Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

Harry involuntarily stepped back a few paces, trying to distance himself from the peculiar man.

However, Borgin's appearance stirred some memories. Over the past decade, strangers on the street would often greet him, bow, as though the whole world knew who he was. Looking back now, some of their attire bore a striking resemblance to Borgin's.

"Famous? Me?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why?"

How had he never realized he was so well-known?

In the dimly lit shop, a feeble butter-yellow lamp cast faint light on the surroundings, its shadows enormous and blurry on the walls. With the flickering gloom from outside, the shop's collection of antique items appeared even more eerie and sinister.

"Why what?" Borgin seemed taken aback.

"You're the Savior, the one who defeated him—that very famous... uh... the one I can't name. That'd be terribly disrespectful," Borgin stammered.

Beside them, Victor seemed to remember something, his expression shifting as he finally recognized the name Harry Potter.

"Wait, are you saying this is the Harry Potter? The one who defeated the Dark Lord?"

He glanced at Borgin for confirmation and quickly deduced the answer.

"Looks like it."

"Who's the Dark Lord?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"I don't know much," Victor said nonchalantly. "I only heard about it while interviewing at Hogwarts. Apparently, when you were just a baby, you defeated this mysterious figure who sought to dominate the wizarding world. Saved many wizards and Muggles oppressed by him—right, Borgin?"

"Indeed," Borgin nodded, though his expression turned grim. "Mr. Potter has brought... a lot of trouble."

Borgin shivered slightly, clearly reluctant to discuss the Dark Lord further. He gave Harry a deep bow instead.

"Having the Savior visit my shop is an honor, of course. However, next time, Mr. Vanderboom, kindly escort him straight to Diagon Alley. If word gets out that Mr. Potter was seen here, it might hurt my business."

It was evident that Borgin had no desire to associate with Harry any further.

Someone like Borgin, frequently dealing with supporters of the Dark Lord, would naturally want to avoid the complications of being linked to Harry Potter.

"How did you end up with the Savior?" Borgin muttered under his breath. "Don't tell me you're going straight now?"

The pure-blood families dealing in dark artifacts might interrogate him with questions like that.

"I understand," Victor said dismissively, changing the topic. "Borgin, how do we get to Muggle London?"

"Just head out of the Leaky Cauldron from Diagon Alley. Ask Tom, the bartender—he's well-versed in Muggle affairs," Borgin replied respectfully.

"Got it."

Victor merely nodded at Borgin.

Borgin understood and hurried behind the counter, disappearing into the shadows. A moment later, he returned with a heavy cloth pouch and a peculiar book.

First, he handed the pouch to Victor. "Here's 120 Galleons."

Then, he offered the book to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, this is a small gift. It may be insignificant to someone like you, but I hope you'll take a moment to read it. It would mean a great deal to me."

"What is it?" Harry asked, puzzled, as he accepted the book.

As soon as he held it, Harry felt its weight and noticed its peculiar texture—almost as though it writhed slightly in his hands, sending a chill down his spine. He looked at the cover.

Bloodlines and Curses.

"A Black family heirloom," Borgin explained. "A book every Black child used. Since their family has dwindled, the book was confiscated by the Ministry and somehow found its way to me. It may be a bit early for you, but it contains some... interesting little spells."

Seeing that Victor didn't stop him, Harry carefully clutched the book.

It was his first magical book.

He had a strange feeling that this book would change his life.

Ding-ding.

The bell above the door jingled twice more as they left. Harry glanced back and saw Borgin bowing deeply behind them before shuffling back into the shadows behind the counter.

Harry turned and wiped his cracked glasses, squinting to see the street outside clearly.

They were now on Knockturn Alley, teeming with people.

The sky above was overcast, thick clouds blocking all light, much like the misty forest Victor had taken him to earlier. All the surrounding shops shared the same sinister style.

Borgin and Burkes was the largest shop nearby, its façade decorated with ominous old wood and black paint. Across the street, another store displayed a row of shrunken heads in its window, sending chills down Harry's spine. Two or three shops away, a large cage swarmed with massive spiders, making him shudder.

Further ahead, a few raggedly dressed wizards glanced at them, then huddled in the shadows, whispering among themselves.

Despite the crowd, no one approached them.

Victor walked beside Harry, his tall pointed hat obscuring most of his face. Wherever they went, wizards quietly parted to make way, as though his very presence blended seamlessly with Knockturn Alley.

To Victor, it was just another street.

In fact, Victor's first encounter with the wizarding world had been at Borgin and Burkes, where he had stepped through a mirror. Since then, Knockturn Alley had been the part of the wizarding world he knew best.

"Are we really in London now?" Harry finally couldn't hold back his curiosity.

"I don't know. I've never been to the Muggle side," Victor replied nonchalantly.

"Alright," Harry said nervously, tugging at his clothes. Changing the topic back, he asked hesitantly, "Do you know any details about my family—or that mysterious figure? My aunt told me they died in a car crash."

Victor nodded slightly, not rejecting the question. "There's no definitive answer from the Ministry, but I suspect it's something common in my world."

"It's said the Dark Lord came to your house, intending to kill you for some reason, but he failed and died instead. I think you might've been blessed by fairies or elves to survive."

"Really?"

"Yes. And your family must've been extraordinary."

"Why?"

"Fairy blessings usually require special magical talents or bloodlines. Families with such traits often produce ambitious individuals who establish them as royalty or nobility—at least, that's how it is where I'm from."

"Exceptions exist, though. I once had a friend born into poverty who possessed incredible magical talent."

"What happened to them?"

"They tried to steal someone's princess and their magic lamp, so they got themselves killed. Very messy," Victor replied emotionlessly.

Harry stumbled at the grim response, his steps faltering. Glancing at Victor's impassive face, he noted the man's tone was as casual as if he were recounting what he'd had for lunch.

Is the wizarding world really this dangerous? Harry thought, overwhelmed. Victor's remarks gave him entirely the wrong impression.

"Just be careful in the future," Victor added casually. "Don't start conflicts unless you're absolutely sure you'll win—"

"Here we are."

They stopped at a brick wall, where the sky above grew brighter. The oppressive gloom of Knockturn Alley had lifted, and Harry suspected the effect had been magical.

The wall had a gap through which people bustled in and out. A crooked sign nearby read:

The Leaky Cauldron.

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