Tom leaned against the counter at Borgin and Burkes as the quill filled out the day's sales in the ledger. It was a horrible job, in a horrible place, but it afforded him access to magical artefacts he could not hope to see anywhere else, let alone touch, and hold, and, on occasion, take into his possession.

Witches and wizards passed by the shop as the sun set and a wisp of evening clouds rolled in, shading the already dark alley until it was just about pitch black.

He didn't look up, lost in his thoughts, until the bell announced that someone new stepped in. With a sigh, he stood up and straightened his back, and looked at who had just walked in.

"Good evening," he said indifferently. "May I help you?"