I sigh in boredom and click my fingers against the glass counter top, painfully aware of the fact that it's only eight o'clock and there are still four long hours until noon, my lunch break. It's a dreary day in London. It's drizzling unrepentantly outside and fog hugs the ground, forcing would be victims-I mean shoppers-to remain inside their insulated homes, living their dreary lives like the sheep they are. I, of course, quite enjoy the weather, it matches my black mood perfectly, but I would rather be outside, perhaps browsing through the wares of the local vendors in Knockturn alley, not stuck inside Borgin & Burkes, working.

The clinking of the bell situated at the top of the shop door, shakes me out of my thoughts. I turn to look quickly at the customer and internally narrow my eyes in suspicion. so he has come at last. I thought he would. He waves his wand over his clothes, muttering a drying spell before turning to look at me.

"Ah, Tom Riddle, just the boy I wanted to see." he says, looking at me with satisfaction, his dark eyes alight with an internal glow that speaks of a refined snootiness.

I catch the insinuation as soon as he makes it.

Boy, am I? I think to myself, How many boys do you know Orion Black that can make you see your worst nightmares without raising their wands?

"Mr. Black, a pleasure to see you," I say coolly, smiling a bland smile, straightening my spine and using my height as an advantage to tower over him, effectively looking down at him. "What can I do for you this fine day."

He hesitates for a moment, almost as if he's finally realizing that he is not the one in control here, almost. The moment passes and he returns to his arrogant self. "I have a few...objects here with me that would be considered...'questionable' by Ministry standards to have in my home at this current time. You know how much security has been tightened and how paranoid the Minister has become now that Grindelwald has effectively taken over Germany."

I nod my head in agreement at his assessment, already knowing what he wants me to do.

"...I was hoping that you could...take care of these items for me," he finishes, looking a little worried.

"For a valued customer such as you, we at Borgin & Burkes would be willing to extend our utmost services to you," I smile like a shark, displaying my canines, knowing that I have him eating out of my hands.

"Of course, thank you, I quite appreciate it," he smiles in relief, mistakenly thinking that I have consented.

"Our price is quite within your budget I believe," I smoothly continue, "Only 500 galleons-"

He interrupts me with a panicked look in his eyes, "Of course, 500 galleons is within my budget, that sounds perfect."

"You didn't let me finish sir," I reprimand him lightly. "Only 500 galleons for each artifact that you wish for us to take of your hands."

"WHAT? That's simply preposterous!" he bellows, quickly morphing from a calm, cool, collected, pure-blood, to a dithering mess.

I smirk triumphantly, sweet victory. This day is turning out to be very productive after all.

"Sir," I cut into his rant, "These are difficult times like you said. We at Borgin & Burkes have to think about our safety and reputation as well, and you know that we are the only ones in all of Wizarding London that can provide this invaluable service to you."

"Why you-" he snarls angrily, the remains of his mask falling away to reveal what lies underneath, a desperate man that has nothing to his name.

I know quite well about his financial situation and the strain that the extravagant spending of his wife and daughters has put on his bank vault in Gringotts. The once billionaire is now reduced to begging in a cheap shop such as "Borgin & Burkes" to keep his precious dark artifacts safe from the greedy hands of the Ministry.

He cuts himself off, perhaps realizing from my stance that I'm unmoved by his ranting. His face takes on a bruised purple color and his fists clench at his sides.

"Why you impertinent little Mudblood!" he grits out between clenched teeth, "You don't know what I'm capable of. I could put you in one of those muggle concentration camps and no one would ever miss you. I know about your filthy background. You are nothing, you hear me. Nothing!"

I wonder what it would be like to rip his voice box from his throat. Would he bleed very much? I think so, he seems like a bleeder. He would probably gurgle, trying to talk as blood spurted out from his cut throat, spilling onto the grimy floorboards of Borgin & Burkes.

"Are you done yet?" I detachedly ask him, quirking an eyebrow in amusement. "I know exactly what you are Black, a desperate man who has no one to turn to. If you don't pay the price for those items, then you know the Ministry raids will gleefully take those items of your hands. You know what you have to do."

I spread my hands genially, smiling again, gesturing exactly who I think should be the person to take care of his dark artifacts.

"I'll have the money and the artifacts for you on Monday," he replies stonily and turns to leave before turning around again. "You don't threaten a Black and live to tell the tale. One day you'll regret ever speaking to me like that, and that day will be the last day of your life."

I tip my head in his direction in acknowledgment and say, "I'll be eagerly waiting. Good day."

He bares his teeth in a threatening manner at me before stalking out of the door and slamming it behind him.

"I'm not going to die Black, especially not by your hand," I whisper quietly to his retreating back, a scowl on my face, "Because I don't plan to die at all."

A/N: Sorry for the rather long delay in updates folks. Unfortunately, this story is not my top priority right now, it's my other story, "Nightmares." I'll try to update once a month at least, but until "Nightmares" is finished, updates for this story are going to remain rather slow and sparse. I might be persuaded to update sooner if I get reviews...hint, hint. Thanks for waiting. Ciao!