Chapter 262: Macabre Concoctions

Disclaimer: 

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K Rowling.

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

Chapter 262: Macabre Concoctions

Knockturn Alley was particularly quiet that night as Harry made his way to the bar mentioned by Fenrir.

He was not familiar with this one, so he ended up taking a lot of wrong turns until he finally spotted a half-broken sign with the words "Macabre Concoctions" written on it.

The 'bar,' if it could be called such, was located at the end of an alley with no other exit. The exterior was extremely dirty and unkempt, with a broken window and a large variety of stains, from blood to…other things.

Unlike the entrance to Miss Yafel's shop, this was not the work of a spell to conceal its true form. Harry was sure of that. This place was, as some would call it...a "shit-hole"

"I doubt they get many new clients," he commented before pulling on the door handle.

The old wooden door opened with a loud creak, alerting everyone inside to the new arrival. There was little light inside the bar, but it was enough for Harry to at least count the number of patrons.

There were two large individuals sitting at a small circular table on the right side. One dark-robed person sat at the far end of the sitting area, their face darkened even further by the hood they wore, making it impossible to even tell if it was a man or a woman.

One last patron was sitting at the bar, a short bald man wearing something akin to leather armor, drinking some green liquid from a large cup.

And finally, there was the barman, a chubby man with dark red hair, a short beard, and cruel eyes.

Harry hoped this was the person he was looking for. That would make things simpler, and he wasn't even sure how much useful information this man could have.

All the patrons had their eyes fixated on Harry. It wasn't clear if this was because he was a new face in this place, something very uncommon, or because he was still a minor and should have no business in a bar, much less one like this one.

Under their intense gazes, he made his way to the bar and looked at the large man behind it. "Are you Marcus, the owner of this place?"

"That depends… who is the one asking?" The barman was experienced enough to avoid antagonizing anyone until knowing who he was dealing with. His first instinct was to kick this child out of his bar, but if he turned out to be the pretentious son of some important pureblood Lord, he could get in a lot of trouble.

The other patrons seemed to be thinking the same. They looked at Harry with interest, but no one had made any comments yet.

A normal schoolboy would not have come to a run-down bar in the deepest part of Knockturn Alley. And judging by his elegant robes, this was someone from a wealthy family.

"Harry," he answered.

The barman's displeasure became more evident. "And what family are you from, Mister Harry?"

"That is not important, and I asked the question first. Are you the owner or not? I don't have all night," Harry said.

The bald man at his side let out a chuckle. "You heard him. He doesn't have all night," he said in a mocking tone.

"Boy…if you don't tell me which family you belong to or who sent you here, I will begin to assume that you are a mudblood who stole those clothes from some proper young Lord," the barman said.

The two large men who were sitting at the side table were now standing up. Their eyes never left Harry.

The bald man got his face closer to him. "You don't wanna know what we do with mudbloods around these parts…so you may wanna start talking, little boy."

Harry nodded. "Very well…I will tell you who I am." He stared at the barman. "I am the little boy who killed Fenrir Greyback and the rest of his pack. Now I am looking for Dolohov, and I have been told you may know something about that."

There was a moment of silence in the tavern while the patrons tried to process what Harry had just said.

Following this, the bald man and the other two started to laugh at the top of their lungs.

"What a jokester we have here!" the bald man exclaimed.

"Did you hit your head?" "A toddler like you killing Fenrir?...this kid is crazy."

The only ones who had remained serious were the dark-robed figure at the back and the barman.

It wasn't that they believed what Harry claimed, but the news about Fenrir Greyback's death was not widespread yet. Marcus, the owner of the bar, had only learned about it that same afternoon after receiving a message from Dolohov explaining briefly what had happened at Hogwarts and saying that he was going into hiding for a few weeks.

As far as he was concerned, the only way this boy in front of him could know something about it was if he had been involved somehow. Perhaps a witness.

"How do you know about Fenrir?" Marcus asked with a deadly serious expression while pulling his wand out.

The men stopped laughing when they saw this.

"Wait, is it true? The werewolf King is dead?" the bald man asked.

"That can't be!" "Yeah! There is no way. Who could kill that monster?"

"Silence!" Marcus shouted. "Grab the boy!."

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