Harry Potter: I, Tom Riddle, am not the Dark Lord Chapter 78 78: Knockturn Alley, Black vs. Black

Lady Greengrass received letters from her elder daughter nearly every week.

In the beginning, they were filled with Daphne's longing for ho and affection for her family. She always asked after her mother's health and showed concern for Astoria's condition. But after that one ti Daphne had asked for money, sothing about the tone of her letters began to shift.

What had once been heartfelt family correspondence gradually turned into sothing more like "The Chronicles of Tom Riddle at Hogwarts". The na "Tom" started appearing so frequently, it easily outnumbered any ntion of Lady Greengrass or Astoria combined.

From that point on, Lady Greengrass's curiosity was piqued—who exactly was this Tom Riddle, that had chard her daughter into such starry-eyed obsession?

Now, eting the boy in person, she couldn't help but nod in approval.

Well, what else did she expect? She was her daughter's mother, after all—naturally the girl had good taste. Just from a glance, she could tell this young man was probably the best-looking one in all of Hogwarts.

Wait a minute…

Those galleons Daphne had asked for… don't tell her they all ended up spent on this kid?

Eh. It wasn't a lot, nothing to lose sleep over.

What Lady Greengrass didn't know, however, was that not only had she guessed correctly… she'd also underestimated the damage.

It wasn't just her money—little Astoria's allowance had also been swallowed up by a certain soone's bottomless pockets.

After a few polite exchanges, Lady Greengrass found herself growing even more fond of this well-mannered boy. She gave a warm invitation, saying, "Tom, why not join us for Christmas? Daphne's said so many tis in her letters that without your help, she'd never have made such progress this term. Besides, maybe you can help keep her in check—heavens know I've long since lost the reins when it cos to that girl."

"Mum!" Daphne cried out, cheeks puffed in embarrassnt. Why was her mother exposing her like that?

She had worked so hard to maintain a graceful and elegant image in front of Tom, and now it was all in ruins.

Still, her eyes sparkled as she looked at the boy, full of renewed hope. She'd been turned down before, but… maybe this ti he'd change his mind?

Unfortunately, Tom smiled apologetically and shook his head. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I won't be able to this holiday. Daphne and I have already agreed—I'll visit during the sumr. Might even stay quite a while. That is, if you don't get sick of ."

"Of course not," Lady Greengrass replied with a gentle smile. "The longer you stay, the better. My doors are always open."

Tom nodded graciously, then excused himself so mother and daughter could enjoy their reunion in peace.

An hour and a half later, Tom arrived back at the orphanage.

Thankfully, he had brought his key. The place was empty—Seth was away at his boarding school and had no plans to return for Christmas. The other troubled children who occasionally stayed here had also left.

Dust had collected on every surface. Clearly, Mrs. Arman hadn't been by in quite so ti.

Tom picked up a broom and began cleaning, though the effort felt oddly foreign to him. After growing used to using magic for such tasks, doing things the Muggle way felt incredibly clumsy and inconvenient.

It took ages, but he finally managed to make the place half-decent again. After nibbling on so leftover snacks from the train, he showered and fell straight asleep.

The next morning, he took a bus to the city center, entered the Leaky Cauldron, and from there slipped into Diagon Alley.

The place was bustling—Tom spotted quite a few familiar faces from Hogwarts, so of whom nodded to him in passing.

He made his way to Twilfitt and Tatting's, picked out a winter robe that cost a whopping thirty Galleons, changed into it on the spot, and then strolled past Gringotts, turning into a narrow alley tucked beside the bank.

This alley was tight and winding—barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side. Tom walked for five full minutes before the path opened up again.

Well… "opened up" was a bit generous.

Compared to the spacious Diagon Alley, this street was barely half as wide. The buildings were grimy and falling apart, their crooked signs dangling by rusty chains. The sky above seed murkier here, as though even the sunlight was hesitant to touch this place.

This was Knockturn Alley—the black market of the wizarding world.

The place where all things "inconvenient" to sell found a ho.

Tom rubbed his face, adjusted his expression, and stepped forward.

He glanced around with a panicked look, like a small wizard who had accidentally wandered into a bad neighborhood.

Though called an "alley," Knockturn Alley was more like a spiderweb of narrow corridors. Offshoots and side-paths branched off everywhere, and many of the storefronts were shuttered tight.

As Tom passed by one particular shopfront, he saw a sign that read "Potions and Curios." Below it dangled two real human bones.

His face paled instantly.

Just great. I really look like I got myself lost now.

"Lost, are we, dearie?" ca a sudden voice from nearby.

Tom turned.

A hunched old witch stood before him, holding a tray full of—were those dead fingernails?

She gave him a grin, revealing teeth stained green with moss.

Tom suppressed a shudder and smiled with forced relief. "Yes! Exactly! I got lost—I was trying to find my way back to Diagon Alley!"

"Hehe… well then, co along with , child. I'll take you there."

The old hag's smile twisted into sothing even more grotesque. She waved a bony hand and led him forward.

They wound their way deeper into the alley, turned down several twisting lanes, and finally stopped before a door.

"Go through here, and you'll be back on the right path," she cooed, gesturing for him to enter.

Without hesitation, Tom pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He found himself in a shabby courtyard. A grizzled middle-aged wizard was already there, clearly startled by the boy's sudden entrance. The old witch followed behind, now wearing a smug, dead-eyed expression.

"Lucky day," she rasped. "Ran into a clueless little chick who lost his way. Judging by that coat, he's from money. This'll be a nice score."

The man grinned imdiately.

But what confused them both was that Tom didn't look afraid at all. In fact, he… smiled?

The man glanced at the old witch. "You didn't bring back a simpleton, did you?"

"I swear he was acting totally normal just now!"

Tom bead. "Relax. I'm not stupid. I'm just… happy."

The man scowled. "Happy? Kid, do you not understand what's going on? Start talking. Who's your family? Give us their nas. We'll send a ransom."

Tom just shook his head. "No, no. I'm happy because—this trip's already a success. Two big tasks, handled in one go."

"Here, let send her to see my parents now."

Even as he spoke, his left hand snapped forward like a viper. Ice instantly crystallized across his palm, forming into a jagged icicle spike. With all the force of his strength, he drove it straight into the old witch's throat.

Squelch—!

The spike pierced clean through her neck. The hag gurgled, trying to speak, but no sound ca.

The man had no ti to react. He hadn't even imagined the boy would go for the kill.

Before he could blink, a Stunning Charm struck him square in the chest.

Thud!

Both bodies collapsed to the ground. The difference?

The hag was well and truly dead.

The wizard? Just unconscious. For now.

Tom stood motionless, silently watching the gaping wound in the old witch's neck spill blood onto the floor.

There's a first ti for everything—even killing.

Though he'd struck with cold, decisive precision just monts ago, the truth was… that had been a ticulously preditated plan, executed with pure willpower. Now that it was over, the weight of it finally hit him.

But Tom wouldn't let this opportunity for practical experience go to waste. He forced himself to watch every drop drain from her lifeless body before he finally exhaled, stepped forward, and began searching her.

Soon enough, he found two wands and a handful of Galleons—about a dozen or so.

He searched the house next, turning over every drawer and creaky cupboard. In total, he scraped together a few dozen more Galleons, and a couple hundred Sickles. He didn't even bother with the Knuts.

Pathetic.

That was Tom's first impression.

These two had clearly been doing shady business in the black market, yet this was all they had to show for it?

Then again, this was just how things were at the bottom of the wizarding world.

Whatever their relationship, it was pretty obvious that neither of them had ever graduated from Hogwarts—or at least not through official ans.

Sure, most magical children in Britain attended Hogwarts, but there were always exceptions. Admission required a magical outburst before age eleven, sothing that could be tracked by Hogwarts' magical registry.

But what about those whose first magical surge ca after they turned eleven?

For them, there were always shortcuts—those sketchy crash-course training programs in magic. And that's exactly where people like this ended up.

No diploma, no real skill, no connections. All they could do was scramble at the margins, living off back-alley deals and dark spells.

Of the two, the old witch had clearly been the stronger one. Dark magic practically seeped from her pores, twisting even her physical appearance. The man had seed far more ordinary by comparison.

Tom tested their wands—turns out, the man's wand worked slightly better for him. The old witch's wand nearly caused magical backlash when he tried it—almost like the wand itself rejected him.

The man's wand wasn't ideal, but at least it was usable. Still, compared to Tom's own wand? Not even close.

But that was precisely why he'd done all this.

Underage wizards weren't allowed to cast spells outside school. The Ministry had tracking spells embedded in each student's wand. So Tom's solution?

Simple: Don't use your own wand.

As long as the wand casting the spell wasn't registered to him—and he was physically far enough from his own wand—the Ministry would detect nothing.

The only downside was the awkward handling. It just didn't feel natural in his hand.

…

He cast a few spells in quick succession, familiarizing himself with the wand's feel. Then he pulled a hair from the male wizard's corpse and dropped it into a vial of Polyjuice Potion.

One gulp, and Tom's features twisted and contorted. Within seconds, he wore the dead man's face—rough, aged, and thoroughly unimpressive.

His forrly sharp, handso features were now wrinkled and dull. Tom winced as the transformation completed.

rlin, that taste… utterly revolting.

…

Ding-dong!

The bell over the door chid as Tom—now wearing the appearance of a middle-aged wizard—pushed open the entrance to Borgin and Burkes.

His eyes scanned the shelves—withered hands, blood-stained cards, glass jars with unmoving eyeballs, and various human bones.

Not a single item here could legally be brought into Hogwarts.

"Ah, a custor!"

A door creaked open behind the counter. Out stepped a hunched, skeletal man who paused at the sight of Tom, then let out a chuckle.

"Michael, did you finally strike it rich sowhere and co spend it all here with ?"

Tom's eyes flicked from the rchandise to the shopkeeper.

"Don't play dumb. You know I'm not him."

He turned to face the man squarely. "Mr. Borgin, let's not pretend. We're just buyer and seller. If we skip the gas, we'll both save ourselves a lot of effort."

Borgin blinked in surprise, then quickly broke into a practiced, rchant's smile.

"Well spoken, sir. Michael was a di-a-dozen street rat—he never had your poise. Honestly, if it weren't for that old witch always watching his back, the Knockturn Alley thugs would've gutted him long ago."

Tom gave a slight nod. "That old witch won't be coming around anymore. No need to worry."

At that, Borgin's smile deepened.

"Well then! What an honor to serve a true gentleman. Just yesterday, I received a fresh shipnt of goods. Fair prices, guaranteed."

Tom leaned forward, voice calm and clear: "I need a fresh or well-preserved dragon heart, and a sphinx's eyes and claws."

The smile froze on Borgin's face.

"…A fresh dragon heart?"

"Sir, are you aware how many laws have to be broken just to obtain that?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "If it were legal, why would I be asking you?"

Borgin was montarily speechless.

Sure, there were dragon hearts sitting right out in the open—Snape had one in his office, and Ollivander used dragon heartstring to craft wands—but that was them.

Snape was a Potions Master. Ollivander, a wandmaking legend.

If a dragon died from natural causes, or was put down for being too dangerous, those were the types of people who could acquire its remains without issue.

But for the average wizard?

Not a chance.

"Well… you certainly have refined tastes," Borgin muttered with a sigh. "I do have so sphinx eyes and claws in stock, but as for a dragon heart? I don't even have a dried one, let alone fresh."

Tom's brows knit together.

"…However," Borgin quickly added, "if I do get news of one, I could acquire it for you—or act as a broker, for a reasonable fee."

"How much for the eyes and claws?" Tom asked.

"Five hundred Galleons. One pair of eyes, one pair of claws. Matching set."

Five hundred?! That was robbery.

For reference, a unicorn horn—an equally rare and magical item—usually sold for under one hundred Galleons. A sphinx was rare, yes, but not that much rarer. The price was easily double what it should've been.

Then again… this was the black market.

If it wasn't extortionate, it wouldn't be called black.

Tom paid up without a word. Daphne had given him over a thousand Galleons before, though he'd already spent a portion of it. With his own savings and the coins looted from the corpses earlier, he had just enough to cover the purchase.

After this, though, he had less than three hundred Galleons left to his na.

Once the deal was done and he'd pocketed the materials, he asked one final question.

"How much will the dragon heart cost ?"

Borgin thought for a mont, then held up three fingers. "Three thousand Galleons."

A full dragon corpse was worth anywhere between fifteen and thirty thousand Galleons on the open market. Blood, hide, at—every part of the creature could be harvested and sold.

The heart, being the core component, was naturally one of the most valuable.

Tom did so quick math. Last ti, he'd only managed to swipe about one-fifth of a dragon heart from Snape's office. A full heart should last him a long ti—at least until he built up a resistance.

He nodded.

"Fair price."

"…But I don't have that kind of money right now."

Borgin's face fell instantly.

What was that supposed to an?

To him, it sounded less like haggling, and more like…

Extortion.