"It's not too late now, Draco. You'll see more friends arriving shortly."
"I trust you won't mind their company."
Facing Raven Borgin's meaningful smile, Draco's eyes filled with bewilderment, like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
"Very well, Draco."
"Let's give Mr. Malfoy some space. I'll show you the magical items we have here."
"Remember to stay vigilant—at all times."
Raven Borgin bowed courteously toward Lucius, then led Draco to one side with practiced aristocratic grace.
His visit to Knockturn Alley wasn't coincidental—Theodore's letter had summoned him here. He longed to see Father's presence, and he was certain he wasn't the only one who'd received such correspondence.
He could see it clearly: Father had never viewed them as easily manipulated pawns or puppets for consolidating power.
On the contrary, that wild, untamed man saw them as sheltered noble children who'd never weathered true storms.
Indecisive, short-sighted, weak, and foolish.
As a member of Slytherin, as their leader, he couldn't turn a blind eye to this truth.
He sought no personal gain—only to forge a resilience Slytherin had never possessed, to transform pieces of rusted iron into unbreakable steel...
What Raven Borgin and the others wanted was to prove to this man that though they hadn't yet inherited their family legacies, they would never let their leader fight alone!
"..."
Lucius's eyes narrowed as he studied his son's straight, elegant silhouette, his mind working like clockwork through possibilities.
He knew Draco's character intimately.
For his son to integrate into Raven Borgin's circle would be no simple matter, and as heir to the Malfoy family, Draco would never stoop to groveling for acceptance.
So what exactly had brought them together?
Draco seemed to be concealing far more than he'd realized...
"Mr. Malfoy."
"How may I be of service?"
Borgin's enthusiastic, obsequious voice cut through Lucius's contemplation like a rusty blade. The shopkeeper's smile dripped with practiced servility.
"I'm here to dispose of some items."
"The Ministry's been as bothersome as flies lately, but they won't dare search the Borgin family premises."
His tone carried the weight of absolute certainty, brooking no argument.
"Naturally."
Borgin's face lit with honored pride, his withered features twisting into something resembling satisfaction.
The Borgin family held multiple key positions within the Ministry—they'd hardly authorize raids on their own property.
"Then let's keep this brief..."
"Let's discuss prices, Mr. Malfoy." Calculating greed flickered in Borgin's eyes like candlelight on gold.
Meanwhile, across the shop's cramped interior:
"This is the Corrupted Blood Deck—a gambler's dream, though the price matches its name exactly. Not everyone can bear such a cost."
"And this beauty is the Hand of Glory..."
After the lengthy introduction, Draco had lost all interest in the grotesque magical artifacts surrounding him. His mind was entirely consumed by Raven Borgin's enigmatic smile, which left him burning with curiosity like an itch he couldn't scratch.
Malfoy Manor hadn't seen proper company in far too long.
"Senior Raven, who exactly are these acquaintances you mentioned?"
He couldn't help interrupting, anticipation bleeding through his carefully maintained composure like ink through parchment.
"Oh, many people..."
"Perhaps the person you most want to see is among them." Raven Borgin turned toward the fog-shrouded window, his gaze distant and expectant.
Those furtive, sinister shadows that had been skulking about the street corners had vanished without a trace.
Knockturn Alley occupied roughly the same area as Diagon Alley, and for such emptiness to descend so suddenly could only mean one thing:
Something dangerous was brewing in Knockturn Alley, driving even the gutter rats into hiding...
"Draco, we're leaving."
After some brutal haggling, Lucius approached his son with thunderclouds gathering in his expression, irritation crackling through his voice like barely contained lightning.
The results were clearly less than satisfactory.
Borgin had seized upon the Malfoy family's current vulnerabilities, driving the price down to insulting levels.
"But..."
"Yes, Father."
Sensing the dangerous edge in his father's tone, Draco offered Raven Borgin an apologetic smile before quickly falling into step behind Lucius.
Just as father and son pushed open the shop door to leave, Raven Borgin's voice cut through the air like a blade:
"Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you should stay a bit longer. Knockturn Alley isn't particularly... peaceful today."
His drawn-out words carried genuine gravity, like a funeral bell tolling.
"Those dark wizards can be quite troublesome when madness takes them—especially dangerous for someone like Draco..."
Lucius Malfoy's steps faltered as if he'd walked into an invisible wall. His steel-gray eyes instinctively swept toward the street's far end.
Shadowy figures were emerging from every corner like spiders from cracks, converging on their location with predatory patience.
This force of over forty wizards represented one of Knockturn Alley's most formidable powers—a small army of the desperate and deranged.
Their footsteps echoed like a death march, silhouettes stretching and distorting in the sickly light, appearing twisted and inhuman.
Tattered black robes hung like funeral shrouds, riddled with tears and crude patches. Eyes beneath deep hoods gleamed with the kind of madness that had long since devoured sanity, leaving only hunger and greed.
"A pack of rabid animals!"
Lucius cursed under his breath, quickly shepherding Draco back into the shop's relative safety, his aristocratic composure cracking like ice under pressure.
"Whose creatures are they? Has the Ministry completely abandoned Knockturn Alley to the wolves?"
These gutter rats had traditionally served as enforcers for pure-blood families—attack dogs on invisible leashes. He hadn't witnessed such brazen chaos in nearly a decade. The old order was crumbling.
"The Nott family's former... employees."
Raven Borgin positioned himself by the window like a theater patron awaiting the opening act, his lips curving with dark anticipation.
"The actual Nott family members? Who knows where this pack of madmen buried the bodies."
"Theodore inherited what remained of the estate and commissioned the Ministry to send Aurors to eliminate these... loose ends."
"Obviously, they failed spectacularly."
"The Aurors retreated this morning with their tails between their legs..."
"Theodore?!"
The name hit Lucius like a physical blow, his pupils contracting to pinpricks.
These past weeks, the Ministry's relentless searches had consumed his attention completely—he'd missed the seismic shifts happening right under his nose.
Diagonally across from Borgin and Burkes stood what had once been the crown jewel of Nott family commerce—now dark and silent as a tomb.
Originally, half this street had flowed with Nott gold. Now only six skeletal shops remained, like tombstones marking a dynasty's grave.
The dark wizards gathered before these ruins like vultures around carrion.
"The Ministry pinned every unsolved crime on our heads—fine, we'll own it. The Nott name is already dead, propped up by one pathetic boy playing at being a lord..."
A voice like grinding glass emerged from beneath a hood, followed by laughter that sounded like breaking bones. Wands slid from sleeves like serpents tasting air.
"Today we make their accusations reality. Time to send the little prince to his family reunion."
"These shops will be ours by right of conquest. Let the Aurors come—what can those Ministry lapdogs possibly do against us now?"
The rasping voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried further than shouting. His wand tip blazed with malevolent light as it targeted the shop's entrance.
"Confringo!"
The explosion shattered the afternoon silence like a thunderclap. The wooden door disintegrated in a shower of splinters and flame, smoke billowing into the street like the breath of some awakened dragon.
"Forward, my brothers in darkness."
"If the Nott whelp shows proper respect, I might grant him a quick death instead of the slow one he's earned..."
Savage laughter echoed off the narrow walls as the spell-caster gestured his followers toward the smoking breach. His confidence radiated like heat from a forge—he'd prepared for every contingency the boy might have arranged.
Watching his subordinates advance through the choking dust, his twisted features revealed nothing but contempt. Victory was already his—he could taste it.
This territory would belong to him before the sun set...
But the next heartbeat shattered his certainty.
A scream tore through the air like ripping silk.
The shop's display window exploded outward in a cascade of glittering death. His lead enforcer flew backward as if kicked by a giant, protective amulets shattering against his chest in showers of useless sparks before he crashed into the cobblestones with bone-breaking force.
Then Arthur Shelby erupted through the destroyed window like a force of nature unleashed, his massive sword gleaming with anticipation and his grin promising beautiful violence.
"Good afternoon, you magnificent bastards!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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