He held onto the feeling of today.
Standing on the cliff, watching the sun sink into the sea.
The joy of magic moving with his emotions.
The resonance from deep in his soul when the Patronus took shape.
None of it changed his core path. He would still plan with ruthless rationality, weigh consequences, and pursue power as a fundamental goal.
But something had shifted.
Magic was not only a tool. It was part of life.
The world was worth appreciating. Worth experiencing.
And he was not a machine. He was a living person who could be moved, who could yearn, who could feel joy when confronted with beauty.
That was good.
They returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place by Portkey.
The old teapot lid dragged them through spinning colour and sound, then dropped them into the entrance hall of the Black ancestral home. Kreacher waited with hot towels and tea, as if the house itself demanded ritual.
"Welcome back, Master, little Master."
Orion wiped his face and glanced at Regulus.
"Tomorrow is the last day. We are going to Knockturn Alley to collect debts. Rest early tonight."
Regulus nodded and went upstairs.
He stood at his window and looked out over London.
After the Irish coast, the view was ordinary. Streets and roofs. Streetlights. The occasional passing car. No roaring sea. No horizon burning gold.
Yet today had injected colour into what had once been a world of greys. It was only a faint stroke, but it was enough to prove the world was vast and worth seeing.
And he had time.
And he had will.
He could climb high enough to see more.
On the final day of the Christmas holiday, with only the faintest trace of festivity remaining, Orion brought Regulus to the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
Diagon Alley ended with tidy brick and respectable shopfronts. Knockturn Alley began in a squeeze of crooked architecture, wedged between two leaning buildings.
The walls were stained deep brown by substances that did not invite questions. The air carried mould, rot, and the sharp bite of potions.
Regulus followed his father into the passage, and the light dimmed at once.
The walls on either side were damp. Even without touching them, the air felt sticky, as if it clung to skin. Old oil lamps hung overhead. Their flames flickered a sickly green behind glass covers, stretching shadows into long distorted shapes.
The ground was uneven. Puddles filled the dips. A thin film shimmered on the surface, oily and iridescent.
After twenty steps the passage widened, and Knockturn Alley opened before them.
It was a different world.
It felt like stepping from civilisation into decay.
Buildings leaned inward as if they were listening. Their walls were furred with dark moss. Most windows were boarded. The few that remained were veiled by heavy black curtains, blocking sight completely.
The alley was narrow, barely wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side, and cluttered with rubbish and forgotten things.
Broken crates. Torn sacks. Rusted drums.
Even a few skeletal remains of animals too damaged to identify.
There were few pedestrians. Those who moved through the street were wrapped in dark robes, hoods pulled low, walking quickly and close to the walls. No one sought eye contact. No one looked at anyone too long.
Regulus's senses sharpened in this environment. He could feel magic leaking from the surrounding shops and the people passing by.
Most of it was murky. Chaotic. Frayed.
And threaded with negative emotion.
Standing here, he understood something that stories always softened.
Descriptions of Dark magic trade and illegal goods were far too mild. Every brick and every breath of air felt saturated with an atmosphere of depravity and quiet violence.
The only rule here was power.
The strong spoke.
The weak vanished.
If someone died in this street, their body might be dragged away immediately and used completely. No questions. No grief. No witnesses.
Like a rabbit eaten by a fox in a forest.
It was simply the law of nature.
What Regulus found most absurd was not the darkness itself.
It was that all of this was illegal under British magical law.
Everyone knew Knockturn Alley existed. The Ministry of Magic knew. The Wizengamot knew. Even Muggle families with young witches and wizards heard rumours about a terrible place beside Diagon Alley.
Yet Knockturn Alley had endured for centuries.
The Ministry, or rather the upper layers of wizarding society, behaved as if they tacitly approved it.
They claimed the supremacy of law. They spoke of order as sacred. Yet they left a lawless district beside the largest commercial street in Britain, as if chaos was acceptable so long as it stayed in a designated corner.
The laws were written clearly. They declared what was forbidden.
And Knockturn Alley sat there anyway, an open secret, a lie everyone knew and no one confronted.
Blatant.
Unhidden.
Politics, Regulus thought.
The law did not exist only to stop things. Sometimes it existed simply to declare that a thing was illegal, while quietly permitting it to continue.
A declaration was one thing.
Enforcement was another.
Knockturn Alley existed because it had value.
Pure blood families needed a place to handle dealings that should not be spoken aloud. Dark wizards needed resources and contacts. The Ministry needed somewhere to concentrate what it did not want to solve, stuffing it into one alley so it could pretend everything else was clean.
Britain had its own special way of managing rot.
None of it, Regulus told himself, had anything to do with him.
Then he corrected himself.
Of course it did.
As a wizard, and as the heir of the House of Black, he needed Knockturn Alley to exist.
In truth, everyone needed it.
Pure blood needed it. Half blood needed it. The Ministry needed it. Even righteous wizards who claimed to champion justice might need it, sooner or later, when a matter became inconvenient.
There had to be a place for what did not fit into polite society.
This was another ecosystem, the other side of order.
Light and darkness were never cleanly separated. More often they fed each other, depended on each other, and seeped into each other until the border became meaningless.
Knockturn Alley was the shadow of Diagon Alley. Without shadow, light would not even be recognisable.
If something existed for centuries, it existed for a reason.
Orion stopped and turned his head slightly, speaking in a low voice.
"In here, use your eyes only. Do not speak. Do not touch anything."
He kept his tone calm, but every word carried weight.
"Everything you see may be cursed. Every patch of ground may hold traps. Everyone you meet may be carrying malice."
Then he added, flat and final.
"Knockturn Alley is the reverse face of order. There is only one rule here."
He looked at Regulus.
"Survive. Everything else is nonsense."
Regulus nodded.