Chapter 77: The Trap of Knockturn Alley

Silven and Garrick left the Romanian Dragon Preserve at five p.m., and minutes later, they appeared in a room within the Ministry of Magic.

The drawback of official Portkeys is this: whenever you return to Britain, you must first go to the Ministry.

In Romania, there are no such cumbersome rules—when we went there, we appeared directly at the preserve’s entrance.

“Five oh three, from the Romanian Dragon Preserve,” came a voice.

“Good afternoon, Basil,” Garrick said casually—he used Portkeys often and was thoroughly accustomed to it.

When the Ministry staff saw it was Garrick Ollivander, they didn’t even ask questions and let him pass immediately.

“Thank goodness it wasn’t Lambert—otherwise we’d have waited at least ten minutes before leaving,” Garrick said, clearly pleased, evidently satisfied with his haul from the Dragon Preserve.

Silven learned for the first time that even his grandfather needed to “fight” to obtain high-quality dragon heartstrings and cardiac nerves from the preserve.

With Dumbledore’s help this time, he had clearly “taken” a good deal from his rivals; according to him, Gregorovitch and Arcayol left with faces as green as mold.

The two exited the room, passed through the bustling Ministry atrium, and returned to the Leaky Cauldron via the Floo Network.

Afterward, Garrick locked himself in his room again, and Silven did the same, occasionally stepping out to sit in the Leaky Cauldron.

Although the wizard wearing the cowboy hat hadn’t shown up in days, the place never lacked drunken fools who bragged endlessly—there was always a new source of amusement.

Until late July, owls began appearing one after another in London’s sky.

That evening, as dusk fell, Silven stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron as usual and, passing Knockturn Alley, instinctively glanced over.

“Hmm?”

That glance made Silven freeze on the spot, his eyes locked onto something in the hands of an old witch.

It was a dried lizard—nothing remarkable; such creatures were common in potions and magic alike. In some African wizarding tribes, dried lizards were even used as currency.

But this lizard was different—translucent as crystal, strikingly visible in the dim light.

Silven’s feet moved involuntarily into the alley, just as they had before.

As he drew closer, he saw more clearly: along the creature’s spine ran natural runes, distinct on each side.

The Runed Chameleon Lizard, commonly known as the Shape-shifting Lizard, is not rare among magical creatures—but it is exceedingly difficult to catch.

This lizard possesses the magical ability to alter its appearance to match its surroundings—its color, shape, even its size blending perfectly.

One moment it might be an unremarkable stone, the next a withered leaf, sometimes even a discarded lightbulb—you could never predict what form it would take next.

To capture one, the only method is to cast wide-area detection spells across forests where it might appear, sweeping every inch of ground like a net.

With luck, you might encounter one or two before traversing the entire forest.

Knockturn Alley truly lived up to its reputation as a magical black market—beyond legal goods, you could find anything… The method of preparing this chameleon lizard was unmistakably North American—only they straightened the tail.

In other words, this thing was smuggled.

But hadn’t this old witch been a poisoner? Didn’t she always carry nails or skulls? How had she suddenly taken up smuggling?

“How much?” Silven frowned, cutting straight to the point.

“Five hundred Galleons,” the witch grinned, revealing black-green teeth.

Combined with her straw-like dry hair and her faded, filthy robe of indeterminate color, she perfectly matched the witch archetype from Muggle fairy tales—those who peddled poisoned apples and frog soup.

Especially now that night had fallen, even Silven felt a chill run down his spine.

“Too expensive,” he stepped back subtly, “This item’s price is one hundred Galleons—even in Knockturn Alley, it’s never this high.”

“No haggling,” the witch hissed. “But you can speak to the seller yourself—they’d be delighted to.”

With that, she burst into a strange laugh.

“Tap, tap, tap…”

Sudden footsteps behind him made Silven realize something was wrong—but as he turned to flee Knockturn Alley, he froze in place. Two shadows had appeared behind him, unseen.

Turning again, three more shadows emerged from the alley’s depths—plus the old witch, six people total.

Silven knew—he’d walked into a trap. The chameleon lizard had been bait.

But why?

“You’ve got the wrong person,” Silven forced himself to stay calm. “I’m just an ordinary Hogwarts student.”

“You’re anything but ordinary, Silven Ollivander,” one shadow stepped forward, voice rasping as if from far away.

He was entirely shrouded in a wide black hood; moonlight seemed swallowed by him, his outline blurred beyond recognition.

But his words sank into Silven’s chest.

They were after him.

No reason—he wasn’t Harry Potter, just an ordinary wandmaker…

“I get it,” Silven suddenly realized, voice firm. “You’re after wands. You want Ollivander’s Wand Shop.”

The leader paused, then adopted a tone of keen interest.

“How did you know?”

He admitted it—without even pretending to deny it.

“I guessed,” Silven shrugged.

“No rush—we can talk as we walk,” the man drew his wand, gesturing for Silven to move deeper into Knockturn Alley.

Silven had no choice but to comply, explaining as he went:

“You knew my name and my habit of coming here—clearly you investigated. And that…”

Silven pointed to the left, at the standard evil witch, “She’s been here about a month, replacing a stall I frequented—the vendor vanished afterward… You killed him, didn’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Silven continued: “You learned from him that I’m interested in magical creatures—so a month later, I happened upon the chameleon lizard.”

Silven pieced it together himself—many things suddenly made sense.

No wonder he’d noticed more unfamiliar faces in Knockturn Alley, and why such a rare creature hadn’t been snatched up immediately.

…

(End of Chapter)