"Are you Borgin?" Muen looked at the man in the shadows.
The man nodded and stepped out of the alley. He first gave Muen a slight bow. "Sir, please believe me, I never expected Mundungus to resort to extortion.
"The reason I sought you out was because I wanted some help from you. However, this is not a suitable place to talk. If you don't mind, could we move to my shop?"
Muen glanced around and nodded.
Having received Muen's permission, Borgin also drew his wand and pointed it at Mundungus. "Come with us."
Mundungus looked like he wanted to cry but had no tears left. He could only hurriedly pull himself up against the wall, whimpering as he nodded repeatedly.
Borgin's shop was diagonally across the street from where they stood, not far from the mouth of the alley. The colors of the walls did not quite match, and roughly a third of one side of the building had clearly been renovated.
Once inside, the full shop came into view. It was spacious and dim, with several candles hanging on the walls, burning continuously and releasing a soothing smoke.
Muen also noticed that the area by the newly repaired wall was rather empty, clearly not yet stocked with enough merchandise.
"That was affected when you cast that indiscriminate spell earlier," Borgin explained.
Yet there was no anger in his tone. He merely stated the fact calmly to Muen.
Borgin did not wish to dwell on the matter. He had been fairly lucky; only some of the items displayed in the showroom had been swept away by that terrifying spell.
Those items were not especially valuable, so the losses were minor.
The shop in front of his, which specialized in making all kinds of poisonous candles, had been completely destroyed. Its owner had nearly died too. That was what one called a major loss.
"So, what did you want to talk to me about? My time is limited." Muen examined Borgin's wares with interest.
On a cushion inside a glass case beside him lay a shriveled human hand and a stack of bloodstained cards. Hideous masks glared down from the walls, while all sorts of human bones sat atop the counter. Rusty, pointed instruments hung from the ceiling.
These goods were clearly not very "friendly." They would never be seen in Diagon Alley.
Muen picked up the bloodstained deck and spread it out. It was a set of Tarot cards, its backs painted with star charts in gold and silver.
"Please wait a moment," Borgin said. He stood before Mundungus and, under the latter's terrified gaze, drew his wand and placed it against his temple.
"Memory Separation!!"
A low incantation rang out. A faint silver glow bloomed at the tip of Borgin's wand, and Mundungus's expression abruptly became vacant.
Then Borgin slowly and gently withdrew his wand, drawing out a strand of silver thread.
He took out a small bottle as well. It shimmered with flowing light, and it clearly already held many such silver threads.
Only after Borgin placed the silver strand extracted from Mundungus into the bottle did he pat the man's face.
Some life suddenly returned to Mundungus's face. He stared at the man before him in surprise. "Mr. Borgin... why am I here?!"
"You may leave." Borgin clearly did not want to say much to him.
Mundungus's head was spinning, and he clearly had not fully regained his senses. Yet he seemed to have been Bewitched, nodding blankly before turning and leaving.
Leaning against the counter, Muen asked curiously, "A memory spell?"
Borgin froze for a moment. He had not expected someone who could escape the Killing Curse to ask such a question.
Was that reasonable?
Holding up the bottle, he explained to Muen, "What is inside are all the memories of the witnesses concerning you from that day."
"Are you planning to use it to threaten me?" Muen cut the deck one-handed and looked at Borgin curiously.
Borgin immediately shook his head, a merchant's obsequious smile appearing on his face. "No, no, no. I think you misunderstand. This is a gift."
"A gift?" Muen looked at him.
"Yes." Borgin nodded.
"So these are the memories of the bystanders at the time. You extracted all of them before the Ministry of Magic arrived?" Muen examined the bottle of memories.
"It was only because those useless fools at the Ministry of Magic were so inefficient that I found an opening. It was nothing difficult." Borgin did not dare boast and lowered his head as he spoke.
XVIII The Moon
"I am not some wish-granting genie." Muen looked at The Moon card, laid it flat on the table, then turned to the Minor Arcana.
"I only wish to seek your help," Borgin said hurriedly.
Muen spread the cards out in sequence and drew one.
However, he did not rush to turn it over, instead waiting for Borgin to continue.
Watching Muen's movements, Borgin nervously scratched the loose, wrinkled skin on his face. "I believe you can tell that I am a small merchant who has dealt with Dark Magic for a long time.
"More than forty years ago, I accidentally touched an ancient Dark Magic artifact and suffered a curse upon my soul. You can withstand the Killing Curse, so you must know a great deal about souls. Therefore..."
Muen slowly turned over the card. A hand gripped a longsword tightly.
Ace of Swords
Borgin's expression turned grave. This card usually represented misfortune and death.
"Looks like I am lucky," Muen said with a smile.
He then put away the card and said, "The meanings of Tarot divination cards are ever-changing. Everyone forms their own interpretations through methods such as meditation, association, and deduction."
Muen's words made Borgin even more nervous. If that was the case, it meant this man certainly possessed an exceptionally deep understanding of divination.
"So my interpretations of Tarot are usually rather crude. Under normal circumstances, if I say it is fortunate, then it will certainly be fortunate.
"If I say it is unfortunate, then I will certainly make it unfortunate."
With that, under Borgin's gaze, Muen raised The Moon card once more.
"I think something rather pleasant will happen today. What do you think?!"
"Of course!!" Cold sweat streamed down Borgin's face as he hurriedly bowed. "As long as you are willing to help me, even if you merely offer a few pointers, I am willing to pay a generous reward."
"Tell me about your curse." Muen sensed Borgin's aura and felt that it was somehow familiar.
It seemed that, in the Caribbean Sea, he had encountered...
Borgin then began explaining the curse he had suffered.
It was an item he had acquired more than forty years ago from a member of a fallen French family. Apparently, the item came from when that family had decided to relocate in response to the newly introduced Wizarding Secrecy Act.
Grindelwald had only recently fallen at the time, and the entire wizarding world was extremely wary of the Wizarding Secrecy Act. The penalties for violating it were severe. No one wished to risk provoking it.
Later, at their settlement on an island in the English Channel, they came into conflict with the local Merfolk tribe over a lake on the island.
This also violated the local treaty protecting magical creatures to some extent. Thus, in order to evade investigation, the family had smuggled all the items seized from the Merfolk tribe to him.
The curse had appeared then.
Because of an ancient golden disc pendant among those items, Borgin had been cursed and turned into a Living Dead incapable of physical sensation. He could not even die; even if his head were cut off, he could easily reattach it...
Muen was flipping through an Ancient Greek Magic manuscript from Borgin's collection. As he listened to Borgin's account, it felt increasingly familiar.
"Do you also turn into a skeleton under moonlight?" Muen suddenly interrupted him.
Borgin stared at Muen in shock, disbelief gradually giving way to uncontrollable excitement.
"That's right. You know! You know about my curse!!"
Muen was somewhat surprised as well. This curse...
Yes, he knew it, and he knew even more about it.
He had even deliberately come into contact with this curse back in the Caribbean Sea, when his curiosity about magic had been especially strong.
Ding ding ding—
The bell hanging behind the shop door suddenly rang.
A man with a pale, pointed face, straight blond hair swept back toward the nape of his neck, and a black wool overcoat entered while leaning on a walking stick.
With his head held high, he gave Muen a cold, gray-eyed once-over before saying, "Mr. Borgin, it seems you are rather busy?!"