Destiny

Chapter 3: Shooting stars

(Author's note: I apologise for the late update! The last months weren't easy for me and my bad mental health didn't help much in the matter. But today I'm happy to provide you an update to this story, which I hold very dear to my heart, since so much of the plot is already "written" in my mind. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter.)

It feels like time stands still as Bellatrix Black continues to stare at you. Her gaze is scrutinising and you begin to nervously pick on your robe. This catches the dark witch's attention and her eyes trail further down your body, coming to a halt as she notices your muggle clothing clearly peeking out underneath your robe. Black's eyes shoot back up to yours, she narrows them, a look of distaste on her face.

She probably thinks I'm a muggleborn, well, I reckon being half-blood isn't much better in her eyes...

You gulp and rearrange your robe hastily, hiding almost all of your jeans. You didn't think anyone would notice, but it seems like nothing escapes those dark eyes.

Footsteps and the rustling of clothes become more prominent as Black's companions walk further into the antique shop, the room suddenly feeling very small. A fair-haired woman touches the dark witch's arm gently to get her attention, a whispered "Bella..." follows and Black finally tears her eyes away from you to look at her sister, Narcissa. Obviously another well known witch, not only coming from the noble House of Black, but a Malfoy by marriage, further cementing her role as one of the most important people in the, what you like to call it, high society of the wizarding world.

She calls her sister Bella... What a peculiar nickname for such a fierce witch, but strangely fitting.

Not having Black's eyes on you gives you a chance to take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves and take a look around the room. Not only the matriarch of the Malfoy family is present, but also her only son: Draco. You know him from Hogwarts, your only memory of him being that he was always an absolute brat. But being two years his senior, he rarely joined your class mates in bullying you. Right now however, you almost feel bad for him. He looks miserable. Clearly wanting to be anywhere else but here. His shoulders hanging down, his eyes fixing the floor while he shuffles closer to his mother and aunt, who seem to have an animated conversation, sharing hissed whispers.

On the other side of the dimly lit room you can see Mister Borgin trying to sell something to a severe looking witch and wizard, you've passed the wanted posters on your way to work too many times to not know their names by heart: Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Twins and also Death Eaters. By the looks of it Borgin is biting on granite with those two, you'd be surprised if he could sell them as much as a needle. You inwardly chuckle at his desperation to make a quick Galleon.

You notice Greyback last. The werewolf standing at the far back, right next to the door. He sneers at you, exposing fang like teeth. You experience a sense of dread and start to busy yourself with dusting off the display next to the counter, not wanting to look at him any moment longer.

"Madam Black! Madam Malfoy! And the young Mister Malfoy!", you hear Borgin's drawling voice from across the room, stepping closer once again to his favourite costumers, "I hope everything is in order? Just as you wished for...? As I said in my letters: The twin cabinet doesn't seem to work properly, but this one is in pristine condition! I made sure that-"

Narcissa Malfoy lifts her hand to stop his rambling. "My sister will decide on that." Her voice is cold, devoid of any emotion. Borgin looks back and forth between the sisters, a fearsome look etched into his smarmy face. Black doesn't spare him a glance, occupied by inspecting the cabinet further. Now that her dark eyes don't pierce into you, you chance a second look at her. The dark witch's brows are furrowed in concentration as she runs her hands over the cabinet. Her hands... Black painted nails, long slender fingers, accentuated by three silver rings: Two bulky ones, probably family crests, and one on her left thumb you can't quite make out from this distance. Almost lovingly she caresses the old wood, humming to herself, as to coax out all of its secrets. You didn't think it possible for the Dark Lord's lieutenant to be this gentle.