Let's turn our attention back to Borgin's shop.
Mr. Borgin didn't care much that the trio had tailed old Mr. Malfoy as he left; he didn't warn Malfoy and would even have enjoyed watching him get robbed. This was Knockturn Alley—predators preying on predators was normal. Being pure-blood didn't make you above anyone or immune to being robbed.
About an hour later, the trio returned, walking in with feigned frustration. From their manner at the door, Mr. Borgin could already guess their attempt had failed. Failure was only normal; after all, they looked like bottom-rung Knockturn Alley thugs who lived off mugging the unwary. Daring to go at Lucius Malfoy at all had already exceeded Borgin's expectations.
Looking closer, Borgin recognized one of them. "York, did you stumble upon another fat sheep and remember to come to me? Let me see what you've brought."
Number One's former name was York. He'd abandoned it for the new name Loren had bestowed. Hearing someone call him that again, he didn't react at first. After a brief pause he realized Borgin was speaking to him and went along, saying, "That's right, Mr. Borgin. We got hold of a fine batch this time—hope you'll give us a good price."
Borgin was an old hand in Knockturn Alley. Seeing Number One's stiff motions, his heart tightened and he went on alert. When Number One reached into his coat, Borgin casually slid his right hand beneath the counter, fingers tightening around his wand where the trio couldn't see.
To Borgin's surprise, Number One didn't draw a wand; he shakily pulled out an ornate handful of jewelry that looked quite valuable. He raised it high so everyone in the shop could see, then walked toward the counter.
The odd scene made Borgin all the more wary, though his kindly smile didn't change. His left hand slipped under the counter and pinched a certain escape-type magical device, ready to trigger at any moment. As Number One moved forward, Numbers Two and Three pressed close behind him, like conjoined dolls. The tableau grew stranger, but Borgin thought he understood—especially after a fleeting glimpse of two wands tucked at Number One's waist told him what was going on.
It was a common Knockturn Alley situation: distrust within small crews, afraid someone would run off with the haul. Judging from that handful of jewelry, a rough estimate put it at several hundred Galleons.
Finding the situation within his expectations, Borgin relaxed slightly—he released the escape trinket in his left hand, but kept his right around his wand. In his experience, quarrels over splitting loot often turned into brawls. He might not care about a few hundred Galleons, but he had to guard against the three turning on him in a frenzy.
Time ticked by in the strange atmosphere until Number One finally reached the counter. He lowered the jewelry slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement would trigger the two behind him to strike. Being stared at by three hungry pairs of eyes, Borgin started, then realized they were waiting for him to name the jewelry's price.
Under their gaze, he began to examine the pieces on the counter. Precautions first: he shifted his right foot to set a mechanism under the counter, then finally released his wand and set both hands on the countertop. Though Number One had brought them bare-handed, Borgin still pulled on dragonhide gloves before touching the pieces.
He idly sifted through the jewelry, quoting prices piece by piece, but most of his attention stayed on the trio. As the total climbed toward their expected number, the two who had stood behind Number One edged up to the counter, eyes glued to Borgin's hands for fear he'd skip something to their loss.
Seeing their behavior, Borgin relaxed a bit more. Right up to the end of the deal, they made no sudden moves, only staring fixedly at his hand as it sorted the pieces. When Borgin handed over a pouch of Galleons, the trio exhaled as one and, unable to wait, began dividing the spoils right there in the shop.
Watching them put away their wands and squat to split the money with no sign of fighting did not reassure him; if anything, he grew more alert, his right hand unconsciously gripping his wand, ready to act.
Only after the three left did Borgin lower his wand and pull a bag from behind him. He meant to sweep the jewelry from the counter into the bag and examine the haul later that night. The pieces were valuable, especially a gem-inlaid tiara that had to be a replica of Ravenclaw's Diadem. Borgin was secretly pleased: the workmanship was superb, giving one the feeling that this was exactly how the Diadem ought to look. Sold to some aristocrat of Ravenclaw descent, it would fetch a handsome price.
After packing everything else, he deliberately left the replica out, turning it over in his hands. While playing with it, he noticed a line of tiny script inside the band. The letters were so small he had to lean close to read: "I caught a Pokémon!" he read aloud.
As he spoke, the diadem flashed; a surge of electricity burst from it. The sudden discharge didn't frighten Borgin—he wore dragonhide gloves and carried auto-triggering defensive charms. But even as he blacked out from the shock, he never had time to wonder why none of his protections had worked.
Once Borgin was unconscious, the trio returned, vaulted the counter, and strapped a pile of alchemical gear onto his still-twitching body, then covered him up. Only after that did Number One carefully pry the diadem from Borgin's clenched hand and head deeper into the shop, while Number Two used his authority to handle the follow-up. Number Three downed a potion to transform into Borgin's likeness and remained at the counter.
In this way, the largest shop on the alley fell into their hands. It looked simple, but only after Peter had discussed the plan at length with a group. The key item was the replica of Ravenclaw's Diadem that Loren had left behind, inscribed with an anti-magic field and packed with a powerful charge. It was Loren's bit of mischief—he wanted to see if any fool would put an unknown object straight onto his head. He had engraved that line on purpose; as long as someone recited it—or stared at it for more than five seconds—
Everything the trio had done before was theater—acting out a quarrelsome little crew splitting loot—to draw Borgin's attention away and let him blunder into the trap. The follow-up was simple: Number One, with the diadem's anti-magic field activated, used the window to ignore Borgin's protections and strip his hoard bare. Number Two delivered Borgin into the small world and, by every means available, dug out everything in his head as quickly as possible. Number Three kept up the disguise, maintaining shop operations so no outsider would notice.
Peter actually had no experience in this sort of thing; he simply reenacted what Loren had once done to him—this time on Borgin. By now, the trio had fully mastered Borgin's smuggling channels and network of contacts, running the shop in good order, successfully fulfilling Loren's assignment and becoming a main force in building the small world.
Upon receiving Peter's message that the master needed werewolves as experimental materials, the three put down their work at once and huddled to plan. Catching one or two werewolves for the small world was actually simple. Elsewhere in the wizarding world they might be hard to find, but this was Knockturn Alley, a hub for dark wizards and creatures; given their status here, all they had to do was put the word out.
Still, the trio thought further: if the master wanted werewolves this time, would he want vampires next time, and other dark beings after that? They had recently delivered many harmless exotic creatures into the small world—had that displeased the master? Was this a subtle warning for them? The more they thought, the more anxious they became, and they resolved to do this task impeccably, without letting the master down.
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