The crowds in Diagon Alley were as bustling as ever.

Dawn first avoided the familiar faces at Jiggers’ Apothecary and bought some mid-to-low grade potions from other shops as a backup.

Then he began to consider—what else might he need?

He strolled along the street for a while.

Suddenly, Dawn came to a sharp stop.

“Oh, right—the wand!”

He’d just remembered something.

There was a magic school in Africa called Uagadou, known for teaching magic through hand gestures, willpower, and incantations—without the need for wands.

Since Egypt was situated in Africa, chances were that wands weren’t commonly sold there either.

Just in case, he figured it was best to prepare a few extras.

With that thought, Dawn wasted no time and headed deeper into the alley.

Though there were shops in Diagon Alley that sold second-hand wands, they were more formal and occasionally verified identities before transactions.

That was simply too inconvenient.

So, Dawn decided to take a look at Knockturn Alley.

He’d long known where the entrance was and quickly found the secluded side path from memory.

As he ventured deeper, the sunlight dimmed due to the dense arrangement of buildings, and the once clean cobblestones gradually became coated with an unknown, grimy substance.

Dawn sidestepped the filth, the increasingly strong stench of mildew and rot forcing him to cast a charm to shield himself from the odor.

After walking for another ten or fifteen minutes—

A dusty shop sign reading Borgin and Burkes finally appeared in front of him.

He curiously glanced at the store that had been mentioned in the original books.

Through a cracked display window, he could see two skeletal constructions made from mismatched bones standing ominously.

Dawn thought for a moment and pushed open the shop door.

Though this was a store that dealt primarily in dark artifacts, he figured that any shop with such a reputation wouldn’t have trouble sourcing a few second-hand wands.

And compared to other dark wizards, this store at least had a trace of credibility.

“Welcome.”

A hunched man standing behind the counter greeted him with a voice as greasy as his hair. “What can I help you with today?”

Dawn didn’t answer right away and instead began scanning the interior of the shop—

A lifeless glass eyeball.

A stack of bloodstained playing cards.

A grotesque mask.

A withered human hand.

…

When his eyes landed on that hand, Dawn’s gaze paused briefly.

“The Hand of Glory!”

Mr. Borgin immediately picked up on the pause and exclaimed, “Stick a candle in it, and only the holder will see the light—it’s every thief and burglar’s best friend!”

Just as I thought… Dawn mused inwardly.

He was familiar with the Hand of Glory—he’d even admired its usefulness in certain situations the first time he’d snuck into the Restricted Section.

After a bit of thought, Dawn asked in a hoarse voice, “How much?”

He figured that if he ever found himself inside Egyptian pyramids, this thing might come in handy.

“Ninety Galleons!” Mr. Borgin raised nine fingers, grinning like an ugly fox.

“That’s too much. Fifty.”

“Oh, sir! Surely you’re joking?”

Mr. Borgin gasped theatrically. “Do you know how rare the raw material is? It must be made from the hand of a hanged man! The technique is practically lost!”

Dawn didn’t respond. He already knew that detail. But now that it had been said out loud, something about it struck him as odd.

Must it really be the hand of someone hanged?

He narrowed his eyes.

He could see dense rune circuits on the surface of the Hand of Glory. Was it really impossible to replicate the same effects on another object?

Was it just Borgin’s mistaken belief? Or was there some hidden factor he didn’t yet understand?

Without realizing it, Dawn sank into thought.

But soon, he shook his head to clear it.

Now wasn’t the time for speculation.

“Sixty Galleons,” he said coldly. “A dragon egg only costs about two hundred Galleons. And this?

It’s a gimmick at best. If I weren’t curious, I wouldn’t spend a Knut on it.”

“Sixty?” Mr. Borgin feigned distress. “Can’t you add a little more? That’s far too little.”

Dawn went quiet, pretending to consider. After a long pause, he said, “Seventy.”

As if still feeling cheated, he added, “And with that, you must throw in two second-hand wands.”

Seventy Galleons?

Borgin’s eyes rolled thoughtfully. He was already satisfied with the price. As for the second-hand wands, they were worth next to nothing anyway.

But he still put on a show of reluctant haggling before finally agreeing when Dawn didn’t budge further.

The transaction concluded smoothly.

After paying, Dawn was left with only a single-digit number of Galleons.

But he wasn’t worried.

Leaving Borgin and Burkes, Dawn stashed the Hand of Glory into his leather pouch and lowered his gaze to examine the two second-hand wands in his hand.

One was made of holly with a phoenix feather core. The other, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core.

But judging from their condition, they were clearly worth no more than freebies. One had a visible crack through the middle, and the other had a slightly exposed core.

Still, after testing them and confirming they worked—barely—Dawn didn’t dwell on it.

By now, it was three in the afternoon.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Dawn left immediately.

Standing on a London street, he first ducked out of sight and used Transfiguration to turn his wizarding robes into a short-sleeved shirt, a jacket, and pants.

Then he hailed a cab, got into the back seat, and told the driver, “To Dover District, Kent.”

He needed to get some money.

Dawn’s father, Mr. Richter, sent him money on the tenth of every month as child support.

He’d gone to school on September 1st, and today was November 2nd, just after Halloween.

Which meant—there should be a fairly large sum of money sitting at home, waiting to be collected!

When the cab pulled up outside his house, Dawn asked the driver to wait while he went in. Sure enough, two envelopes had been pushed through the mail slot near the door.

Dawn pocketed them and returned to the car, then said, “Take me to a nearby jewelry shop.”

Taking British pounds to Egypt was too much of a hassle—Gringotts there wouldn’t take Muggle currency.

So Dawn intended to exchange them for gold.

Though the clerk at the jewelry store looked a little suspicious of his age, they didn’t ask questions once they confirmed the money was real.

After finishing that errand, Dawn had the driver take him to the nearest phone booth.

He needed to make a call.

Based on his brief trial on the Knight Bus, Dawn realized that if he wanted to trace the pattern causing the influence, it might be possible—but would take an immense amount of effort.

And without a doubt, the one thing he lacked most right now… was time.

________________

Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-

patreon.com/BloodAncestor

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep