Everything that happened in Devon was completely unknown to Mr. Borgin, who was still waiting in Knockturn Alley for his subordinates to return.
In Mr. Borgin's view, four veterans dealing with one person shouldn't have been a problem.
But after waiting for a long time without seeing anyone return, uneasiness gradually crept into his heart. He didn't think Clive and the others would betray him — he simply felt that things might have been difficult and that something unexpected had happened, which was why Clive hadn't come back.
However, even by closing time that night, the four of them had not returned, nor had any message been sent back.
Mr. Borgin finally stopped entertaining any lucky hopes. He realized he had misjudged the other party's strength, and Clive and the others were probably never coming back.
Early the next morning, an anxious Mr. Borgin went to Knockturn Alley. He had spent the whole night on edge, unable to rest, afraid that if he closed his eyes the other party would suddenly show up to cause trouble for him.
Although there was a powerful force behind Borgin and Burkes, no one could guard against thieves every single day. A single moment of carelessness could earn you an enemy lurking in the shadows — the more he thought about it, the more Mr. Borgin felt he had suffered a loss.
The failure of Clive's group meant they had made an enemy. Not only had they failed to solve the problem, they had even brought trouble to Borgin and Burkes.
Even if they somehow managed to survive, Mr. Borgin would not allow them to keep breathing.
Just like throwing away a useless glove, the four of them had lost all value; keeping them alive would only waste air.
Now Mr. Borgin could only hope that the other party was a cowardly thug, someone who either did not dare or did not wish to become an enemy of Borgin and Burkes. Even more, he hoped that the person had already taken the Galleons and fled far away, rather than being the type to hold grudges and pay back every slight.
The shop's displays were exactly the same as the day before. Only then did Mr. Borgin finally relax, and the frantic pounding of his heart slowed. It seemed the other party had no intention of retaliation — they hadn't sought revenge on him, nor caused trouble for the shop.
Relieved at last, Mr. Borgin let out a long breath and began tidying his hair.
Because he was worried about the shop's safety, Mr. Borgin had been in a hurry when he went out that morning. He hadn't even had time to tidy his hair; the hair that was usually sleek and smooth was especially messy today.
But when he reached into the cabinet to get his hair oil, he discovered that the hair oil was gone. In its place were two money pouches — one black and one white — along with four broken wands.
These money pouches could not simply be described as familiar; they were the very same ones he had personally handed to Clive the day before.
And as for the four snapped wands, there was no need to guess whose they were, nor what their fates had been.
Gulp...
Mr. Borgin's face darkened instantly, and cold sweat broke out all over his body. With trembling hands, he picked up the two pouches and slowly stood up. He already understood what the other party meant.
Silently placing these things inside the shop without harming him — the intention could not have been clearer.
The switched hair oil and the pouches were merely a warning!
And of course this warning was sent by Eda. Unfortunately for Borgin, he had misjudged his opponent's temperament; Eda's heart was only slightly bigger than the eye of a needle.
After burying Clive, his friends, and the reduced-to-ash remains of Jimmy in the grove, and cleaning up the scene, Eda took the four men's wands and money pouches and returned to Knockturn Alley.
When Eda returned to Borgin and Burkes, the man was anxiously waiting in the shop. Eda had no intention of taking Borgin's life, and instead quietly left the items inside the cabinet.
Besides, Eda had no plans to fight Borgin and Burkes to the bitter end; there was no need to kill Borgin and create a mortal enemy. So she chose intimidation — to teach him a lasting lesson.
As long as Borgin bowed his head and accepted his misfortune, the matter would be over. Sometimes, intimidation is far more terrifying than killing.
Of course, this was also because Eda hadn't exposed her identity. Two fists cannot beat four hands; for now, she had no need to fight Borgin and Burkes to the death. If the other side refused to back down and insisted on investigating Eda's background, then it truly would become a situation of "you die or I die."
Eda believed Borgin wouldn't be so foolish.
He had merely lost four underlings; he himself hadn't been harmed. There was no need to make a huge fuss over it. The barefoot are not afraid of those wearing shoes — Borgin surely understood that principle.
A person cannot grow rich without outside income; a horse cannot grow fat without eating at night. First she had the venom of the Acromantula, then at the end of June she dealt with the Basilisk's remains — Eda could already be considered a little rich lady, able to take a spontaneous trip whenever she wished.
Eda should have been happy, but a rather melodramatic reality left her unable to feel any joy: she had finally experienced the troubles of being famous.
During the summer of 1993, Eda came to work at the Leaky Cauldron as usual, exchanging hard labor for a meager wage.
Eda was still the same Eda, but the Leaky Cauldron was no longer the same Leaky Cauldron — or rather, the customers were no longer the same customers.
At school, some people had already come to Hogwarts to "claim kinship," disturbing Eda's normal life. But that trend had died down by the end of the term, so she assumed everything had returned to normal.
Unexpectedly, not only had Eda not faded into obscurity like an outdated singer — she had instead attracted the interest of certain people, who wanted to "visit" this magical girl up close.
It felt as if the Leaky Cauldron had turned into a zoo, and Eda was the monkey inside, with the bar counter serving as the cage that confined her.
More foot traffic meant more people drinking, which meant more income. Tom, the owner, finally revealed the profit-seeking nature of a businessman. Not only did he show no sympathy for Eda's situation — he was grinning so widely he barely looked human anymore.
Old Tom, guarding his money tree, was overjoyed, but the money tree herself was anything but happy.
Everyone likes watching monkeys, but no one wants to be the monkey on display.
No matter how thick Eda's skin was, it was not thick enough to be as solid as a city wall; she simply couldn't withstand being stared at by so many people.
But what Eda didn't know was that among the crowd gathered to gawk at her, some hadn't come purely out of curiosity.
They each had different tasks, and different purposes.
Among these people, some were there to monitor Eda's every move so they could report back to their masters; some were watching her closely so they could kill her when the time came; others were there to offer help, ready to protect her if needed.
Bothered to the point of exhaustion, Eda no longer had her usual attentiveness. Most of her focus was still on Borgin and Burkes and the killings she had done that day, so for the moment she failed to notice the hidden dangers — and the hidden goodwill — around her.
If Eda had paid closer attention, she would have discovered an interesting phenomenon: the people who wanted to kill her and the people who wanted to protect her actually came from the same place.
Both groups sounded strange when speaking English — as if they had a mouthful of phlegm stuck in their throats — making it quite unpleasant for anyone listening.
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