Borgin and Burkes.
The biggest shop in Knockturn Alley.
Specializes in dark artifacts—some so dangerous the Ministry would have kittens. Mr. Borgin doesn't just sell; he collects anything twisted and rare.
In a black cabinet in the corner, Harry crouched, sulking. The past few days had been a nightmare.
Thanks to Lucien, the Dursleys had finally started feeding him like a human. Food when he was hungry, water when he was thirsty. They still barely spoke to him, but Harry loved the silence—perfect for studying spellbooks and knocking out Lucien's summer homework.
Compared to cupboard-under-the-stairs life? Heaven.
Thinking of Lucien made Harry jealous. Same orphan deal, but Lucien had a doting aunt. Harry wouldn't mind one of those.
Everything was on track—until a house-elf named Dobby popped into his room, stole his letters, and dumped a cake on Uncle Vernon's client.
Vernon and Petunia were livid but couldn't touch Harry—Lucien had scared them straight. Harry overheard them plotting to brick up his window.
He counted the days until term. Ron and the twins saved him just in time, flying car and all. The Dursleys waved goodbye like they were exorcising a demon.
Harry didn't care. Hogwarts!
The Burrow was brilliant—except Lucien had left days earlier. Missed him by that much.
They were supposed to Floo to Diagon Alley together. First time using Floo powder, Harry flubbed the name and ended up… here.
What does this place even SELL?
Withered hands. Blood-stained playing cards. Glass eyeballs on velvet cushions.
Harry peeked through the cabinet slats. Draco and a man who looked like an older, pointier Draco were chatting with "Mr. Borgin."
Borgin ushered the Malfoys out, then started muttering:
"Tch… sold less than half…"
Harry waited, ready to bolt.
He nudged the door—
CREAK.
The shop door opened again.
"Mr. Borgin, I've brought the final pieces. Once you approve, we can seal the contract?"
That voice—familiar.
Borgin slicked back his greasy hair, smile oozing. "Mr. Grafton! Seeing you is like sunshine and Galleons—our partnership will be delightful…"
The door swung wider. Dark-gold hair, ink-green eyes.
Lucien?
What was he doing here?
Borgin fussed over Lucien more than the Malfoys. Why?
Harry had questions. Borgin led Lucien to a table, poured tea, laid out biscuits.
Lucien flicked his hand—bracelets, necklaces, buttons appeared on the table.
Borgin donned a gear-covered monocle, examining each piece.
"Oh, your craftsmanship is exquisite—better than last time! At your age, this level of alchemy… has Hogwarts upgraded its curriculum?"
"Let's hear your thoughts," Lucien cut in.
Borgin switched to business. "These lock in different effects. The auto-trigger Ironbody Charm amulet is a lifesaver—price it high…"
Harry only caught that Lucien was partnering with Borgin to sell alchemical gear. Sounded amazing. The haggling? Brain-melting.
His legs were going numb when they finally wrapped up.
Harry bent to rub a cramp—Lucien's eyes flicked straight to the cabinet.
Harry froze.
Lucien raised a hand and waved.
Why panic? Harry shoved the door open and stepped out.
"You are…?" Borgin's eyes narrowed, wand half-raised.
"My friend," Lucien said smoothly. "Hide-and-seek gone wrong. No harm, right?"
Borgin's scowl flipped to a grin. "Of course, of course, little one! But next time, don't hide here—grown-up stuff. That opal necklace beside you? Nineteen Muggle deaths."
Harry shuffled behind Lucien, skin crawling.
Simple math: Lucien = big spender, high-quality goods. Keep him happy, steady Galleons.
Dark thoughts of stealing from a kid? Borgin remembered screams echoing nights ago and shuddered.
So he ignored the soot-covered, scruffy kid who'd tumbled out of his cabinet.
Outside, Harry trailed Lucien into a grimy alley lined with shady shops.
Ragged wizards spotted them—necks shrank, they bolted.
An old hag turned, saw Lucien, dropped a tray of what looked like fingernails, and sprinted—legs pumping like a twenty-year-old.
Harry got it. They weren't scared of him.
He glanced at Lucien.
——————
Right this way.
——————
"Knockturn Alley," Lucien explained. "Dark artifacts. Don't come alone without an adult."
Harry nodded hard—this place gave him the creeps.
But why the sprinting?
Lucien tapped Harry with his wand.
"Scourgify."
"Reparo."
Soot vanished. Glasses fixed. Harry looked like the Boy Who Lived again—cheeks fuller, less ghost-pale.
Dursleys definitely feeding him now.
A few steps in, Harry heard crack-crack—whipping sounds. He glanced back at Borgin's—nothing.
Curiosity won. "Lucien, why'd everyone run when we came out?"
That old hag especially—ancient but fast, like she'd seen a dragon.
Lucien pocketed his wand. "Met thieves, robbers, con artists… some tried cursing me."
Harry tensed, imagining himself facing them.
Lucien's calm eased him. "You okay? Remember their faces? We could report to the Ministry—"
Lucien shook his head. "I'm fine. Faces?"
He pointed skyward. "Those."
Seven or eight ragged figures hung upside-down, bound by invisible chains in inverted crucifixes.
Eyes shut, blood crusted from neck to torso, robes torn—flesh curled open.
But their faces? Spotless. Like blood magically wiped away.
The crack-crack? Floating whips lashing their bodies.
Harry's jaw dropped. A transparent barrier below caught dripping blood—thoughtful?
Put it together: anyone who tried robbing or cursing Lucien ended up here.
Knockturn watched them get flayed. Lesson learned—spot Lucien, run.
"Knockturn's dangerous," Harry muttered. "Everyone's shady…"
Lucien chuckled. "Some driven by greed. Others…"
He jerked a thumb at Borgin's.
"…instigated by him."
Harry frowned. "Then why deal with him?"
"Stick and carrot. Loyalty, efficiency. He's connected—useful."
Harry eyed the hanging bodies. "So you hung them near his shop?"
"Yep. Didn't want him missing the audio. Closer = better."
No screams even when whips cracked. Harry swallowed. "They're… quiet?"
Code for: maybe dead.
Lucien didn't look up. "Relax. Whips are laced with healing potion—seeps out periodically. Won't kill them."
"Improved formula. Want the recipe at school?"
Harry nodded automatically—new potion!
But whipping while healing? Genius or devil? Harry had no words.
"Feel bad for them?"
Harry shook his head, voice soft but firm. "No. If you hadn't stopped them, they wouldn't have held back. Magic, power—important."
A year with Lucien—watching him blast Quirrell/Voldemort, cow the Dursleys with money and clout—taught Harry: power protects. Don't bully, but don't be bullied.
Lucien approved. A kid raised on cold shoulders wouldn't grow into a bleeding-heart pushover.
Dumbledore wanted courage and grit—never demanded sainthood.
A Savior who could beat Voldemort could be kind, gentle—but never weak, never wasting pity on the unworthy.