Author's Disclaimer: I do not own or derive financial profit from any of J. K. Rowling's characters, nor do I profess any sort of expertise in the Harry Potter universe (or otherwise, for that matter). Rated on the side of caution for questionable language, probable gore and implied or described scenarios. Contains spoilers from The Order Of The Phoenix. For hints and such, consult Greek mythology.
Ever the actress, she had dressed the part, borrowing a well-beaten set of charcoal-black robes and a dilapidated old hat that flopped into her eyes with every determined step. She clutched her wand in her left hand and weaved through the seedy creatures that populated Knockturn Alley, pointedly avoiding eye contact with the street vendors who thrust wide trays of self-enlarging bamboo shoots for use beneath human fingernails and candles that dripped blood instead of wax and small figurines that would lure passerby into a staring duel before shooting bright light at them to induce temporary blindness. She could think of more than a few who truly deserved the gift of a few such callous trinkets, but absolutely nothing could derail Hermione Granger from a mission.
She clipped past Borgin & Burkes, a quick black flash of robes and shadows, and swung left before slowing her pace. The figures around her continued to whirl, a seemingly endless collection of creatures able to animate exclusively in the absence of sun. Between dark, towering shops intent on intimidation, the blackness of alleys seemed to smirk at her, daring her to continue. Dark eyes blinked without eyewhites. Abandoned hopes and forgotten opportunities lurked in the emptiness, a travesty of the twinkling ambition that seemed to sweep like the wind through nearby Diagon Alley. But even the greatest and most beneficial of plans must have their crusty husks removed before use. They have to coalesce somewhere.
Something with feathers or fur brushed against her heel. Hermione lengthened her steps.
At last, on the end, there. Wedged between an exceedingly tall and mysteriously vacant building whose roof, from Hermione's point of view, stuck a stubborn corner into her view of the moon, and a considerably smaller, sinister-looking gray house of sorts, The Mino Taur, which advertised high-tech searching and tracking devices in dusty windows and seemed to emit a sinister pink glow. An Ornumary Pub. The beaten old curtains that dangled in the windows seemed to shift and quiver, offering glimpses of hunched figures and red lights. Hermione dodged a tall dark-haired stranger repeating a phrase with many a's and v's that prompted her to involuntarily shiver. She paused at the doorway before grasping the suspiciously red-flecked horn of a doorknob and slipping inside.