The shop door opened and the bell chimed to announce a customer. Seated on the worn wooden seat, the elderly man looked up, his long grey beard and rheumatic eyes swinging toward the open door to greet the new customer with a broken-toothed smile. Rising to his rickety feet, the man moved toward the gentleman who had entered, his smile unfaltering and his hand reaching out in the old-fashioned customary shake.
"Good afternoon, sir," the elderly man said, his English broken by a Chinese accent that persisted even after sixty years in England. His hand, connected with the well-dressed gentleman's, suddenly became active, though it wasn't moving. The gentleman held it firm, watching as a tattoo Chinese dragon slithered out of the man's sleeve, snaking its way around his wrist, under into his palm and back out to seemingly sniff the gentleman's hand.
"What on—What is that?" The man pulled his hand away, unafraid, but startled.
"That is my devilish tattoo," the man said, smacking it gently. The gentleman watched as it disappeared back into the man's sleeve, astonished to see a moving tattoo that seemed almost alive. "It doesn't know when to keep itself hidden."
"That's apparent. Were I a muggle, that may have really frightened me." The gentleman smiled a conspiratorial smile and moved further into the shop, reaching up to adjust a figurine on a shelf, as if admiring it. "Do you know why I've come?"
"Why yes, sir. This meeting was ordained millennia before either of us existed. I have awaited this day for longer than you've had hair on your cock."
"So vulgar," the gentleman said, disdain practically taking a ruler to the ancestral hand which he had just shaken. "I do not appreciate being used as a puppet, however considering my current… situation… I have not been given a choice."
"You needn't explain, sir." The elderly gentleman smiled as pleasantly as if they were talking of a potential sale. "I would only ask of you one favour."
"Being that I am here to end your life, I feel I owe you at least the courtesy of listening. Please?"
"Please, take care of Musha?"
"And Musha would be?"
"My dragon. She died centuries ago, but I could not stand to be without her, and so I transferred her spirit into the image of her I had tattooed on myself and kept her with me. The devil was quick to complain, but I have always been a step ahead of him." The elderly man offered his hand again, and the dragon, Musha, peeked out from his sleeve.
"Agreed." The gentleman took the elder's hand and watched as the dragon came forth, sniffing him again, then slithered onto his own hand and up inside his sleeve. He was surprised there was no sensation, except that of a light feather being drawn across his skin. Amused, he raised his other hand, in which there was a wand, pointed it at the gentleman and, without even glancing at him, said, "Avada kedavra." The elderly man's former body collapsed to the floor, and his soul stood there, young and naked looking over it. As the gentleman unbuttoned his shirt sleeve to lift it and have another look at the dragon Musha, the spirit of the Chinese man solidified.
"You have done well, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you."
"Of course." He looked up, his silver-grey eyes burning with amusement, nodded, then went back to watching the dragon, petting it lightly.
Without another word, the man disapparated, leaving Draco alone with the corpse and the dragon tattoo. Draco walked to the door, looked back, grabbed the figurine and pointed his wand at the corpse and said, "incendio."
He walked away as the shop went up in flames, starting with the body. Musha had moved up to wrap around his neck, perched protectively about his throat and staring at a world she hadn't seen in years. Flames licked her jaws with her excited heartbeat, and Draco could actually feel its beat and the warmth of her flame as he made his way to the muggle underground for his next meeting.