There was a rushing silence, a void of noise, and then all there was were gasps for breath, the sound of the back of polished shoes hitting a slimy brick wall, and the rapid speech of a busy man. A hard pushed a black robed figure up against a sooty brick wall. Legs scrabbled in the air, searching for a foothold to distill the choking grasp of the snarling man with the iron tight grasp.

‘What do you mean, you already sold it?’ the hooded figure snarled. ‘The Dark Lord won’t be happy about this.’

‘Sir, with all respect,’ he pinned man gasped, ‘who are you to speak He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s name on your lips?’

‘Who I am doesn’t matter, Borgin. Why I am here, however, does. Where is it?’ He tightened his hold on Borgin’s robes, and smirked as his legs flailed harder in the air, the whites of his eyes showing.

‘I told you Sir, I sold it!’

‘Don’t lie, Borgin. It may be the last thing you do.’ Regulus drew his wand. ‘The Dark Lord wants the locket, and you will hand it to me.’

‘Sir, I sold –’

‘Don’t fool me, fool. It hasn’t been sold. I’ve been watching you. You tucked it into your cloak, and away you went. I repeat for the last time, where is it?’

He pushed the wand into the jugular vein on his neck. The vein was pulsating rapidly as the man’s blood coursed through his body on a mad adrenaline high. He whimpered as Regulus twisted the wand, bearing his teeth.

‘I – I sold it Sir, to a woman!’

His whimpers echoed throughout the darkened, dripping tunnel. Taking his eyes off the pathetic Borgin for a moment, Regulus scoured the tunnel, looking to the dimly lit alleyways either end. Towards Knockturn Ally, jeers and chatter could be heard, but no one had come to inspect and discover the two men.

Regulus dropped Borgin to the ground, kicking the cowing figure before bending down and ripping the sleeve of his robes upwards. Shoving the twisted and coiling scar into a frightened and repulsed face, he snarled, ‘The Dark Lord is aware of your impudence, Borgin, so tell me – where is the girl – and your pathetic sniveling life may be saved yet.’

‘She was a woman of pureblood, I assure you. She entered the shop with a tall man, of whose identity I am not certain, Sir.’ Borgin’s voice was oily and convincing, even from his position on the ground. When Regulus sat back on his haunches and let him continue, he drew himself up a little bit more, pressing against the wall for support. ‘She didn’t spot the locket at first; it was his idea to buy it.’

‘That doesn’t explain why I didn’t see her buy it, and saw you take it, Borgin.’

‘Yes sir, I was getting to that. However, even though she didn’t seem particularly disposed towards the locket, the young man requested I set it aside for him.’

‘Who was the man, imbecile? Don’t waste my patience.’ Regulus moved the wand from Borgin’s neck to his groin. ‘If you hope to ever reproduce, you’ll tell me why you were giving jewellery to men.’

A bead of sweat fell from his upper lip to his chin and Borgin laughed nervously. ‘A funny joke, Sir, but no. His name is Theodore Bennett. Aristocrat that deals with the selling of cursed books, in the same line as a Mister Malfoy, I believe. He bought the locket for her as a present. A pretty penny he paid, too. I was able to pay off the goblins for the rings they made me.’

Regulus removed the wand and stowed it away in his pocket. ‘So, the man bought the locket, you snuck it away so that she wouldn’t know he was buying it for her, and gave it to him afterwards. Was he aware he would be giving it to her, unable to put his picture inside? Did he know that his soul that he hoped for her to wear next to her heart would never fit between the gold?’

Borgin’s eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘I don’t see what you mean, Master Black.’

Regulus shook off the use of his last name with a twist of his corded neck. ‘Did he know that the locket you sold him wouldn’t open?’

‘Well… no Sir. He wouldn’t have paid me as much as he did –’

‘Your money’s worth nothing, Borgin. You’ll never own that armor. And the contents of that locket are so priceless; no one would ever be able to afford it.’ Regulus stood, and made to walk away. He walked a few grates down, the toxic mist swirling upwards to obscure the grey eyes, the slender nose, and the hollow cheekbones. ‘Not even He himself realises the true value of his object.’