Chapter 333: Borgin & Burkes: Don't Touch Anything!
Before Harry could finish his sentence, Ron's grin froze solid.
Harry realised what he'd just said, too. He stopped short, then hurriedly forced out a laugh and backtracked.
"Haha, I'm joking. Ethan can't possibly be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Dumbledore hasn't gone mad."
"R-right!" Ron chimed in far too quickly.
Just imagining it made him start shaking. His body seemed to remember every miserable "lesson" all on its own.
"L-look at this moonstone," Ron blurted, seizing on the nearest display like it was a lifeline. "Look how smooth it is!"
"A professor who uses normal materials must be a normal person!"
"Haha. Hahaha."
The two of them laughed too loudly and moved on at speed.
Meanwhile, the centre of that topic, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Ethan Vincent, was humming cheerfully to himself as he flipped through his lesson plans.
Wandless magic was hard?
Hard meant die trying. That would definitely motivate them, wouldn't it?
Ethan's thoughts were bright and sincere, almost tender. He was doing this for the young witches and wizards, after all. If they were going to survive what was coming, he had to push them.
Heh.
With a heavy thump, he shut the thick tome in his hands, licked his canine as if savouring the thought, and smiled with pure anticipation.
Once they'd finished buying supplies, Ethan made a suggestion.
Since they were already here and it was still early, why not visit a few more places?
Mr Weasley chuckled. "Where to? Want to see the joke shop the twins are building? Or go for some ice cream?"
"To Knockturn Alley," Ethan said.
Mr Weasley blinked. "Ha. Haha. I must've misheard. You mean the Fluffy Pets shop…"
"I said Knockturn Alley," Ethan repeated, crisp and perfectly clear.
Mr Weasley went silent.
The warm, friendly smile slid right off his face and was replaced by something close to horror. He stared at Ethan as if he'd just watched him suggest a family outing into a dragon's nest.
Ethan looked calm, as if he weren't heading towards a dangerous gathering place for Dark wizards, but popping round his own garden for a stroll.
In the end, though, Mr Weasley had no choice.
When Hermione, of all people, defected first, everything was over.
They passed through a narrow passage marked by a metal sign shaped like severed fingers and stepped into what most people called the Dark side of Diagon Alley.
That was not entirely fair.
Not everyone in Knockturn Alley was a Dark wizard, but decent people did not come here by accident.
It was late afternoon, the sun low and red. The last light bled across the bricks, then faded, leaving long shadows stretched between the buildings. They felt like they had eyes, like something was watching from every corner, deciding whether you were worth the trouble.
Harry and the others were curious, and also painfully aware of their own heartbeat.
Mr Weasley clamped both arms around Harry, Ron, and Hermione like an anxious hen gathering her chicks. He scanned the alley with rigid intensity, repeating under his breath, "Stay close. This is not the time to muck about. Stay close."
"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, ignoring Ron's mortified squirming, "I must've lost my mind agreeing to this…"
It was darker here, and every glance felt like a weighing. In that moment, responsibility hit Mr Weasley like a curse.
He was the only adult present.
He had to protect these children.
This was his moment.
He squared his shoulders and called towards Ethan's back. "Ethan! Don't walk so fast! Stay with me!"
Ron rolled his eyes and tried to wrench free.
Ahead, Ethan heard the shout and turned, genuinely puzzled by Mr Weasley's do-or-die expression. He took a quiet second to sense the alley properly.
Well.
The old witch to the left was holding an actual eyeball.
The man at the right-hand corner was definitely dead and still walking.
Aside from that, it seemed… fine.
For Ethan, wandering here felt about as alarming as strolling through a familiar place.
If anything, the people in Knockturn Alley were the ones who ought to prepare themselves.
He put on his best Ravenclaw patience, the kind he reserved for other Houses, and asked mildly, "I'm going to Borgin and Burkes. Do you want to come?"
"I'll come too," Ron said at once.
Mr Weasley yelped as if someone had stepped on his foot. "Borgin and Burkes?! Merlin—of course you'd pick the most notorious shop in Knockturn Alley!"
He pinned his complaining son down with pure parental force and said, decisive and firm, "That place is too dangerous. We'll wait outside. Don't worry, I'll stand guard for you."
"If anything goes wrong, shout. Loudly."
Ethan raised his eyebrows so high they nearly met his fringe.
Dangerous?
For him?
He looked at Mr Weasley's earnest face and hesitated, as if trying to decide whether he was being pranked.
No one had informed him that the wizarding world was ending today.
"All right," Ethan said at last. "I'll go on my own."
There were plenty of people around who were itching to do something stupid, but if Mr Weasley was this confident, surely it would be fine.
With that settled, Ethan opened a portal and stepped through, appearing at the far end of the street in front of Borgin and Burkes. He vanished without another word.
Mr Weasley and the others were left behind, standing alone in the middle of Knockturn Alley.
Instantly, the watching stares multiplied.
Shadows slid closer.
Soft, scraping noises gathered from every direction, circling them.
Mr Weasley stared ahead, blank.
Wait.
There was a second phase?
Ron, of course, chose that exact moment to be sarcastic.
"Oh, brilliant," he said. "Now Ethan's gone, we're completely safe."
They raised their wands as the circle tightened, each step of the crowd shrinking the space around them.
And then, from the dark, an orange-gold vertical pupil snapped open.
Borgin and Burkes.
The bell above the door chimed.
"Don't touch anything," Mr Borgin said automatically, head down as he counted coins at the counter, not even bothering to look up.
Service, at its finest.
Then a clear voice spoke from the entrance.
"Wrap up everything I'm not allowed to touch."
In that instant, a chill cut through Mr Borgin like icewater, from his feet to the top of his skull.
Coins spilled everywhere with a clatter.
He did not care.
Before he even raised his head, a fawning smile was already plastered onto his face; his back bent as if his spine had decided to surrender on his behalf.
"Oh, Merlin," Mr Borgin cried dramatically, bowing so low he looked ready to fold himself into the floor. "What wind has blown you here, my honoured Lord Vincent?"
Ethan's expression did not change. "The revolutionary spring wind."
Mr Borgin's smile twitched.
The shop's gloomy air turned oddly warm for a heartbeat, then returned to its usual chill. To his credit, Mr Borgin recovered quickly.
"Oh ho ho," he said, voice slick with practiced charm. "Your presence honours my humble shop. I've recently acquired a new batch of stock, not yet displayed. Perhaps something might catch your interest?"
Ethan looked down at him with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Didn't you just tell me not to touch anything? Now I'm curious. How dangerous are these untouchable items of yours?"
Mr Borgin's temple dampened with sweat. "My fault entirely. I was blind. Everything in my shop is yours to handle as you please. Touch, examine, admire, anything at all."
As a Dark wizard in all but name, he understood one thing perfectly.
Offending this boy was worse than death.
"Hm," Ethan replied, barely a sound.
Mr Borgin started trembling anyway.
Ethan's face, usually handsome and mild, was stripped of warmth now. The way he looked at Mr Borgin was the same way he looked at the cursed objects on the shelves, clinical and unbothered.
He fit Knockturn Alley perfectly.
If Mr Weasley could see him like this, he would not be using the word protect. He would be silent, wary, and backing away.
"I need pigment," Ethan said. "Something that can be painted onto a kind of skin. Ideally, I want ingredients with properties like transformation and concealment."
He intended to use the strip of skin Voldemort had dropped and paint a disguise mask that could change his face.
He could hardly teach with a face everyone recognised.
Unfortunately, the words a kind of skin went straight past Mr Borgin's brain and landed somewhere far more depraved.
So this was the "saviour" everyone praised.
He played dirtier than most Dark wizards.
The wizarding world really was doomed.
With a solemn, sympathetic air that was entirely misplaced, Mr Borgin said, "Perhaps you've heard of the human-faced scarab? Grind its shell into powder and it becomes a key ingredient in certain… intoxicants. It's rare, though, and the price is…"
He did not finish.
His eyes went glassy and greedy as a shining stream spilled between Ethan's fingers, a cascade of glittering gold that piled onto the counter and rang across the floor.
Not Galleons.
Something older.
Finer.
A form of goblin gold used for settlement in ancient circles, the sort of thing only very old, very stubborn goblin families kept hidden away.
Even the Malfoys had likely never paid with it.
"Oh," Mr Borgin whispered, reaching out as if in a trance. "Oh…"
He wanted to touch the gleaming heap, to feel that impossible weight of wealth under his fingertips.
Ethan lifted a hand.
The gold vanished.
Every last piece, including what had rolled onto the boards, was gone as if it had never existed.
A door that held the world's treasures had opened for a moment, then shut in his face.
"No," Mr Borgin blurted, eyes bloodshot, hands scrabbling uselessly across the bare counter. "Please, let me see it again. Just once. That treasure…"
He looked up.
Ethan's diamond-blue eyes held a cold, amused smile.
Mr Borgin went still.
In that moment, he understood with sudden clarity that he was trapped. Not in the shop, but in a grip he could not break, as absolute as a curse.
After a few seconds of silence, Mr Borgin bowed again, lower than he had before, the theatrical edge drained out of him.
"Please come with me, Lord Vincent," he said softly. "Forgive me. I've just remembered a better option than the human-faced scarab."
Ethan watched the Dark artefacts dealer who had finally, completely submitted.
His mouth curved upward, sharp as a knife.
He was the Lamp.
A Lamp that ruled over light.
And also the thing that swallowed darkness with something darker still.
A Demon King.