Alex made her way to the mouth of a side alley, checked that no one was looking, produced an ornate looking green and black mask, attached it firmly to her face, and started down the dark and forbidding shop fronts of Knockturn Alley. Her gaze trailed down the shop fronts as she walked, one by one, each one like a little mystery to be solved.
One shop window held nothing but a single black, velvet pillow on which rested a single, bone-like wand that looked disturbingly like certain illustrations she'd read—with horrified fascination—in certain ritual books of wizard-only spells. Fighting down a blush, she tried to get the images out of her head and concluded that the shop was probably for wand modifications.
The next shop window held the top half of a stuffed, fully-grown troll holding a battle-axe. A glance inside revealed many other stationary and vaguely humanoid shapes, the horrifying highlight of which, had to be the row of house elf heads on plaques behind the un-attended shop counter. The shop sign proclaimed itself as 'The Helping Hand'.
Alex shook her head, continued down the alley, and detoured around a pair of twenty-something witches loitering outside the next shop front, smoking muggle cigarettes and looking bored. The shop window itself was blacked out and didn't seem to be much of anything. The shop sign featured only what looked to be a nailed-up, dead, dried, and flattened snake skin. She couldn't for the life of her think what might go on in there.
Finally, Alex found herself outside a shop front that held a collection of half skull dribbly candle holders. Now, this looked like what she was looking for. She pushed the door open, causing a little bell to tinkle, and stepped into the far darker room beyond, filled with crates and barrels and open boxes containing what looked to be half a magical zoo.
"Mornin' Madam." A stout little man wearing a black robe with a pointy collar and a goatee emerged from a back door and gave her the once over. "What can I do for you?" Madam.
Alex mentally smirked, produced a parchment from her robe pocket, and handed it over to the man. "I am looking"—whoa—"for everything on this list." That was how she'd sound when she grew up?
The wizard took the list with a curious look at her masked face and inspected the parchment. He rubbed his goatee and grunted. "Well, this shouldn't be too difficult. We've most of this in stock. I'll need to talk to Steve a few shops down about the chicken blood though." He gave her a sideways look. "Yeh can wait a few minutes, right love?"
Love. Ack. "Yeah—Yes! I mean, that is not a problem."
The wizard gave her a strange look and left the way he came.
Alex mentally smacked herself. Get a grip! It wasn't as though this was anything that different to what she was used to — just grown-ups treating her as an equal instead of as a walking glass statue with the IQ of a kneazle and the self preservation of a disobedient house elf.
Not long later, the wizard returned. She paid for the goods and left the shop, carrying everything in several large bags, and wishing she had one of those cool shrinking trunks.
Alexandra spent the rest of the day walking around the alley, checking out all those little nooks and shops that had barred her as an almost ten year old, and asking all those questions she was sure would've been frowned on before. In particular, she learned that even with her rather generous allowance, she'd never be able to afford a shrinking trunk any time soon, and, rather embarrassingly, Gringotts were not in any way fooled by her ageing potion.
Eventually, she made her way back to the bathroom she'd started her day in, glad to take the ageing potion antidote, and looking forward to getting home to change into something a bit less constricting. Her chest was really quite sore now. How in Morgana's name did grown-up witches go around with these things rubbing against their robes all day?
Alex left the bathroom and headed for the floo.
…Oh, and she still couldn't get those damn wizard-only rituals out of her head. It was one week later.
Her father had left for the day and Alex was sure he wouldn't be back for quite a while.
In other words, it was time to get down to business.
She barricaded herself in one of the many empty rooms of the house, furtively unloaded her many doodads onto the room's only table, and placed the book that contained the inferi ritual next to them, open to the mildly burnt ritual description page.
Take a pint of chicken blood or as much as needed for the size of the subject to be raised — the larger be the subject, the larger will need be the deathly hallow.
She pointed to the large jar of red liquid she'd bought earlier in the week. Check. Take the dowel and place it at the tip of the deathly hallow, that it be pointing parallel and on the line of the symbol of death.
She pointed to the simple wooden rod on the table. Check.
Next, be the stone, to be placed on the leftmost side of the hallow, at the bottom most point.
She pointed to the pebble that she'd found in the garden and washed earlier this morning. Check.
And finally, you must place a cloak at the one remaining triangle tip, taking all efforts to ensure that it be not contaminated with residue magics from charms, enchantments, or runes, lest the ritual fail and the results be really very bad. Alex tapped the buckle of the cloak around her neck. It was the only item of clothing she had that she knew contained no magic and as such, was the only piece of clothing she now wore. She'd even taken off the black butterfly hair ornament that Susan had given her for her birthday. She suspected that her socks might not be charmed or enchanted with anything, which would be nice as the floor wasn't exactly warm, but she wasn't about to take that sort of risk.
She glanced down at the book again. The next paragraph was kinda burnt, but she was certain it was a warning not to interfere with external magic until the ritual was complete — Something she'd already read many times before. She continued on.
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