Harry hadn't been this genuinely frightened in quite some time.
He had slipped in after Malfoy, hunched low beneath his Invisibility Cloak in the half-crouching posture that anyone watching would have found ridiculous, and hadn't even had a chance to properly take in how Borgin and Burkes—that specialist dealer in the most unsavory of Dark artifacts, usually tucked away in the shadowed anonymity of Knockturn Alley had transformed itself into this makeshift tent existence.
Then a pair of grey eyes swept toward him, sharp with suspicion.
'Have I been spotted?'
Harry froze in the doorway, half-crouched and feeling thoroughly ridiculous, not daring to move a single muscle. He barely allowed himself to breathe, terrified that even the small rise and fall of his chest might create some visible disturbance in the air.
'Did the wind catch the cloak as I rushed in, giving Malfoy a glimpse of something at the edge of his vision? Or was there some other reason?'
Harry kept his lips pressed tight and watched Malfoy with care, tracking the angle and focus of his gaze.
From the angle of Malfoy's sightline, he was undeniably looking in Harry's direction.
But Harry soon realized he hadn't been discovered after all.
Malfoy's eyes were aimed his way, yes—but they were focused on something behind him.
The silence stretched for several seconds, each one lasting longer.
Then, mercifully, Malfoy did nothing. His eyelids flickered once and he turned away without a word and walked deeper into the shop.
Phew—
Harry let out a breath he'd been holding then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle any further sound.
He glanced back toward the tent entrance and understood at once what had caught Malfoy's attention.
His rush through the canvas flap had set it moving with rather more force than natural.
Malfoy was far more alert than Harry had credited him with being.
A chill of wariness settled over Harry, and he moved with considerably greater care as he straightened slowly and looked properly at the interior of Borgin and Burkes in its new, cramped incarnation.
The shop's wares were as deeply unsavoury as ever.
A wizened severed hand, its skin like old parchment, placed on a small stand and apparently enchanted to move occasionally. Blood-stained playing cards spread in a fan. Bones fashioned into every conceivable shape arranged on shelves casually like a collector's display. Magical instruments of various purposes ranged along one wall, each that radiated a sense of doom..
All of it turned Harry's stomach.
Borgin, evidently, had not been as forthcoming in his temporary accommodations as the Gringotts goblins or most of the other Diagon Alley shopkeepers who had set up tent operations in the ruins.
Where the main shopping area's tents were reasonably spacious, practically arranged, most of them expanded internally to something approaching their original premises—Borgin's tent was considerably more cramped than his permanent premises in Knockturn Alley had been.
The objects were pressed together in a way that made crossing genuinely unpleasant. Cluttered artefacts crowded the narrow path that led from the entrance to the counter, each one carrying its own aura of consequence.
Draco, who had visited the original premises with his father more than once, moved through this hazard course. He knew that with Dark objects, if you didn't know precisely what you were dealing with, you did not touch them.
He turned sideways at the tightest point of the passage, picking his way through with care, until he reached the counter at the far end. There he pressed a small bell, and waited.
"Ah, if it isn't young Mr. Malfoy!"
A hunched, stooping man appeared from the back of the tent as if he'd been waiting nearby. He was smoothing his greasy hair back from his forehead with one hand and beamed with unctuous enthusiasm.
"You and your father haven't graced my humble shop in quite some time—I do hope he's keeping well?"
A shriveled skull perched on top one of the display cabinets let out intermittent, ghastly cackles. Harry held his breath to hear better around its interruptions, edging sideways toward the counter until he reached a position close enough to follow the conversation clearly, then stopped.
"My father is none of your concern, Borgin—"
For reasons Harry couldn't quite determine from the outside, Draco's face had gone ashen with suppressed fury.
He gave Borgin a flat, cold stare.
"Though I don't mind telling you: he is perfectly fine. Whatever rumours you may have been hearing—they are all lies."
'So something has happened to Malfoy's father.'
Harry latched onto this with attention, already looking forward to sharing the news with Ron and Hermione later.
"Of course, of course—"
Borgin gave a smile that was entirely servile and almost entirely convincing.
"Anyone with genuine sense would know better than to give credence to such things. I have always maintained that your father stands among the most trusted of... His—closest inner circle."
Borgin wiped a mental bead of sweat from his brow. When this little wretch scowled, there was something about him—something that sent a genuine chill down Borgin's spine.
Whatever flattery Borgin had offered, it clearly hadn't worked. Even from ten-odd feet away, Harry could feel the cold radiating off Draco.
"What's that rubbish you're carrying?"
Draco's gaze dropped, apparently without particular interest, to the tray in Borgin's hands.
On the tray, beneath a glass dome that caught and distorted the light in unsettling ways, mounted on a small wooden stand sat a necklace unlike anything Harry could immediately name or categorize.
Brassy in color. Deeply tarnished, its metal oxidized to a dark, greenish-brown.
The design was intricate—Harry couldn't see all of it from his position but what he could see had a quality of intentionality that set it apart from mere decoration.
Without any conscious process of reasoning, he was certain this thing was dangerous.
He could tell because Borgin kept his attention fixed on the tray throughout the conversation, as though terrified the necklace might slip from its mount.
"Oh, you mean this necklace, sir?"
Borgin asked the question as if he didn't know the answer, his smile was as slick and managed as everything else about him.
"I'm afraid it's not available for sale, Mr. Malfoy."
"Not for sale?" Draco's mouth curved into a sneer. "Why ever not?"
"Because, very simply, it is too dangerous to sell, Mr. Malfoy. Anyone who possesses this necklace and wishes to take a life—well, there could be nothing simpler, nothing more reliable, nothing that leaves less of a trace."
He paused, allowing this to settle.
"But you will understand, I'm sure, that I have no desire to invite serious trouble upon myself at this particular moment in history. If someone were to die because of an object sold by this shop, the Ministry would trace it back to me—and they are considerably more thorough in their tracing than they used to be."
Noticing that Draco's eyes had been drawn to the necklace despite himself, a flicker of satisfaction crossed Borgin's cloudy gaze.
"I paid handsomely to acquire this piece from a foreign wizard who understood its value. My intention in bringing it here was purely to display it in the shop—as a proof to this establishment's long history and distinguished taste in the rarer categories of our field."
He managed to make this sound almost respectable.
"You're saying it can kill." Draco narrowed his eyes stripping the question to its practical essence.
Beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry felt a flash of contempt. Even he could hear the pitch: this greasy, hunched old shopkeeper was talking up the price of that necklace by performing reluctance to sell it. The classic approach.
"Forgive me, for saying so Mr. Malfoy, but that question is an insult to this magnificent piece—"
Borgin threw his mouth open theatrically.
"A full-grown dragon in its prime—in its absolute prime, Mr. Malfoy, a fully matured specimen—even that would have no chance of surviving contact with this necklace."
Draco bent forward slightly, studying the necklace through the curved glass of the dome.
Whether it could actually kill a dragon in its prime was almost certainly an exaggeration to maximize perceived value.
But Draco could clearly feel something coming off the necklace which speared lethal.
"Very well," Draco said giving a single nod.
'Malfoy wants to kill someone.'
Harry's heart rate jumped. He strained his hearing to its absolute maximum, filtering out the skull's intermittent cackles, not allowing himself to miss a single syllable.
"But if it's not for sale, then so be it."
The words that actually fell from Draco's mouth left both Harry and Borgin in a state of equivalent, confused stunned silence.
Harry had been bracing for a price negotiation. Borgin had clearly been bracing for a price negotiation.
He hadn't expected the boy to simply accept the refusal.
"Oh, Mr. Malfoy—actually err….well, that is to say, I mean, nothing is truly entirely beyond negotiation, you understand—if the price were right—"
Caught completely off-guard, Borgin laughed awkwardly like someone whose script has been taken away.
"Enough, Borgin. Take that thing away. I want it nowhere near me."
"I have something else I want to ask you."
His scheme having fallen flat, Borgin set the tray on the counter and folded his hands obediently.
"I am entirely at your service, Mr. Malfoy. Whatever you require."
After a brief pause, Draco looked at Borgin with the cold, detached eyes.
"Do you have anything here….. that can be used to open a lock?"
'Open a lock?'
Harry's brow furrowed behind the Cloak.
"Open a lock, sir?"
The unexpected request had clearly baffled Borgin as well.
"When you say a lock—do you mean a door lock? Or something on the order of a safe?"
He hesitated, then moved toward what he presumably imagined was helpful:
"Surely that isn't any great difficulty, Mr. Malfoy. If you need to open something without the key, you might simply try the Unlocking Charm—the incantation is—"
"I know perfectly well what the Unlocking Charm is, you fool!"
The patience Draco had been maintaining with such evident effort dissolved completely.
"But that charm only works on ordinary locks. The door I need to open has powerful magical protections on it—there must be… well. In that case Unlocking Charm is useless!"
He gave Borgin a sharp, cutting stare.
"What I need is something capable of breaking through protective enchantments on a lock without leaving any trace that it was done. Do you have any recommendations?"
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