Darkly Bound

11.

I reapparated to the appointed place on the map and scanned the area. It was the top of a low hill with a few trees. I could smell the sharp smell of sea air. The storm had ceased, and the clouds were clearing but it was still going to be difficult to watch the progress of the stars. I gauged the time to be about 4 am. I took out the map and studied the intricate pattern of lines that crossed it. These were energy ley lines that we would draw on to create the psychic net. Using my wand as a dowsing rod I marked off several paces and sought the spot with the highest energy. Once there, I cast a circle, and using my wand again I kindled nine small fires around it. Then I gathered my thoughts and began the process of channeling the energy beneath my feet. The agents would be nearly in place now. I was able to penetrate the clouds to see that the time was drawing very close. I could feel energy humming around me and rising up through me. The tingling was reaching to my fingertips and I reached my arms out to feel it stretching out beyond them. Slowly then, I became aware of another humming sound, slightly higher, and a sense of connection. The net was being cast. Stronger and stronger it became and the humming became a chord of pure energy. I closed my eyes to bask in the sensation of being pure energy. I felt bodiless and free, surrounded by lights akin to the Aurora borealis of the far northern skies. The chord grew and faded, the colors changed and blended.

Then came a discordant note. The colors wavered. The light that had been clear became cloudy and the colors dulled. A wave of pain ran through the net and the whole structure shuddered. One of the telepaths was lost. Something was attempting to breach the web. I tried to send a warning inside, but doubted it would get through. The electromagnetic storm surrounding me and the shields around Azkaban would make it nearly impossible to succeed.

If you can hear me, you need to work fast, company's at the door! I expected no response and got none. I glanced up at the sky though the wavering colors. It seemed the stars had frozen in place. I closed my eyes and concentrated on channeling more energy back into the net. The chord had steadied again and the breech had been mended, for now. The peaceful feeling however did not return and although the chord was steadier it now included a sharp, keening quality that sounded like a warning siren.

I knew I was being watched. Without turning, or even opening my eyes, I swung my sight around me on the hill. The same spectral Watchers that were in London. They stood perfectly still, inches from the net, unable to pass through. As long as I stood surrounded by that energy they could do nothing. But they'd done nothing in London either, and that worried me. I forced myself to resume concentrating on the net. Again, a discordant note shook the structure, but this time it held. This telepath had been stronger and managed to fend of at least this first attack. I beckoned the small fires at my feet to leap into tall flames around me. This shielded me from the view of the Watchers and would buy me a few moments of time if I was the next to be picked off the net.

Again I looked to the stars. At last! Movement. Perhaps five more minutes would be all we'd need. Again I attempted to send a warning into Azkaban, and again received no response. The heat from my own protective flames was becoming unbearable, but the energy flowing through me and the beauty of the net was worth the discomfort. I let myself float in the energy and became lost in the music and light.

When the signal came to drop the net, I was sorry. The chord faded slowly and the colors blurred together and dissipated into the cold, night air. And the very moment the net fell, the Watchers moved. Again I caused the flames to roar, this time outwards as well as up. They backed up warily and I used that second to disapparate.

*

I was alone. The house was dark. I lit the lanterns that led up to the front door. I could still feel energy crackling around me. I could hear or feel nothing of Snape which meant that he was either still inside Azkaban or that I was still surrounded by some fair amount of psychic energy that was acting as a shield. What I did not feel was a sense of loss or foreboding and I took that as a good omen. I conjured up a small brazier and a pot of hot chocolate and sat on the lowest step to wait.

It was taking longer than I expected. I couldn't sit any longer. The energy from the net was still crackling through me and between that and the icy morning air I was restless. I decided to try to walk it off. I conjured a small lantern and wandered off in search of the herb garden. It was quite a distance around the house but the walk did me good. I wandered among the rows of plants, picking sprigs of this and that along the way stuffing some in the pockets of the heavy cloak and crushing others as I wandered just to release their sweet fragrances. Then as I leaned over to examine a pretty low growing plant, I was suddenly overcome by an overwhelming feeling of vertigo and nearly fell over. I was overcome momentarily by a wave of nausea and dizziness. Closing my eyes made it worse so I tried to focus on the light from the lantern and disapperated as quickly as I could before I lost track of where I was planning to go. When I reapperated back at the front of the house I wasn't surprised to see Snape standing, a bit unsteadily at the bottom step. His thoughts were utter chaos and I had to put up an extra effort to block some of the confusing images that were emanating from him.

He turned slowly, looking confused. "Where were you?" He sank down on the bottom step. "We lost a telepath, I couldn't hear you."

"I know. And nearly lost another. Stay there, don't move." I went over to the brazier and got him a large cup of the dark hot chocolate that I had made earlier. I reached into the deep pockets of the cloak and examined the crushed herbs I'd put there. I dropped a few leaves into the cup and swirled it to mix them as I handed it to him, being careful not to let our hands touch. "Here, drink that. All of it." He took it wordlessly. I went back to the fire and emptied my pockets. I tossed a few more herbs into the fire itself and soon the air was filled with a sweet, calming incense.

I sat quietly trying to quell those dark confusing images while Snape drained his drink. When he was done he and opened his eyes.

"Better?" I asked. His thoughts were calmer, but his head was still full of horrific images that defied description.

"I never want to see that place, or those creatures again." He looked into his empty cup.

"Need more?"

"What is it?"

"It's chocolate. What do you think it is?"

"It's not just chocolate."

"Okay. It's mostly chocolate. And a few things I found in your garden. You're not the only person who can whip up a good potion when need be." I refilled the cup and handed it back to him.

"Is that so? Now I distinctly heard you tell your students that you were, and I quote, 'hopeless at potions'."

I sat down next to him. "I had to say that to shut them up. It was either that or slip dumb-cane into their pumpkin juice. I was quite good at potions at school. When I was about their age I had a lucrative side line dealing in a very effective correction potion of my own invention."

He looked at me as if I'd sprouted a second head. "You understand now that armed with that bit of information I will be taking extra care in grading all Ravenclaw potions exams for the rest of term."

"I resent that! I'm a member of the faculty. I'd never give information like that to students."

He smiled and looked into his cup.

I was feeling restless again and had to get up and move. The energy was humming in my ears.

"Settle down," he said watching me pace. "You're making me dizzy." He reached out to grab my hand.

"Don't touch me!" I tried to pull away, but he was too quick.

A loud snapping sound filled the air and a bright blue spark flew from where his hand had grabbed my wrist.

"Bloody hell, what was that?"

"I tried to warn you!" I said, rubbing my wrist. "That happens sometimes. It takes a while to wear off. It's the energy left from what we pulled on for the net."

"And just how long does this special effect usually last?" he asked narrowing his eyes.

"Depends. I've never done this before, joining with others, but when we went to Machu Pichu I couldn't get near anyone for three days. If it helps, I think you probably conducted off the worst of it. It should just be a tingle now. Want to try again?" I held my hand out to him, palm upwards.

He looked at me cautiously and reached out his hand slowly and let it hover just over mine. I could feel a tiny current flowing between us, but he moved his hand away before our palms touched.

"Chicken," I laughed.

He sat back down quietly. I looked up at the sky. It was beginning to lighten. "It's nearly dawn." I pulled my cloak around me and sat next to him. "Don't you have to run off and hide in your coffin or something?"

Sleep would be impossible, I knew, but I humored Snape when he showed me to a room and insisted that I needed sleep as much as he did. I did manage a nearly scalding hot bath and while rummaging around in a cupboard I found some clean robes. They may have been a hundred years old, and I tried not to think about who they may have belonged to, but they were rather pretty, they fit and being cotton they didn't crackle with static electricity every time I moved like the heavy wool robes I'd worn from Hogwarts. My hair was another matter entirely. That was still full of electricity and I only managed to get about half of it into a braid down my back.

I sat by the window watching the sun rise higher over the lake. It would be a clear day, but my thoughts were clouded with worry. Dumbledore had said we'd be away from Hogwarts indefinitely so it was clear that last night's project had been just part of his plan. While I was glad to finally have some actually work to do, some particular end result in sight, waiting for the next shoe to drop was going to be intolerable. Then there was the worry about the lost telepath last night. What had happened to him. Was he dead? I took the soiled maps from the pocked of the cloak I'd worn last night. There was no way to determine where he had been in relation to me, but I knew I wouldn't feel satisfied with the success of the night's mission until I at least knew what had happened to him.

I rolled the maps up and decided to go down to the kitchen and see if there was anything I could find that would make up a decent breakfast. I was starving couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Saturday lunchtime I guessed. I have no idea how things like this work in these houses--or more accurately estates, house elves, I suppose, but when I got to the bottom of the stairs I could not believe the difference. This was no longer an empty house, but one humming with activity. I couldn't see anyone, but I could sense the flurry of motion all around. I walked through the house looking into rooms, all with fires lit. When I came upon the dining room I was astonished to find a full breakfast laid out on a beautifully set table. The smell of coffee was intoxicating and I wasted no time in settling down to a sumptuous meal. The Sunday Prophet was laid out on the table as well---what could be more perfect?

I had lost track of the time I'd been at the table, scouring every line of that newspaper when I became aware of Snape, leaning against the doorframe surveying the scene in front of him with a sort of smug satisfaction. He waited until I had a mouth full of coffee before he decided to break his silence.

"You seem to have made yourself quite at home, Doctor."

I swallowed quickly, burning my throat and nearly choking, "Yes, well--" I really couldn't think what to say. It was his house and I was, well, he was right, making myself quite at home. "Would you please stop that?"

He walked over to the table. "Stop what?"

"That Doctor business. It's really getting boring."

He poured himself a cup of coffee. "I am sorry. I was just trying to keep things professional."

"It's Sunday. The Doctor is off today." I went back to the paper.

He walked back around behind me "Is that so?" He leaned down, I thought to see what I was reading. I felt a snap of electricity on my neck as his lips brushed against me.

"Just checking," he whispered.

"Be careful," I said, keeping my eyes on the paper. "I might have a crucifix up my sleeve."

"Your Muggle trinkets and charms are useless here," he said and his teeth gently grazed my skin and this time the current I felt run down my neck was not static electricity.

"Garlic?"

"Useless."

"Oh dear," I sighed a heavy artificial sigh. "then you'll force me to draw on my deepest darkest secrets in my dark-witch training."

He leaned back, waiting.

I reached across the table and handed him the toast rack and a pot of marmalade. "Knock yourself out."

"Curses, foiled again. What have you done to my newspaper?" He looked at the mess I had made of the Sunday Prophet. It was spread over half the table.

"Sorry, I'm looking for something."

"Someone, no doubt, and you won't find him in there. The ministry will keep this whole matter hushed up."

"You just have to know where to look."

He looked bemused as his eyes took in the spread out papers. "I see."

"Here I saved this page just for you." I held the front page right in front of his face.

"Oh hell!" he snapped. "I knew it, I bloody knew it!" He snatched it away and looked angrily at the picture of ministry bureaucrats grinning foolishly, shaking hands with each other and congratulating each other on appointing a new Head Warden of Azkaban.

I watched him turn puce and tried not to laugh out loud. "Alright, that's enough. You'll only make that headache worse and I really don't want to share that with you all day. Have something to eat."

"Oh look," he said as he threw the paper back onto my pile, "you're in here too. You should save this. 'An international panel of consultants assisted with the transition.' Idiots!"

I waved my hand at him to hush him. "Found it! Here! Look!" I pointed to a tiny article in the lower corner of one page:

"Mrs. Peregrine Worsthorne of Payneshill has asked for assistance in locating her husband, Mr. Peregrine Thomas Worsthorne who, she says, disappeared three days ago after the arrival of a letter which he claimed to have been from his Auntie Doris in Swansea. 'I thought it was odd,' said Mrs. Worsthorne, 'Auntie Doris has been dead six years, but he insisted and wouldn't say another word about it.' In fact, Mrs Worsthorne continued her story by reporting that Peregrine had stopped talking altogether later that day except to tell her that he was going down to the pub to 'see a man about an otter'. Mrs. Worsthorne fears the worst, she says as Mr. Worsthorne has 'never been quite right in the head since all that dodgy business with the ministry'. Upon further investigation, Prophet investigators have determined that Mr. Peregrine Worsthorne was indeed employed by the Ministry of Magic as a consultant for several years although his duties and which department he worked for remain unclear. Anyone with any information pertaining to Mr. Worsthorne's whereabouts is urged to contact local authorities. 'Just tell 'em not to call the ministry,' added Mrs. W."

I looked up. He was frozen, stopped mid-bite with the most incredulous look on his face. It was spectacular, even for him. "You are completely insane," he whispered when he was able to regain his composure. "I'm sitting here, in my own house, at my own table with a complete and utter nut-case. 'Went to see a man about an otter?'"

"Okay so he's not very imaginative," I answered. "I still want to know what happened to him."

"And just why, may I ask, is this so important to you?"

Now it was my turn to stare incredulously. At any other place, in any other time I would have turned on him, but I was overcome with a sense of absolute exhaustion the moment he'd asked that question. I bit my lip so hard I was sure it was bleeding. Turning away I tore my little article out of the corner of the paper and began clearing up the mess I'd made with the rest of it, meticulously folding sheet after sheet until the Sunday Prophet was in near perfect condition. Snape watched all this wordlessly until I picked the stack of papers up off the table to hand to him and exposed the filthy map I'd brought down with me. His eyes caught the burned edges of the paper.

"What happened to that?" he asked.

"Nothing!" I snapped and snatched it off the table.

"Nothing, my cauldron!"

"Just why, may I ask, is this so important to you?" I shot back. "I'm sure Mr. Worsthorne's map is in far worse condition than this one! Lest we forget, this was a man who, left his home, his wife, maybe a family and without question, without telling anyone where he was going took on the job of protecting you!" I let him have all the images I'd been holding back from the night before. The incredible lightness of the raising of the net, the shimmering light, the hum of the surrounding energy. Then the shriek of pain that ran through the net, the change in the tenor of the sound and the clarity of the colors, the struggle to close the breach to prevent whatever it was that had broken the continuity of the psychic thread from making a physical assault. Then he saw the Watchers, the spectres made of pure darkness who had no physical form, but were clearly part of the attack. A sheen of sweat broke out across his brow as he felt the heat from the flames I'd sent up around myself for protection when the energy of the net came down.

"Enough! That's enough!" he said. "I didn't know. How could I have known?"

"You couldn't have. Not while you were in Azkaban. The shields are too strong there. And by the time you got back your mind was so muddled by contact with Dementors that you wouldn't have been able to figure any of this out anyway. But you knew we'd lost someone!"

"Yes, they told us that much. They told us that four had successfully disapperated, one had been recovered, badly injured and one was missing."

I was so tired I could barely hold my eyes open, I rested my head in both hands. His thoughts were coming faster than his words.

"I was terrified. For the first time in years. I though it was you! I couldn't hear you, couldn't feel you, nothing. Then I finally made it back here--where the HELL were you?"

"You don't mean that, any of it. You weren't thinking straight. You're still not thinking straight."

"Damn!" He slammed his hand on the table causing everything on it to jump and rattle.

"Hey, watch it! Do you mind? I've got to go take a nap."

"Fine, go." He was staring out the large window of the dining room.

I stood up and started out of the room. As I walked out into the main hall a large owl bearing a thick packet swooped past me and into the dining room. I turned on my heel and ran back. Snape was staring at the packet the owl had left on the table. It was a letter, very thick, from Albus Dumbledore.

I looked at it, then at him. "Don't you open that. Don't you dare open that now!"

12

The letters finally opened, I began the grim task of getting ready for the appointment at the ministry. I very reluctantly transfigured my dirty, but comfortable hanging around the castle on a Saturday robes to my best Monday morning business dress robes. I absolutely hated them. They were very stiff, very scratchy and very, very black. I knew for sure that if I spent enough time looking through them I'd eventually come across a designer label declaring them to be a one-of-a-kind creation of 'Haggs & Crones International'. Snape would probably see them as the epitome of flattering feminine attire. I looked over the heavy cloak that he had lent me. It was very dirty, smelled of smoke and was badly scorched around the bottom, but that was quickly repaired and although I was loath to do it, I adjusted the color to match the black of my business dress.

I inspected myself in a full length mirror before leaving the room. I looked exactly like a dead wax figure in a museum. "Perfect, just right for a bunch of stuffy bureaucrats."

Snape met me at the door with a change of plans. Another owl had arrived and although he would not say from where, I knew for sure it was Dumbledore again, but didn't think this business had anything to do with Hogwarts.

"It will just be a short detour, you might find it interesting," he said. "We have to make a short visit to Knockturn Alley."

*

"Oh yuck!" I sputtered as I looked around at where we had apparated. "I should have known! This is the absolute last straw, I mean it. The next time you and I go out anywhere I get to pick."

He looked over at me. He seemed to be quite amused.

"Look at my robes! I suppose you couldn't have managed to drop us one foot more to the left, I mean, you managed to miss the actual center of this mud-hole!"

"You hate those robes."

"Yes, but they were very expensive and this black shows every speck of dirt!" I stopped trying to brush dirt off my cloak and looked more carefully around me. Knockturn Alley looked exactly the way I had heard it described, or maybe worse. Perhaps it was the place itself, but I suspected the sinister feeling it generated was due more to the unpleasantness of the people that were present. No one walked down Knockturn Alley, they skulked, staying in the shadows as if they were either afraid of being recognized or burning up in the daylight. None of the shops looked open from the outside, yet they clearly were as movement was visible through filthy windows and doors opened to let shadowy figures in and out. "What possible business could we have here?"

"You're uncomfortable here. I'm surprised."

"Why would that surprise you? This really isn't my field."

"One would think that a witch who had been offered the position of teacher of Defense Against..." A progression of expressions crossed his face in a matter of seconds. "You weren't offered that post, were you?"

"No. Sorry." I pretended to be interested in scraping mud off my shoe, then added, artificially brightly, "If it helps at all, I wouldn't have taken it anyway."

He looked at me with that unfathomable expression I thought I ought to be used to by now. I felt like sinking into the mud. "I was mad at you for that stupid astral projection stunt you pulled in the classroom. You wouldn't believe the hell I'd just caught from Moody because of that. I was in his office for hours and everything he had to say came back to that."

People were beginning to take notice of us. Snape glared at a wretched little man who'd been staring at us and he went scurrying off as if his pants had been set on fire. "Walk. Just keep moving," he muttered under his breath to me. "Whatever rebuke you got from Moody you most certainly deserved. Stepping into an astral being is extremely dangerous."

"I've heard that one already. Besides I knew it was you."

At that he turned to me and grabbed my shoulders. "But that is exactly the point! You didn't know who I was. You didn't know who--what--I'd been."

"I knew enough. And it didn't work out so badly in the end, did it? You knew less about me than I knew about you."

"Oh no, that's where you're wrong."

"What? What is that supposed to mean?"

"We're here. Borgin and Burke. Just remember what I told you and please try to at least act as if this is your field of interest."

We entered the dingy shop it took a few moments for my eyes to get used to the dimly lit interior but once they did I could see that as revolting as the place was, it was twice as interesting. It looked like a museum of horrors. The candles seemed to struggle to throw even the tiniest amounts of light over the gruesome objects on shelves and under glass. I could sense Snape begin to relax once he was sure I wasn't going to start swiping at cobwebs or screaming about bats flying into my hair.

Unfortunately, that didn't last long as one of the proprietors, Mr. Borgin himself stepped out from behind the shadowy counter to greet us.

"Mr. Snape. So nice to see you. It has been too long." Borgin had to have spent hours preparing himself to look his part. He was hunched and pale and he continuously wrung his hands until I was sure they'd fall off right onto the counter with a plop.

"I have heard," said Snape as if he were talking to the postman, "that you have recently acquired some items that may be of interest."

I glided over to his side running my hand along the long, glass counter top.

"Ah hello, Madame," said Mr. Borgin oily. He turned to Snape. "A fellow afficionado?"

"This is Doctor Claros, Mr. Borgin. A colleague of mine."

"Welcome to Borgin and Burke, Madame. Please let me know if you see anything of specific interest to you."

"Why thank you sir," I replied sweetly. "This is a most fascinating establishment."

Snape quickly reclaimed the conversation, "I don't want to be rude, but--"

"Oh yes! Please, step this way Sir, Madame, the--items are just inside here."

We stepped into a small room, no more than a closet really, behind the counter and Borgin snapped the door shut and locked it with a spell.

Snape nodded his approval. "Malfoy again?"

"Yes, who else? We have others comin' in too, but nothing like this. I thought I'd better go to the top with this lot. He's gettin' really nervous now. You won't believe the stuff he's been bringing in here. And to some of our competitors, I'm sure." The transformation was astonishing. Borgin had dropped his slimy, conciliatory persona and was unlocking a sealed cabinet.

Snape let out a low whistle when he saw what was in it. "Oh Lucius," he whispered. "Very sloppy. This won't go over well at all. Mr Borgin, you may leave us now."

"Yes sir, I'll be just outside, keepin' an eye on things."

Borgin left quickly and shut the door behind him.

"Lock that." Snape pointed at the door.

I took out my wand and placed a seal on the door.

"What is this?" I asked peering over his shoulder into the cabinet.

"This is evidence. For years Malfoy and others like him have been coming in here selling off items that can directly link them with the Dark Lord. Anytime they think the ministry is on to them for something, might have reason to pay them a visit, friends of ours like Mr. Borgin are offered all sorts of treasures like this. It's my unhappy responsibility to sort it all out. These, for instance," he said pulling out a case of tubes and vials containing liquids of various colors, "are poisons. Not just any poisons--very specific ones favored by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I'll have to test them, of course. But Malfoy's sold buckets of this already. I don't know where he got them, he certainly didn't make them himself. He can't manage a simple boil cream on his own. And that little weasel son of his is no better."

"Draco Malfoy is a student in your house!"

"Aren't I the lucky one," he sneered.

My eyes must have been the size of saucers. "They should have put him in Ravenclaw, he's awfully pretty. My little coven would have made quick work of him."

He looked at me and grinned. "Find yourself a quill on that desk and write down what I tell you."

We were there for more than an hour. He opened every vial, every box, read every word on every piece of parchment, examined every hideous article in that cabinet and documented every bit of it. When we were finally done he placed an elaborate seal on every item and then again on the entire cabinet. "I'll finish up in here. You go out and wait in the shop."

This was more an order than a suggestion and I had no desire to stay in that room any longer so I unsealed the door and left. The light had changed in the shop, the sunlight had been able to make more progress through the grimy windows and the freakish inventory of the store was plainly visible now. I walked about carefully examining all sorts of awful things wondering just what they could possibly be used for, and who would have ever thought of using them in the first place when a wall covered in frightening masks caught my attention. Most of them didn't seem to serve any useful purpose, beyond scaring Muggles perhaps. Some were ceremonial, some seemed to be made of human skin and features. But one in particular caught my eye and held it.

I stood rooted to the spot. How had that gotten here? I could feel prickles of heat rising on my skin and sweat began to bead up on my forehead and more began to run down my back. The thing was hideous. Made of a translucent bluish stone, it was a grinning, no, leering human face, it's features grossly exaggerated wearing an elaborate headdress. I felt myself start to sway and thought I might be sick. No, I knew I would be sick. I could hear nothing but a great rushing in my ears and felt a throbbing pain in the back of my head.

"Mr. Borgin," I managed to whisper, "that stone mask on the wall there, right up at the top. Where did you get it?"

"Oh some old warlock died, and his family sold off his estate. He was a bit of an eccentric they said, did a bit of traveling when he was younger. Most of them were 'is. I'm gettin' sick of them. No one shows much interest in them, 'cept some of the kiddies like the skin ones."

Snape had come racing out of the tiny office.

What's wrong? What's happened?

An old acquaintance.

He looked up towards the wall of masks.

"What did they tell you about that one in particular?" I asked Borgin, my voice shaking.

"Don't remember really. They said it might'a been from Mexico."

If I could have laughed I would have. "I'm willing to bet that that is the oldest piece you have in this shop, ever have had or ever will have--and the most evil. It's not from Mexico, there was no Mexico when that was made. You know of the Aztecs? And you're certainly familiar with the stories of the ritual human sacrifices they performed. This is older even than that. It's Olmec. It's made of jade and worth a fortune if it doesn't first kill whoever owns it."

Borgin was staring at the mask as if it was telling him all this.

"Pardon me, but how do you know all this?" He was eyeing me with great suspicion.

Snape prevented me from answering. "This is Dr. Claros' particular field of expertise," he said, "you'd do well to listen to her."

"You need to get rid of it as soon as possible. I'd tell you to smash it, but even a piece of that accursed thing would be enough to.... If something like that ever fell into the wrong hands...." My knuckles were white on the counter top where I was holding on for fear of falling through the floor.

I need to get out of here.

"Borgin, I've secured the items in the office. You know where to send them."

"Yes sir. We'll be discreet as usual."

"And that as well," he indicated the mask. "On my personal account."

NO!

Would it be better to leave it here? I don't trust Borgin that much. Now he knows it's got some sort of power he could sell. Don't worry. You'll never have to set eyes on it again.

"Yes, sir. We'll have it sent out by the end of the day."

I was already heading for the door. By the time Snape caught up with me I was retching in a narrow alleyway by the side of the shop.

"Oh yes, that's improved the neighborhood."

"Oh shut up! What are you going to do with that horrible thing? Threaten students with it?"

He handed me a large handkerchief. "I don't know. Throw it in the lake. You tell me. I couldn't leave it hanging there now Borgin knows it's worth selling."

"No, I suppose not."

"Come on, we've got some time before we have to be at the Ministry. We'll go and find you something to drink."