I call it "The Emporium." It is my store-front on Nocturne Alley, though I usually have staff run the place. In truth, I much prefer to spend my time hunting down rumors of ancient and powerful artifacts, testing recovered spells to determine how they may be used to enhance existing magical items, and liaising with the other Death Eaters and, when I am fortunate enough to, the Dark Lord himself, than in a pokey shop in the Alley. Still, it does pay to be there occasionally, for none of my staff have quite my insight into the power of artifact, and one never knew just when someone would bring in something that Indeed it is almost entirely that which allowed me to rise in the eyes of the Dark Lord during his conquest of the weaklings that opposed him.
I am studying a particularly fine tome, one capable of devouring the mind of the unwary reader, when I hear the door open. I turn and look up with a fake smile, intending to greet my would-be customer. What I see turns me cold. Standing there is a witch dressed in muggle clothes and with a haircut that looks like it was done by a muggle as well. Not many would know what they were looking at, although they might sense that the style was different to that normally worn by wizarding folk, but unlike any other Death Eater I have a specific reason for recognizing muggle-garbage. My own mother was one... was, that is, until I tortured her to death. For a second the memory of the look on her face as her own son applied the cruciatus curse bring a grin back to my face, when when I remember why I am thinking of the memory, I scowl.
"I believe you are in the wrong place," I say curtly. "Perhaps Borgins will deal with your kind. They are further down Nocturne Alley!"
I turn away from her, listening to make sure that she does not try to steal anything from my store. Of course, that is unlikely, but still when someone is willing to do something as disgusting as wearing muggle clothing one never knows what else they might do.