Fire's illusion (Amadeus)

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The dingy shop held all of the belongings of Aurelia Adler. Potions of a variety of colours lined the mahogany shelves, with neat labels written beneath them. Aurelia was a stickler for order. The windows were grimy but the inside of the shop was spotless. The smallest amount of dust could ruin a potion, especially the more fickle ones. The potions only lined the shelves, leaving an open space on the floor. On the far wall, was a small counter with a potion bubbling away slowly. The flames licked the bottom of the cauldron lethargically. The instructions were to let the potion simmer at long heat for a fortnight before adding the final ingredients. It was a rather pleasant smelling potion. It filled the shop with hues of lavender and the scent of rain. Oh, but it was a deadly potion. One that gave a kind death. The drinker fell into a deep sleep, and often never awoke. Behind the counter was a lopsided door that led to Aurelia's small room and a quick escape out of the shop.  On the bottom selves were a number of ingredients stacked in baskets and glass jars. She had a vast majority of rather rare items that were acquired in rather questionable ways. The shop owner stood at one of the shelves, a roll of parchment in her hands. A frown had creased her brow as her eyes ran on the small scrawl that matched the labels beneath the items on the selves.  "Aconite, Acromantula venom, Agrippa, Aqua Vitæ, Asian Dragon Hair," she muttered, running her finger across the list, checking the shelf and marking whether or not she had enough in stock. Her eagle quill scratched deftly across the parchment. She paused at dragon's blood, noting that the jars were low. She frowned. Her source was meant to arrive soon with her stock.  "Need dragon blood," she murmured, making a note on her list.

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Outside on the streets of Knockturn Alley the nightlife stirred and stretched it’s weary feline limbs, gently traipsing on fresh fallen snow that blanketed even the most benthic of shadows in it’s unadulterated alabaster. Still, shy snowflakes fell from the welkin sea of stars, laying claim to the filth that was Knockturn Alley, much to its inhabitants dismay. You see, the snow prevented the usual somber veneer that seemed to so advantageously lend itself in the cramped drab passageway of indistinct dealings. There was no cloak to shield from the delinquency that ran rampant along it’s width so wayfarer and loiterer alike ducked and dodged between doorstep to awning to avoid those with a more fastidious eye.

And then there was the young man clad in cornflower blue who strolled down the cramped lane with what can only be described as a distinctive flavor of dignified arrogance, arms folded indifferently behind his upright frame. He tread lightly, almost silently, save for the light ‘crunch’ of fresh snow beneath his chestnut leather wing tipped brogues. Every so often he would crane his head downwards as to avoid the occasional low-hanging rafter or shop sign- because he was a rather lanky fellow indeed. Sometimes, a curious head would peek out beneath the heavy hoods of dark mantles, but more seemed to avoid these snooping gestures, keeping their heads down low like a pup scorned. He wore no cloak despite the frigid weather and his breath retained no inkling of condensation. Suddenly he halted, one thing or another catching his frightfully dark eyes. He was still and pale, much like the fallen snow.

What had caught his eye had been the murky window of Adler’s Potions shop, indistinct in location and flair but it hadn’t been the shop itself that had caught Amadeus’s eye. Rather, he found it’s low-key appearance to be rather bleak and not at all appeasing to his well-mannered tastes. It was the contents within that had triggered his sudden regard- but oh, was he still so red-blooded as to let the sight of a pretty girl stop him in his tracks? Apparently the answer was yes, because there he stood gawking crudely like he hadn’t any couth. Perhaps the girl herself was not, in actuality, all that significant, but rather her plight of a gleaming ruby sat within a pile of rubble. However, next to diamonds, even rubies looked dull.

With the nimble flick of his wand he cast a simple magic perception spell and was surprised to find beyond the most basic of protection charms the shop was largely vulnerable, only to further rouse his curiosity. Resolute, he pushed through the oak door, sounding the long drawn out ‘creek’ of an approaching customer.

Amadeus was happily surprised with the interior, spotless, much like his own home, and neatly assembled. It was by several shelves beside the window did he see the woman that had stirred his sentiments and, upon closer inspection, his inquiry was still unquenched. Her face was open and fresh with wide eyes surrounded by cyclone swathes of espresso colored curls that draped down into her rather low neckline, or at least low by his traditionalist standards.

‘Need dragons blood,’ he heard her utter, and with a look of feigned chagrin, he spoke.

”Well, that’s a shame, because that was my singular excuse to come into this charming little shop to talk to the rather pretty shop owner. What a wretched thing to do. Whatever will I do now?" 

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The obsidian sky stretched out, darkening the windows of the shop. Candles wearily licked the darkness, sending ripples of light down its expanse. The alley seemed to awaken outside. The people slunk about their business, hooded and hidden to the moral world. Sometimes even the most prestigious of characters slunk to the depths of Knockturn Alley to do the seediest of business. Oh, everyone had two sides. Often, people showed that which is light and moral to the world and hid the darkest desires in the depth of their character. The world was full of fools and charlatans. Aurelia’s character held two sides. She was not different from the rest of the multitudes. To the world she revealed only enough for her own gains, whatever they may be. She did not try show a picture of light. The picture she revealed to the world was saturated in sordid business. Her actions often reflected the darkness of the world. She wore beauty and power as her external façade. The world she kept hidden from others was divinely woven of good and evil. Aurelia blurred the moral line between the two. Aurelia was chaos and like chaos, she could not be controlled. She belonged to no one and everyone. There were no guarantees of what would occur in interactions with the young witch. The winter that stretched outside had curled its fingers around her life.  The bell of her shop indicated the entrance of another into her shop. Her dark eyes quickly darted towards the stranger, an instinctive smile of politeness stretching across her lips. The smile rarely reached her eyes. Her lips parted in surprise. She cast her eyes up his lanky form, resting on his translucent pale skin and finally her gaze locked on his obsidian eyes. She slowly pressed her lips together, weary of displaying such open emotion. She had met a vampire before. Well, she had engaged intimately with one before. A slight smirk replaced the surprise upon her face. She knew that if she placed her lips against his, they would be cold and firm beneath hers. Disappoint found her as his words left his lips. A wry smile replaced her smirk and she turned to examine the shelf again. “Oh, I was expecting so much more from you. Do cheap lines like that ever work?” she asked incredulously. She reach for the last small vile of dragon’s blood. Her small hand deftly wrapped around the glass. She shifted her body so that she faced him and she extended her hand out towards the figure. "Will this sate your needs?" she asked. Oh, Aurelia hope that the vampire would stay awhile. She would love to toy with him a little more. A salacious glimmer entered her eyes as she kept his gaze.

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“I do apologize. Next time I’ll flutter in on the wings of a bat, if it would better suit your most fastidious tastes, fair lady,” his voice comes out impish, an irrefutable sense of mockery behind his good-natured and humbled tone. “Or perhaps you would prefer a classic Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens… Muggle women are so much easier to impress,” he lets out a dejected sigh before letting a coltish smile rest upon his spectral lips. “Really, you would be surprised what a little bit of fang can do.”

Meanwhile he tread carefully on rickety floorboards which groaned and squeaked beneath his weight and stature, telling of a sinewy physique despite the pale lithe image set before the young shop owner. His gaze displaced itself from the shop owner and briefly scanned the shelves wares, pausing to pick up and examine the particularly dangerous and outlawed ingredients that were commonplace along the shops that lined much of Knockturn Alley. While making his way onward the cramped shops aisles, he stopped before the cauldron and peered curiously inside. While potions were not Amadeus’s strong point he did have an above basic knowledge, as he did with most things. Eighty-seven years allowed for quite a bit of lulling around and learning different, mostly useless, skill sets. However, when it came to this particular potion his familiarity was useless.

When the young woman spoke again Amadeus turned on his heels towards her, eyes falling shamelessly not on the vial in her hand but the inviting posture of a rather tempting misstep and the beat of an unmistakably supple vermillion heart, the flushed warmth of tender silky flesh. From the others perspective he must have looked quite menacing, if only for a moments time. Oh, if only! Amadeus questioned if even all of England could sate his gnawing hunger, broiling from years of careful self-governing. When was the last time he had fed properly? And fully? Shuddering, he regained his reticence. He was a Ministry official, not some animal, and he would continue to grasp onto whatever minuscule measurement of humanity left in his lifeless prison.

Removing a flask from his breast pocket he took a rather hearty swig of its contents before responding, “Regretfully, I require a bit more than what you have to offer, though I do sincerely appreciate the offer, Miss… oh. How rude. I haven’t introduced myself. Again, I apologize. I’m making a right fool of myself, aren’t I? The name is Amadeus Koenig,” he said, taking several tentative steps forward and extending his hand. His name was one that was often thrown about in the daily prophet, both quoted and occasionally misquoted. Sometimes good things, sometimes bad. As far as vampires went, he was a well-known advocate of mutual civility, or at least played the part of one.