The Gloriana Set

Spellbound

Notes:

This chapter was conceived and outlined before I even began writing this story, and it has changed very little since its first draft. Here goes ...

Hermione hesitated outside a dark shop in Knockturn Alley. Only a faint yellow light in a corner of the grimy front window hinted that the building was occupied. After leaving Theo at Hogwarts, she had taken a Marauders' passageway to Hogsmeade, then Apparated to Diagon Alley, where she dawdled over breakfast for an hour before slipping into this dark, dodgy street.

She was wearing her black cloak, hood up, to shield her from unfriendly eyes and the relentless rain. There were no canopies or awnings on Knockturn Alley shops, and hunched, often misshapen figures huddled at the edges of spreading puddles. Honestly, the Ministry should do something—set up a rain shelter, or at least offer soup or ponchos.

Despite the downpour, the Alley remained endlessly fascinating; she'd had to exercise strict self-control not to poke around in the bundles and barrels heaped carelessly on the dirty cobblestones. She did stop into Mr. Mulpepper's Apothocary, discovering that this branch had potions supplies that the Diagon Alley shop didn't carry. She burned to ask the wizened proprietor about thestral blood or dragon eyes but left without a word. Yes, Knockturn Alley was definitely worth a return trip.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the store's age-darkened wood and brass door and entered. Borgin and Burkes was just the same as she remembered, a shadowy, whispery place crammed to the rafters with dark artifacts. Fascinating. She could hear the tick of a giant grandfather clock, its hands both stopped at 13. A green-scaled hand crawled along a shelf like a spider. She froze at the sight of a vanishing cabinet, twin to the cabinet Malfoy fixed in Sixth Year. She had visited this shop once before, during that year, trying to find out what the blond boy was up to, and had failed miserably.

Hermione wandered the antique shop's crowded aisles, wondering what would have happened if she had succeeded. Could she have stopped Malfoy, stopped all the terror and destruction he caused? She dismissed such thoughts as useless and eyed a malevolent-looking letter opener, its handle fashioned into a twisting snake and its blade stained with blood. More a weapon than a letter opener, she thought, even if it was on a shelf labeled "Offyce Supplies." She was more tempted by the inkpot beside it, purported to hold never-ending ink. She looked into the pot and saw a tiny green face scowling at her. An evil genie in an inkpot, perhaps?

"May I help you, my lady?" asked an oily voice.

She turned to see Mr. Borgin himself, creepy as ever, although much smaller and frailer than he'd been two years before. It couldn't have been easy for him during the war, with Death Eaters dancing in every two minutes demanding deadly artifacts, although Hermione had no sympathy. The man was lucky he was still alive and not in Azkaban. The Aurors Office should do something about this place.

Hermione gave the shop another check to make sure they were alone and touched her wand inside her cloak. The shop's doors, front and back, immediately locked in response to her nonverbal spell. She warded them against entry and eavesdropping, then approached the counter.

"My lady, I must protest ..." his voice trailed off when he saw her face, but he was too cagey to speak her name. "It's an honor to have you visit my humble shop."

Hermione wanted to grin, but kept her face blank. The last thing this man wanted was Assistant Auror Harry Potter's best friend hanging around. Borgin's bulging eyes took in every detail of her appearance, the black cloak still swathed around her, her face framed by the hood.

"I need information, Borgin," Hermione said, trying to channel Bellatrix Lestrange on a bad hair day (and really, they had all been bad hair days). "I expect full confidentiality."