A/N: Hey again, everyone :D So, here's the second chapter. Woohoo! Okay, there's a fair bit of information in this chapter, and some of this will probably have you saying "Wtf?" before you're done. But, please, bear with me for now! I bet most of your questions will be answered in coming chapters ;)

Warnings: Spoilers for those who haven't read at least up to HBP.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the characters except for the OC's. Other than them, literary genius J.K. Rowling owns 'em all.

The following day, Tom was, as usual, the first to arrive at Borgin and Burkes. Dawn was just breaking, the chilly autumn mist floating around Knockturn Alley. He extracted a slender brass key from his pocket and inserted it in the keyhole. Tom had quickly learned that the door was protected by more than a mere lock; if anyone tried to open it any other way with a charm like alohomora, their extremities would feel as if they were on fire for hours. Borgin and Burke were too greedy to allow slack security for their merchandise, and any fool who tried to rob them would feel incredibly sorry afterwards. The two men found it highly amusing when they saw Tom's eyes light up as they told him this.

The young man entered the room and was greeted by the usual shrunken heads, yellowing bones, and cursed talismans. He found none of this repulsive, but simply irritating clutter. Despite their magical properties, if Tom had his way, he would have gotten rid of them all. Dismembered body parts were not particularly interesting, nor rare or powerful; all he wanted to see in Borgin and Burkes was nothing less than the rarest, most dangerous Dark artifacts.

But, the whole reason Tom had chosen Borgin and Burkes was because the place was the prime source for ancient objects. Special objects. Objects that Tom desired above all. He was a collector, and he wanted to expand his collection here. His desire to find them increased tenfold when Borgin told him about Slytherin's locket.

Despite the fact that Merope -- he did not ever think of her as his "mother" -- had been conned out of the locket, Tom did not pity her. Merope Gaunt had never been his interest, because she was weak enough to allow herself to die. However, his powerful lineage had interested him. The locket that had belonged to the Gaunts interested him. Because he was now the only living descendant aside from that mad fool Morfin, Slytherin's locket rightfully belonged to Tom.

When he asked if the locket was still in the shop, Borgin actually burst out laughing. It had been sold years ago for a great deal more than it had been sold. But Borgin's face turned strange when Tom asked whom it had been sold to. Borgin insisted that he didn't remember, that he sold lots of precious objects to lots of avid collectors, but Tom did not believe him. He could always tell by a man's eyes when he was lying. Tom himself was proud of the way he could intimidate a man with nothing more than a look and Borgin was not a strong man. When Tom had muttered, "Are you sure you don't remember, Mr. Borgin?" it was more of a rhetorical question. He knew the answer. Borgin knew the answer. But Borgin refused to tell him. So Tom had dropped the subject... for the time being. At least until he was sure Borgin did not suspect him anymore. Then he would corner Borgin, and Tom would use his remarkable Legilimancy to find out the truth. After wiping his memory, Tom would hunt down the locket for himself.

The shop was cold as usual. The counter was like ice as Tom leaned upon it, and resumed his usual early-morning ritual of examining the supply of cursed jewelry under the glass of the countertop. There were three newly acquired pieces as a set of tarnished bronze. There were earrings in the shape of gnarled crows feet, a crudely cut bangle with an ancient inscription etched into it, and a necklace featuring a crow in flight. Unless the necklace was gold with an emerald S on it, it held to interest for Tom.

With a bored sort of yawn, he sat back in the hard wooden chair at the counter and observed the early morning shoppers wandering about, not that there were many. Most came under the cover of night, though it was not uncommon for a few odd warlocks to drop in to a shop once in a while as it opened. Tom checked his watch. It was ten past six. Borgin should be in soon.

Sure enough, barely a minute later, the door opened and Borgin entered. Tom inclined his head and said, "Hello, Mr. Borgin."

Borgin nodded in greeting to Tom, and hurried off to the back room. Tom noticed there was a letter clutched in his hand. There was a ripping sound in the back room, and after a moment's silence, Borgin called, "Riddle, I've got another job for you! I think you'll enjoy this one."

Tom slid out of the chair silently and joined Borgin in back. Borgin turned to the youth. A smirk carved its way to his face. "You're to visit this address." He handed him a note card with a name and address on it. Tom scanned it once, and then looked up at Borgin. "What am I asking Lady Rowan for?"

Borgin took Tom by the shoulder and steered him into the shop again, and gestured for him to sit down. Borgin studied him across the counter, and said, "I know what you want, Tom."

"What would that be, sir?"

"That locket. I've never seen a hungrier look in anyone's eyes. You want to get your hands on Slytherin's locket, don't you?"

Tom said nothing. So Borgin hadn't forgotten, despite the months that had passed.

"Well, boy, now you're going to get a chance. And if I know you, I'd say you should have the locket around your own neck soon enough if you play your cards right."

Tom tried to appear indifferent, but inside, he was burning with excitement. Borgin certainly was serious about this. He was not tricking Tom into going off on a wild goose chase. Tom knew when someone was lying... but Borgin, for a change, was telling the truth. Tom, impatient, replied, "But I'm not going to Lady Rowan to ask for the locket."

Borgin nodded. "Correct. Lady Rowan belongs to a family that does quite a lot of business with us. It so happens that her sister purchased your beloved locket. Greedy as she is, she's giving it to her niece -- Lady Rowan's daughter -- as a coming-of-age gift. While you're visiting, you're to be bargaining for her set of goblin-made crowns. If you act as you usually do with your customers, she'll be putty in your hands and will most certainly allow you to glimpse the locket. If you can get her to show it to you, I know you'll be crafty enough to get out with my crowns and the locket."

Enticing as this sounded, Tom was suspicious of Borgin's motives. "If I walk out of there with the locket, I get to keep it." There was an air of finality to his statement, leaving no room for objection. Borgin looked unsettled, but nodded a moment later and said, "Yes... of course."

And that was that. Without another word, Tom pulled on his travelling cloak, walked out into the alley, and Disapparated.

The address he arrived at was rather similar to the alley he had just left. The street was admittedly wider than Knockturn Alley, and he was facing a sloping drive leading to a large, white mansion rather than the shop of Dark artifacts, but the air was the same. Tendrils of mist still floated about, and the sky was the same shade of steel gray, threatening to rain. Tom made his way up the cobbled drive until he came to an iron wrought gate. As he approached, the doors swung open. A house-elf with a cream colored tea-towel for a loin cloth appeared and sank into a deep bow. "My master and mistress expect you, Mr. Riddle, sir."

The creature walked ahead of Tom as he took long strides up the drive, but he ignored the elf completely until it opened the door for him. Even afterwards, he walked right past it when it started to inform him that the mistress was in the sitting room.

Tom had no patience for vermin like house-elves. When he turned the corner, he found a hardwood floor with lavish plum rugs and drapes. The walls were white, but everything from the flames on the chandelier to the crystal goblets on the ebony mantel were some shade of purple. Beside the largest window stood a woman, who at first glance appeared to be wearing lilac robes. By the dim light filtering in the crack in the drapes, it seemed that the dress was white, but appeared tinged purple by the light and color of the rest of the room. She was a willowy woman with an elegant bun holding her dark hair together. Her skin was olive and her face severe. She had large dark eyes that travelled up and down Tom's equally tall frame. She appeared quite surprised by him, and her severe face softened for a moment.

"You must be Mr. Riddle. When Borgin said he'd be sending someone else to do the arrangements... Well, I assumed you were much older..." She trailed off as Tom walked over, took her hand in his, and pressed his lips to her palm.

"Lady Rowan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lady Rowan took a moment to respond. "The pleasure is mine."

As Tom slowly straightened, he stared into her eyes. She mimicked him. She seemed the type of person with a level head on her shoulders, though now she was slightly flustered and was inwardly struggling to figure him out.

Finally, she tore her eyes away and said, "Shall we get straight to business, then?"

"Of course," Tom replied politely.

Lady Rowan called, "Tulo!"

With a crack, the house-elf appeared in the room. He bowed to Lady Rowan, who instructed him, "Bring me the crown and tiara."

Two more cracks. The house-elf presented two velvet cushions of royal purple floating in midair. Upon the first sat a fantastic crown of gold. It was inlaid with walnut-sized sapphires and glimmering pearls. The second was a great deal smaller, but just as magnificent. It was a tiara made of thin, tightly woven golden vines. The vines were tightest in the center, but on the surface, it grew looser and looser, until hair-like strands of gold were all that supported the tiara. Threaded into the vines were yet more sapphires and pearls.

Lady Rowan watched Tom intently as he appraised the two items. His interest was mild. He turned back to her and explained, "Mr. Borgin would like to pay two hundred Galleons for the pair."

At this, the woman was aghast. However charming Tom may have been, she became furious at this. "For the pair? I wouldn't sell the tiara for less than four hundred and fifty!"

"When you sent the picture to Mr. Borgin, he and Mr. Burke discovered that, despite the excellent care the artifacts have been given, three of the sapphires on the crown have been replaced. The newer ones are more roughly-cut than the original goblin-manufactured ones. In the tiara, the filigree has been broken twice. Though it is easily fixed, it will not be in the same mint condition as it was when it was sold by the goblins."

Lady Rowan looked indignant. "What utter rubbish! That scoundrel, Borgin! He knows as well as I, my great-grandfather bought the set, and there has not been so much as a lost pearl!" Then, she peered up at Tom, and her face turned rather worried. She quickly insisted, "I mean nothing against you, Mr. Riddle, I'm sure you are only acting on Borgin's behalf."

Tom inclined his head. He explained sincerely, "It's alright, Lady. It's not a problem. I'm quite aware that I would have been robbing you for the price they asked, and I regret that it was necessary for me to state their asking price first. If you'd like, I could arrange an agreeable amount for them with you now."

Whatever reaction Lady Rowan had expected, it was not that. She bit her lower lip. "Why... that would be wonderful, thank you."

The house-elf was ordered to bring refreshments. Leaving the crowns suspended in the middle of the room, it scurried off and was back moments later with a silver tray towering with sandwiches and sweets which were set on the round table between the armchairs Tom and the woman sat on.

"What would you like to drink, Mr. Riddle?" Lady Rowan asked as she offered the tray to Tom.

"A cup of tea will be fine."

A steaming tea cup appeared beside him. Tom took a sip from it. Lady Rowan seemed slightly surprised. "No cream? No sugar?"

"I prefer mine black," Tom replied.

Lady Rowan watched the dark amber liquid pass his lips as she stirred cream into her own coffee. When Tom had set his cup back upon the saucer, Lady Rowan commented softly, "You are quite young to be working at a place like Borgin and Burkes."

Tom merely nodded. "I enjoy the work. The artifacts intrigue me."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, Lady."

"My, my," she murmured after nearly choking on her coffee. "Were you a Hogwarts student?"

From this point onward, Lady Rowan seemed utterly disinterested in the crowns and entirely focused on Tom, who he was and where he had come from. Tom, annoyed at her badgering, endured it only because he knew what he would gain in the end. He certainly had roused a deal of pity and admiration for him. His being an orphan, being scouted for Hogwarts, rising to the top of his classes with ease...

Then, the door to the sitting room opened. Three girls appeared, varying in age. The oldest was older than Tom, perhaps in her mid twenties. The middle was in her around the same age as the first, though shorter. The youngest looked about sixteen. This had to be the niece who had received the locket from her aunt. She, without realizing the company in the room, hurried forward. "Mother," she called, "have you heard from-- oh!"

She gave a tiny gasp of surprise, quickly bringing her hands to her mouth. The girl wore a white dress that ended just below her knees, and its tight waist made her slender frame seem even thinner. She was not wearing any gold, and certainly not Slytherin's locket. Perhaps she thought that Tom was staring at her chest, rather than looking for a necklace, because her face turned scarlet.

Lady Rowan said, "Mr. Riddle, these are my daughters. You'll see Lucy and Jezebel there, and this is my youngest daughter, Abigail." Then she turned to her daughters. "This is Mr. Riddle. He's the new contact between us, and Mr. Borgin and Burke."

At once, the two older girls curtsied, their faces a bit flushed as well, as they chorused, "Welcome, Mr. Riddle." The youngest was much more flustered. Tom had not taken her eyes off of her since she walked in the room. He was still hoping that the violently purple room was merely off-setting his vision, but no matter how long he studied the girl, no sign of a locket appeared.

He rose to his feet, and walked over to her until there was barely an inch of space between them. Staring into her eyes all the while, he took her small hand in his, and kissed it tenderly, his lips lingering longer than usual. She looked as if she were about to faint. Tom whispered, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rowan."

"It-It-It's lovely t-t-to meet you, t-too, Mr. R-R-Riddle," she stammered faintly.

The older daughters hurried over to their sister's side, their eyes wide and smiles huge, obviously expecting the same greeting. Tom bowed low to them both, not looking at either of them as he had at Abigail. Despite that, they both looked love-struck. The middle daughter, Lucy, giggled.

Lady Rowan came to their side, and placed her hands on Abigail's thin shoulders. "Lucy and Jezebel are both betrothed, but it's Abigail here that hasn't been yet."

Tom's eyes flickered to Abigail again. "The best of luck finding a suitor, Miss Rowan."

Lady Rowan nodded and squeezed the girl tighter. "You see, we're hoping to have a husband for her when she comes of age."

When she comes of age. Tom's face hardened as he rounded on Lady Rowan. She appeared to be quite startled when he said, "I was told all of your daughters were of age."

To this, none of them had anything to say. Tom cleared his expression immediately, and explained more calmly, "I apologize. Mr. Borgin had said that they were all of age, and that was the impression I was under."

Lady Rowan seemed to forgive him for the outburst, and said, "Mr. Borgin was nearly right. Abigail turns seventeen on the thirty-first of December."

Upon hearing the date, Tom had to work to control himself so that he did not say anything else he'd later regret. "I see," was all he uttered.

The chiming of the grandfather clock alerted them all of the time. Despite the fact that Tom had arrived not long ago, he turned to Lady Rowan and said with a polite bow, "I'm afraid I've spent too much time here, and I'm expected back at the shop. I shall come back soon, however, to discuss the price of the crowns."

Lady Rowan was surprised but understood. "I will send an owl to Mr. Borgin when I have an open evening."

The two older girls, despite what their mother had said about them both being betrothed, gave Tom giggly farewells. Abigail hung back, gazing at Tom but saying nothing. Lady Rowan waved to him as he left, and called, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Riddle! Until next time!"

He turned back to the door, where Lady Rowan was once again holding her youngest girl in front of her in an obvious attempt to show her off to Tom. But Tom did not need her to be paraded in front of him to have his attention drawn to her. He stared into her eyes once again as he murmured back, "Until next time." Her face, heat rising to her cheeks once again, was the last thing he saw before, with a crack, he found himself outside of Borgin and Burkes.

A/N: -shifty eyes- IMPERIO! I command you to leave a review! :3