HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

Severus remained silent, continuing to wipe the knife slowly and carefully.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost a whisper: "Danger."

"Where isn't dangerous?" Ian turned around, leaning against the workbench, looking at Severus's downcast profile. "Stay here and wait for them to come knocking? Or wait for you to deal with things alone outside? Severus, we agreed to go together."

Severus finally put down the knife and the cloth and looked up at him.

Complex emotions surged in his dark eyes: worry, disapproval, struggle, all of which eventually settled into a profound sense of helplessness and understanding.

He knew Ian too well; he knew that once Ian made up his mind, there was no stopping him except by binding him.

"Don't take any risks," he finally said, reaching out and gripping Ian's wrist tightly, his fingertips icy cold. "Not at all."

"I promise." Ian grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. "It's just to gather information, and by the way... to make Malfoy think that the Burke kid has finally 'gotten what he's doing' and wants to find himself a stable job."

Ian's body recovered faster than expected, thanks to Lydia's potion and Severus's almost harsh care.

When he stood at the entrance of Bokin-Bock again, his steps were much steady.

The store was still dimly lit. Mr. Bokin raised his eyelids from behind the counter and his gaze lingered on Ian for a few seconds.

"Ian," his voice was hoarse and flat, "looks like he's recovering well."

"Mr. Bokin." Ian nodded, took off his cloak, which was damp from outside, and hung it on the coat rack beside him. His movements were a little slow but steady. "I couldn't stay at home, so I thought I'd come and see if there was anything I could do to help."

Mr. Bokin responded with a muffled sound coming from his nose.

He didn't ask any more questions about St. Mungo's affairs, nor did he express any surprise at Ian's sudden "diligence." He simply pointed to a long table in the corner piled with unsorted clutter.

"Over there, there are some odds and ends collected from the west. They've been sorted into categories: valuables, suspicious items, and pure junk. They've been labeled and placed in drawers for you to read the instructions yourself."

"Rest when you're tired. Don't push yourself back to St. Mungo's. The energy booster your mother sent last time was a good formula; I'd like to ask for a few more bottles."

There wasn't much concern in his words, but the meaning was there.

Ian walked to the long table.

The items piled on the table were indeed quite miscellaneous: a chipped earthenware jar, rusted metal parts whose original appearance was no longer discernible, several old books with brittle covers and blurred pages, and some things that appeared to be parts of magical creatures or strange minerals, casually packed in dirty cloth bags.

He rolled up his sleeves and began to work.

Classification is a meticulous task that requires patience and some basic knowledge to determine which items may be imbued with residual magic, which are just ordinary antiques, and which exude an ominous aura.

Days passed by like this.

Ian would come every morning and leave in the late afternoon when the sun was setting. Occasionally, Mr. Borgin would ask him to write description cards for certain "special" goods or to clean certain objects with special potions that were afraid that ordinary magic would damage their "special qualities".

He couldn't get close to the core of the business, nor could he hear any important gossip, but it was enough for him to get used to the rhythm of the shop's operations and the customers who occasionally came in and out, each with a different expression.

Mr. Bokin was neither particularly enthusiastic nor difficult towards him. He mostly let him do his own thing, only occasionally glancing over from behind the counter or offering a hoarse, insightful suggestion when Bokin was dealing with a tricky item.

One afternoon in mid-October, the sky was overcast, and it looked like it was about to rain but wouldn't.

There were no customers in the shop. Ian was carefully cleaning the stains on the base of a small statue covered in patina with a soft brush when the brass bell on the door rang.

The person who entered carried the damp chill of the outside world with them; their footsteps were light, yet their presence was undeniable.

Ian didn't look up immediately, until the man stopped in front of the counter and spoke in that elegant, affected voice that Ian would never mistake:

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bokin. I'm here on behalf of a customer to pick up a small item he ordered."

It was Lucius Malfoy.

Ian paused for a moment, then resumed as usual, continuing to clean the statue, but his ears perked up.

Mr. Bokin stood up from behind the counter, a smile plastered on his face: "Mr. Malfoy, you're always so punctual. Your things are ready, please wait a moment."

He turned and walked to a cabinet at the far end of the shop, which was secured with multiple locks and protective charms, and quietly unlocked it.

Lucius stood still, his long, slender fingers casually brushing over a box inlaid with dull gems on the counter, his gaze slowly sweeping across the dimly lit shop, finally settling on Ian's back.

"It seems Mr. Bokin has found a good helper." He spoke in a relaxed tone, as if he were chatting casually.

Ian then turned around, a perfectly timed look of surprise on his face, which then turned into a restrained respect. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Ian Burke." A hint of understanding and satisfaction flashed in Lucius's grey-blue eyes. "It seems you've recovered quite well and can even help your elders with the business. A wise choice indeed. Severus has been very busy lately; that lord greatly admires his... focus and efficiency."

"Yes, he... worked very hard." Ian lowered his head, avoiding the other person's direct gaze, and lowered his voice, showing a hint of the awe that should be due to "that person".

At that moment, Mr. Bokin returned carrying a box wrapped in dark velvet and carefully placed it on the counter.

The box wasn't large, but Mr. Bokin handled it with exceptional care.

"That's it, Mr. Malfoy. As requested by that lord, it has been thoroughly processed. Of course, its... historical value remains intact," Mr. Borgin said, rubbing his hands together.

Lucius didn't grab it immediately. Instead, he pulled out an old parchment from his pocket, unfolded it, and found a description of the item and several verification runes written on it in complex magical script.

He lightly tapped the velvet box with the tip of his wand, and a faint, dark golden light shone on the surface of the box, briefly echoing a rune on the parchment before fading away.

"Very good." Lucius nodded, then reached out and picked up the box, casually tucking it under his arm as if it were nothing important, but just an ordinary book.

He looked at Ian again, a haughty smile on his face.

"I'm pleased to see that you've all found your place. Severus's talent needs the right environment, and you, Ian, are here peacefully supporting the family business, away from unnecessary risks. This is good for you and your family."

He paused, then spoke in an even more "heart-to-heart" tone.

"That lord values ​​loyalty and worth. As long as you continue to maintain this... pragmatic and clear-headedness, the future will naturally be bright. Mr. and Mrs. Burke's work at the Ministry of Magic and St. Mungo's has always been highly regarded, as long as... everything remains as usual."

Ian's hand, which was at his side, twitched slightly, but he tried his best to maintain an expression of gratitude and obedience.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, and... thank you for that gentleman's appreciation, we understand."

"Good to know." Lucius seemed satisfied with his reaction and nodded slightly. "Give my regards to Severus and tell him that the ideas he provided last time were very insightful. Well then, farewell, Mr. Borgin."

He didn't look at Ian again, turned around and disappeared out the door.