Chapter Twelve

Avoiding each other over the next several days following the incident in the bathtub and late at night in the kitchen might not have been the most mature options of behavior, but it was the one they both mutually agreed upon. Without speaking, of course. Hermione wasn't as bothered about Igor walking in on her in the bath as she was upset with herself for being unable to stop thinking about how he looked standing over his bubbling cauldron and then again by the kitchen sink. What he was thinking about, she had no idea nor did she want to know. It was easier to just pretend that she lived alone in her flat as she always had.

Working late at the Ministry was easy. She'd certainly never had problems spending far too many hours there before and with the continued dragon pox epidemic that seemed to slowly be getting better, there was enough leftover work from her sick colleagues that she could use to occupy her time. Igor's home business must have been a great success from the very beginning because he was in his bedroom nearly every second of the day brewing. It was easier that way. They didn't have to endure awkward conversations in the lounge and they could each pretend like they weren't still having thoughts that were better left unthought. For Hermione personally, she couldn't stop thinking about his bare chest. What was wrong with her?

Early one evening she sat at her desk sifting through the piles of parchment that still needed her attention. The copy of the inspection for Borgin and Burke that she had yet to file with the proper department slipped out of its stack and onto the floor. Recognizing what it was at once, she groaned as she picked it up. Nearly three weeks had gone by since she stepped inside the Knockturn Alley shop to begin her inspection. Her life hadn't been the same. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she wouldn't loathe that horrible man Borgin for his part in selling her the gold ring that started all of the trouble. Likely not.

She hadn't turned her report in yet because she wasn't technically finished with it. Giving Borgin the opportunity to clear out the cupboard she knew was full of illegal, or at minimum questionable, items had been a kindness, a fairly standard practice whether anyone in the Ministry wanted to admit it or not. She had given him a week to get it taken care of. Until she could return to verify with her own eyes that he had done as he was ordered, she couldn't very well turn in her inspection report. Though life experience and age had taught her a little bit about seeing the grey areas instead of everything always having to be either fully black or fully white, she had a responsibility to ensure the rules were followed. It was her job after all. Or rather, it was her coworker's job but the poor wizard was still stuck in St. Mungo's with a particularly potent case of the pox she was glad she seemed to possess immunity from.

There was no reason to push off the return inspection any longer. In fact, the sooner she could get that odious task over with, the better. It was too late to stop herself from purchasing the gold ring and upsetting her ordered life. The least she could do was wash her hands of the whole experience. Once she finished up the report she could spend the rest of her life avoiding that particular shop.

Despite having absolutely no desire to do so, at half past six o'clock that evening Hermione stood in front of the dingy shop's front door. A promise was a promise and she'd already waited too long. What if the shopkeeper didn't think she was serious because she'd taken so long to do her follow-up visit? He could've seen the opportunity to bring in some truly foul items in her absence. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was likely to be an unpleasant experience.

Only the shopkeeper was inside when she crossed the threshold. How was it able to remain in business for so long with so few patrons? Or was it the sort of business that did most of its deals under the cover of darkness at the back door? She assumed it had to be so. Perhaps the shop was merely a front for some other hideously illegal business she wanted nothing to do with. If she had learned nothing in her thirty years of life, she knew that the world, both magical and Muggle, had far seedier and disturbing corners than she ever realized. Yes, there were good people in both, but sadly, there were very, very bad in them too.

The unnerving smile that Borgin offered her when their eyes met nearly made her shudder in disgust. Why did he have to be so creepy? Was it merely a side effect of being exposed to countless dark artifacts and spells over the years? It was reason enough to not want to spend too much time there.

"I thought I would've seen you by now."

Something about the way he emphasized his words set her teeth on edge. Of course he expected her to return to complete the inspection like she promised, but was there something more to it than that? Was he expecting her to return to ask about the ring? At least a dozen different questions popped into her mind at once to ask. Under any other ordinary circumstances she wouldn't have hesitated to ask one or five. There was nothing wrong with curiosity or being anxious to expand one's intelligence no matter what anyone else said. She didn't want to let on to Borgin that anything was unusual about the ring she purchased. Perhaps he already knew more than he said.

"I apologize for taking so long to return to finish your inspection, Mr. Borgin, but the Ministry of Magic is experiencing a shortage of staff at the moment. There's a dragon pox epidemic or so the Healers claim."

"Yes, I've heard. Lucky for me I had it when I was a boy. It would probably kill me today."

He followed up his macabre statement with another creepy smile. It was too much. When she was there last he could barely stand to be in the same room with her. Why was he looking at her as if he knew what she looked like naked? And why was that the first thought that came into her head? Even when she was in a different part of the city she couldn't seem to get Igor out of her thoughts. It was maddening.

"Yes, that would indeed be a terrible tragedy. Now, if you'll allow me back down into the basement to inspect that secret cupboard of yours."

"Be my guest. You must remember the way."

All the wretched man did was hold his arm out in the direction of the rickety staircase that went down into the dank hole in the ground. She'd never been a fan of the subterranean spaces. Reminding herself that she was a Gryffindor and had faced down foes far scarier than tiny spiders and dust mites, Hermione held her head up high as she crossed the shop to the basement stairs. There was no reason to be afraid. It wasn't as if she hadn't been there before and she certainly didn't plan on spending much time down there. Just long enough to unseal the cupboard, look to see if it was empty, and cast some spells to ensure he wasn't using more concealment charms. She knew them all… well, most of them. Even she wasn't conceited enough to believe she knew everything.

In just three weeks the entire atmosphere of the basement changed drastically. Was it all in her head? Each step she took down further into the space made her more ill at ease. It was eerie down there with all of the dusty shelves. One never quite felt like they were entirely alone even if they couldn't see anyone lingering in the dark with their own eyes. She didn't like it at all. During her last visit she found the shop a little smelly and a trifle chilly, but she hadn't been afraid. What was different?

Denial was something Hermione was very familiar with. She had been choosing to ignore her greatest fears and biggest concerns her entire life, especially after she befriended Harry Potter and got dragged into the near-constant insanity that was his younger years. Even when she was staring down a three-headed dog she could convince herself that she wasn't scared. It was the same energy she used to move across the basement to the hidden cupboard. She wouldn't allow anyone, including herself, to know that she was scared. To anyone that looked in her direction, she hoped she looked perfectly at ease.

Never had she been more anxious to complete an inspection. Her heart-rate increased by the second. If she had been one of those silly Muggle cartoons she used to watch as a small child, she would've seen it beating right out of her chest. It didn't make much sense to feel that way, but she supposed it wasn't the first irrational thought she'd had in recent days.

Uncovering the secret cupboard was as easy the second time as it had been the first. Truthfully, it wasn't even as if the shop proprietors bothered that hard to try. Maybe they too had grown complacent in the years following the war. Very few people alive were worried about evil Dark Lords after all. It was all in the past. What was the harm in having a few trinkets with salacious or mysterious pasts? She approached the cupboard and removed all traces of the enchantments used to conceal its existence.

Just as she hoped, there was nothing left inside. Borgin had done a thorough job of relocating his questionable merchandise. If it currently resided in another part of the shop, she didn't care. Likely there was another cupboard in the attic or they'd just moved the items to their private homes until she returned to finish. As long as they weren't actively recruiting minions or committing violence in the streets, she supposed it was all right. Her younger version of herself would likely be horrified with some of the exceptions she made. Younger Hermione didn't understand that nearly everyone made compromises as they grew older. What was once deemed incredibly important often became less so as time wore on.

She took one last look in the cupboard, daring to use her hand to feel around for any hidden latches. An unnerving feeling went straight through her entire body. All of the hair on the back of her neck and her exposed arms stood up. Feeling very much like she was being watched by someone who didn't wish her well, she spun around in a fast circle with her wand outstretched ready to duel, if necessary. No one was there. A few seconds were necessary to calm her racing heart. She was just being overly paranoid. Why would anyone care what she was doing down there beyond the creepy shopkeeper?

Never in her years working as a Ministry official had she been more thankful to complete an inspection. Of course most of them were fairly routine and didn't leave her afraid of her own shadow. She rushed up the wooden stairs. Back in the main room of the shop, she felt marginally better. Likely she wouldn't be able to fully relax until she was safe inside her own home.

"Everything all right? You look pale."

There was no sincerity in Borgin's question whatsoever. If anything, he sounded pleased that she didn't look well. He found everything that was happening terribly amusing, a fact that made her even more anxious to run out of there.

"Yes, I'm fine. A spider crawled on me. It was unsettling."

"Ahh, I see. Yes, I'm afraid I have many spiders downstairs. Old buildings like this? You can't get rid of them no matter how hard you try. Always poking in through cracks in the plaster."

Hermione cleared her throat. The official inspection report was hastily laid on the counter in front of him.

"Just sign down at the bottom to indicate that it was completed, Mr. Borgin."

He didn't hesitate. When it was her turn to sign, she noticed how he stared at her hands while she signed and then rolled the parchment up to place in the pocket of her robes.

"You're not wearing the gold ring you purchased from me."

"No, it was a man's ring, was it not? It didn't fit."

"I have other pieces of gold jewelry if you wished to find something you could wear."

Any other day she would've been intrigued by his collection. Even Hermione from three weeks earlier would've been happy to take a look. Old jewelry, especially those pieces that had some sort of magical property, had always fascinated her. She shook her head.

"No, thank you. I'm not interested in making any purchases today."

"Pity."

She started to turn away from the counter to head for the door. His hand reached for her forearm. Another shiver she couldn't ignore went up her spine. Seemingly pleased to have unnerved her, Borgin pulled his hand back.

"I wonder if I might have the opportunity to purchase that ring back from you, Miss Granger."

Immediately she was suspicious. Rare was the shopkeeper who wanted to buy back something they sold after such a short period of time.

"Why would you want to do that, Mr. Borgin?"

He attempted to brush off the question like it was no big deal, not even worth an answer.

"What about three hundred galleons?"

She knew something was up. Why would he offer more for the bloody ring than she paid for it? He was a shrewd man. One would have to be to remain in his business for as many decades as he had. The only reason why a salesman would wish to spend that much on a piece of inventory was if he was certain he would be able to get more back for it from another customer.

"No, thank you."

"Five hundred?"

"No."

He was offering a veritable fortune for a piece of jewelry that wasn't worth that much. At least not to someone who didn't know it possessed very intriguing magical powers. Did he have a patron who wished to bring someone they loved back from the dead? Not that she loved Igor. Oh no, far from it, but that was certainly the most common reason why someone who require a ring with those capabilities. Borgin didn't appreciate the rejection. With each offer he made, he grew increasingly more impatient. She was anxious to leave. Before she stepped over the threshold of the shop again, he offered her an eerie warning.

"I won't be the only one who wants that ring, Miss Granger, but I am likely the only one willing to pay for it."

"What do you mean by that? Who wants the ring? Why?"

Borgin would offer no suitable explanation. All he would do was encourage her again to sell the ring.

"If you want that ring so badly, why were you so eager to sell it to me?"

The subtle shrug of his shoulders was supposed to make him seem unbothered, but she knew. He was extremely motivated to get the gold ring back in his possession.

"Sometimes we don't appreciate what we have until we no longer have it."

Unable to stay in the shop a moment longer, Hermione rushed out the door. If there was a mystery to solve, she would think about it when she was back inside the safety of her own flat. Remaining in Knockturn Alley as night grew darker was not a good idea, especially as the same unsettling feeling she had down in the basement returned. Whether she liked it or not, she was in the middle of something she didn't want to be.

She didn't take a deep breath until she was back home. After closing and locking the front door, she leaned against the wood to release a deep exhale. Some of the creepy feelings she had dissipated. In the back of her mind, however, she couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

"Are you all right?"

So focused had she been on her own thoughts, she didn't notice Igor staring at her through the open kitchen door. He held a wooden spoon in his hand, not even caring that it was dripping some sort of red sauce on the clean floor. If she hadn't been so upset by what had just happened in Knockturn Alley, she would've been either impressed that he was making an effort to stop hiding in his bedroom or annoyed that he was making a mess. Instead, she pushed away all of those impulses.

"I just came back from Borgin and Burke."

"Why would you return there?"

There was no malice or frustration in his voice, only concern. Did she really look that badly on the outside? She supposed she must. It had been said of her more than once that she could wear all of her feelings right in the middle of her face if she wasn't careful.

"I had to finish the inspection I started the day I bought the ring. It was supposed to be simple, just take a short time, but…"

She sighed. If she told him everything that she felt while she was poking around the shop's basement, would he think she had gone completely mad? Or would he be sympathetic? There was only one way to know for certain.

"It was different than it was last time. I wasn't scared the day I bought your ring. Not in the slightest. When I went down into the basement, I felt… I felt…"

"What? How did you feel?"

Again, he was kind. He could've easily reverted back to expressing his frustration with her at every turn, but he didn't. Igor held the kitchen door open wide enough that she was able to enter the room with him. The exact opposite of how she felt in the basement, her kitchen felt warm and welcoming with something delicious bubbling away on the stove. She almost felt silly for reacting the way that she did.

"I felt like I wasn't wanted there."

"That makes sense. Borgin isn't the friendliest of people. Never has been. His associated Burke isn't much better."

"No, it wasn't either of them. Only Borgin was in the shop and he stayed upstairs. Didn't even want to go with me to the basement. It was down there that I felt like I wasn't welcome, like there was something or someone who wanted to hurt me."

Igor set an empty wine glass down on the table in front of her usual spot. At the same time that he poured a generous amount of wine in the glass, he pulled her chair out and gestured for her to take a seat. There was no reason in her mind to refuse the invitation.

"I was glad to get out of the basement. When I tried to leave, Borgin asked me if he could buy the ring back."

"What? Why?"

"He wouldn't say. Offered me a lot of money for it too. Far more than I paid for it."

She could tell he was bothered by the offer like she was. It didn't make any logical sense. Part of her was hesitant to reveal the rest of what the horrible man said to her, but she felt like of all the people in the world, Igor had the most right to hear it.

"He told me that he wasn't the only person who was going to want the ring, but he was probably the only one who would be willing to pay me for it."

Saying Borgin's words out loud for a second time made them sound all the more sinister. Igor was visibly upset. He poured himself his own glass of wine.

"I'm very sorry you experienced that. I'm…"

Unable to finish his thought, Igor returned to focusing on the meal he was cooking. For the rest of the night he was uncharacteristically kind to her even as she could tell his mind was focused on thoughts far away. She would have thought it odd if she wasn't already in a strange mood to begin with.