September 4, 1997
The three stood outside Borgin and Burke’s.
“Are you sure, mate?” Ron said. His earlier confidence had vanished when the Doctor’s tracking spell had taken them straight to Knockturn Alley and the front door of Borgin and Burke’s. “Surely it wouldn’t still be here.”
The Doctor’s own confidence had taken something of a blow, too. “It’s worth a look,” he said, though he, too, doubted the locket would still be at Borgin and Burke’s.
“You two.” Hermione sighed. “Honestly. Gather all the evidence before making a judgement. Don’t make the judgement first.” She fiddled with the red hair of her Polyjuice disguise--they had made a quick stop-off at the village near the Loch an Eilein and taken strands of hair from three Scottish muggles--then squared her shoulders and entered the shop.
Ron and the Doctor followed her, appropriately chastised.
The tracking spell--represented as a magical arrow painted on Harry’s palm that pointed, like a Point Me spell, in the direction of the target--took them straight to the counter where Borgin was poring over an old book.
The three of them, this time with Hermione as the lead and Ron and the Doctor acting as her ‘bodyguards’, stood as imperious as they could manage in front of the counter, waiting for Borgin to acknowledge them. Hermione had said she had read enough books about politicians to know that if she forced him to acknowledge her first, she had the upper hand in their conversation.
Eventually, just as Hermione had predicted, Borgin laid down the book and looked at them. He was much less charming than his old partner, Burke--more grumpy, more crazy-looking. “Good afternoon. How may I be of assistance?”
“We have come from the Department of Records at the Ministry,” Hermione said. “Pius Thicknesse has commanded that you give us access to your storeroom.”
Borgin smiled what had to be his most obsequious smile. “Papers?”
Hermione stared at him. “You would ask me for papers?” she finally said. “Do you not know who I am?”
“Should I know you, madam?”
“Madam?” she echoed. “The impudence!” She pulled out her wand, and only the Doctor and Ron could see how the hand tucked behind her back shook as she pointed it at Borgin. “You will not question me.”
Borgin looked her up and down, then sniffed. “I’m sorry, madam. Perhaps if you would simply show me your papers, I could then show you the respect you seem to think you deserve.”
Hermione made an explosive noise, then whirled around and stormed out of the shop. Ron went after her, but the Doctor turned back and put on his most unpleasant face. “You’ll be hearing from us again.”
“I do look forward to it.” Borgin went back to his book, thoroughly unimpressed.
Hours after Borgin had closed the shop and gone up to his flat on the first floor, the TARDIS materialised in the storeroom.
The Doctor reluctantly fiddled with the braking system to ensure she materialised silently. Any noise would bring Borgin down on their heads, and since their Polyjuice disguises had worn off, he’d know immediately who they were. The last thing they needed was to be Snatched while searching for the locket.
The Doctor, Ron and Hermione emerged from the TARDIS into the storeroom. The tracking spell on the Doctor’s palm guided them through the stacks of boxed up artefacts to a shelf labelled ‘sureties’.
At the end--the most recent surety--there was a small jewellery box.
Ron pointed. “It’s in there?” he breathed.
The Doctor waved his palm, watching the arrow move on his skin. Unfailingly, it pointed to the jewellery box. Quite sure that everything in this room was spelled to set off an alarm if touched, the Doctor simply levitated it back into the TARDIS.
As soon as it was through the door, it started to screech: “I belong to Draco Malfoy! I belong to Draco Malfoy! I belong to--”
The Doctor grabbed Hermione and Ron and threw them inside, slammed the door of the TARDIS and sprinted up to the console. Outside they could hear shouting. Ron prised open the door to shoot off a Stunner or two at whoever had come running.
The TARDIS started to hum in its dematerialisation sequence. “Shut the door!” the Doctor yelled.
Ron only just closed it when the TARDIS tossed them all off their feet and vanished from the storeroom of Borgin and Burke’s.
Hermione brought the still-yelling jewellery box--clutched in one hand, over the edge of the TARDIS floor-grates--back towards her chest, holding it tight as she dragged herself back to her feet. The Doctor shot her a grin.
“You’re quick,” he said admiringly. “Seeker’s reflexes.”
She laughed. “Not hardly.”
“Can you shut that thing up?” Ron groaned from somewhere near the door.
“I belong to Draco Malfoy!” the box chanted. “I belong to Draco--”
“Yes, thank you, we get the idea,” Hermione snapped. “Muffliato.”
Now the box only murmured about its ownership, which was a relief for the eardrums. Ron dragged himself up the walkway at the same time as the Doctor stumbled away from the console. They came to sit beside Hermione on the grates.
Finally, Ron sniggered. “So Malfoy has a jewellery box?”
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