A/N: Hey guys, Sirius here! Thanks for dropping by. This story idea just kind of unfolded in my head not too long ago, and I really wanted to get it down and out -- so here it is! Well, so far, anyway. I know it's a bit slow to start, but it'll pick up soon enough. Please remember to review! I appreciate any and all feedback :D (I mean it.) (And sorry if there are spelling/grammar errors. I was a bit lazy in revising this ^_^; )

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the original characters. The genius who does is J.K. Rowling.

Twilight was fast approaching. The narrow, dark path of Knockturn Alley was already trapped in shadows. The dimming light at its mouth which led to Diagon Alley feebly illuminated the dusty shops on the very end. A few shoppers still crept through Knockturn, but none of them looked at one another. An old hunchbacked crone stood outside a tiny book shop. She muttered to herself in a foreign language which no passerby could decipher, and she cackled to herself wickedly when the bell above the bookshop's door rattled. A greasy, shifty-eyed man exited with an armful of dusty tomes. She crowed, "Mr. Borgin would do well to remember to pay for what he takes!"

The man, Mr. Borgin, cast a disgusted glance over at the woman, and scowled, "You will find the coins on the counter, madam."

As he walked down the alley, she cried after him, "I was not referring to my lovely books, Mr. Borgin!" With another cackle, she pulled open the door to her shop and shuffled inside. Borgin ignored her comment and merely rolled his eyes. Borgin and Burke were known as a notoriously stingy pair, even among the rest of the greedy shopkeeps in Knockturn Alley. Borgin had certainly swindled many; he was sly as a fox when it came to making the most of a sale or purchase. Some may have called it evil and selfish; he called it business. He, personally, did not feel that the old crone had any room to give lessons in morality especially considering the enormous price tag on her ancient books. If Borgin hadn't needed them so badly, he would have laughed at her for thinking people would actually buy anything from her store.

As he opened the door to his own shop, Borgin and Burkes, he could not help but to feel slightly unsettled. Ever since he had hired another set of hands in the form of young Tom Riddle, the crone had been yelling such pieces of advice to him with increasing frequency. Most were cryptic, which he ignored, but lately he'd been getting an odd feeling about Riddle, and felt that he should be more careful about him.

Riddle was at the counter talking to a rather young witch. Her face was covered in several layers of thick, dark makeup, and her wild red hair was pulled back into an untamed bun at the nape of her neck. Judging by her deep purple robes of silk, she came from a wealthy pureblood family. Her voice was low and sultry as she leaned over the counter to talk to Riddle, who looked as polite and impassive as ever. A trained smile lifted his lips, though it did not reach his eyes. The expression made the girl sigh dreamily, and she murmured, "How much is it again, Tom?"

"Twenty-nine Galleons and seven Sickles," Riddle replied, reaching a hand out to her breast. Borgin would have said he was being unnecessarily frisky, but Tom was fingering a silver chain around the girl's neck which held a slender locket in the shape of a crescent moon. But Tom leaned a bit closer and said in a lower voice still, "But for such an excellent customer, I'll sell it for twenty-nine even."

Borgin smirked. The boy did have a knack for sales. Not only did his good looks attract an alarming number of witches, but he was charming enough to keep them coming back for more, and not to mention rob them blind. As long as he remained charming, cordial, and stole their galleons with a smile, the swooning customers would buy anything for any price. This girl, for example, had just bought a locket that a fair seller would have sold to her for a small handful of gold, but not Borgin, nor Burke, nor Riddle. The red-haired witch upturned her purse upon the counter, and with a silkly smile, said, "Why thank you, Tom." She took three Galleons from the pile and pushed the rest towards Riddle. "Twenty-nine even."

Riddle scooped up the coins and stowed them in the register. He flashed her another smile, and she returned it with a real smile. Her lustful eyes looked him up and down, and she tilted her head slightly to the side, muttering, "And how much would an evening with you be worth?"

Borgin, who was leafing through a book entitled A Collection of Curses Most Deadly, looked up to see Riddle's reaction. With the fairly attractive young woman, any other young man would have given her a positive answer without a shadow of a doubt, but Riddle? No, Riddle was not like any other young man. His expression did not change in the slightest as he said softly, "I'm afraid to inform you, Miss McLean, pursuing a relationship with you would be impossible."

The witch did not look deterred. She leaned against the counter again, pressing closer to Riddle, as she whispered, "Oh, come on, Tom... Don't you want some more... feminine company?"

Riddle's voice took on a bit of an icy edge as he looked down at her. "I'm terribly sorry, but the shop is closed, Miss McLean. You would do well to hasten home before predators seeking fresh blood..." at this, he reached out to her once again, this time fastening the silver clasp that had opened her robes, and continued, "... start filling the streets."

Miss McLean appeared frozen for a moment. When she managed to shake it off, she sighed dejectedly. "Oh, fine. Have it your way. " She turned and swept out of the shop, but she stopped at the door. "I'll win you over one of these days, Tom, you make my words!"

When she was gone, Borgin allowed himself a chuckle. The sound made Tom look over at him. His face, which was so often blank, had a touch of anger etched into it. "Is there a joke that I did not hear, Mr. Borgin?"

Borgin shook his head, closing the books and carrying them to the back of the shop. "You're an odd duck, Riddle. Very odd indeed."

It was comments like these that Borgin never tired of making because of the way they incensed Riddle so. However, now that he had been regarding Riddle with a bit of suspicion lately, his typical accusatory reaction unsettled Borgin more than it usually would.

"What exactly is so odd about me?" he demanded, then added a strained, "Sir?"

The books fell into a neat stack on Borgin's desk. He turned to Riddle with a bit of a smirk still on his face, and said with an air of mocking nonchalance, "Everything about you is odd. You're young, intelligent, clever, attractive -- your professors raved about you, your classmates admired you -- there are no doors that were not open for you. And yet, you came here, to this shop. This shady shop of Dark artifacts in a dark alley with a notorious reputation for attracting the 'wrong crowd.' You're obviously not here because no other place would take you, and you most certainly do not enjoy serving -- or rather entertaining -- customers."

Riddle did not deny any of this, he merely stared at Borgin. The older man, in return, held his gaze, though he was ashamed to admit that he felt as if he should be looking at the ground instead to avoid Riddle's eyes. Riddle appeared to be waiting for Borgin to elaborate, to explain why it was so incredulous for a promising youth to work in a Dark Arts shop. Neiter man said anything, only staring at each other; Borgin, calculating; Riddle, demanding.

When several quiet, uncomfortable minutes had passed, Borgin muttered, "What are you really doing here, Tom Riddle?"

The sound of the front door opening broke another heavy silence. Without a response, or even a second glance, Tom spun on his heel and went to man the counter again. Borgin stared after the youth, and let out a sigh of relief once he was out of sight and earshot. Borgin was shocked to find himself feeling weak in the knees with a cold sweat on his forehead. He quickly mopped it away, and he gave himself a shake. What was he doing, letting the boy get to him like this? But, Borgin felt it deep inside of him, he felt it the moment Tom Marvolo Riddle walked into the shop and asked for work.

Tom Riddle was the most dangerous wizard Borgin had ever had the misfortune to meet.