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When evening came, Harry told his friends he was turning in early, a quick excuse they all accepted without question. Once in his dorm, he slipped on his Invisibility Cloak and left the castle through a secret passage leading from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack.
Reaching the shack, Harry used the Astral Soul technique to alter his appearance subtly. His once jet-black hair deepened to a rich brown, and his green eyes took on a duller hue. He stretched slightly taller, enough to pass as an older wizard rather than a student. His school robes shifted into a more nondescript, generic set of robes—perfect for blending in.
Satisfied with the transformation, he stowed the Invisibility Cloak away in a secure spot and headed towards the Three Broomsticks. The night air was cool, with just a hint of a breeze that ruffled his newly colored hair as he walked. The village of Hogsmeade was alive with the usual evening crowd, but Harry navigated through it with practiced ease, keeping a low profile until he reached his destination.
As he pushed open the door to the Three Broomsticks, the warm, slightly boisterous atmosphere of the pub washed over him. The familiar smell of butterbeer and the hum of chatter filled the air. He made his way to the bar with an easy confidence that came with his newly assumed identity.
The barmaid, who had served him once before, glanced up as he approached. Recognition sparked in her eyes, and she gave him a welcoming smile. "Ah, you are back love," she said, her voice warm. "The gentleman with Spanish roots. Welcome back."
Harry smiled warmly, a touch of charm in his expression as he leaned against the bar. "Well, it seems I was a bit remiss last time, wasn't I? Didn't even introduce myself properly. Name's Albus Riddle. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Madam Rosmerta, with her usual welcoming smile, raised an eyebrow slightly at the name but didn't comment on it. Instead, she extended a hand. "Rosmerta. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle. I remember you well from the last time you were here."
Harry took her hand in a firm yet friendly handshake. "Glad to hear it. I was hoping I made a good enough impression to warrant a warm welcome back."
She chuckled, the sound light and genuine. "You certainly did, Mr. Riddle. What can I get you tonight? Butterbeer? Or something a bit stronger?"
Harry glanced around the bustling pub before turning his attention back to her. "I'll take a butterbeer, thanks. Need to keep a clear head tonight."
Rosmerta nodded, moving to pour the drink. "Smart choice. Never know what the night might bring, after all."
As she set the frothy mug in front of him, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, sliding them across the bar. "So, how's business been? Any interesting stories lately?"
Rosmerta pocketed the coins and leaned on the bar, clearly enjoying the chance to chat. "Oh, you know how it is. The usual cauldron of gossip and excitement. But there's been some talk about strange happenings in the forest lately. Creatures acting odd, shadows moving where they shouldn't be… that sort of thing."
Harry took a sip of his butterbeer, letting the information sink in. "Sounds like something out of a fairy tale," he said with a smirk. "Anything more specific? Or just the usual spooky tales to keep the kids from wandering too far?"
She shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "Hard to say. Most of it's just rumors, but a few of the locals have mentioned seeing things. Nothing concrete, though. Just… strange."
Harry nodded, filing the information away for later. "Well, if anything more comes up, you'll let me know, won't you? I've always had a knack for getting to the bottom of things."
Rosmerta grinned. "I'll keep my ear to the ground, love. You never know what might turn up."
Thanking Madam Rosmerta with a nod, Harry stood up and asked if he could use the Floo Network again. She chuckled and said, "Ah, you've picked up the name this time, I see."
Harry grinned, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the pot she offered. "Diagon Alley," he called out clearly as he threw the powder into the flames. The green fire roared to life, and he stepped into it, vanishing from the Three Broomsticks.
When he reappeared in Diagon Alley, Harry quickly pulled his hood up, shielding his face from any curious eyes. The hustle and bustle of the alley was familiar, but he wasn't here for a casual stroll. He slipped into the shadows and made his way toward the darker, less traveled path that led to Knockturn Alley.
The change in atmosphere was immediate. The cheerful, bustling energy of Diagon Alley faded into a more sinister vibe as he entered Knockturn Alley. The air here was thicker, filled with the faint scent of something burning, mixed with the musty aroma of old, forgotten things.
Harry kept his head down, moving through the narrow streets. The occasional glance from a passerby was met with a cold, unreadable gaze from beneath his hood. He walked past the grimy shop fronts and the huddled figures in tattered robes.
It didn't take long to reach the spot where he had last encountered the group of thugs. Harry leaned against the wall, watching the alley from the shadows. He didn't have to wait long. Soon enough, the familiar figures of the thugs appeared, looking far worse for wear than when he'd last seen them. Their eyes were hollow, and their movements sluggish, the effects of the poison clearly visible.
When they spotted Harry, they hesitated, their confidence from before entirely gone. The leader approached Harry cautiously, while the other two waited behind. "We're here," he rasped, his voice strained. "We've get you to the pub. Now, get us the antidote."
Harry pulled out three vials from his cloak, the glass shimmering in the dim light of the alley. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed them high into the air. The thugs, eyes wide with desperation, leapt for the vials, grabbing them mid-air like their lives depended on it—because they did.
As they scrambled to down the contents, Harry watched them with a calm detachment. "You lot should remember something," he said, his tone flat but carrying an edge that cut through the tension. "I've got more ways to kill you than you can imagine. Don't get smart with me."
The men didn't dare to respond, too focused on gulping down the antidote. The relief on their faces was immediate, but Harry didn't give them time to savor it. He stepped closer, his presence looming over them. "Now that you've had your little sip of salvation," he continued, "we're heading to the pub. No tricks, no funny business. You try anything, and you'll wish the poison had finished you off."
The leader of the group nodded frantically, still panting from the fear and the adrenaline. The others followed suit, all thoughts of defiance wiped clean from their minds. They began to lead Harry down a twisting path through Knockturn Alley, the streets narrowing and darkening with each turn.
The alleys they navigated grew quieter, the sounds of the bustling city fading into an eerie silence. Harry kept his wand hidden but ready, his senses sharply locked on everything around him. He didn't trust these men any further than he could throw them, but for now, they were useful. The air was thick with the smell of damp and decay, and the only light came from the occasional flickering torch on a wall.
Finally, they reached a small, unmarked door wedged between two crumbling buildings. The leader stopped in front of it, glancing nervously at Harry before stepping forward to knock. A small slot opened in the door, and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out.
"Password?" a gruff voice demanded.
"Blood and bone," the leader muttered quickly, glancing back at Harry as if seeking approval.
The eyes behind the slot narrowed, but after a tense moment, the door creaked open just wide enough for them to enter. The leader hesitated, waiting for Harry to give him the nod before stepping inside. Harry followed.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridor, Seymour, the thug leader, who Harry had identified by now, leaned in and asked in a hushed tone, "What's Sir's name? They'll be expecting an introduction. And, um, your occupation?" Harry raised an eyebrow, slightly confused by what he said. He had been expecting something more intimidating, not an introduction as soon as he entered.
"Albus Riddle," Harry answered smoothly. "I'm a Lord."
Seymour frowned at the title, clearly puzzled, but nodded without further comment. The word "Lord" wasn't something tossed around lightly in this part of the magical world. It carried weight, even if Seymour didn't explain it.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridors and entered the pub, Harry was taken aback by the sight in front of him. He hadn't anticipated what he saw.The place was teeming with life—dozens of wizards crowded the room, chatting loudly, drinking, and cussing with little restraint. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and alcohol, creating an atmosphere that felt like it could ignite at any moment. It was the kind of place where tempers flared easily, and Harry could sense the tension simmering just beneath the surface.
The place was like a keg of gunpowder, ready to blow at any second. Wizards and witches, most of them dodgy at best, filled the room, their loud chatter and rough laughter bouncing off the grimy walls. But there was something keeping this volatile mix from erupting into chaos. That "something" soon made themselves known.
Alecto Carrow, a squat witch with a cruel grin, and her brother, Amycus, who looked like he hadn't smiled in years, stepped forward, their eyes narrowing as they spotted the unfamiliar face in their territory.
"Seymour, you little bitch, didn't I tell you not to bring anyone new here?" Alecto sneered, her voice carrying a tone that made it clear she wasn't in the mood for excuses.
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