... wh-what? Peverell watched the boy offer him a deal, he wanted to be an intern here? Well, about time somebody noticed the floors needed to be cleaned! But no, really, he could clean them with the boy's body after he killed him, but there was Emma and her 'future plans' and 'being subtle' and all that crap. UGH. Regretting having a woman as his right hand AGAIN.

"I see." He moved from where he was standing to stand behind the counter across from the boy. "Well, what would you be doing here for us?" As for 'payment', Peverell was firmly against having someone work for him on their own terms. Emma was the only exception, he did a favor for her and he sorta kinda blackmailed her into coming and working for him, but now they were free from that and she was a leader almost as he was-- except he was more awesome and more creative in dealing with people. Just saying.

So, yeah. This boy. Hmmmmmmmm, it wasn't a bad idea to get him to clean things, Circe knew this place got messy sometimes and the bloody goblin wouldn't clean anything. But Peverell needed to at least have something that would tie the boy to his commands rather than letting him follow his own head's orders, like a filthy free man.

Watching the man go behind the counter, Bart leaned on it confidently, though most would be nervous he was not. He was too eager to be here to be nervous, plus he felt comfortable whenever he snuck down here. These people just needed to accept him and teach him. He ran a hand over the counter, "I can do whatever you need. I'm not afraid to work and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty." He was hoping to get to be part of some more dark things.

Pushing back off the counter he moved to a few shelves like he was looking around. The fifteen year old was trying to play it super cool. Was it working? He took a glance at the man before going back to the shelves. He wondered if the man ever figured out he was the one with the fireworks a few summers ago, but no matter that should prove he wasn't scared. If he was he wouldn't be here.

Turning back he crossed his arms, "I can clean the shops, I could be your assistant, I could throw young people out of the alley, basically whatever. I just don't want anyone to know I'm working down here that wouldn't normally down here. It wouldn't be good for you nor me." If word got out that a minister candidate's son was working down here would never be good and he had plans that could help him if his mother won. It could give him so many possibilities.

Peverell was sad. He was heartbrokenly sitting on a stool in the apothecary where rarely anyone came in without being a well-known liberated wizard (Pevie didn't like the word Dark Wizard, thank you). A permanent pout was drawn across his face ever since their fauna and garden in that shop had been half-destroyed by the foolish Auror and Lanky Red. There was unsatisfied anger stirring within him, he wished he'd unleashed his pet on them even after they left but the stupid talking pet wouldn't go and kept looking and laughing at his orange hair.

It looked nice for a while but Peverell didn't have the heart to keep it, it reminded him of his lost battle. The article last year and now this, ugh, he was so miserable and angry. He wanted people to pay for his bad mood. He wanted everyone else in a bad mood just like him. He wanted them to know how great of a wizard he was! How successful his business was-- not the business in here, the business downstairs.

So, he arranged this private, closed meeting with Emma today. They had to move. ASAP.

She didn't know why Peverell wanted a meeting, Merlin knew she didn't know why Peverell did half the things he did but he was the boss which obligated her to comply...even if only a little. With some luck this would actually be something important otherwise she was heading back to the pub. There was an interesting conversation going on over there, amplified by the large mugs being banged against the table. Rowdy crowd this evening.

"Korpsit said we had things to discuss. What is it this time?" She drawled, because with him, there was always something.

Know what would interest her? Him finally deciding they needed to do something about the scum over at the Daily Prophet, him deciding to widen the market on children to accommodate the ones that always seemed to enter the Alley, him deciding to balance the business books around here not that she'd trust him with something like that. Outside of that, there was nothing he could say that would hold her interest.

Ah the brilliance of nodding and smiling. It took one places and quickly too.

Peverell spotted Emma as she walked into the empty shop and plopped down on the stool next to him. He hung his head even lower with a puppy look invading his face, he was not going to get Emma's sympathy but he liked to act in a way that reflected his mood... albeit it was usually childish and exaggerated. "They destroyed my shop." He delivered the news sadly, in his drawling and high-pitched voice. "And they call us the goons. All I wanted was some hair and blood." He sighed a poor-man sigh.

"Do you wanna go out?" He raised his face, abruptly going from sad and heartbroken to enthusiastic and hysterical. "Daily Prophet first." He opened his clutched fist revealing a small vial of some potion. "Been working on it myself. I think it was time we talked to the man in charge there. People have the right to read about our brilliance!" His voice was rising the more he talked, he was so excited now, he told Emma what he had in mind quickly, lively moving in his stool with how much FUN they both were going to have tonight!

Her expression didn't soften in the slightest as she watched this grown man reduced to the look of a kicked puppy. Seriously? The most he got was a raise of her brow...one that raised a little higher at hearing a shop was destroyed. Did no one fear this alley anymore? "Which one...?" Yes it matter. Different shops, different values. No comment about hair and blood; whatever he needed them for was all on him and nothing she cared to know about.

A second later, he proved exactly why she would not waste her limited sympathy on him. One minute he was down then he was quickly bouncing up again going on about things and outings. You would think by now he understood she didn't want to be seen with him in public unless need be--hang on.

Emma leaned onto the counter, now paying proper attention for the first time since she got here. "Circe, slow down and speak clearly." It was hard enough keeping up with him without the bubbling enthusiasm and this was actually something she wanted to hear. By the time he finally did get done there was an unmistakable smirk on her lips. "Peverell, for once I have to admit, it's genius." She would let him have it; this didn't happen often in the middle of his outlandish schemes.

... WHUT. "I am genius all the time." He corrected her with a couple of crazy eyes. "But yeah, this is my most genius work. And get this..." He leaned in to whisper to her. "... we can go viral with this. The entire alley would be our field." He wasn't necessarily looking forward to this, he just wanted to punish the Daily Prophet. And make it tell the people about the genius wizards in Knockturn Alley. That was all, really.

"So! Let's get going." He looked up at the watch on the wall, "Midnight time. If we don't find the boss in his office, we'll find someone who knows his home." Beaming, Peverell stretched his arms over his head, the vial of potion still clutched in his hand. It was HIS vial, HIS. "Maybe I should bring my pet, just for funsies." He mused loudly, in his usual daydreaming high-pitched voice.

Consider that statement completely disregarded. Emma wouldn't call the man a genius even on his best day. This was an exception only by virtue of the fact it was also what she wanted so the woman simply rolled her eyes and waited impatiently for him to continue with the plan he'd been explaining just moments ago.

How easily he seemed to get distracted.

She was all ready to leave by the time he finally got done...then he went and mentioned that creature he called a pet--and it let him. "That won't be necessary, not when we need stealth on our side and don't want the man dead...yet." The pet could come as an end job, but that before. Too much to clean up and re-work then.

Peverell had a meeting today, Emma told him. Since he was one in favour of socialising properly, he got in a clean suit the colour of steel grey and shoes as dark as his eyes. The shop that usually held this sort of meetings was The Gleaming Gytrash were very few wizards and witches strolled in. It was the perfect place for occasional business deals, ones that were best kept on the down low but weren't so risky in case they got out.

Peverell sat himself on the chair behind the counter and raised both his feet up on the table crossing them at the ankles. He had a dark red apple in his hand and he munched on it as he waited for the young man that needed a job here. Who knew, this could actually result in a very useful and loyal apprentice. Or fun death.

This wasn't exactly the pub he had been told to check by the woman, but the whispers there had sent him along this way. Well, they had more been like strong voices. Few people whispered in Knotcurn. It was nice. A nice change.

Letting the door click shut behind him, Mathis stood just within the threshold of the shop, his eyes roaming with open curiosity over the cubbies and holes and items that dotted the shop. Each shadow was an intriguing pull, and his feet followed, taking him one slow step at a time further and further inside.

He saw the man, saw him from his head to toes and back again. He took a moment, between searching the shelves, to consider him and the weave of his suit, the shine of his shoes. Much different than many of those who wandered Knocturn. Much different than himself. But he didn't feel any embarrassment or lacking in his own disheveled appearance. There was an honest man, and here was an honest man. They both were what they were, and plainly worn.

Hands tucked in his pockets, Mathis stopped at the table on the other side from the clean shoes, his eyes gradually tracing their way back to fearlessly meet the dark eyes that watched him. "I'm looking for a man who understands the meaning of 'usefulness'."

Peverell cared none about the noise his munch on this apple caused. It filled the silence--perceived by others as uncomfortable perhaps but not him-- when a disheveled young man stepped into the store and took his time before he approached him. He was a good looking man. Peverell preferred them to be nice to look at, it worked best for the business and for entertainment. He could do better with what he was wearing, but then again maybe this was the reason he needed a job. Pevie had no idea he was going to have to pay him in Galleons, many people worked for him in exchange of services or other invaluable prices. This one could do with a few extra galleons spent on attire.

"That would be me." He replied in his dreamy voice tone that would suggest he wasn't entirely focused on the now and then but rather on a far away vision, which couldn't be further from the truth. "I can change less to ful, too, if need be." He smiled widely and took a crunch off his apple, savoring the sweet bitter juice in his mouth. "A bite?" He raised the apple to the man, offering.

He hadn't expected anything, and so he was neither surprised nor disappointed at the confirmation. Simply glad that his search was ended. This was the man he had been looking for. The man that knew how to make things, and people, useful. Peverell.

Of course, anyone with a brain on the street on the street could accomplish such a thing, but this man looked like he had a good deal more going for him than that. A few brains perhaps.

The gleam in Peverell's eyes spoke as much, and didn't leave Mathis wanting. His gaze, quiet and considering, stayed locked with the man's as he reached out and accepted the offered apple. "I was told you could arrange a bargain. One sided. No strings attached. Work, for no pay."

He took a bite of the fruit, chewing slowly.

The man took the half-eaten apple. Peverell was impressed that this man was willing to show trust on their first meeting, heck on their first few minutes together. It showed that he was serious about this one-sided bargain thing. He wasn't a mole. He wasn't trying to set him up or get him in trouble.

Good thing the apple wasn't poisonous. Whew.

"You are in luck, then, because I am the master of bargains around here." He put his feet down to the dusty floor and leaned forwards on his elbows, the table serving as his support. "You may take a seat before we start talking." He gestured to one of the far old chairs in the shop, and expected the young man to drag it over to the table where they could pretend they were having a small business conference. "Tell me, lad. What kind of young man, such as yourself, would request a one-sided bargain, no pay, though he could use a few extra galleons on attire?" Peverell gave the younger man a brief look of disgust.

In short, why? Who is he?

That wasn't a no. Mathis had been so used to hearing the word that it's counterpart was foregin to his ears. Especially coming from this man, the 'master of bargains'. The faintest of faint smiles twitched briefly on his lips. It wasn't a no. It sounded like a yes.

Taking another bite of the apple, he handed it back over before casting about for a chair. Upon finding one tucked haphazardly in a corner, Mathis made his way over, his eyes back to their roaming, pulling him along step by step. Had he had the time, or got something closer to a 'no', he would have taken a few minutes to explore the shop and its mysteries. As it was, all he could was examine, pick up the chair and let his eyes pull him back along the shelves and cubbies, back to the table.

Once there, his gaze took to tracing the grain of the wood on the table, the scuffs and callouses of hard use, as he set the chair across from the finely dressed man. After a brief moment, he took a seat. He neither perched nor reclined, simply sat and let his gaze drift back from the table, along the fine weaves of the man's suit, his tie, the contrasting smoothness of skin and back to the dark eyes.

He blinked once. His attire? It was simple really.

"I know my place. Money, means little to me."

Consciously, his hands went to the sides of his coat, fingers rubbing at the hem near the buttons. A soft smile took to his lips as his eyes slipped down to the weave of the coat, to a worn spot that had faded from consistent rubbing. His eyes, however, didn't smile. They took on the light of disgust, similar to Peverell's but distinctly different. An angered disgust, distantly directed.

His thumb took to rubbing that same spot. Around and around and around. Scrubbing, back and forth and back and forth. "Why...."

The rubbing stopped abruptly, and his eyes came up, locking onto the waiting man's. The tone of his voice changed too, as if the question he had been about to ask, had suddenly been redirected. "...did the chicken cross the road?"

He knew his place? Peverell took the apple back and instantly took another big bite off it. Now it was a binding deal between himself and the young man, in Peverell's head anyway, no magic involved yet. "It is foolish to think that money means little, some would say." He spoke casually, all intensity lacking from his eyes or voice tone though it was easy to detect an underlying meaning to all his words. "I disagree." He smiled at the man with a malice look to his eyes, not necessarily directed at the man sitting opposite of him, but it was there anyway. "I like my... employees to be free of the toxicating relation with gold." You could easily lose the loyalty of someone if gold was all they cared about, there was always someone who could pay better and Peverell wasn't going to make the mistake of entrusting someone who was after gold payment.

Then the man asked a very.. shifty question. A joke. Peverell had heard it before, back when he was very young, he thought it was a joke at the time but now it meant something different. It was an indication of something, if you were sharp enough to grasp it. He stared at the man's face for a long moment, his eyes slightly squinting at the corners. "Who have you been working for before?" Because this man was experienced in these surroundings. Peverell met very few of those, the regular customers of his shops preferred to do business outside, hiding like rats and didn't want to be seen openly around the Alley. This one was different. He was familiar with how things go in here, Peverell set his half-finished apple aside and folded both his hands over his stomach waiting for the man's answer.

They had flipped to the same page. And while the story may have been different, the words they read between the lines were the same. Mathis met the man's intense gaze with one of simplistic honesty. There was nothing to shy away from. Nothing to hide. "I have no such intoxications."

Otherwise, why would he barter work for nothing? Really, there was richness in things other than gold. This man understood that. This man understood usefulness and more importantly, worth.

As Peverell had said some would consider the discard of worth dangerous, so the same would say that ignoring a question asked by such a man was treading on thin ice. But they didn't know how it worked. They thought it a game, when it was all so much simpler than that. A conversation. For the enlightened. He didn't blink, didn't twitch, his thumb stilled and his breathing even. His gaze was open, unchallenging. "It did so, because it saw the lie and the illusions of the hen house."

Finally, his gaze shifted, hovering over the half-eaten apple. "Once out, it doesn't tend to go back, but it does end up in barns and shacks and other traps...trying to find the field."

Quote:

Originally Posted by Tazenhani

They had flipped to the same page. And while the story may have been different, the words they read between the lines were the same. Mathis met the man's intense gaze with one of simplistic honesty. There was nothing to shy away from. Nothing to hide. "I have no such intoxications."

Otherwise, why would he barter work for nothing? Really, there was richness in things other than gold. This man understood that. This man understood usefulness and more importantly, worth.

As Peverell had said some would consider the discard of worth dangerous, so the same would say that ignoring a question asked by such a man was treading on thin ice. But they didn't know how it worked. They thought it a game, when it was all so much simpler than that. A conversation. For the enlightened. He didn't blink, didn't twitch, his thumb stilled and his breathing even. His gaze was open, unchallenging. "It did so, because it saw the lie and the illusions of the hen house."

Finally, his gaze shifted, hovering over the half-eaten apple. "Once out, it doesn't tend to go back, but it does end up in barns and shacks and other traps...trying to find the field."

Peverell kept his hands folded on his stomach as the man insisted he had no such intoxications. His gaze was open and seemed honest, the kind of honesty that Peverell regarded as foolish in people but this man was not of that kind of people. This man wanted in in the business, his honesty was required to gain a certain level trust that would allow Peverell to assign him with a task.

They were back to answering the chicken question. If the man was talking about himself, then he must've been looking for a place to fit in, somewhere he could find any sort of satisfaction and productivity. That was what the answer implied, Peverell found this play of words fun. More fun than the normal business communication, usually assisted with hexes and curses. This was more fun. The young man was growing on him already, although his attire... yuck.

A mosquito flew in from the window and landed on the half-eaten apple. Peverell didn't see it, his gaze stayed on the man's face, daring it to change or lose that open look. "Our field..." He spoke, finally. "... isn't for chicken." And by that, he meant cowards. "Snakes are on demand around here. You don't look like the former one. Tell me what sort of tasks you've done before." Without background insight and personal details, the man will not find assistance from Peverell.

The Dark Wizard's hand caught the apple and he raised it closer to his face, his eyes catching the mosquito standing on it. He smirked nastily at it, and opened his mouth to take a bite, the small bug flying away the last second.

Even as small as it was, Mathis's eyes darted to every part of the misquito. The body. The legs. The wings. The hind end. Even the mouth as it probed for a bite. Apples were like flesh. The distinction between the two was but a hairline.

"No..." The word came out of Mathis' slowly, his eyes returning to Peverell's with a different look. One of complete relaxation, and muted satisfaction. "But it is a field."

Of course he wasn't a chicken, not by the common day interpretation of the word, anyways. No, his meaning was different, broader and less defined. But he didn't care to clarify. The man didn't need it. The man could read people, like the words between lines. But of course he needed more, only so much could be gleaned from words and expressions alone.

Lifting one hand, Mathis touched his forefinger lightly to his temple, his expression once again open and his eyes unguarded. "You can look, if you like."

Words could only say so much.

Peverell showed no interest in the mosquito that disappeared now. He didn't even mind that it was sitting on his piece of fruit before he started munching on its other half-- the apple, not the bug. Instead, he was more interested in this young man and the way he talked. It was odd, definitely confusing for the general public.

He was perfect for a little something in Peverell's head.

Then he pointed at his head and invited the most chaotic, inexplicable Wizard in this alley. Possibly in the whole Diagon Alley. So, naturally, said man didn't need another invitation. He put down his apple, his wand fell from his sleeve to his hand and there was only a second of glinting-sharp-tooth smirk before he was inside the man's head.

Memories, scattered thoughts, faces, names, places, all seemed trivial and unimportant and Peverell stayed inside looking and expanding, going to that deep, deep place where people usually hide their darkest secrets. It was hard, he could feel beads of sweat gathering on his face but he didn't let go until there was a death scene-- no, a killing scene in the young man's head. That was when Peverell let go, feeling a little out of breath and worked up as he looked at Mathis' face.

He could outline the story of this young man. There were facts and names he had to check, but in general, this man was a yes-go. "Welcome to Knockturn Alley." He said with a twitch of another smirk, the mosquito was back on the apple. "We need... talents like the ones you have." Maybe he'd let him smuggle a couple of this and that into the alley, the younger people were too reckless and annoying for anything other than circus shows. "You can consider yourself a... task carrier. We usually have those undergo a series of tasks before we let them in for good." He leaned back again, his clean shoes coming back up on the table. "Failure is punished by yours truly." Usually something hilarious, in Peverell's eyes, despite Emma's potential protests of how unprofessional those were.

There was no fear when the other man accepted with such a strange smile. Of course he had accepted. Of course he would accept. Mathis had expected nothing less.

And so, he sat there, placid and accepting. No walls, no barriers, no blocks or false corridors. He followed the wizard through his mind, with much more ease than the man. He'd been to each place so many times, seen the memories so many times. It was almost as if he was watching someone else's life with the wizard. It wasn't uncomfortable, it wasn't unwelcome, it wasn't painful. It just was.

Even when he dug so deep that the lines had blurred a little and the color fallen from the scenes like sun-bleached paintings, it still just was. Even that memory, just was. But there was a change in him. A hitch to a faster breathing. A movement of his eyes behind his eyelids. A distant noise buried within him so deep he had forget it had been there.

And then it was over. And the Graytash was back. The suited man and his shoes were back. The apple and the bug, were back. Mathis' opened his eyes slowly to the world around him, and for the first time there was threat in his eyes. There was the light of death, and killing. For the first time, it was directed at this man. Not that he expected or wanted to kill him, but he could. In that moment of return, he could have killed anyone.

And he smiled. The gate to the field had been opened. He could almost feel the grass beneath his feet once again. His eyes drifted to the apple and the mosquito as he nodded in understanding. Work for free. Free work. It didn't matter.

Reaching over slowly, Mathis hovered his hand near the apple before moving it forward. The bug must have had a good bite, for it didn't fly away instantly, resigning itself to being squished under Mathis's thumb. He lifted his finger just briefly to see it's flattened state, before picking up the apple and biting off the piece. He chewed slowly for a moment before handing it back to Peverell. "I expected, nothing less."

Peverell didn't expect the man to take his apple and kill the mosquito then chew the piece where it had resided off. It was all a surprise to him but he didn't show it. Instead he observed the change of facial expressions on Mathis' face, from murder-y to content. Re-living those memories obviously triggered something in the young man, something he actively suppressed and had to compose himself consciously to not slip further under its influence.

Peverell liked this young man. He could see so much potential in him. Emma had to know all this.

Taking back the apple, Peverell's mouth quirked up in a small smirk. "Marvellous." They had a deal then. "I need to talk to my partner, the woman you met before. She handles formal papers and puts up a neat front to everything in here." As for him, well he was an entertainer and the decision-maker. Although he rarely made a decision that Emma didn't agree to priorly. "Come to The Coffin House two days from now, and we'll have your first task by then."

The light of understand flickered in Mathis's eyes. So that's who she was. Why she knew so much. Why she commanded so much. So he would see her again. And then perhaps....

Chewing his piece of apple slowly, Mathis stood with a single nod. Two days. He could wait two days. Waiting was something he was used to. It wasn't his forte, but he could do it. Maybe a drink or two to pass the time. A wander. Another fly trap. And it would be two days done.

Without a single word, he turned and left the shop. His eyes back to pulling him along the counters, the scraps on the floor, the items on the shelf. All the while, he was fully aware of the man watching his back, and the lingering sensation of the man in his head as they whispered alongside woken memories.

He had not been mistaken in coming here.

So the woman had gotten bored, or had given up on trying to seduce, poison, or maim him and Dmitry was able to enter the store alone and get on with his business. Good. He just wanted to conduct this transaction and leave as soon as possible. As it was, he figured that daft apprentice of his was mutilating a perfectly good piece of wood and making a mess in his store – that was, if he hadn’t burned it down.

Yes, Dmitry had trust issues. He still wasn’t sure why he had agreed to take on an apprentice, but an apprentice he had.

He looked around the shop trying to decipher its organization. What he really needed was more werewolf parts, but other unusual items of a similar nature would be helpful as well. Erumpents and Graphorns horns and Gytrash and Re'em, well anything was hard to find. Maybe he’d get lucky.

He began poking around being sure not to stick his fingers, wand, or nose too close to anything.

Whatever thought process led Mckenna to decide that this was her first stop of the day was beyond her, but she was inside the shop and was following through on that decision. Standing in the shop for the first time, the twenty-year-old found herself missing Diagon Alley, with its warm friendly atmosphere and actual access to sunlight. She went there many times in her life, met with friends, gotten supplies for school. However, now she was an adult and in the process of doing errands for her father. Apparently he needed things specifically in Knockturn Alley. Apparently he decided she was the best candidate to go fetch these things. She herself almost offered to send her mother before Mckenna realized what a good opportunity it could be. It was time she made her way down to Knockturn Alley. Familiarize. Learn. Buy. All of the things he said that her mother did when she was her age.

It was a grown up job, he said. You were the closest person 'best candidate', he said.

Best person for the job or not, it was time to get to work. Mckenna let her dark brown eyes scan over the place, trying to map the layout of the place. It would make things quicker and easier, and she wouldn't have to worry about running into someone she didn't want to.

...........................

It seemed pretty straightforward, at least from what she could figure out. At least that was helpful. Mckenna wouldn't be wandering around like a child until she found everything. She still might have to wander in order to find things, it was her first time in the shop, but she wasn't going to end up walking around for half an hour looking for some of the stuff.

Speaking of the ingredients, some of the stuff on this list was just plain weird. She had pulled the list of supplies her father needed out of the pocket of her maroon colored dress, reading it carefully so as not to get the wrong thing. Brass scales? Normal. Corked potion bottles? Normal. Werewolf fur and banshee hair? A little less normal.

For a few seconds the thought of her asking why her father wanted her to fetch these things crossed her mind. It had dissipated just as quickly, however, when better judgement replaced it, and she began to move around the shop. If her father wanted her to know what he was doing, he would have told her. Not given her a list and told her to be back by supper. She was old enough now to know not to ask these questions. She was also smart enough now to know that she might not want to know the answers to these questions. And so she moved on blindly.

While walking, Mckenna made sure not to get to close to any of the shelves or cubbyholes unless she was sure it was something she needed. Her father and mother told her enough old wives tales about people coming into this shop and not getting out, and while she wasn't sure that she ever believed them, it was still good to be cautionary. This shop was slightly scary, no matter what she told herself, and she was not about to risk it just to prove her mom wrong. That was such a dumb teen move. Mckenna was too old for that stuff now.

Moving her curly brown hair so it laid over her right shoulder, she continued walking, deciding now to completely focus on the task at hand. She had to be home for supper tonight, and wandering around a shop lost in thought was a good way to miss curfew. Yes, even twenty-year-old's had curfew's sometimes.

SPOILER!!: Mckenna

Quote:

Originally Posted by lipstickstains

Whatever thought process led Mckenna to decide that this was her first stop of the day was beyond her, but she was inside the shop and was following through on that decision. Standing in the shop for the first time, the twenty-year-old found herself missing Diagon Alley, with its warm friendly atmosphere and actual access to sunlight. She went there many times in her life, met with friends, gotten supplies for school. However, now she was an adult and in the process of doing errands for her father. Apparently he needed things specifically in Knockturn Alley. Apparently he decided she was the best candidate to go fetch these things. She herself almost offered to send her mother before Mckenna realized what a good opportunity it could be. It was time she made her way down to Knockturn Alley. Familiarize. Learn. Buy. All of the things he said that her mother did when she was her age.

It was a grown up job, he said. You were the closest person 'best candidate', he said.

Best person for the job or not, it was time to get to work. Mckenna let her dark brown eyes scan over the place, trying to map the layout of the place. It would make things quicker and easier, and she wouldn't have to worry about running into someone she didn't want to.

...........................

It seemed pretty straightforward, at least from what she could figure out. At least that was helpful. Mckenna wouldn't be wandering around like a child until she found everything. She still might have to wander in order to find things, it was her first time in the shop, but she wasn't going to end up walking around for half an hour looking for some of the stuff.

Speaking of the ingredients, some of the stuff on this list was just plain weird. She had pulled the list of supplies her father needed out of the pocket of her maroon colored dress, reading it carefully so as not to get the wrong thing. Brass scales? Normal. Corked potion bottles? Normal. Werewolf fur and banshee hair? A little less normal.

For a few seconds the thought of her asking why her father wanted her to fetch these things crossed her mind. It had dissipated just as quickly, however, when better judgement replaced it, and she began to move around the shop. If her father wanted her to know what he was doing, he would have told her. Not given her a list and told her to be back by supper. She was old enough now to know not to ask these questions. She was also smart enough now to know that she might not want to know the answers to these questions. And so she moved on blindly.

While walking, Mckenna made sure not to get to close to any of the shelves or cubbyholes unless she was sure it was something she needed. Her father and mother told her enough old wives tales about people coming into this shop and not getting out, and while she wasn't sure that she ever believed them, it was still good to be cautionary. This shop was slightly scary, no matter what she told herself, and she was not about to risk it just to prove her mom wrong. That was such a dumb teen move. Mckenna was too old for that stuff now.

Moving her curly brown hair so it laid over her right shoulder, she continued walking, deciding now to completely focus on the task at hand. She had to be home for supper tonight, and wandering around a shop lost in thought was a good way to miss curfew. Yes, even twenty-year-old's had curfew's sometimes.

Persephala, in all her ever-loving glory, looks beautiful as she made her weekly trip to Knockturn. She was a regular. No longer was she stopped here unless she lingered a minute too long or gave someone too long a look. Occasionally, since her father was now in Azkaban, she would do his work for him.

But that was secret. And neither...nor there. And she wasn't here to do his work today.

Dressed in black but with a BRILLIANTLY ruby red silken cloak billowing behind her, she looked quite cold, but magic had a way of keeping her warm. She dipped into Gytrash for her usuals she saw the young thing traipsing along, looking not lost, but surely a bit out of place. A sinister smile crept onto her face as she slid by, brushing her arm against the girl's side 'accidentally.'

"My my, you look more out of place than a sheep in a wolf's den, my dear...." she said slowly, her crystal eyes dancing in the low light in the shop. "Surely, you're lost. What's a little lamb like you doing down here...." Persy cooed, her voice like a dove, for now. The nearly 33-year-old held herself quite differently than this youngling. Even well-dressed, classy women had their secrets.