The days leading up to Hogsmeade weekend passed quietly.
Regulus Black attended classes as usual, practiced magic in the Room of Requirement, spent time in the library, and occasionally slipped into the Restricted Section.
His Space Warp error had narrowed to within thirty centimeters. The number of Space Anchor Charm anchors he could maintain had not increased, but their duration had improved. The fifth star in his Star Guided Meditation remained in its preparatory state, yet the four-star system rotated more smoothly than ever.
---
On Friday night, he received a second letter from Orion.
"Regulus,
I have conducted a preliminary discussion with the elder Burke. The Ministry of Magic's review is focused on large-scale cursed artifacts and highly lethal dark magic items.
The Burkes currently hold several sensitive pieces in inventory that must be handled before the review expands.
When you visit, the elder Burke may show you one or two of them, to test whether the House of Black has interest in acquiring them or providing a custodial channel.
Remember to only observe. Do not touch. Do not promise anything.
Specific terms will be negotiated between myself and the Burkes.
Additionally, three dark wizard conflicts have occurred recently in Knockturn Alley, involving the seizure of items.
The Auror office has increased patrols, but with limited effect. Remain vigilant."
Large-scale cursed artifacts. Highly lethal dark magic items.
Both were strictly prohibited by the Ministry of Magic.
The Burkes wanted to offload them, using the Blacks as intermediaries or custodians.
The details would be decided by his father. Regulus was only there to look, and to signal willingness.
He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes.
Star Guided Meditation began automatically. The four stars revolved in the depths of his mind.
At Bellatrix's position, that faint light still burned. Weak, but steady. Like a distant lighthouse, unreachable for now, yet guiding him all the same.
The will to guard.
He had not yet found exactly what he wished to guard, but he at least knew what he refused to lose.
---
On the second Saturday of February, at seven in the morning, the Great Hall of Hogwarts was louder than usual.
Third-years and above gathered at the long tables, discussing plans, exchanging Galleons, checking permission slips. First- and second-years remained in their seats, their eyes tracking the older students, faces full of longing.
After finishing breakfast, Regulus rose and headed toward the castle doors.
The corridors were packed. Peeves swooped overhead, grabbing a fistful of chalk stubs and hurling them into the crowd before being shouted down by Filch.
Several Gryffindors rushed past and nearly collided with him. One muttered an apology upon recognizing him. Another made a remark under his breath, only to be dragged away by a companion.
Outside the castle gates, cold air struck his face.
The sky was a dull lead gray. Clouds hung low. Snow threatened but did not fall.
A thin layer of frost coated the ground, crunching softly underfoot. The path to Hogsmeade was already marked by footprints pressed into the white surface.
Regulus followed the road. Laughter and conversation carried far in the sharp air as students hurried ahead.
When Hogsmeade Village came into view, he spotted Lucretius Burke standing beneath the stone arch at the entrance.
Lucretius was not wearing school robes today. Instead, he had on a dark green travel cloak, the Burke family crest pinned at the collar, crossed wand and key against an open book.
A few Ravenclaw girls passed him, whispering to one another. A seventh-year Hufflepuff boy gave him a polite nod, which Lucretius returned with a slight inclination of his head.
As Regulus approached, Lucretius turned.
"Good morning, Regulus."
"Good morning, Lucretius."
After a brief exchange, they walked together onto Hogsmeade's main street.
Crooked, steep-roofed cottages lined both sides of the road, their roofs dusted with snow. White smoke curled from chimneys. Shop signs creaked in the wind.
The display windows of Honeydukes were piled high with brightly colored jars of sweets. From The Three Broomsticks drifted the warm scent of Butterbeer and baked biscuits. Zonko's Joke Shop crackled with pops and bursts of laughter.
Lucretius slowed his pace and gestured casually as he spoke.
"Honeydukes. Established in 1935. Ambrosius Flume built it on the success of a single Blood-flavored Lollipop. Now their product line covers most of Britain. They have a private tasting room in the basement, open only to regular patrons."
"The Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta runs it. Her husband passed away ten years ago and left her the pub. If you want the latest rumors from the Ministry of Magic, this is the place. The price is a Butterbeer and a willing ear."
"Dervish and Banges is known for its Magical equipments. Quality is average, but suitable for gifts."
His tone was steady, almost like a tour guide. He knew each shop's history, the figures behind them, and their real functions.
Regulus listened quietly, his eyes scanning the street.
Hogsmeade was Britain's only all-wizard village, founded in the Middle Ages as a refuge from Muggle persecution. Over time, it had grown into a commercial and social center.
The most traditional wizarding architecture remained here. So did the oldest business customs, and the most intricate web of interests.
Every shop stood behind a family. Every family had connections and demands.
The Flumes of Honeydukes had close ties to the Ministry's food inspection office. Rosmerta was acquainted with editors at the Daily Prophet. The Banges family held a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors.
Lucretius turned down a side alley and stopped before a gray stone house.
There was no sign. The windows were boarded. The door was thick oak, fitted with a bronze serpent-shaped knocker.
"Burke property in Hogsmeade," Lucretius explained as he unlocked it. "Some transactions are not suited for public places."
Inside was a simple sitting room. The fireplace was cold. Dust lay thick on the furniture. The air smelled faintly of mildew from long disuse.
An old map of Hogsmeade hung on the wall, the parchment yellowed and the ink faded.
Lucretius stepped to the hearth and withdrew a tin from his cloak pocket. Inside lay bright green powder.
"Floo Powder."
He cast a handful into the fireplace. The flames turned emerald at once, roaring upward.
"Knockturn Alley, thirteen B, Borgin and Burkes."
He stepped into the fire and vanished.
Regulus followed.
Traveling through the Floo Network was different from Apparition. Apparition tore through space by force. The Floo Network guided you along a pre-established magical channel.
The former was direct and violent. The latter gentler, yet constrained by the structure of the network.
The Space Anchor Charm could interfere with a single Floo connection point, but it could not disrupt the entire network. Too many nodes. Too complex. The flow of magic shifted constantly. Without placing multiple anchors simultaneously at a core junction, the effect would remain limited.
Regulus considered this as he spun. Three seconds later, he tumbled out of another fireplace.
He steadied himself and brushed soot from his robes before surveying the room.
The ceiling was low, cobwebbed. The brick walls were dark and damp-streaked.
The air carried a mixture of dust, old parchment, and a cloying preservative scent.
Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, crammed with strange objects. Shrunken heads. Rusted shackles. Eyeballs floating in jars. Black-bound books that turned their own pages.
Behind the counter stood a tall, gaunt wizard.
He was very old. Sparse hair clung to his scalp. His skin was pale. His eyes were sunken and sharp.
He wore black robes. His fingers were long, nails neatly trimmed. An obsidian ring sat on his right index finger.
"Caractacus Burke," the man said in a hoarse voice. "You may call me Mr. Burke, or simply the elder Burke."
"Regulus Black."
Regulus inclined his head, though a question flickered in his mind. Not Borgin?
The elder Burke studied him for several seconds, then stretched his mouth into something resembling a smile.
"Orion's son," he said, gaze fixed on Regulus. "Your father came here as well, though that was twenty years ago."
He stepped out from behind the counter, moving without a sound.
"Borgin and Burkes," he continued, his finger tracing the edge of the counter. "Founded in 18s. A joint venture between the Borgin and Burke families. Acquisition, appraisal, and sale of dark artifacts. Among the thirteen shops of our kind in Knockturn Alley, we rank first."
Regulus's eyes shifted slightly.
He had always assumed Borgin and Burkes was the proprietor's name as well as the shop's. Only now did he realize it was a partnership. Borgin was a family name.
Caractacus Burke represented the Burke side.
And the Borgins?
Absent—maybe withdrawn, maybe just quietly standing at the edges.
"Come," the elder Burke said, turning toward the deeper shelves. "Some items are kept in the warehouse."
Lucretius remained by the counter. He had not been summoned.
Regulus followed.
They passed through a doorway draped with a black curtain into a narrow corridor. Wooden racks lined the walls, holding glass jars.
Inside floated various organs. Hearts beating slowly. Brains flickering with green light. Lungs expanding and contracting in rhythm.
At the end of the corridor stood an iron door. The elder Burke muttered a spell. The lock clicked open.
Inside lay the warehouse.
Twice the size of the front shop. Higher ceiling. Shelves arranged with deliberate order.
Items were sorted by category.
Cursed artifacts in one section. Dark magic implements in another. Experimental records elsewhere. Hazardous biological materials in their own area.