"Ding-dong..."
The copper bell chimed, and Mr. Borgin looked up from behind the counter toward the door.
An exquisite cane made entirely of Purple Sandalwood entered the shop first.
Then its owner followed: a young man in his twenties, with black hair and black eyes, wearing a splendid wizard's robe and a monocle over his left eye.
"Hello, sir. How can I help you?"
Mr. Borgin eagerly rose to his feet, a flash of Galleons gleaming in his eyes.
"Mr. Borgin, don't you recognize me anymore?"
Leaning on his cane, the young man asked in a clear voice, a calm smile on his face.
Mr. Borgin froze for a moment and studied the man's face carefully. Until now, he'd been focused on the man's extravagant clothing, calculating how wealthy he might be and how much money he could squeeze out of him.
But now, as he looked closer at the man's features, Mr. Borgin suddenly froze.
"You... You... You're..."
The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but a fishbone of terror lodged in his throat.
"That's right. It's me, Mr. Borgin."
Voldemort, the black-haired young man, glanced around the shop. Spotting an antique chair, he walked over and sat down with an easy stride.
"I considered myself a good judge of character, Mr. Borgin. For a time, I truly believed that."
"Gulp."
A loud gulp came from Mr. Borgin behind the counter.
"But it wasn't until I met you that I realized how shallow my supposed insight really was."
Voldemort spoke with composure, seemingly oblivious to the terror on the other man's face.
"Sir—I mean, Dark Lord, I don't quite understand what you mean," Mr. Borgin said humbly.
"What I mean, Mr. Borgin, is that you showed me what greed looks like."
After saying this, Voldemort shook his