Wormtail isn't quite sure how he got here. All he knows it that his Lord, Master, Dark Lord told him to apparate. To go to… well, that was funny now. He couldn't remember.
He shuddered. Now his master would be angry—Wormtail's screwed up, brought them to the middle of… Wormtail blinks.
Chinatown?
Yes, yes, it must be Chinatown. There are those squiggly glyphs, and all he sees is red and gold and dragons and he thinks they should leave right away now, because this is most certainly not where his master wants to be.
The bundle in Wormtail's arms stirs. A soft hiss issues forth.
"M-master," Wormtail begins, but is cut off when the lavish wooden doors of a shop creak open and a smell of burning incense wafts out, mingled with the smell of tea and the whispers of a thousand beasts.
A creature saunters out of the shop, soft-padded paws lighting over the pavement, white fangs gleaming beneath a grin. On its head, two horns curve from a mass of ginger fur. It sniffs the air disdainfully and stares at Wormtail, who, at the moment, has suddenly frozen, as if someone has petrified him
(no, not his Master, his Master is sleeping, thank God, his Master is sleeping, can't have)
and the creature is suddenly behind him, horns nudging at his legs, pushing Wormtail towards the shop, whose doors are now thrown open, and the shadows from its interior shine forth and he fancies he can hear singing and dancing and—
"Welcome," a soft lilting voice beckons from within the shop, "to Count D's Petshop."
Wormtail sees a woman—no, it's a man—dressed in a long, lavishly decorated robe, pale face framed with black hair, eyes that promise desire and dreams and darkness.
A wind stirs, and Wormtail feels as if the shop is pulling him in. His Master stirs again, uneasily. He takes a step into the shop, the ginger creature nudging him gently (but it doesn't want to nudge this worm gently, it wants to rip and tear into his entrails and-). His master hisses and Wormtail nearly trips (oh, what a disaster that would be), but catches himself and he finds himself inside the man's dim shop with filtered sepia light.
"Please, sit," beckons the man with one gold eye; Wormtail finds himself seated on a red couch, plush cushions framed by dark wood. The horned creature curls up at the end of the couch, yellow eyes watching.
The man stands before Wormtail's master.
"What do you desire," asks the man to Wormtail's master, "we sell dreams, hopes, and desires." His voice lilts and falls dead into Wormtail's ears, who wants to say something, what he desperately wants and before he can say anything his master whispers a hiss and the horned creature growls.
"Of course," says the man as he stands, "she was very patiently awaiting your arrival." He bows and parts a heavy black curtain Wormtail has not noticed before, speaking (no hissing and snarling, Parsletongue?). The creature at the edge of the couch stiffens and an enormous snake slides over the carpet, cutting through the perfumed air, stopping in front of Wormtail's petrified feet, before rising to come face to face with its Dark Lord and Master. She hisses softly and the bundle in Wormtail's arms shifts, the creature inside smiles and reaches a malformed limb to touch the snake's scaly face.
"Nagini," it whispers.
The man with the golden eye smiles.