Two mornings later, Mr. Borgin was in his shop, waiting for the man from that day to return—though the smile on his face carried a trace of malice.
As the largest dealer of dark magical items in the British wizarding world, it was only natural that Borgin had plenty of people working under him. So, after the man had left, someone was quietly sent to follow and investigate this mysterious stranger's background.
Years ago, even the newly graduated Tom Riddle had once worked at Borgin and Burkes. Although Riddle's true motive for coming had been far from simple, the fact that he had chosen to work there still showed that Borgin and Burkes had its share of capable people.
The man who secretly investigated the stranger was named Clive. From the information Clive reported back, Mr. Borgin learned that the man with the suitcase had no powerful background or notable connections, and that he had come alone to trade those valuable basilisk materials.
A wicked thought had indeed crossed Borgin's mind. At first, he simply thought the man was a novice—an easy mark—and planned to drive the price as low as possible.
But things hadn't gone according to plan; the man had been completely unpredictable, turning to leave the moment he was dissatisfied, giving Borgin no chance at all to haggle.
With no other choice, Borgin had been forced to keep raising his offer until he had promised a very high price. The hunter had become the prey; a man who spent his life skinning others had finally been skinned himself.
How could Borgin possibly swallow that humiliation?
And besides, basilisk skin and horn were temptations few could resist. Since the man had no background or protection to speak of, Borgin saw no reason to hold back.
At almost the same time as before, the man with the suitcase arrived again—still alone, still dressed exactly as he had been that day. Mr. Borgin greeted him with a broad smile and polite words, but in his eyes gleamed a cold, knife-like intent.
A man who always came and went alone meant one thing: he had no one he trusted, no backup. Even for such an important transaction, he had no one watching his back.
The stranger's unfamiliar face meant he clearly wasn't from any of the well-known pure-blood families. Otherwise, he would have invited Borgin to one of their lavish estates or opulent homes to conduct business — not walked around in public flaunting a fortune in magical materials.
At the very least, he would have come like Lucius Malfoy, with an itemized list of goods in hand.
Everything about this man's behavior screamed that he was a nobody — someone whose disappearance would go unnoticed, and whose death would never be avenged.
Mr. Borgin had no intention of building any lasting relationship, how Scott Warren had once treated Eda. In Borgin's eyes, this man probably had nothing else of real value; there was no need to leave him with a good impression.
As for the basilisk skin and horn in the suitcase, Borgin suspected they were stolen goods. Why else would the man be in such a hurry to sell them, unwilling even to wait a single day longer?
Such desperation could only mean one thing: he was planning to flee—leave Britain as soon as possible. For petty thieves like him, being double-crossed and robbed by other criminals was not only the cleanest solution but also the most profitable.
Borgin didn't care whether the items truly came from Hogwarts. And even if they had come from the Chamber of Secrets itself—so what? What could Dumbledore possibly do about it?
Nor did he care who this thief was, or how he had gotten into Hogwarts in the first place. Only fools believed Hogwarts was the safest place in the world.
The man ignored Borgin's small talk and placed the suitcase directly onto the counter. Clearly, he intended to finish the exchange at once—cash for goods, no delays, no wasted time.
Borgin still wanted to learn a bit more about him, but the man wasn't cooperating. With no other choice, Borgin pulled out a special black money pouch and handed it over.
Inside the dim shop, the two men worked in silence—one counting the Galleons in the pouch, the other inspecting the basilisk skin and horn for authenticity. For a time, the only sound in the room was the crisp, melodic clinking of gold coins.
After the counting was finished and the money and goods exchanged, the man finally smiled. He said, "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Borgin. I hope we'll have opportunities to work together again."
"Of course — certainly we shall." Mr. Borgin said, smile hiding a blade. "Borgin & Burkes is right here; I'll be here waiting for your next visit!"
Mr. Borgin bowed with a smile and saw the man out of the shop. As soon as the man turned the corner, Borgin's smile grew even brighter — he could see that Clive had already brought people and was following.
Fine wine flatters the face; gold stirs the heart. Faced with the lure of money, if Mr. Borgin had kept his cool and taken another careful moment to recall the details of his dealings with the man, he would have known how foolish his decision was.
Out in the Devonshire countryside, Clive had tracked the man with three companions with practiced ease all the way here. Although the man had Apparated away after leaving Knockturn Alley, the black money pouch had given away his location.
It was a special money pouch, one that could be used to track and locate — a must-have for criminals preying on criminals. Clearly, Mr. Borgin had done this sort of thing before.
Clive and his companions — Jimmy, Gary, and Hill — had followed the signal to this spot, only to lose the man's trail; all that stood before them was a small copse of trees.
Clive, leading them, looked down at the white tracker in his hand. The location shown on it was right here — it couldn't be wrong — so where had the man gone? Clive said in a low voice, "Gary and I will go together; Jimmy, you go with Hill. Split up and search — he may have changed his appearance. Be thorough."
Just as the four were about to split up, a girl in a dark green robe stepped out from the small grove ahead. Her long golden hair shimmered in the light, and her emerald-green eyes gleamed like jewels.
Who else could she be but Eda?
Eda's right hand rested casually in her pocket, while her left hand swung a black pouch — that same special money bag.
She smiled and asked, "Are you gentlemen looking for this?"
Seeing the girl appear out of nowhere with the pouch in hand, Clive and the others instantly tensed, ready to attack at any moment. Having roamed Knockturn Alley for years, none of them asked amateurish questions like "Have you seen a man?" or "Where did you find that pouch?" They were convinced this girl was that man, simply having changed her appearance.
"We know you've made a lot of money recently," Clive said, his tone sly. "Just hand it over, and we'll split it evenly. Do that, and we won't make trouble for you."
He was trying to make it sound as though the four of them were just greedy robbers, not lackeys sent by Mr. Borgin.
But Eda wasn't fooled for a second. She had noticed Clive tailing her right after her first visit to Borgin & Burkes — of course she knew why he was following her.
Eda tossed the pouch back toward them and said lightly, "Is this what you're after?"
The youngest of the four, Hill, picked it up off the ground and opened it — only to find it completely empty. Clive looked inside himself, then shouted furiously, "You're playing with us!"
"I did make quite a bit of money from Mr. Borgin," Eda said calmly, "but what does that have to do with you? Trying to profit without lifting a finger isn't exactly a good habit. Don't you feel the slightest bit ashamed?"
Clive gave a mocking laugh, his expression full of scorn. Jimmy, Gary, and Hill slowly spread out, encircling Eda. Clive said coldly, "Little girl, you're still too young. You should go back to school for a few more years. Knockturn Alley is far too complicated a place for someone like you."
Eda nodded slightly, as if she agreed with what Clive had just said.
She continued, "You're right. Knockturn Alley is dark and filthy — not really a place for me. The place is dirty, the people are dirty, and their hearts are even dirtier."
Clive didn't want to waste any more time. The sooner he got the money, the sooner he could report back to Mr. Borgin — and avoid any unnecessary trouble later. He barked sharply, "I'll say it one last time — hand over the money! Do that, and we'll let you walk away. Otherwise, don't blame us for what happens next!"
The way the four men acted was exactly like those pathetic thugs who hang around school gates or seedy alleys, trying to "borrow" money from kids. But unlike those useless bullies, these men actually meant what they said — and they would do it.
Eda glanced around, taking in the four men's positions, then asked lightly, "Tell me, do you think I still have a chance?"
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