Malfoy's Misgivings

Harry was so excited that he thought he might burst. A gruesome thought, but an appropriate one nonetheless. This was his first time in Knockturn Alley – Tom had finally decided to take him along with him on one of his mysterious errands.

They were currently walking down a shadowy path under dark, looming alley walls, an unevenly cobbled street biting at their feet. Harry could not help but muse that the alley reminded him of an even more sinister, haunted version of Oliver Twist's London – a dark, grey, muted festival of oddities. The shops lining the alley's sides were gloomy, intimidating, and all rather sketchy looking, all seeming to melt in the shadows, as though they had something to hide. They probably did.

Dark red and faded green paint was peeling, windows were cracked, dust and rust consumed stone and steel – it was as though someone had gone out of their way to make the alley as creepy as possible, he could not help but think as he nearly tripped over another random object conspicuously lying in the middle of the street.

Tom never tripped. Why did Tom never trip?

His musings were startled away when Tom stopped short, causing him to do the same.

He glanced up curiously, finding himself in front of a fairly large shop, the windows dark and musty, displaying a collection of dubious looking objects from within, the old, worn sign hanging above spelling the words,

Borgin and Burke: Established 1863

"Oh, I remember this place," Harry said. "You used to work here."

Tom nodded. He was wearing Miss Jenkins again, polka-dotted dress and red pea coat and everything; the woman seemed to really like Harry's cookies, and was happy to let him in when he showed up with them at her door. Harry was starting to worry, though – he didn't know how many more times they could alter her memories before her mind broke. She really was a nice lady, and even if she was a bit dense, she didn't deserve to be turned into a vegetable through Tom's continued use of the memory charm on her.

"Try not to touch anything that looks deadly," Tom said wryly, and with that, he pushed the door open, leading Harry inside.

The inside of the shop looked exactly as it did in Tom's memories – very little had changed. Ominous looking trinkets and obscurely creepy objects littered the place; the walls were invisible behind the shelves that lined them, which were stacked with old books and strange what's-its and somethings. Looming cupboards and cabinets and wardrobes haunted the corners, while shelf upon shelf, case after case lined the floor.

"May I help you?" a slippery yet strained voice suddenly came from behind him, and spinning around, Harry saw an old man with stringy white hair in a dusty old suit. It was pinstriped and tattered at the corners, but it looked expensive.

When Tom met the man's eye, he immediately recoiled and then bowed deeply.

"My lord, I was not aware that -"

"None of that, Borgin. I would not have you reveal my presence."

Instantly, the man's murky blue eyes darted over to Harry, who was staring at him with undisguised fascination. Yes, he remembered this man. He was much, much older than he had been in Harry's – Tom's – memories, but it was most definitely Mr. Borgin.

Watching the shift in Mr. Borgin's attention, Tom said, "The boy is with me. He is under my protection and will be treated as such."

And with that, Mr. Borgin bowed to him too, as he stared on awkwardly.

"Now, I have business to attend to," Tom said, turning to Harry and beginning to recite what was clearly seared into his memory: "Those -" he pointed to a chest in the corner "- are bones of various magical creatures, those -" he pointed to a case close by "- are human skulls of varying ages, and those -" he pointed to a pile of books beside the counter "- are uncursed dark magic tomes. You may touch and examine those things, but nothing else. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Good. I will be back. Wait here, and don't talk to anyone who comes in. If possible, stay out of sight."

And with that, Tom strode purposefully behind the front counter and disappeared into the room beyond, with Mr. Borgin following behind him.

Sighing, Harry went over to look at the human skulls. He'd never seen one up close before.

They ranged greatly in size and shape – some of them looked like they could have belonged to newborn babies, and others were so massive that they looked like they belonged to a man Hagrid's size; some of the skulls were in perfect condition, and others were cracked or partially crushed. One of the little ones in particular caught his eye – it looked like it belonged once to a child of around 1 year old; what was interesting about it, though, was that it was marked. Numbers and runes were carved into the sides, and tiny holes had been drilled into it. Cautiously, Harry picked it up, holding it up in the meager light that flowed in through the musty windows of the shop. It really was a very curious item, he could not help but muse as he turned it over in his hands

As soon as he placed the little marked one back with the others, he heard shuffling just outside the shop door, and he panicked, looking from side to side – someone was coming, and Tom said to stay out of sight (he conveniently forgot the "try" part). Taking a deep breath, he settled on stepping into a black cabinet right behind him. He realized in retrospect that it could have been cursed.

Oh well.

Seconds later, a bell clanged, and two people stepped into the shop; one of whom he immediately recognized through the veiled cracks in the cabinet he was currently inhabiting – it was Draco Malfoy. The man who followed could only be his father; he had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Looking as though he was very familiar with the shop's layout, Mr. Malfoy briskly crossed the shop floor, stepping over the objects covering the ground with expert ease, glancing lazily at the items on display; once he crossed the shop, he rang the bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying,

"Touch nothing, Draco."

Harry could not help but be a little pleased that Tom trusted him more than Malfoy's father trusted his son.

Meanwhile, Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye sitting beside the case of skulls, pouted indignantly and said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," his father corrected him, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"What's the good of that if I'm not in the house team?" Malfoy groused, his voice sulky and annoyed. "Harry Potter got on the team last year. Special permission from Professor Snape and Dumbledore so he could play for the Slytherin team. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous ...famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead ..."

Malfoy bent down to examine the case full of skulls that he himself had been looking at a moment ago. "...everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick and his perfect grades. Bloody teacher's pet, if only they knew what their precious Potter was like when he was angry..."

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," Mr Malfoy drawled, sending a quelling look at his son, "And I would remind you that it is not...prudent...to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear. As for Mr. Potter's temper, I've told you already – ah, Mr Borgin."

Mr. Borgin had reappeared, and was now standing behind the counter.

"Mr Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," the elderly man half mumbled, his voice even oilier than before. "Delighted – and young Master Malfoy, too – charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced –"

"I'm not buying today, Borgin, but selling."

Interesting.

"Ah, I see." The man withered a bit at the answer. "Before attending to that, then, I must finish up some other business. Boy?" he called. "Where have you gone off to?"

Oh, that was probably him, wasn't it?

Sheepishly, Harry stepped out of the cabinet.

....

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