Chapter 27: Bad For Borgin And Burkes’ Reputation
Fearing death is a normal thing.
No matter how great their ambitions were when young, no matter how glorious their achievements, whether it was King Arthur or Merlin, who spoke of death as another grand adventure in their youth, wizards are just wizards, not gods.
When old age approaches, the body grows frail, the mind becomes muddled, and the realization that death is near will make even the wisest person anxious. Hearing the footsteps of death at night will make anyone toss and turn sleeplessly.
The one standing in this Headmaster’s Office, fearing death, is Dumbledore.
For a brief moment, the Grey Shadow Raven felt that the Legendary Wizard before him was not as powerful as he seemed.
He was only surprised for a moment before quickly accepting this statement.
Because on the night he first stepped into the Hogwarts foyer sixty years ago, he had already experienced this fear. He had more foresight than Dumbledore, more wisdom than Dumbledore, had not squandered his talent or wasted time, and had dedicated all his efforts from his student days to finding a way to conquer death, and he had achieved it.
“Lady Ravenclaw was gravely ill in her later years, and even the most skilled Healers could not alleviate her pain, so she gave up the idea of treatment and began to seek magic that transcended life and death…”
The Grey Shadow Raven explained very positively, even to the point of babbling.
Dumbledore listened quietly.
“As Ravenclaw said, wisdom is the most precious wealth. Her wisdom soon penetrated the mysteries of life and soul, and she discovered the path to eternal life…”
The Grey Shadow’s hoarse voice narrated slowly, and as he spoke, he observed Dumbledore.
Although he had seen through the old wizard’s thoughts, he had no intention of recruiting or controlling him.
The Grey Shadow merely wanted to manipulate his fear and desires to achieve his goal, and then, before killing him, to admire the despair on that old face as he welcomed the Killing Curse, and to mock him to his heart’s content.
“Is that so?” Dumbledore’s expression was indifferent, his face calm, and there was no sign of belief or doubt on his face. “Lady Rowena Ravenclaw was exceptionally wise, but if I recall correctly, she ultimately died of illness and did not seem to have stepped into the realm of life and death.”
The old Headmaster’s calm composure displeased the Grey Shadow:
“That was due to family upheaval. The Diadem was a crucial item for prolonging life. Rowena was close to saving herself, but her daughter, Helena Ravenclaw, stole the Diadem out of greed, which led to the change in events.”
“According to your account, how did the Diadem, after being stolen, return to Hogwarts and become hidden in the Room of Requirement?”
“…”
This old fellow, even on the verge of death, was still so disgusting. He clearly feared death in his heart, yet he maintained such composure on the surface. It was truly nauseatingly detestable!
He should have begged with an ugly face for me to grant him the hope of eternal life.
“I’m not sure either. I haven’t communicated with anyone for a long time, and I am just a diadem.” The continuous questioning began to make the Grey Shadow Raven impatient, and he struggled to suppress the scarlet glow in his eyes.
A thousand years ago, after the other Founders left Hogwarts, the young Helena, craving her mother Ravenclaw’s wisdom and foolishly believing it came from the Diadem, stole it while Ravenclaw was seriously ill and negligent. She fled Hogwarts, and was eventually captured in the Albanian Forest.
The wizard Barlow, who was once Helena’s admirer, accidentally killed Helena during the pursuit.
Both of them returned to the school as ghosts: the ghost who now haunts Ravenclaw Tower, the Grey Lady, and the ghost who haunts the Slytherin dungeons, the Bloody Baron.
For a thousand years, the Sapphire Diadem had been hidden in a hollow tree in the Albanian Forest.
When the Grey Shadow was a student at Hogwarts, he accidentally learned of the Grey Lady’s identity, then disguised himself and approached her. He extracted the location of the Diadem from Helena’s ghost. After finding the Diadem, he casually killed a local resident, thus creating the fifth Horcrux.
In a sense, he had not lied to Dumbledore; the secret to immortality lay within the Diadem.
“…”
Dumbledore remained silent.
After taking over as Headmaster, he had learned many secrets from Headmaster Dippet and the portraits of past Headmasters, including the identities of the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron. They had exchanged words before, but the conversations had always been superficial, never touching upon the truth of the thousand-year-old events.
On one hand, it was private family matters, and it was not convenient for him to inquire further.
On the other hand, he assumed that Ravenclaw’s relics were not kept at Hogwarts, much like Hufflepuff’s Goblet and Slytherin’s Locket.
The world had changed over a thousand years, and no one could say where these objects had ended up; perhaps they were in an Old Witch’s attic cabinet, or perhaps they were left in the shop window of an unsigned shop in Knockturn Alley.
Combining his knowledge of Voldemort with the Grey Shadow’s statement, Dumbledore quickly pieced together the truth in his mind and also deduced the time when Voldemort had hidden the Diadem—
It was on the night Voldemort returned to the school to apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor position.
Tom Riddle was still very young then, having never encountered setbacks. He was gathering a group of Death Eaters to serve him, at the height of his arrogance and confidence, and was not concealing his intentions.
The modification of the Diadem was also done at that time.
Dumbledore gazed intently at the phantom Raven.
“…”
The room was silent, and this silence seemed to slow down the passage of time, making it somewhat unbearable for the Grey Shadow, who found it intolerable.
Damn it, why is he still looking at me like that!
Whether he believed it or not, he hated that condescending, scrutinizing gaze the most!
He’s clearly just an old wizard who fears death, so why is he acting as if he holds all the wisdom?
The Grey Shadow Raven eyed him suspiciously several times, unsure of how much he believed, and unable to resist speaking again:
“The last memory I stored is of someone using the power stored within the Diadem. It could have been Helena, or another wizard. He used Ravenclaw’s unfinished research to recall a departed soul, protecting their souls as they transformed into ghosts.”
“Recalled departed souls, transforming into ghosts?”
Dumbledore repeated, staring intently at it for several seconds.
The Grey Shadow felt a shiver from that gaze. He had seen such a look several times before, the first time being in 1937 at Wool’s Orphanage, as if it could pierce through all the secrets of the heart.
But he also faintly detected fluctuations in the old wizard’s emotions, subtle yet definite changes.
The Grey Shadow paused for a moment and tentatively added, “The transformation of ghosts is very complex and extremely rare under natural conditions. Perhaps you have also wondered, with so many wizards dying with regret and unwillingness, why only a very few can become ghosts and linger in the human world…”
Dumbledore remained silent; he had indeed had such doubts.
A long time ago.
The Grey Shadow’s tone was very light: “Ravenclaw’s research spanned life and death and could extend the lifespan of the living. For the departed, it could also recall their souls. If handled properly, bringing the dead back to life might not be impossible.”
Dumbledore was momentarily dazed, as if he saw a bright face appear before his eyes. His heart trembled slightly, and a sliver of dark blue leaked into his gaze.
The Grey Shadow suddenly laughed. The transformed bird’s beak naturally had no curves, but this smile radiated through its scarlet eyes.
“Got you, Dumbledore.”
Some stubborn and rigid old wizards are like this. The fear of death cannot break them, and they themselves believe that embracing death is an adventure. What they care about is the death of others, perhaps family, perhaps friends.
Dumbledore happened to be such a wizard.
“All you need to do is wear this Diadem and give me a trivial amount of magic, and you will possess wisdom comparable to Ravenclaw’s, and the mysteries of life and death will be revealed before you…”
“…”
Dumbledore lowered his gaze, glanced at the Grey Shadow Raven, and though he had intended to continue feigning cooperation to extract more information, he suddenly lost patience and casually waved his wand.
The mist floating in the air dispersed, and the Grey Shadow of the Raven had no time to react before it melted like a wax figure. The scarlet gaze in the air disappeared, leaving nothing behind.
With a click, the Diadem quickly fell back into place, and the wooden box snapped shut.
Inside the Sorting Hat on the shelf, Fawkes unexpectedly observed the wooden box, unable to understand the sudden turn of events, his beady eyes filled with surprise.
The inner chamber was silent, and the lights were dim.
Dumbledore slowly sat back in his chair.
The seductive words of the Grey Shadow Raven still echoed in his ears. He was unsure if it was fabricated false information or if there had indeed been research on recalling departed souls.
But he was certain that it was a trap set by Voldemort to lure him in.
And this bait was exceptionally sweet.
Dumbledore took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes.
“Ariana…”
…
Having been dragged out for a night tour by the Headmaster the previous night, a certain Muggle Studies professor overslept.
After finishing his morning routine, Melvin went downstairs, past breakfast time, and could only have his staff meal in the Kitchen. The selection was abundant, and the House-elves were exceptionally enthusiastic. The bread was freshly baked, and he only left after feeling quite full.
Walking out of the foyer, Melvin glanced at the scenery in the distance. The tips of the trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest were already yellowing, and the shrubbery’s leaves drooped, no longer as verdant as last week, but the sunlight was still bright.
Autumn had arrived.
The students’ black-robed robes were scattered across the grounds. Laughter could be heard from the Quidditch Pitch and the shores of the Black Lake, as students enjoyed the second weekend of the academic year.
Passing through the school gate, carved with a warthog in flight, Melvin continued onward for some distance. He found a secluded, deserted stone platform, took out his wand from his inner pocket, and gave a gentle wave. The air let out a crisp chime, and he immediately vanished from the Hogsmeade path.
“Snap…”
A dull thud echoed in a secluded alley in Knockturn Alley.
Melvin stepped onto the ground of this alley, curled up in a damp corner of Central London, once again. The familiar sticky sensation was beneath his feet, an unclear mixture of moss and dried, decaying meat paste.
This was his second visit, and Melvin now had some experience.
He reached out and straightened his collar. Transfiguration spread along his clothes. The suit of wool and polyester blend transformed into a linen cloak, the collar at the back of his neck extended, becoming a wide, concealing hood, and the hem of the robe naturally fell, covering his legs until it almost touched the ground.
After a simple tidying of his appearance and adopting a somber expression, Melvin instantly blended into the surroundings, looking every bit like a seasoned Dark Wizard from Knockturn Alley.
Following the route from last time through the alleyways, he soon arrived at Number 12 Knockturn Alley. Melvin looked up at the tarnished copper signboard with green rust and stepped into the shop.
A clear ringing sound came from the brass bell hanging behind the door.
A hunched-over middle-aged wizard quickly appeared from behind the counter. He frowned deeply, his gaze peering through his greasy hair that fell over his forehead, scrutinizing the mysterious wizard at the shop entrance who concealed his face. His eyes swept over the Ouroboros ring on his left ring finger, and his expression became somewhat complex.
“What, Mr. Borgin, you don’t recognize me?” Melvin removed his hood and smiled warmly.
“It’s precisely because I recognize you that I find it difficult…” Mr. Borgin’s eyebrows furrowed together in deep consternation. “I don’t know whether to call you Mr. William or Professor Levent.”
“You know?”
“I occasionally go to The Leaky Cauldron for a drink, and the news there is quite up-to-date…” Mr. Borgin’s oily voice was somewhat strained as he avoided meeting Melvin’s eyes. “Old Tom at the tavern and some of the patrons mentioned that Hogwarts had a new Muggle Studies Professor, and coupled with your changing your mailing address to the Hogsmeade Owl Post Office before the start of term, it’s hard not to make a connection.”
“Alright, I am a professor at Hogwarts, but that won’t affect our business, will it?”
“I believe you are correct.” Mr. Borgin forced a smile that looked somewhat unpleasant.
A Hogwarts professor, no matter what, was a person of status, while they were the vermin of Knockturn Alley, the rats in the gutter, and the negative examples in school lessons. The two parties should not have had any dealings, at least not openly.
There was once a core Death Eater who was like this. More than ten years ago, when he was still a Death Eater, he openly mingled in Knockturn Alley, brewed and sold potions, and took orders for illicit concoctions. Although the prices were slightly higher, and his temper and attitude were poor, doing business with him was reassuring.
Later, that Potions Master became the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Forget about taking orders for illicit concoctions; he no longer sold finished potions publicly. One needed an introduction, provided the ingredients, and the brewing fees more than tripled. And there was no compensation for failure…
This was the disparity brought about by status.
If Professor Levent, during their first meeting, had worn his hood to conceal his identity as he did today, they could have maintained a tacit, friendly exchange.
In this situation, a new Hogwarts professor visiting Knockturn Alley and patronizing Borgin and Burkes would be bad for the professor’s reputation, and even worse for Borgin and Burkes’ reputation.
Not to mention introducing this professor to a gathering of Dark Wizards. Every time he thought of it, Mr. Borgin felt his vision go black.
As Mr. Borgin was struggling with his inner turmoil, he suddenly heard the young professor’s voice from the shop entrance:
“Are the items you introduced last time still available? I want to buy all of them.”
!!
Mr. Borgin’s vision instantly cleared, and his smile brightened.
The shining Galleons gleamed!
