Knowing someone was out to get him was very confusing for Ted. After all, he was in the middle of a main street in London. Not to mention, recognizing someone you knew accidentally — even finding someone on purpose — would be hard enough on its own.
After determining that nothing random — like a robber or a car going off the road — was anywhere nearby, he concluded that he was being aimed for. And the chances that someone was searching for him or targeting him specifically were high, to say the least.
If he were at home, it would have made more sense. People there knew him, and some might even have a reason to target him. But wandering randomly through the dark, crowded streets of London? It should have been impossible for anyone to recognize him.
Especially so, given his tiny social circle — consisting of fewer than a hundred people. Most of them were children of very rich families — not exactly the type to walk around on foot, or alone for that matter. The rest were mostly old teachers, most of them above their late fifties — also not the type to wander the streets after dark.
For a moment, Jessie's image jumped to his mind. But that one didn't fit the bill either. The young maid never had any interest in Ted — for better or worse — and targeting him would bring her nothing.
By now, she should already be in a coffee house near the National Museum, chatting with her friends after their shopping spree. She had made a habit of it. This way, when Ted was left alone, he would know where to find her — and she could do as she pleased.
Keeping a low profile, Ted quietly scanned the area, careful not to draw any unwanted attention by acting suspiciously. He needed to find out who was targeting him.
Ted remembered reading a book once that spoke of battles throughout history. In it was this sentence: "The deadliest blade is the one concealed in shadows," meaning the most dangerous situation is when you don't know where the attack will come from.
Looking at the stores as he moved up the dark street, Ted could feel that tug in his stomach growing stronger. He stopped occasionally, looking at random display windows that showcased anything from shiny new books to dresses in flowery designs. All the while, he kept giving the sneakiest side glances he could, trying to locate his follower.
As Ted stopped in front of a certain pub again, he looked at the shiny glass reflecting the small orange streetlight that stood near its entrance. Looking inside, he could see a bunch of cheerful Manchester United fans. A tie against Liverpool — the behemoth of the Premier League that year — was more than enough to excite the drunken crowd.
It was then that Ted recognized a familiar silhouette in the window's reflection. A man in a dark raincoat, holding a closed dark umbrella in his right hand, stood across the street. He was tall — probably 1.9 meters — and his face was hidden by the shadows.
It's the same coat! Ted thought, doing his best to appear inconspicuous.
It was the same man Ted had seen briefly in the old bookstore earlier that day. Apparently, this man had already been following him back then.
Ted started moving again, still wandering up the street. He didn't want to alert his pursuer that he knew of his existence. As Ted neared the edge of the street, he kept searching for a way to evade the tall man. He didn't know his intentions, but there was a high chance he meant him harm.
Ted knew he had to avoid direct confrontation at all costs. He was just a child, after all. Against a grown man, any form of struggle from him would be little more than a joke.
Logic told him to go to a place with people around — it would be harder to act against him with witnesses present. Fortunately, that was no problem — he was in the middle of London, after all.
But it also told him not to go to a place that was too crowded. A loud, messy crowd could easily create the perfect cover for his pursuer to strike from the shadows.
Just as Ted passed by an old, closed record shop, he found the perfect location.
Right near the edge of the street, with only a small bookstore beside it, was an old pub.
The storefront glass of the pub was covered by a thin layer of dust, giving one the impression of it being abandoned.
Only a small flickering light, and the sound of a few muffled giggles from within, hinted at its active nature.
It was perfect for Ted. Small, yes — but that was exactly the type of place he was hoping to find. Not many people would enter such a run-down pub, and yet he could hear people inside — meaning it was busy enough that he didn't have to fear an attack.
Ted walked leisurely toward the pub's wooden door. Looking above it, he saw a blue sign with bold, old-English black letters reading:
The Leaky Cauldron
Ted stopped for a moment. He could've sworn he'd heard that name somewhere before, but he soon kept moving. This wasn't the time to think — and he knew it.
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Walking through the door, Ted couldn't help but wonder if he'd just stepped through a time machine.
The Leaky Cauldron was a small, shabby pub, warmed by a lit fire in the fireplace that gave the air a smoky feeling. There were no lamps inside, and the room was lit entirely by torches and candles that illuminated the old stone walls.
At the far corners of the pub sat groups of people clad in robes, similar to the ones he'd seen earlier while wandering through Charing Cross Road. They were talking loudly about various topics — most of which Ted failed to understand.
"Did you hear about the Death Eaters attacks? I heard they struck a village just out of Norwich, targeting Muggles!" exclaimed a man in a blue robe and a peculiar hat as he looked as he took a large sip of his beer.
"Did you hear about the Death Eaters' attacks? I heard they struck a village just outside of Norwich — targeting Muggles!" exclaimed a man in a blue robe and a peculiar hat as he took a large sip of his beer.
"Ohhh, I heard the Minister said she would put an end to them. Shame. They never keep their promises — they always promise! Merlin's beard! At least once in a while, they could be truthful. Don't think that would kill them!" replied the man to his left, wearing a black turban and a dark green robe. Disappointment and anger were clear on his dark, gloomy face.
"I also heard that one of them turned a Muggle into a sheep before feeding him to a passing Hippogriff!" added another man, this one in large green robes, his messy brown hair disheveled. As he spoke, deep fear could be heard in his voice. It was clear he was terrified of those so-called Death Eaters.
From the bits and pieces, Ted deduced that it was some sort of role-playing game. He had read of them in the school library — apparently, it was a kind of enactment of a certain story through special clothing, props, and acting.
He simply chose to ignore the surreal tales as he walked toward the bar. There, an old, mostly bald man stood, speaking to a very, very short man who stood on a stool near the counter. Ted stood there for a minute or so as the two spoke of some game between the Cannons and the Magpies. At first, Ted assumed they were talking about an Arsenal match, but when he heard the so-called scores that passed the 300 mark, he ruled it out.
"Excuse me," Ted spoke finally, trying to raise his face above the counter by standing on his tiptoes, only barely managing to peek over the edge.
The bartender looked at Ted, and a grin rose to his lips. "Hey there, young man — lost your parents, did you?" he said cheerily.
Ted, who had caught the man's attention, took a step back and nodded, his eyes scanning the old man carefully. He had relaxed quite a bit by now; the tug in his stomach had long since faded. It seemed to have stopped almost immediately after he entered the old pub. But Ted still kept his guard up — the whole experience was very confusing to him...
Even being only eight, Ted had already read enough to know — theoretically — how to deal with almost any situation. But knowing and acting were very different things. Ted still thought clearly and acted with calculation under pressure — a very rare trait, especially at his age. The way he grew up, and the hard-earned knowledge he had gathered — limited as it was — still kept him clear-minded.
"Yes, sir," Ted answered. "I was wandering the street when… when I lost my mum and somehow ended up here," he said as shyly as he could, his eyes cast to the floor.
It seemed his act worked wonders, as the smiling bartender looked at him with a gentle expression.
"My name is Tom — the owner of this humble pub. How should I call you, young man?" Tom said, putting out his hand for a handshake.
Ted, who didn't want to cause any commotion like some that had happened in the past, thought for only three short seconds before answering back with an innocent smile as he shook the outstretched hand.
"I'm Theodor. Theodor Selwyn. You can call me Ted."
He knew this was his mother's maiden name; using it made him feel closer to her — even if only by a little. He felt as if he was carrying her legacy.
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A short hour later, Ted was now sitting on a wooden bed on the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron.
After Tom heard his story, the kind tavern owner offered him to stay there; according to him, anyone who lost track of their child in the alley would check here at one point or another.
Ted found it quite odd. After all, why would anyone who lost their child in the middle of Charing Cross Road ever think to look in the most rundown building on the street?
But the old bartender seemed nice, and the tug in his stomach never came back. So after a short consideration, he finally agreed to Tom's offer. Either way, he didn't have many other options; leaving the pub could lead him right back into his pursuer's line of sight — something he obviously wished to avoid. This meant staying was the best option.
With his 'mother,' who was supposedly searching for him, doomed to never show, Ted, who had nothing else to do, chose to close his eyes, sailing away into the land of dreams...
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In the Blake mansion, the main study was a room full of elegance and antiquity. The room was enveloped in the rich embrace of dark wood, its old panels and furniture still looking new, seemingly unaffected by the passage of time.
The focal point was a substantial oak desk, a bit worn yet sturdy, adorned with only the essentials — a computer, a pen, a scattering of loose papers, and a solitary, weathered photograph.
Against one wall, a modest bookshelf stood, showcasing a select few volumes that carried an air of significance. The absence of an elaborate rug allowed the slightly worn dark wooden planks to reveal their age with a soft, occasional creak. Soft light emanated from a new black-chromed lamp on the desk, casting a glow on the simple, functional furnishings.
In the dimly lit room, behind the imposing table, sat a middle-aged man. His eyes and hair, as dark as coal, were complemented by a pair of elegantly silver-framed spectacles perched on his face, creating a serious and cold vibe throughout the space.
The cold glint in the man's eyes, coupled with furrowed brows, unmistakably conveyed his anger. This was Ted's father, Cassius Blake — a man not to be trifled with.
Before him stood a tall figure, draped in a dark raincoat, head bowed, eyes fixed on the wooden floor. The room fell into a heavy silence as Cassius's stern gaze bore into the man.
"What the hell do you mean he disappeared!" Cassius's face flushed with frustration. His voice, though controlled, carried the weight of authority. "I gave you one — just one — simple task. Follow an 8-year-old and keep him safe! How can you even blow that?!"
Had Ted been present, witnessing this tense interaction, he wouldn't have believed his eyes. The man before his father was the very one he had been trying to escape — or so he thought. The feeling in his stomach had hinted at danger but offered no clue about its source.
The tall figure, still with head bowed, nervously began to recount the events, detailing Ted's activities until he mysteriously vanished. "Sir, I was just following him, just like you ordered. He spent most of his time in a bookshop until it got dark outside. Then, when he left, he started browsing some shops, until suddenly he began walking faster and looking around more. At some point, he approached a small bookstore before he finally disappeared."
Cassius, unmoved by the explanation, continued to scrutinize the man. He spoke with measured intensity, "You will go back and search for clues. You won't return until you find any leads."
As the man exited, Cassius's gaze shifted to a picture on the desk. In it, a beautiful young woman with silver hair and bright, starry eyes held a bundle of cloth, from which a small head peeked out. "Elara..." Cassius sighed, the frustration replaced by profound grief as memories flooded back.
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Upon opening his eyes, Ted looked at the unfamiliar ceiling. Recalling the events of the last night, he rose from the unfamiliar bed and ambled towards a window that offered a view into a narrow alley. The soft glow of the morning light barely illuminated the scene outside.
The alley stretched before him, revealing a different side of London from Charing Cross Street. The worn cobblestones and the aged buildings carried an air of history in the quiet morning.
Ted observed modest storefronts lining the alley, each with distinctive signs that attracted his eyes, with vibrant colors and interesting designs. The enchanting aroma of fresh pastries wafted from a nearby bakery, adding warmth to the otherwise cool and windy spring morning.
Realizing it was around 6:30 am, Ted hurriedly came up with a plan for the day. As he left the room and walked down a beautifully decorated lamp of oak-made stairs, he once again looked at the Leaky Cauldron, this time with calm eyes.
Even in this early morning hour, various patrons still sat around the warm, cozy pub, conversing loudly over various seemingly imaginative topics as they drank from large mugs and ate their breakfast.
"Good morning, Ted!" called a cheery voice from the bar; Tom, who noticed Ted's descent down the stairs, greeted him loudly.
"Good morning," Ted answered simply as he walked towards the old bartender.
"Hope you slept well; here, take your breakfast." Tom pushed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him as well as a mug filled with a drink that looked suspiciously like beer.
"Yes, thank you." Ted answered politely as he took the plate and sat by an empty oak table. On it was a newspaper someone had left behind.
Eating his breakfast slowly, Ted's interest was piqued as he observed the passing people. To his surprise, none of them had actually left through the door where he entered.
Some guests entered through it, with a few choosing to sit and dine, while the rest seamlessly crossed the pub and disappeared into an enigmatic back room. Adding to the intrigue, he also noticed that some patrons seemed to emerge from that very same mysterious back room.
When he finally finished his plate, he intended to thank Tom, but as he reached the counter, the latter seemed to be busy talking to some other customers.
With his curiosity getting the better of him, Ted finally headed towards that back room.
But as he passed through the door, he was surprised by the sight in front of him — a simple, small, open-air garden with a small metallic garbage can placed in the corner. The walls of the room were made of simple bricks. Just some generic space by all means.
But this sight left him even more dumbfounded. After all, for the last hour or so, he had seen tens of people leave the pub through this very same door, while only a few entered from it. Where did they all disappear to?
Left confused and bewildered, he sat on the floor right in front of the trash can. His back leaning against one of the walls, his eyes glued to the wall that faced the door. As his brain stormed, searching for some reasonable explanation for the disturbing phenomena, a hint of a memory that somehow eluded him until now floated in his mind.
It was something he read in his mother's library, in one of the newer-looking fantasy books named 'Magical Establishments Through the Ages' by Araminta Thistlewick; it was just this old fiction that spoke of various imaginary locations, among them was a pub by this one's very name — 'The Leaky Cauldron.'
"The Leaky Cauldron. Nestled within the vibrant tapestry of Diagon Alley, this venerable establishment stands as a testament to the resilience and adaptability of magical spaces throughout time. From its humble origins to becoming the conduit between the wizarding and Muggle realms, the Leaky Cauldron's story is interwoven with the very fabric of magical society."
The book also told of one of the largest magical shopping districts, a magical street called Diagon Alley, and their connection, the entrance that was in a stone wall, placed at the back of the magical pub.
"I... It can't be..." Ted murmured slightly; he had dreamt of such a thing since the first time he read a book in his mother's library, but it seemed nothing short of impossible.
Touching the brick wall with his right hand, Ted glided his hand across it as he closed his eyes to recall the text he read so many years ago.
"Seven from the left, ten from the bottom," he started mumbling as he pressed on a certain brick.
"Eight from the left, nine from the bottom," he tapped another brick.
"Eight from the left, seven from the bottom," his hand once again touched a brick that was just a bit below the former.
"And lastly, seven from the left, eight from the bottom!" this time his mumbling became more of an exclamation.
For a moment, nothing happened, and he immediately started doubting himself; it was common knowledge that magic was nothing but myths and tales, and he was very quick to ridicule himself for being so naive.
It was just then, that the clicking sound came, and a small hole formed in the brick wall, giving the shocked Ted a small glimpse into the magical Diagon Alley.
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This chapter was originally separated into two parts that were merged and edited(I'm sorry if your comments were deleted as a result.)