Chapter 27: A Bad Influence on Borgin and Burke
The fear of death is perfectly normal.
No matter how great one's youthful ambitions, no matter how glorious one's achievements whether King Arthur or Merlin, who once claimed that death was merely another great adventure wizards are still only wizards, not gods.
As the body ages and the mind begins to dull, even the wisest will feel death approaching. Even the faint sound of its footsteps in the night can keep anyone tossing and turning in bed.
The one standing in the Headmaster's office, terrified of death, was Dumbledore.
For a fleeting moment, the Gray Raven suddenly felt that the legendary wizard before him was not so powerful after all.
He was surprised, but quickly accepted the truth.
He himself had experienced this fear sixty years earlier, on the night he first entered Hogwarts' Great Hall. He possessed greater foresight and wisdom than Dumbledore. He had not wasted his talent nor his time. From his student days, he had devoted all his energy to conquering death and he had succeeded.
"Lady Ravenclaw fell gravely ill in her later years," explained the Gray Shadow raven eagerly, almost babbling. "Her illness was beyond even the most accomplished healers. So she gave up hope of recovery and began seeking magic that could transcend life and death…"
Dumbledore listened silently.
"As Ravenclaw herself said, wisdom is man's greatest treasure. Her intellect swiftly unraveled the mysteries of life and the soul, and she discovered the path to immortality…"
The hoarse voice of the Gray Shadow floated smoothly through the air, observing Dumbledore closely as it spoke.
Though it could sense the old wizard's thoughts, it did not intend to conquer or control him.
The Gray Shadow merely wanted to manipulate his fears and desires to achieve its goal. Before killing him, it wanted to see that look of despair on his face as he faced the Killing Curse and mock him at its leisure.
"Really?" Dumbledore's expression remained calm and steady, showing neither belief nor doubt. "Miss Rowena Ravenclaw was extraordinarily intelligent, but if I recall correctly, she died of illness. It seems she never truly crossed into the realm of life and death."
The serene composure of the white-bearded Headmaster irritated the Gray Shadow.
"That was because of her family's misfortune! The diadem was the key to extending life. Rowena was nearly saved but her daughter, Helena Ravenclaw, stole it out of greed, and everything changed."
"Then tell me," said Dumbledore mildly, "how did the diadem return to Hogwarts after being stolen and hidden in the Room of Requirement?"
"..."
The old man's expression in the face of death disgusted the Gray Shadow. He clearly feared it in his heart, yet still feigned tranquility. It was repulsive!
He should have been on his knees, begging pathetically for the hope of immortality.
"I don't know. No one has spoken to me for centuries. I am only a diadem now."
The constant questioning was beginning to irritate the Gray Raven; it could barely suppress the flash of anger in its crimson eyes.
Thousands of years ago, after the other founders left Hogwarts, young Helena coveting her mother's wisdom believed foolishly that it resided in the diadem. Taking advantage of Ravenclaw's illness, she stole it and fled the castle, only to be caught in the Albanian forest.
The Baron, a wizard who had admired Helena, accidentally killed her during the pursuit.
Both returned to Hogwarts as ghosts Helena as the Gray Lady haunting the Ravenclaw Tower, and the Baron as the Bloody Baron of Slytherin's dungeons.
For millennia, the sapphire diadem lay hidden within the hollow of a tree in the Albanian woods.
While at Hogwarts, the Gray Shadow discovered the Gray Lady's true identity. Disguised, he befriended her and coaxed the location of the diadem from Helena's ghost. After retrieving it, he randomly murdered a villager creating his fifth Horcrux.
In a way, he wasn't lying: the secret of immortality truly rested within the diadem.
"..."
Dumbledore remained silent.
After assuming the headmastership, he had learned many secrets from Professor Dippet and the portraits of former headmasters including the identities of the Gray Lady and the Bloody Baron. They had spoken briefly before, but never touched the truth of those ancient events.
It was, after all, another person's private history, and he had no right to pry.
Moreover, he had assumed that Ravenclaw's relics were long gone from Hogwarts, much like Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket.
Millennia of change had made it impossible to trace such artifacts they might be lying forgotten in an attic, or collecting dust in an unmarked Knockturn Alley display window.
Combining his knowledge of Voldemort with the Gray Shadow's tale, Dumbledore quickly reconstructed the truth and deduced when Voldemort had hidden the diadem:
The night he returned to Hogwarts to request the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
At that time, Tom Riddle was still young, handsome, and eerily composed. Surrounded by loyal dark wizards, he carried himself with the arrogance of one who thought himself invincible.
It was then that the diadem was transformed.
Dumbledore's penetrating gaze turned toward the spectral raven.
"..."
The silence stretched, time itself seeming to slow. The stillness was suffocating and to the Gray Shadow, intolerable.
Damn it! Why did he keep looking at it that way?
That calm, knowing, patronizing stare it was the one it despised most!
How dare this frail, aging wizard act so wise when he was clearly terrified of death?
The Gray Shadow studied him warily, uncertain how much he truly believed. Unable to stop itself, it added:
"My last memory is of someone harnessing the diadem's stored power. It may have been Helena or another wizard. They used Ravenclaw's unfinished research to summon the souls of the dead, binding them to this world as ghosts."
"To summon souls… and make them ghosts?" Dumbledore repeated quietly, studying it for several long seconds.
The Gray Shadow flinched under his gaze. It had seen that look before once, in the Wool Orphanage in 1937 that same piercing, all-seeing stare that stripped every secret bare.
But it also sensed faint ripples of emotion from the old wizard, subtle but genuine.
The gray figure hesitated, then added softly, "The ghostly transformation is extremely complex, and almost never occurs naturally. You've surely wondered why so many wizards die full of regret and resentment, yet so few become ghosts…"
Dumbledore was silent. He had wondered that long ago.
The Gray Shadow continued lightly, "Ravenclaw's research transcended life and death. It could prolong the living and retrieve the souls of the dead. If mastered, even resurrection is not impossible."
For a moment, Dumbledore seemed lost in thought, as though seeing a radiant face before him. His heart trembled faintly, and a deep blue light flickered in his eyes.
The Gray Shadow suddenly laughed. Though its spectral beak had no curve, its crimson eyes gleamed with mocking amusement.
"I've got you, Dumbledore."
Some old wizards are like that unyielding and stubborn. They do not fear their own deaths, willing to face mortality as a natural risk. What they truly fear is the death of others family, friends, the ones they loved.
Dumbledore was one of those men.
"Simply place this diadem upon your head," the Gray Shadow coaxed, "and lend me a trace of your magic. You will gain wisdom equal to Ravenclaw's and the mysteries of life and death will open before you…"
"..."
Dumbledore lowered his gaze, staring at the smoky gray apparition. He had been about to continue feigning interest to extract more information but his patience had reached its end.
With a flick of his wand, the floating mist dispersed instantly.
The gray-black shadow melted like wax before it could react, its crimson eyes fading into nothing.
With a soft click, the diadem snapped back into place, and the wooden box sealed shut.
From his perch upon the shelf, Fawkes peered curiously toward the box, bewildered by the sudden change his dark eyes full of confusion.
The room was silent, lit only by the faintest glow of candlelight.
Dumbledore leaned slowly back into his chair.
The haunting words of the Gray Raven still echoed in his mind. He wasn't sure whether they were lies or fragments of genuine research on soul invocation.
But he was certain of one thing: this was a trap Voldemort's trap baited with something irresistible.
Dumbledore exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.
"Ariana…"
Because the Headmaster had kept him out late the previous night, the Muggle Studies professor woke up late the next morning.
By the time Melvin finished washing and went downstairs, breakfast was long over. He had to settle for the staff meal in the kitchens. The spread was generous, and the house-elves especially hospitable the bread fresh from the oven. They refused to let him leave until he was properly stuffed.
Exiting the dining hall, Melvin looked toward the distance. The treetops along the Forbidden Forest's edge were turning yellow, the shrubs beginning to wither, losing the lush green of the previous week. Yet sunlight still shone brightly.
Autumn had arrived.
Young wizards in their mostly black robes filled the grounds. The Quidditch field and the banks of the Black Lake were alive with laughter and activity the students savoring the second weekend of the school year.
After passing through the wrought-iron gates, Melvin continued down the path until he reached a secluded stone platform. He withdrew his wand, gave it a small flick, and a clear chime rang through the air. In the next instant, he vanished down the path to Hogsmeade.
"Bah…"
A muffled sound echoed from a narrow alley off Knockturn Alley.
Melvin's footsteps landed once more on the damp ground of London's infamous dark street. The familiar sticky sensation beneath his boots whether moss or something far worse was unmistakable.
This was his second visit, and this time, Melvin was prepared.
As he stretched his neck, his garments shifted. His wool suit transformed into a coarse linen robe, the collar unfolding into a deep hood that shadowed his face. The hem fell naturally, brushing just above the ground.
With that simple adjustment and a suitably grim expression Melvin blended seamlessly into the environment: a veteran dark wizard of Knockturn Alley.
Following the same path as before, he soon reached Number 12 Knockturn Alley. Melvin eyed the tarnished bronze sign and stepped inside.
A brass bell jingled clearly behind the door.
A stooped middle-aged wizard appeared from behind the counter. He frowned, peering through the greasy strands of hair hanging over his eyes at the hooded stranger. His gaze fell to the Ouroboros ring on the visitor's left hand, and his expression shifted subtly.
"How now, Mr. Borgin don't you recognize me?" Melvin said, lowering his hood with a faint smile.
"It's because I recognize you that I'm uneasy…" muttered Mr. Borgin, frowning deeply. "I'm not sure whether to call you Mr. William or Professor Lewyn."
"So you know, then?"
"I drop by the Leaky Cauldron now and then for a drink," said Borgin, his smooth voice tightening. "Old Tom and a few regulars mentioned there's a new Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. And since you changed your owl post address to Hogsmeade before term began… well, it wasn't hard to put two and two together."
"Well, yes I am a Hogwarts professor. But that doesn't interfere with our business, does it?"
"I suppose you're right…" Borgin forced an uneasy smile.
Hogwarts professors were people of stature, while he and his kind were the vermin of Knockturn Alley sewer rats, living examples of corruption for classroom warnings. There should have been no contact between them, at least not openly.
Once, there had been another like him a Death Eater in the lower ranks. Over a decade ago, when he was still in the Dark Lord's service, he had prowled Knockturn Alley freely, brewing and selling potions, taking commissions for illicit orders. His prices were high and his temper harsh, but he delivered results.
Later, that same Potions Master became the Potions Professor at Hogwarts. From then on, he refused all illegal orders and stopped selling potions altogether. Ingredient supplies dried up, production costs skyrocketed, and failures brought no compensation.
That was the difference in status.
If Professor Lewynter had hidden his identity under a hood during their first meeting, as he did today, they might have built a quiet, mutually profitable understanding.
But now? If word spread that a Hogwarts professor had visited Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley, it would spell disaster for both of them.
Not to mention the professor's introduction at a Dark Wizards' meeting… just the thought of it made Borgin's vision darken.
While Borgin wrestled with his thoughts, the young professor's calm voice sounded from the shop entrance:
"Are the items you showed me last time still available? I'll take them all."
For a moment, Borgin felt the darkness before his eyes lift replaced by gleaming gold.
The golden light of Galleons sparkled brilliantly.
(End of Chapter)