"Your eye is truly sharp, miss—this is a very rare artifact."
In front of the dusty counter, Morin's face was etched with just the right amount of humility. The last customer's figure had vanished into the damp twilight of Knockturn Alley.
A generous lady had spent thirty Galleons on a glass ring, mass-produced by Muggles last year, firmly believing it had a history as noble and ancient as her own lineage.
"Well done, Mr. Riddle, these two sales today will earn you no less than five Galleons in commission."
Morin considered what the previous owner of this body would say at this moment, then, with an overly enthusiastic and ingratiating tone, gave his employee high praise.
That's right, Morin was a transmigrator, an ordinary person from Blue Star in his previous life.
One sunny afternoon, after a brief nap, Morin woke up to find himself transmigrated to another world.
After roughly sorting through the original owner's memories, Morin had to accept the fact that he had transmigrated into the Harry Potter world.
And the original owner's situation made Morin feel even more helpless:
Although he had transmigrated into a foreigner who could wave a stick, the magic shop he ran wasn't exactly legal or compliant, but that wasn't the most despairing part.
The current timeline was not the 1991 Morin was familiar with—the year Potter enrolled and prevented Quirrell from acquiring the Philosopher's Stone—but a rather unfamiliar 1946.
According to the memories provided by the original Caractacus Burke, Dumbledore had just defeated Grindelwald, known as the Dark Lord, last year.
As a half-Harry Potter fan, Morin knew that the next Dark Lord, the Riddle working for him, was still collecting antiques that could be used to make Horcruxes, and incidentally, researching more Dark Arts through Borgin.
The good news was that the Wizarding World had restored order and was recuperating, but the bad news was that the future noseless Dark Lord was already utterly rotten, and it was unclear how long he would be entangled with him.
Moreover, in the original work, the Borgin and Borgin shop was always represented by a Wizard named Mr. Borgin, and the fate of the other co-founder, Burke, was never mentioned.
Coupled with Mr. Borgin's deep understanding of Lord Voldemort, it was hard to imagine the noseless one would let such an old man retire peacefully, which meant the original owner had most likely perished.
Therefore, for his own life, Morin had, in recent days, put in a hundred times the effort he had in his previous life preparing for advanced academic exams on Blue Star, organizing Burke's memories and beginning to learn various "practical" magic.
Amazingly, after transmigrating, Morin seemed to have become a true magic genius, not only quickly mastering all of the former Mr. Borgin's skills, but even complex Dark Arts that Borgin found difficult to perform, Morin learned instantly.
One must know, setting aside Burke's greasy old man appearance, Caractacus Burke was a true expert in Dark Arts.
As a pureblood, Caractacus Burke possessed a family legacy almost as old as Hogwarts itself, containing a vast amount of Dark Arts.
Borgin was also the owner of the only alchemy shop that could legally and semi-publicly sell Dark Arts items.
If it weren't for the cunning and greedy Borgin being unwilling to part with his gold, coupled with having no descendants and the poor reputation from selling Dark Arts items, Borgin's influence might not have been any less than the House of Malfoy.
Even so, Caractacus Burke was still the most trusted partner of pureblood families in certain areas, not someone like Mundungus Fletcher could even compare to.
However, currently, this was a good thing; at least Morin had stabilized his shop assistant—Tom Riddle still maintained superficial respect for Mr. Borgin—that is, Morin.
"It's all thanks to you, sir."
This young, handsome, and seemingly well-mannered Mr. Riddle remained unfazed after receiving praise.
With a gentle wave of his right hand, a finely crafted small box appeared in his left.
"This is the necklace Mrs. Odell promised to pawn to you."
Morin carefully took the box, gently opened it, and took out a gold necklace studded with gems.
The rubies on the gold chain gleamed coldly in the dim light. Morin scraped his fingernail over the scratches on the clasp, his brow furrowing into a knot:
"Made by a Wizard imitating Goblins... There are two scratches, no Dark Arts aura, looks like a cutting spell cast by a young Wizard, not repaired in time, causing two scratches to remain."
After confirming the item's value, Morin immediately lost the sharp demeanor he had during the appraisal, reverting to a stingy old muddlehead.
He pouted discontentedly: "From Mrs. Lille's tone, I thought it would be the masterpiece of some Goblin artisan."
Riddle, beside him, had the good sense not to interrupt while Morin was appraising.
It wasn't until Morin was free that he feigned remembering something, asking with interest:
"I wonder if Mr. Borgin knows Mrs. Smith?"
"Hepzibah Smith?"
Morin seemed somewhat surprised. After feigning a moment of thought, he quickly replied.
"A lady with a very substantial family fortune. I've had some business dealings with her.
If I remember correctly, Hepzibah praised you to me last time and hoped that you would handle her affairs from now on.
Honestly, I really don't want to waste your time, Tom. You know, the wealthier the lady, the stingier she often is."
"Of course... but sir, Madam Hepzibah is, in fact, a rather generous and distinguished lady. She has promised to let me tour some of her family's collections when I visit next month, which includes the Golden Cup of Hufflepuff, one of the founders of Hogwarts—"
Riddle's voice sounded somewhat hurried and nervous. He paused here, seemingly hesitant.
"You know, I've always had a special affection for Hogwarts—I can't believe—ordinary people find it hard to distinguish—just like Mrs. Lille's necklace—and you are a master in this field..."
"Relax... Tom, Madam Hepzibah is a true noble. That cup is currently the only confirmed genuine item, and Madam Hepzibah has the blood of the great Hufflepuff flowing in her veins—this is completely legal possession, Tom."
Morin slowly picked up a crystal bottle and began to wipe it, while noticing the fleeting ecstasy on Lord Voldemort's face reflected in the bottle's mouth, a chill running through his heart.
"Thank you for clarifying, Mr. Borgin."
Tom Riddle's voice, dry from suppressing his inner ecstasy, bowed and bid Morin farewell.
The moment Riddle turned around, Morin was certain he saw a flash of red light on that handsome face.