Dizzy, bruised, bloody and covered head to toe in soot, he delicately got to his feet. With his hands still clutching his nose, Harry looked around at his surroundings, he appeared to be in a dimly lit rundown little wizard's shop. A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of what looked like human bones lay upon the counter. Rusty and spiked instruments hung from the cling. Taking a risk Harry peeked out the dirty windows, the broken cobbled street was definitely not Diagon Alley. He had to be somewhere down Knockturn Alley. Despite being the son of The Dark Lord Voldemort, he had never been allowed to adventure down the infamous underbelly of the Wizarding World. With his face still throbbing in pain he made his way silently towards the front door, the sooner he found his family the better. But before he even got halfway across the floor, two figures stepped into the store.