Rain was lashing down on Knockturn Alley on this gloomy November evening. A young woman, no older than twenty, was making her way down the sinister street. She was dressed only in soaked rags, but a heavy golden locket was hanging down from her neck.

It was plain to see that she was pregnant, probably in the eighth month. Slowly she walked down towards the end of the street. "Borgin and Burkes – buying and selling magical artefacts since 1666" the sign above the shop said. She rang the bell and entered.

Caractacus Burke walked towards the front of the shop. Every step hurt, as his rheumatism was getting worse every year. It didn't help either that he was a rather well-nourished man.

He reached the door and opened. When he saw the rain-soaked girl dressed in dirty rags, he knew that she wouldn't be there to buy anything. He knew those poor people who would sell their last possessions to feed themselves for another week. Often, they would only have worthless cheap trinkets to offer, but would insist it had once belonged to Emeric the Evil.

Merope Riddle entered the gloomy shop. Immediately she felt the warmth of the glowing fireplace. She barely remembered that feeling after many weeks out in the cold autumn weather. She looked around, mustering the variety of dark artefacts in the shop. Surely, she would find a buyer for the locket here.

"Good evening," Caractacus said. "I assume you are here to sell." He was in a foul mood. His legs were aching, it was late, and he didn't want to be disturbed. Not by a poor seller. A rich buyer would have been welcome at any time.

"Yes…" Merope muttered. "I'm here to-… to sell the locket."

"Let's see…" Caractacus said, grabbing the heavy piece of jewellery. "Does it have any exceptional powers?"

"All sorts of powers," Merope claimed. "It- it's an old family heirloom. It was Slytherin's.

Caractacus Burke was used to such claims, so he carefully mustered the locket again. It was clearly Slytherin's mark on the front of the locket, but such marks could be faked. He performed a few spells on the locket. Alright, even if it turned out to be a fake, it was a good one, so he would find someone stupid enough to buy it.

"Slytherin's locket?" Mr. Burke repeated in a mocking tone. "How would it end up with someone as poor and ragged like you? However, it looks just like legend describes it. In any case, it's certainly a pretty piece of jewellery. I give you ten Galleons for it."

Ten Galleons were not much. But it wasn't like she had any choice. And the money would be enough to get her a room until the birth of her child. She was in no position to bargain with him, and Mr. Burke knew.

"Ag- agreed," she stuttered. Mr. Burke handed her the money. She turned back, and left the shop, walking back into the pouring November rain.

Mr. Burke never knew what became of the girl, and he didn't care. When he hired a handsome new assistant eighteen years later, he never made the connection to the shabby girl who had come to his shop that grey November evening.

He didn't know until it was too late. Because Lord Voldemort never forgives.