Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 379 Night in Tumbler Alley
The figure's shadow was elongated under the streetlight, like a big-headed monster wandering in the shadow of the street wall, and Harry felt that something was wrong.

Professor Levent, as a professor of Muggle Studies, even looked down on the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, preferring to stay in a Muggle hotel suite. He also found Knockdown Alley to be filthy and teeming with dark wizards.

Why did the professor go to Tumbler Lane late at night?

Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, opened the window, and jumped out. A Levitation Charm was cast on the cloak, supporting him as he landed slowly.

The moonlight slanted across the street, like mist rising from a forest at night. The entire street was shrouded in the cool moonlight, and the shadows of the brick walls of the shops along the street were cast on the surface. The figure walked quickly and disappeared at the boundary between light and darkness.

Harry looked around but couldn't see any other passersby. The patrons in the tavern were all engrossed in the ball game, and the Gringotts Bank in the distance was dark. It seemed that only he and Professor Levent were left on this street.

He felt something was strange, but remained silent.

After donning the invisibility cloak, he tried to stay close to the walls, mainly to avoid being discovered by other wizards. He remembered clearly that the invisibility cloak's disguise had no effect on Professor Levent.

Professor Levent's route was very clear: he turned a few corners into Flip-Over Alley and walked straight into the depths, his grey-black cloak blending seamlessly into the secluded and infamous street.

Harry didn't understand why Professor Levent insisted on coming to Knockturn Alley at night. Even if it was a secret transaction, it could have been done during the day. That's how the Malfoys traded Dark Magic items.

On a whim, Harry clutched his Invisibility Cloak and followed at a distance. The two of them entered Knockturn Alley one after the other, the narrow alleyway receding into the distance like two wanted criminals who couldn't see the light of day.

"Dong dong dong..."

Professor Levent stopped in front of a shop. The sudden knocking broke the silence of Knockturn Alley, sounding like the hoarse cawing of a crow, somewhat jarring.

In the darkness, several hidden eyes seemed to appear. Harry dared not utter a sound, or even breathe heavily, as he watched the shop open. Inside, the wizard and Professor Levent whispered a few words, confirmed their identities, and then went inside.

"Squeak...creak..."

The rusty brass hinged door groaned and closed again.

Harry waited a moment and then went over to examine the shop's facade and the walls on either side. Although the shops in Knockturn Alley didn't have signs, they always had addresses; Borgin Burke's shop was at 13B Knockturn Alley.

"No. 17B, Fandao Lane - Catalogue Printing"

"Album printing..."

Harry scratched his head, muttering to himself in confusion, "What kind of shop is this?"

“Some illegal printed materials, maps of wizarding villages, pirated books, and the like,” a witch behind him explained.

Harry's breath caught in his throat for a moment, a chill ran from his feet to his back, and he shuddered violently, like a fish struggling for its life. He used the power born of fear to pull out his wand and turn away.

An old witch with a weathered face stood behind him, carrying a wicker basket in her left hand. Inside the basket was a dish that looked like a whole set of dead man's fingernails. She glanced at Harry under the Invisibility Cloak and gave him an ugly smile, revealing moss-covered teeth.

"you--"

Before Harry could speak, the old witch suddenly stretched out her hidden right hand and sprinkled a handful of white powder.

The sweet scent filled his lungs, and Harry immediately held his breath. His intuition told him that the situation was dire, but it was too late. His fading consciousness prevented him from controlling his body; his head was spinning, and the old witch's image began to blur.

The invisibility cloak covering Harry fell off, and his body slumped against the wall, everything going dark.

Perhaps because the amount of powder inhaled was small, even though my eyes were closed, I could still feel a faint sensation in my nose and ears, and I seemed to hear a faint sound in my ear.

"Knock knock knock..." It's the witch knocking on the door.

Footsteps hurried out to greet them, and the wizard's tone was somewhat impatient: "We don't do business at night, come back during the day."

"Whoever buys your inferior books, I've caught a petty thief for you."

The old witch grumbled and said, "You really think you're a proper witch? You don't even know when a petty thief comes to your door. You're just a silly kid wearing an invisibility cloak. You can have the person, but I'll keep the invisibility cloak."

"A petty thief?"

He vaguely felt someone pull off his glasses, pry open his eyelids and glance at him: "Looks like you're still a student. I can't make the decision. Wait, I'll call... the teacher to come and take a look."

"..."

Then he completely lost consciousness.

……

In the basement of 17B Knockdown Lane, a young professor sat in a swivel chair made by Muggles, a faint smile on his face, looking around the printing workshop with great interest.

There are Muggle books and magazines here, as well as pirated wizard books. The main business is maps of various wizarding villages. The best-selling printed materials are displayed on the table:

The British Wizard's Travel Guide

"The old witch has been sent away, promising to keep her mouth shut and keep tonight's events a secret. Harry Potter is locked in an empty room upstairs, and everything has been arranged as you instructed. It won't affect your plans tonight."

A middle-aged male wizard pushed open the door, revealing muscular arms beneath his rolled-up sleeves, each branded with a simple line drawing of an ouroboros. He spoke in a hoarse voice:

"The sewers and the shop are connected. My staff and I will tidy up and leave immediately, so as not to interfere with your meeting with the guests."

“Old friends meeting again, why don’t we sit down and chat for a while?” Melvin smiled in the swivel chair, a hint of reminiscence flashing in his eyes. “The first time I came to Knockturn Alley, I didn’t know the way. I ran into you guys and even made a very profitable deal.”

"We are also very grateful to the professor, who has freed us, these rats in the gutter, from having to do dirty things in secret, and has even made money from the Ponzi scheme shop and printing workshop."

The middle-aged wizard sighed, "In a few months, maybe we'll have enough money to move to Diagon Alley next door and finally get out of this ditch called Knockdown Alley."

Three years ago, Melvin first ventured into Knockturn Alley. He encountered this group of robbing black wizards as he left the Boginburger Antique Shop. At the time, he was the leader and wearing a mole skin mask.

There were some initial communication difficulties, but they eventually stopped and had a harmonious exchange. Melvin reached a deal with them, in which they would help collect information on wizarding villages in and around Britain and then resell it to Melvin.

After the Magic Mirror Club was established, they also took on some distribution work from the club.

Things have finally settled down recently. I opened this printing workshop, doing some black-and-white printing business. That travel guide caught the Quidditch World Cup final bandwagon and sold tens of thousands of copies. "You guys need to think this through. Once you move to Diagon Alley, there are some businesses you can't do anymore."

"Earning less is fine, at least I don't have to live in fear."

The middle-aged wizard bowed slightly, his attitude respectful: "In the past, we had no choice but to touch these."

Melvin pondered for a moment, then tapped his fingers lightly on the table. The middle-aged wizard felt a burning sensation in his arm and immediately looked down at it, only to see the ouroboros begin to eat itself.

The simple line drawing rotated, quickly turning into a small dot, and eventually disappeared.

The middle-aged wizard swallowed hard: "Professor Levent?"

“Our collaboration is over, isn’t it?” Melvin said with a smile.

At that time, Melvin had just left Ifamoni. Although he had spent more than half a year in the theater, his understanding of dark magic was not deep. The ouroboros mark at that time was just a rudimentary imitation of the dark magic mark, with only some simple functions. The branding on these dark wizards was more of a warning.

Now that the deal is done and Melvin has his own true Ouroboros mark, the contract should also end.

Watching his figure disappear through the door, Melvin picked up the travel guidebook again and quietly waited for the guest who was about to arrive.

……

After an unknown amount of time, Harry suddenly woke up from his unconsciousness. His body jerked, and the wooden chair he was leaning against was overturned. It was a closed hut with no windows.

It was pitch black all around, and there was no breathing from anyone else in the room. Harry took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, and analyzed the current situation.

The sound of the wooden chair overturning was quite loud, but there were no hurried footsteps outside, indicating that no wizard was guarding the door, and it was safe for now.

No one even tied him up with a rope.

Harry bent down and reached for the wooden chair, but touched a thin layer of gauze that was cool and smooth to the touch.

"Is it an invisibility cloak?"

Harry suddenly remembered something, and touched his pocket again. The eleven-inch holly wand was still in his pocket: "Even the wand is still here."

The dark wizards of Knockturn Alley wouldn't be so polite.

Professor Levent must have saved him.

Harry fell silent, his cheeks and earlobes slightly flushed, a mixture of embarrassment, awkwardness, fear, and a touch of relief.

The downside of acting rashly on a whim is this: when you're caught up in the heat of the moment, you don't realize the consequences and are even secretly excited, like a detective investigating secrets in the dark. But after you've been defeated and calmed down, your rationality returns, and you realize that you've done something stupid again, leaving the professor to clean up your mess.

Thankfully, Professor Levent was there...

Harry shook his head, dismissing the strange thought, took his wand from his pocket, and lit it with an illumination charm, causing a glowing light to illuminate the room.

Now that his personal safety was guaranteed, he was less panicked. Professor Levent must have had his reasons for leaving him here. Having just learned his lesson, he dared not act rashly and therefore did not attempt to use the unlocking charm to run around.

I was worried that it would interfere with the professor's important business.

Harry looked around. The room was empty except for a mirror in the corner. It was a cheap, household-style mirror made of quartz crystal, not very big, and not connected to the Floo Network.

Beside it was a porcelain bottle, sealed with a rubber stopper, inside which was a wisp of silver memory, the smoke emitting a silver glow.

Harry didn't know why the professor had locked him and the Shadow Mirror in a room without any cover or restrictions on his movements. The Memory Cloud and the Shadow Mirror were just there, as if waiting for him to look through them.

He unscrewed the porcelain bottle and poured in the Silver Mist of Memories.

Harry took two steps back, and the silvery substance in the mirror rippled, the colors and outlines of the image beginning to fill in.

In the spacious yet dimly lit wizard shop, a row of shelves stood in front of the stone fireplace, displaying withered human hands, bloodstained playing cards, and lifeless glass eyeballs. Grotesque masks hung on the walls, and various human bones were displayed on the counter.

Behind the counter at the Borgin & Burke antique shop, the clerk at that time was not Mr. Borgin, but another unfamiliar wizard who didn't look that old, didn't have a hunchback, wasn't bald, and didn't have a slick tone.

Is it Mr. Karaktakus Burk?
A thought flashed through Harry's mind: thanks to Miss Know-It-All's explanations and Sirius Black's teachings, he had learned a lot about the history of the century-old shop.

Mr. Burke was wiping a dark red rope, cleaning out lice and bloodstains, while instructing the young, handsome clerk next to the counter.
Harry stared wide-eyed at the mirror, his handsome face and perfectly timed smile clearly resembling a young Voldemort!
“Don’t underestimate this job, Tom.”

Mr. Burke spoke slowly: “We must have a clear understanding of the price of everything. When customers come to sell, we need to lower the price; when customers come to buy, we need to raise the price. Buying low and selling high is a skill in itself.”

“Sir, I don’t have your extensive experience and knowledge,” Tom said with a smile, offering a compliment.

Mr. Burke's smile brightened considerably, and he even quickened his pace when imparting his experience, revealing a hint of pride: "This is all wisdom gained over time. Do you remember the locket Mrs. Smith bought a while ago?"

"Slytherin's locket?" Tom's smile faded slightly.

"Yes, at the time, the youngest daughter of the Gaunt family was pregnant and didn't even have money to buy bread, while I bought the extremely precious Slytherin locket from the impoverished Merop Gaunt for a mere ten Galleons..."

Mr. Burke was still muttering about his business, completely unaware that Tom's face was gradually darkening, his breathing was slowing down, and his pupils were contracting, like a venomous snake ready to devour its prey.
That Mr. Burke... should still be alive, right?
Harry looked at Tom's unpleasant expression and muttered to himself.

"That Mrs. Hepzba Smith is a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff, yes, the very same Hufflepuff who founded Hogwarts. Their Galleons are piled high in gold, and the rent from their fields and shops is enough for them to continue to squander for hundreds of years."

Mr. Burke shared his experience in judging people: "Price is never an issue for anything she sets her sights on. She made a fortune with the locket, and she can make another fortune with the set of fairy-made armor in the warehouse."

Young Tom Riddle lowered his head, concealing his malicious expression, though his eyes still gleamed with a fierce light.

"She really likes handsome, newly graduated wizards like you; that's one of your strengths..."

Mr. Burke put down the rope and ordered, "Go to Mrs. Smith and tell her that the price of this suit of armor is no less than 400 Galleons. If you close the deal, I'll give you a commission."

“Yes, sir.” Tom bowed and nodded.

"..."
(End of this chapter)