UNLEASH | D.M (UNRAVEL BOOK 6)

[ 18 ]

The streets of Islington were quiet, peaceful even but sombre. Illuminated by the gloomy pathways were dimly lit flickering streetlamps. The wind that howled by was cold though satisfying against the skin as it gusted past, leaving a trail of industrial odour mixed with the fresh scent of the trees that swayed. There was little noise that passed by the neighbourhood, most of which was distant, far ahead in the main streets where traffic was livelier.

Shadows danced across the sidewalk, cast by occasional pedestrians who hurried by to get home. Muggles. Every now and then, the abrupt shuffling across the main gates of the residential estate would cause the mysterious group of hooded figures lurking in the shadows to look up. Their eyes pierce the humans, analyzing and remembering their faces. Every time a figure passes by the windows of the building, and whenever the curtains are pulled to the side, it prompts the four masks to draw their attention to it. 

"Are you certain this is the place?" Aine hears one of the Deatheaters asking her. She peeks open her lilac eye and meets with the female comrade in the squad. She was eyeing her with such contempt and scepticism and had made zero effort to conceal her doubts.

Aine uncrossed her arms and huffed to herself, turning to her 'associate' with a deadpanned look on her face. "Why are you asking me that, Rosier? If you can't see it, what makes you think I can?" she shot back, raising a brow at her. 

"Well— That's because you're master's daughter!" the male Deatheater next to Rosier pointed out.

Aine snickered to herself, she exhaled heavily. "And how does that prove anything or allow me to see whatever you think I can?" she questions. She couldn't even believe why she was bothering to entertain them in the first place. It had been hours since they stood in the shaded bushes and trees, looking at the tall, dilapidated houses glaring down at them from every side. It was the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters: Twelve Grimmauld Place, not that the three Deatheaters sent along in the mission with Aine knew it was 'twelve'. 

They couldn't see anything besides the towering bricked building with Muggles going on with their lives, living blindly and oblivious to their presence. No doubt enchantments were put up to keep Voldemort and his army away from it. 

The Estoileon female shuts her lids and curses inside her head. She was growing bored of skulking outside the block for more than eight hours— maybe even nine— Frankly, she lost count of how long it had been but all she knew was that she was dispatched just before the Sun went down and now, it was already dark. All the streetlamps had long been lighted and tiny flies were now buzzing around it, craving for the light. 

For hours, Aine had done nothing but keep her eyes glued onto the unit that only she could see, probably because she had come here once. However, she couldn't get any closer than she had. There was some sort of shield barring her from nearing it that made her ears fill with a high-pitched static and her powers drain like someone had left the tap open. Furthermore, her head would be constantly flooded with images of Albus Dumbledore; his face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets, reaching out to her with hands that would claw at her robes, demanding why she had killed him.

Nevertheless, no matter how much time passed, nothing happened. It seemed like the other Deatheaters who were on the same mission were hoping for something exciting to happen, or rather, for a certain somebody to show up.

She scoffed to herself, meeting with Rosier and the male Deatheater who was giving her dirty looks openly. Then she drifts her sight to Riley, who, perhaps was the only one she was able to tolerate out of the group since he was quiet and had done his job of paying close attention to their surroundings instead of spouting nonsense, grumbling insults to Muggle-borns and blood betrayers every few minutes.