HP: Those Years Sleeping with the Half-Blood Prince

After that night, Severus never went to see Professor Travers again, and Ian could clearly see that he had borrowed more books about dark magic from the library.

Halloween was fast approaching, and Hogwarts was filled with a lively festive atmosphere, but Ian had something else on his mind.

He told Severus and the others that he was going to Diagon Alley to buy something, and after arriving at the Leaky Cauldron via the Floo Network, he turned and went down that dark side street.

Ian pulled up his hood, turned a few corners with practiced ease, and stopped in front of that familiar door—Bogin Burke.

He pushed open the door, and the little bell on the lintel rang dryly.

The shop was more crowded and darker than when he came during the summer vacation, and there seemed to be more clutter piled up. The air was filled with the smell of dust, old parchment, and some indescribable sweet and cloying spices.

There were several guests, all bundled up, in front of Mr. Bokin.

They were talking in hushed tones, their voices very low. Mr. Bokin seemed quite respectful—or rather, wary—to them, bowing slightly as he answered their questions, his voice also very low.

Ian stopped and instead of immediately moving forward, he quietly moved behind a row of tall, dusty cabinets and pretended to be interested in several cobweb-covered brass balances on top of the cabinets.

He could hear fragments of conversation coming from the other end:

"...We must make sure...there are no tracking marks..." a hoarse male voice said.

"Of course, it was handled very cleanly... That gentleman can rest assured..." came Mr. Bokin's voice.

"...The effect...needs to be verified..." another, even deeper voice said.

"As you can see, the quality is excellent... but the 'side effects' should also be noted..." Mr. Bokin's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible flattery.

Ian's heart skipped a beat.

He had a bad feeling about these people; they were cold, gloomy, and carried an even more dangerous aura, like some kind of dark magic organization.

He didn't know if he was right, but his intuition told him that it was best not to attract their attention or get involved.

He waited patiently, his gaze sweeping over the strange and mostly ominous items on the shelves: a silver snuffbox that could bite, a rusty dagger, a thick book wrapped in what appeared to be human skin, and several dark red chunks of flesh slowly pulsating in jars...

The men seemed to have reached a deal; one of them placed a jingling little bag on the counter, which Mr. Bokin quickly put away.

They didn't linger; they left quickly and silently through the back door.

Ian then came out from behind the cabinet.

Mr. Bokin was wiping his hands, which he had just received money, with a velvet cloth when he heard footsteps. He looked up, saw Ian, raised his slender eyebrows, and his smile became more genuine, or rather, more casual.

"Oh, little Burke," he said slowly, tossing the velvet cloth aside, "quite a rare guest. Hogwarts' cauldrons and sweets shouldn't be here, are they?"

"Mr. Bokin," Ian smiled and walked to the counter. "It's Halloween, and Diagon Alley is too crowded. I came here to have some peace and quiet, and while I'm at it, I'll see if you have any... interesting little trinkets."

Mr. Bokin's shrewd little eyes scrutinized Ian behind his glasses, his gaze lingering on Ian's face for a moment, as if weighing something.

"Interesting little gadgets?" he drawled. "I have a lot of interesting things here, but most of them aren't suitable for a bedside table in a school dormitory, especially... Slytherin's cellars, I heard they're a bit damp?"

Ian remained unfazed: "So we need something more dry 'fun,' something that won't turn your roommate into a toad, but will keep him pondering for days. Ideally, it should have some 'history,' or something with some... special 'effects,' you understand, pure academic research."

He emphasized the last few words.

Mr. Borgin chuckled softly. "Academic research...of course, of course. The thirst for knowledge of Hogwarts' top students is always worthy of encouragement."

He turned around, his back hunched, and rummaged among the densely packed shelves behind him for a while before taking out an old ebony box, the carved patterns on it worn and blurred.

"This," he said, placing the box on the counter and unfastening the clasp. Inside was a faded deep red velvet lining, upon which lay a brooch.

The brooch is made of silver and is shaped like a small, curled-up animal that resembles both a cat and a fox, with eyes that are two dull rubies.

The workmanship is not particularly exquisite, and is even somewhat rough, with an old-fashioned feel.

"It is said to be the relic of a medieval witch who liked to study curses and prophecies," Mr. Borgin said, tapping the edge of the box with his fingertip without touching the brooch directly.

"It's not very powerful. Wearing it close to the body for a long time is said to occasionally cause... rather 'inspiring' nightmares, the content of which is mostly related to things that the wearer fears or desires to know in their subconscious. Well... it may just make people sleep restlessly and have some random dreams."

"It's ancient, its effects are unstable and very weak, not enough to harm anyone, let alone be considered a black magic item. At most, it's an antique with a slight psychological effect, a bit 'historical,' a bit 'effective,' 'academic' enough, and..."

He gave Ian a meaningful look. "Inconspicuous, easy to explain its origin—just say it's an 'antique-style ornament' found at a flea market in Diagon Alley, and nine times out of ten no one will investigate further."

Ian examined the brooch closely.

"How much?" he asked.

Mr. Bokin quoted a price that wasn't outrageous, but it wasn't cheap either; it was equivalent to several months' worth of Ian's allowance.

Ian didn't haggle; he simply counted out the corresponding amount of Gallons and Sico from his inner pocket and placed them on the counter. "That's it."

Mr. Bokin raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly not expecting Ian to be so agreeable.

He neatly pocketed the money, wrapped the ebony box in a soft cloth, and handed it to Ian. "Packaging is free, as usual. Little Bock, once you're out this door, what it is or what happens is none of my business. Have a pleasant research trip."

"Of course, Mr. Borkin." Ian took the box; it felt slightly heavy. He carefully placed it into his shoulder bag. "It's just a bit of an old piece of jewelry, thank you."

Leaving Borgin-Bock, Ian pulled his cloak tighter and strode toward the fork in the road leading to the Leaky Cauldron, pondering how to give the item to Severus and what to say.

Should I just give it to him directly? Should I say I think this thing is a bit strange and ask him to take a look? Or should I wait for a more suitable opportunity?

Ian looked up at the sky and quickened his pace. He still needed to go to Honey Duke to buy the candy he had promised to bring Kevin, and then get back to the castle before curfew.

That evening, when they returned to their bedroom in Slytherin's crypt, Kevin and Aris were not there; they were probably still enjoying the end of the Halloween dinner in the Great Hall.

Severus has returned. He is sitting in a chair by his bedside, reading a thick book by the light of the lamp. It is a book he borrowed from the library called "The Origins of Medieval Black Magic".

Hearing Ian enter, he glanced up, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Honey Duke bag in Ian's hand before returning to the pages of his book.

"Here, Honeydukes' new product, the cockroach pile. Kevin's been talking about it for ages." Ian placed a bag of candy on Kevin's bed, then walked to his own bedside and took the dark wooden box out of his backpack.

Severus stopped turning the pages and his gaze fell on the wooden box.

He closed the book but didn't say anything; he just stared at it quietly.

Ian placed the wooden box on the empty bed between the two of them and opened it.

The brooch lay on the deep red velvet, appearing even more ominous under the dim light of the dormitory.