To run a shop in a place like Knockturn Alley, where the slightest hint of weakness could get you devoured whole, and to run a shop dealing in Dark Magic artifacts no less, Caractacus Burke had been in business for years without fear of crossing paths with ruthless dark wizards.
After all, these dark wizards, for all their cruelty, valued their own lives above all else. They wouldn't do anything reckless on their own turf. No one knew what kind of traps a wizard skilled in Dark Magic might set up in their own shop.
But the one thing Caractacus Burke feared was a lunatic. Lunatics were unpredictable. They had no reason, no logic. They might kill someone just for the thrill of it, or set a house ablaze not for plunder, but simply to watch the flames dance.
Even during the height of the Dark Lord's reign, Voldemort didn't kill without reason… well, at least not without reason when it came to wizards.
Muggle lives didn't count.
But now, the cloaked figure who had just smashed through the shop's windows and door gave Burke the distinct feeling of facing a lunatic. From the moment this person appeared in Knockturn Alley to the moment they killed the dozen or so people outside, it hadn't even taken three minutes. It was as if they had come to Knockturn Alley specifically to kill.
Even dark wizards—dark wizards!—knew that a murder case in Knockturn Alley, especially one involving the deaths of a dozen wizards, would bring the Aurors down to arrest the culprit.
But if this person was some kind of righteous wizard, here to purge the evil dealings of Knockturn Alley with heroic justice—who in Merlin's name would believe a righteous wizard could wield the Killing Curse with such proficiency?!
Even most dark wizards couldn't cast it so expertly! The sheer intensity of their killing intent was overwhelming!
"A shop with history…" Harry said, surveying the various items displayed in the store. "Rumor has it, even Voldemort worked here when he was young. That makes you quite the veteran, doesn't it?"
A shriveled human hand, a blood-stained deck of playing cards, a glass eyeball that spun on its own to stare at people, and a terrifying mask hanging on the wall… There was no doubt about it—these were Dark Magic artifacts, many likely already stained with blood.
"That's… that's impossible!" Burke's back broke out in a cold sweat. He forced a smile and stammered, "The Dark Lord, working in my shop? That's… that's just…"
"You know, Burke," Harry said calmly, "I've always lived by a principle: treat people the way they deserve to be treated. If someone acts with kindness and justice, I'll try to reason with them through words."
As he spoke, Harry reached up and pulled back the hood covering his head, revealing his face.
There was no disguise, no Transfiguration to alter his appearance.
"Headmaster Potter?!" Burke's eyes widened in shock.
"…But if someone acts unjustly, their hands stained with blood, their mouth full of lies," Harry continued, his voice steady, "then I have no choice but to deal with them in a different way."
A brief silence fell over the shop, so quiet it was almost suffocating.
Suddenly—
"Avada Kedavra!"
Burke whipped out a wand from somewhere and fired the Killing Curse at Harry without hesitation. He didn't bother trying to Apparate away—Harry had already cast an Anti-Apparition Jinx over the entire area of Borgin and Burkes.
After unleashing the Killing Curse, Burke didn't even wait to see how Harry would react. He dove behind a nearby counter with surprising agility for someone of his slightly rotund build.
At the same moment, the ghastly masks hanging on the walls let out piercing shrieks and flew into the air. Blood tears streamed from their hollow eyes as they locked onto Harry's position and hurtled toward him—BOOM!
A torrent of flames erupted from Harry's wand, transforming into the shape of a phoenix. The snarling masks, unable to dodge, collided with the Fiendfyre and were incinerated to ash in an instant.
The traps Burke had set in his shop weren't limited to the masks, but in the face of Fiendfyre—a flame that could devour nearly anything—they were utterly useless. Whether physical traps or invisible magical ones, they were all consumed without resistance.
Harry was growing fonder of this spell by the day. The only challenge was controlling the intensity of the Fiendfyre to prevent it from spiraling out of control and devouring too much.
"No! No, no, no!!" Burke screamed. "Finite Incantatem! Finite Incantatem!"
Burke's response was technically correct—Finite Incantatem was indeed a counter-spell for Fiendfyre. The only problem was… he was too weak.
No, that wasn't entirely fair. Burke's magical prowess was respectable by wizarding standards; otherwise, he wouldn't have survived running a shop in Knockturn Alley for so long. The real issue was that his magic paled in comparison to Harry's.
When Burke realized, to his horror, that his Finite Incantatem only caused the ravenous Fiendfyre to flicker briefly before roaring back with even greater ferocity, he hurled his wand out from behind the counter.
"I surrender!!" Burke shouted. "Yes, yes, it's true—the Dark Lord worked here for a time, but then he vanished! For Merlin's sake, make it stop!!!"
Watching his precious inventory being consumed one by one by the Fiendfyre, Burke's heart ached to the point of suffocation. For someone like him, fighting tooth and nail was the most meaningless choice of all.
As Burke pleaded, the Fiendfyre—which had taken the forms of various magical beasts rampaging through the shop—vanished in the blink of an eye, as if it had never existed.
The once-tidy shop was unrecognizable, reduced to piles of ash and blackened, charred remnants.
Stumbling out from behind the counter, Burke rushed forward and dropped to his knees before Harry.
"Thank you, thank you for your mercy!" Burke gasped, reaching to kiss the hem of Harry's robe but quickly pulling back when he noticed Harry's discomfort.
Any idle chatter he'd shared about Hogwarts' recent headmaster appointment was now completely forgotten. In this moment, to Burke, the widely celebrated and beloved Headmaster Potter was a figure more terrifying than Voldemort or even Dumbledore.
At least Voldemort wouldn't treat a wealthy and respected pure-blood like him this way. At least Dumbledore wouldn't destroy someone's livelihood with Fiendfyre the moment they met!
Never had Burke missed Voldemort so much. Never had he longed for Dumbledore like this!
All he could hope for now was that Headmaster Potter would finish his questioning and leave, seeing as Burke was cooperating fully.
"I swear on my ancestors' honor, Headmaster Potter!" Burke groveled, not daring to lift his head. "The Burke family has run this shop for decades. I've never killed an innocent person, nor have I crafted any evil Dark Magic artifacts! Borgin and Burkes only buys and sells—we don't make anything! I swear!!"
"Let's start with Voldemort," Harry said, his tone neutral.
"Yes, my lord," Burke replied respectfully. "Please forgive my earlier lie. As you know, Vol—the Dark Lord didn't like people talking about his past, and I didn't want my shop associated with him."
"The Dark Lord's real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle," Burke continued. "When he was at Hogwarts, he was an exceptional student, gifted at winning people over. Even before graduating, he'd gathered a group of pure-blood nobles around him… lesser nobles, mostly."
"Lesser nobles?" Harry asked.
"Yes. At that time, families like Black, Malfoy, or even Burke—pure-bloods from the Sacred Twenty-Eight—weren't Death Eaters, nor did we serve the Dark Lord as our master," Burke said with a smile uglier than a sob. "The pure-bloods saw potential in his talent and his ideals. They thought he could bring them greater influence and profit."
"So how did Voldemort end up lording over you all?" Harry pressed.
"I don't know," Burke said, his expression bitter. "Maybe it started after old Malfoy's generation died out? Or maybe we didn't notice when the Dark Lord won the fanatical loyalty of our younger generation?"
"He started proclaiming himself the Heir of Slytherin, showing off his Parseltongue ability. But those of us who watched him rise knew the truth—he was a half-blood, never a pure-blood."
"I still remember when the Dark Lord graduated from Hogwarts. Many of those who'd flocked to him at school abandoned him, which infuriated him."
"Why did they leave?" Harry asked.
"Because they graduated," Burke repeated. "Yes, the Dark Lord was exceptional at Hogwarts—but so what?"
"He needed a job. His grades could've landed him a great position in many fields, but those fields were ultimately controlled by the old families. Even if he wanted to join the Ministry of Magic, he'd have to start as a lowly clerk, and he couldn't do that without the support of families like ours."
"When those young pure-bloods realized the person they'd idolized at school now had to beg for jobs under their families' banners, it became hard for them to keep worshipping him," Burke said, chuckling despite himself.
"But you lost control of him," Harry said calmly. "He brainwashed your next generation, made them see him as their master."
"Yes, he spiraled out of control," Burke admitted, lowering his head. "I can't explain in mere words what kind of charisma the Dark Lord had back then—his words, his actions… In any case, many families' children followed him without hesitation."
"This forced many families to place their bets on him, because they had no choice. Pure-blood lines are limited, after all. Who else could they entrust their legacies to, if not their own children? Especially the Blacks—old Black would never leave anything to that traitor."
Harry knew Burke was referring to Sirius.
"But this was all after he disappeared from your shop and reemerged," Harry said. "What I want to know is about the time when he was still Tom Marvolo Riddle. What did he do in your shop? What did he gain?"
"I don't know," Burke said, looking up blankly. "He applied for a job here, and given his excellent grades and the backing of other pure-bloods, I agreed—until one day he resigned and left."
"More details," Harry interrupted sharply. "What exactly did he do here? Why did he suddenly quit? What was he working on before he left? I don't believe Voldemort's actions were ever without purpose."
"His job here was mainly evaluating Dark Magic artifacts," Burke said, thinking back. "Even though he was just a recent graduate, his knowledge of Dark Magic was astonishingly deep. I barely had to teach him anything—he could accurately identify dangerous items, curses, and poisons using professional expertise. And he learned quickly, even with unfamiliar knowledge."
"That's it? He came here just to learn?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
"No, I don't think so," Burke said, shaking his head after a moment's thought. He'd realized Harry's visit was specifically about him—or rather, about Voldemort—so he racked his brain, not daring to hold anything back. "The Dark Lord was… unsettling."
"I hate to use that word to describe a young graduate, but he truly was. He knew too much. His interest in Dark Magic artifacts went far beyond what a shop assistant should have. He'd often try to buy rare artifacts from me at low prices, but I always refused."
"And you're still alive?" Harry said with a laugh. "From what I know, Voldemort wasn't exactly forgiving. You refused him, and he let you live?"
"Well, back then, the Dark Lord wasn't that unhinged," Burke said with an awkward smile. "As for his behavior… let me think. He was very interested in Dark Magic artifacts. He'd constantly try to strike up conversations with my customers, getting familiar with them."
"If there's anything odd to point out, it would probably be Hepzibah Smith's death," Burke said suddenly, as if recalling something. "That was the only major event around the time the Dark Lord resigned."
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