Chapter 172 - – Borgin and Burke (1/2)
It was still rather cloudy when Rowan emerged having exchanged some of her saved up pocket money into muggle currency. Making her way down the street, she kept going until she, at last, reached her destination at a dark, twisting narrow street. She paused for a moment at the entrance before entering the dingy alleyway. The shops on either side of the street were entirely made up of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. There was a shop with an old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling potions candles with the words, Knockturn Alley.
With a mixture of unease and relief, Rowan knew she was in the right place. Continuing down the street without making eye contact with any of the shady individuals she paused at seeing a shop several doors away with gigantic black spiders. Flinching, she hurries past to stop two doors later in front of another shop with shrunken heads.
Right across from said the questionable shop is another dusty window shop with the faded words in cursive, ”Borgin and Burke, since 1863, Confidential valuation service for unusual and ancient wizarding artifacts.” Knowing she was at the right place, she crossed the street and entered the large, dimly lit wizard's shop.
The bell clanged as the door closed behind her. Glancing around, Rowan carefully eyes the shop. A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. A shelf full of skulls, with a long coil of hangman's rope, and a magnificent necklace of opals. Upon closer examination, a yellow card reads, ”Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed – Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date.”
Rowan makes a face before her eyes instinctively flicker back to the hand on the cushion. A hand of glory. All that was needed to use was to insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Though very useful, no doubt, it wasn't something she was willing to try out herself. But then again, it was the best friend of thieves and plunders. She was just the wrong consumer.
A stooping younger man had appeared from behind the counter, smoothing his slightly greasy hair back from his face. ”Welcome,” Mr. Borgin said in an oily voice. ”How may I be of assistance-?”
Mr. Borgin monetarily paused at seeing his customer's age. But not one to judge nor miss a sell, he smoothly continues, ”Are we buying or selling, young lady?”
Rowan turns her gaze for that which she came to purchase, a large black cabinet standing right across from a dirty, stone fireplace. ”How much for the cabinet?”
Mr. Borgin blinks and grins a sharp, yellow-toothed grin. ”Ah, well. This particular cabinet is a one of a kind piece,” Mr. Borgin oily said as he rubbed his hands smelling a profit. ”I'm afraid I can't sell it for anything less than fifty galleons.”
”Do you take me for a fool?” Rowan coldly said. ”That is a vanishing cabinet without its match. At best, it's worth is no more than ten galleons.”
Mr. Borgin quickly backpedals and says, ”As you stated, Miss, it is a rare vanishing cabinet. It isn't worth anything less than thirty galleons.”
”It is useless without its pair,” Rowan snapped. ”Fifteen Galleons.”