[October 3rd 1991]
Knockturn Alley.
The very name conjures up images of darkness and shady dealings — of forbidden things hidden away from where common, law-abiding witches and wizards choose to travel.
The shops of Knockturn Alley often didn't advertise their wares. Not because they were necessarily illegal—although they sometimes were—but rather because most people liked to pretend that the wares in question didn't exist. The sky was dark and cloudy — the crescent moon, barely visible. A light drizzle fell on everything, splattering against cobblestones and pattering off of windows. It fell on the many signs that lined the shops, and on one sign, it ran down a dried and flattened snake skin nailed to the otherwise empty wood.
A robed and cloaked man exited from the snake skin adorned shop front, let out a satisfied breath, and slowly walked off down the wet and dripping alley.
In the upper floors of the shop, in a small and simple room, a slight figure with shoulder length, blonde hair and watery, blue eyes sat on a messy bed, arms wrapped around her knees, knees pressed against her chest, shivering against the cold seeping into her now sweaty body, naked, but for an ominous silver collar around her neck. Clothes lay strewn over the floor. A torn slip of women's underwear hung on the back of a chair. An empty potions bottle sat on the tiny window desk, next to a small pile of coins.
Suddenly, the girl on the bed started to change. Her hair slowly shifted from blonde to brown, keeping its straightness, but lengthening down to the small of her back. She seemed to gain a few years, maturing from a possible sixteen or seventeen year old to a very definite early twenties. Her form filled out somewhat, from petite to curvy, although her height remained the same. And finally her face changed, becoming softer, rounder, with a button nose, a dainty chin, and two still wet eyes, one staying blue, the other turning hazel.
The girl shivered again and tried to banish the feeling of unwanted hands all over her. Food would be served soon. She should at least get a shower before then.
The girl shuffled to the edge of the bed, stood up shakily, stepped over to the desk, picked up the empty bottle of polyjuice potion, and dropped it into the nearby bin.
She then collected the coins and counted them out. One sickle, eight knuts (£3.80). Not a great tip, but better than a smack around the face, which is what she sometimes got. She moved back to the bed, lifted up the mattress, and added the coins to her secret pile of bronze and silver. No gold of course. She knew galleons existed, but she'd never actually seen them before. Her secret stash was small but growing, and after almost three years, was starting to close in on her target of seven galleons… enough for her very own wand. She lowered the mattress and looked blankly at the wall.
A knock sounded from the door. She instinctively flinched away and covered her chest.
"Clare?" a voice from the other side of the door called. "Food's ready."
Clare relaxed and lowered her arm. It was just the madam. She called out. "Wait. Can you repair something?" She reached over and snatched the torn pair of knickers from the chair as the door opened.
The madam was a larger, older woman, who'd taken over when the last manager had disappeared in mysterious circumstances. The woman sighed. "Again?"
Clare nodded. The madam took the ruined knickers, tapped them with her wand, and returned them to her, almost good as new.
"Thank you."
The madam nodded. "Now get a wash, dear. You'll need it."
Clare stilled. "Why?" "You have another appointment after dinner."
Clare's shoulders slumped.
The madam folded her arms. "None of that. Now, go get ready. Go on."
Clare nodded, resigned, closed the door, threw on a bathrobe, exited her room again, padded down the hall to the shared bathroom, grabbed a quick shower, careful to wash the skin under her silver collar, went back to her room, pulled on her now repaired underwear and plain black robe, and joined the other girls downstairs at the tiny table in a cramped back room of the building.
Jessica, Rachel, and Caroline had all suffered the same fate as her, although she was the only one who wore a collar. She'd been the only one foolish enough to try and break the International Statute of Secrecy.
They chatted and ate for a few minutes, Rachel giving the newer Caroline tips on how to handle older wizards. "They love it when you ask them to show you some magic and then praise their power. They love having their ego stroked." Clare was just reaching for a second bread roll when the madam stopped her.
"Don't eat too much, dear. I understand your client is bringing food with him."
The other girls looked up.
"Oh, one of those clients." Jessica muttered. "Lucky."
Rachel snorted. "Maybe. The last one who brought me food ate most of it himself."
Just then, the back door opened and an older wizard they all knew, but rarely saw, walked in. The chatter instantly ceased and all the girls averted their eyes down to the ground. The man moved over to the madam.
Clare stared at the floor boards. "A word in private, Madam Cakeworth." The voice was calm and cruel and caused Clare to suppress a shudder.
"Yes, my lord," the madam quickly answered and the two left.
"What's he doing here?" Jessica whispered, looking worried.
Rachel shrugged.
Caroline shivered. "I don't like him. He's creepy."
Jessica looked at Caroline sharply. Her voice turned deadly serious. "Don't say that, Carol. Don't even think it. Some of them can read minds, you know."
Clare grimaced. The people who ruled the wizarding world were scary. She'd only ever met two of them, but had no wish to meet any more. They were deceitful, evil, and ruthless.
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