"Bastards! Kill him!"
"Don't hold back!"
Curses blazed through the air like deadly rain, Dark wizards frantically waving their wands amid furious, venomous roars.
"Ha! I bloody love these blokes!"
Unlike eldest brother Arthur's bull-in-a-china-shop approach, John—third in line—relied on pure speed. He moved like something feral through the gaps between spells, claw-blades carving through flesh, blood singing past his ears.
Screams for help rang out, desperate and shrill.
"Remember—leave some breathing!"
"Tiger'll have our heads otherwise!"
Not far off, Mike Shelby charged straight through a Killing Curse's path and slammed into a Dark wizard. They hit the ground hard. His brass knuckles gleamed once before smashing down.
Under that savage impact, the wizard's skull caved like rotten fruit.
"Ha!"
"Reckon he won't mind one or two accidents, though."
Wild laughter erupted.
Arthur tore free from a Transfiguration curse through sheer brute strength—ropes-turned-stone shattering like glass around him. His door-sized greatsword left his hands, spinning through the air before cleaving a distant Dark wizard clean in half.
"Maybe..."
"But he'll definitely tell Aunt Polly."
Cheerful, teasing laughter drifted down.
Annie Shelby struck from above like a hunting cat, landing light as air on a Dark wizard's shoulders. Twin blades pierced his neck—precise, avoiding the arteries.
He screamed. She was already gone, vaulting through an incoming Blasting Curse to land behind another target. Her blade drove home. Blood sprayed.
"Arthur, don't underestimate Tiger."
"Aunt Polly's always favored him most."
Victor Shelby dragged his hand across his blood-splattered face, boot grinding down on a Dark wizard's contorted features as he wrenched his machete free. His eyes carried old resentment.
Tiger had bullied him since they were kids.
Aunt Polly always took the little bastard's side too, insisting Shelby men had to grow through fighting. He'd thought once he grew up, he could finally get even. Who knew the git would shoot up taller than him after just one year apart?
His bear-like frame launched upward, boot crushing the wrist of a Dark wizard casting from the corner.
"Damn fool!"
"Should've stayed cowering in the shadows!"
His machete swept down. The transformed arm—still clutching its wand—hit the floor amid fresh screams.
Against these Shelbys who moved like werewolves, the Dark wizards' frail bodies offered virtually no resistance.
Those who tried creating distance were run down in heartbeats by speed-enhanced Shelbys and brought to ground.
Their most practiced curses struck home like stones thrown into the sea—vanishing without effect. In desperation, the Dark wizards fell back on clumsy Transfiguration, buying seconds at most.
A few clever ones cast Freezing Charms across the floor. Several bear-like Shelbys went down hard.
Annie and the others leaping across rooftops severed their wand arms before they could capitalize.
"Damn it, who the hell are you!"
"The Nott family can't possibly afford this!"
Anguished wails rose from all sides.
The Dark wizards' leader—Dolohov—kept Apparating in short bursts, dodging attacks. His pale, withered face twisted with disbelief and fury.
"You'll find out..."
Cigar smoke curled upward. Tommy's deep eyes seemed to see through the haze straight into men's souls.
Every single time, he pinpointed exactly where Dolohov would reappear. His finger pointed. Two Shelbys surged forward, grinning like wolves.
"Bastard!"
Dolohov's wand sent floor tiles erupting like a wave. He used the cover to flicker toward the battle's edge again.
Too afraid of death to master proper Apparition—he could only manage short, visible jumps.
No one helped Dark wizards practice Apparition. No one would reassemble bodies torn apart by botched spatial travel.
"Merlin's treasure vault..."
"This is impossible!"
Borgin stared slack-jawed, his shrewd eyes practically overflowing with Galleons.
Others might marvel at the savage efficiency of the Nott family's hired muscle. But Borgin? He was counting. Counting every single Protection Amulet burning like cheap parchment in this slaughter.
"Eight thousand Galleons... ten thousand... fifteen thousand... twenty..."
"Good God! How dare they!"
"They're burning money!"
"This is criminal!"
"Oh, Merlin's knickers—thirty thousand now... no... stop..."
"Damn sewer rats, I'll kill you all!"
Watching the protective charms trigger and die, the hunched shopkeeper twitched with physical pain. Shrill protests kept erupting from his throat.
These Dark wizards weren't just weak—their spellwork was pathetically inconsistent.
Gutter-born, the lot of them. Never properly trained, only picking up scraps of magic through back-alley channels.
Or worse—becoming some "mentor's" experimental material, learning Dark Magic as lab rats...
Result? Against the mysterious force the Nott family had deployed, they had no chance.
Borgin had always regarded gutter rats as nothing. In his mind, their worthless lives were worth maybe one silver Sickle each.
Using valuable Protection Amulets to die alongside these vermin? Wasteful beyond measure.
"Quiet, Uncle Borgin."
"Yes, young master..."
Raven Borgin shook his head helplessly, hopeful gaze still fixed on the shadowy shop interior.
He could sense it—the leader was in there.
But what was the leader waiting for?
Where did Theodore find these people?
Where did he get this kind of money?
Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He'd clearly underestimated his old friend's son.
His gaze drifted to Draco.
The boy watched the carnage with bright, excited eyes. When blood splattered toward the window, he didn't even flinch.
That wasn't the reaction of someone seeing slaughter for the first time.
Lucius's eyes darkened.
His hand settled on Draco's head, voice soft and meaningful.
"Draco, my dear son... have you seen scenes like this at Hogwarts?"
"Um... no... Father..."
Draco went rigid, stammering. He didn't dare meet his father's obscure gaze.
That night in the Slytherin common room remained vivid. Tiger's warning still echoed.
Not a single Slytherin dared reveal anything about Father. Venom might've grown familiar with them, but only because they hadn't betrayed Tiger.
No one wanted that monster's attention. Besides, Draco had thrown his complete loyalty to Tiger long ago.
"Is that so..."
Lucius didn't press further.
He had his own channels for Hogwarts information. He wouldn't put his son in that position.
"No, no, no..."
"Damn it..."
"Let me go—I can bring the Nott family wealth, I still have value..."
Outside the Nott shop, Dolohov lay in a spreading pool of his own blood. But his murky eyes still burned with desperate will to survive.
Facing Tommy's measured approach, he didn't beg. He negotiated. Proclaimed his worth.
The battle had ended.
Barely breathing Dark wizards were dragged into the shop by Shelby members, leaving crimson trails.
Including Dolohov, Tommy had no use for waste. He'd seen real wizard elites in action.
Silent magic. Wandless casting. Vicious magical creatures, dazzling Transfiguration, cunningly layered combination spells—none of it was something the Shelby family could handle easily.
Not yet.
"No! No! Spare me!"
"I'm useful, I still—"
"Ahh!"
"What is this! Save me!"
"Let go! Monster—"
Inside the shadowy shop, Dolohov's bone-chilling screams cut off like a severed string.
"How's that, Venom?"
"Feeling better?"
Tiger's low voice echoed in the darkness.
The barely breathing Dark wizards had stopped breathing entirely. Their already pale faces looked mummified now.
Black, writhing tentacles slowly retracted. Venom's somewhat revitalized voice rumbled through his mind.
You know what? These guys' magic tastes pretty spicy. Could use more, though.
"Soon enough."
"This time I'm hunting myself..." Tiger's head tilted up slowly, gaze fixing on the rooftop across the street.
At the same moment, Tommy's deep eyes turned the same direction. Shelby family members stood behind him, eyes still bright with unsatisfied hunger.
"Come out," Tommy said quietly. "Your stench is revolting."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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