The former glory of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was like brilliant but fleeting fireworks in the night sky.
Whether Death Eaters or the Order of the Phoenix, the turmoil in Britain's wizarding world had left them severely weakened.
This war had no winners.
Pure-blood nobles tried to restore their former glory, but Dumbledore's suppression, the impact of foreign nouveau riche forces, and the Ministry's internal power struggles made progress nearly impossible.
The Muggle-born population grew daily. The established order of Britain's pure-blood nobility was already precarious.
Now, on the scales of power in Britain's wizarding world, the families truly wielding authority could be counted on one hand.
As for the other declining families?
They could only reminisce about past glories, clutching yellowed ledgers from bygone eras, holding their proud heads high while desperately maintaining family dignity and status...
"Well done!"
"Oh! That must've hurt!"
"Kill these filthy mutts!"
Watching his son Draco's excited figure, Lucius Malfoy's gaze gradually drifted into the distance.
Thirty years had passed like a white horse galloping by.
Back then, he'd stood beside his father just like this, eyes following that man's silhouette.
Even the proudest pure-blood nobles bowed their heads—it was a majesty and charisma he'd never experienced before.
Elegant and powerful.
Like the other young men, Lucius's eyes had filled with almost obsessive worship.
Until after his father's death, that man's displayed madness and obsession became increasingly terrifying.
The worship and fervor in Lucius's eyes gradually transformed into fear and worry...
Who was he?
Theodore?
No, absolutely not.
He knew that child well...
He also understood more clearly that whoever could gather pure-blood nobles together would never be a pure-blood noble himself.
This was the inherent flaw of pure-blood nobility.
They only believed in interests... and power.
Looking at the chaos about to subside, Lucius's breathing gradually became irregular and heavy.
The Malfoy family had never had choices.
He feared the family being drawn once again into endless conflict. Even more, he feared Draco being isolated from pure-blood society—facing storms alone, fighting a solitary battle.
"What should I do, Cissy?"
"That man will return sooner or later..."
Faced with this sudden reinforcement, the Shelbys showed no signs of relaxing. Instead, as if stimulated, their attacks became even more vicious and decisive.
Curses and roars rose and fell.
The bloody smell in the air grew more pungent. Werewolves' piercing, agonized wails echoed through Knockturn Alley.
Arthur swung his greatsword down hard, cleaving into a werewolf's chest, then kicked it away viciously.
"Tommy, who are these bastards?"
"Did you call them?"
He panted heavily as he approached Tommy, a hint of wariness showing in his bloodthirsty, mad eyes.
"Victor! Candice! Madam!"
"Don't get tangled up—finish off the wounded ones first! John, bring people to replace their positions!"
The situation was becoming increasingly clear.
Tommy paused his commands, breathing a light sigh of relief, then looked at Theodore with smiling eyes.
"No, they're Tiger's subordinates."
Theodore's magic power had long been exhausted. He was now pinned beneath a werewolf.
His thin body had no strength to resist. Only the Protection Amulets on him helped block attacks.
Even so, Theodore hadn't given up.
His pale face flushed red with effort. The curved blade in his hand continuously stabbed at the werewolf's weak points, his palms bleeding from the strain.
"Die! Die!"
"You bastard mutt!"
With hysterical roars, madness and brutality almost identical to the Shelbys filled Theodore's eyes.
Timaeus controlled yellow sand to strike the werewolf. With howling winds, the dried wolf corpse crashed down.
Theodore struggled to push away the wolf body, gasping roughly. After giving Timaeus the middle finger, he ran toward the next werewolf without looking back.
"Arthur, don't embarrass Tiger..."
Tommy's lips curved slightly.
"Don't worry!"
With an angry shout, Arthur's muscles bulged all over. His greatsword whipped up fierce winds, striking hard at the werewolf behind him. Amid surrounding gasps of shock, the werewolf was split in two.
What incredible strength.
"Grandfather Cisco, if it were you, how would you face such enemies?"
With some shock, Atlantic Burstrode breathed out in disbelief.
The old butler standing behind him was silent for a moment.
"Potions, curses, blood sacrifices, or perhaps dispatching XXXX-class magical creatures to attack."
"In any case, confronting these people would be absolutely foolish. They're more powerful than werewolves."
"Wealth... also..."
How much foundation the Nott family still had—others might not know, but for the Burstrode family with their complex network, it was almost transparent.
The old butler's tone paused slightly. After careful consideration, he continued in a low voice:
"Though impossible, they still remind me of medieval Judgment Knights."
"Those were wizards' nemesis. Except for assassination and escape, wizards of that era had virtually no other choices..."
"But fortunately, they're my allies."
Facing the hesitant old butler, Atlantic spoke words that put him at ease.
A hint of relief appeared in those cloudy but sharp eyes.
Seeing Tiger's knuckle-dusters smash down boldly, completely crushing the last werewolf's chest, Atlantic nodded in acknowledgment, then turned toward his family's shop.
The other Slytherin members did likewise.
In just a few breaths, Knockturn Alley returned to silence. The crisscrossing curses from moments before seemed like illusions.
Only Timaeus, this Egyptian outsider, walked to Tiger and Theodore's side, greeting them with a brilliant smile.
Sacred scarabs lightly landed on the Shelbys' shoulders. With glowing light, their nearly exhausted strength recovered at a visible rate.
At some point, Raven Borgin had also disappeared into the shop.
Only Borgin continued staring hatefully at the werewolf corpses—in his eyes, anything that wasted money deserved to die.
"Draco, we should go too."
Lucius's thoughts were still somewhat chaotic. He nodded quite politely to Theodore, then tried to pull his reluctant son away from Knockturn Alley.
"Harry, Harry!"
"Where are you?!"
Just then, urgent, anxious shouts suddenly rang out.
Like a train speeding from the distance, the rumbling sound gradually changed from vague to deafening.
Everyone turned to look.
They saw a giant of imposing build and wild, fierce appearance running toward them.
Arthur raised his eyebrows with some surprise. "I like this big guy..."
"Merlin's beard!"
The bloody carnage before his eyes made Hagrid stop abruptly, his gaze looking at the Shelbys in horror.
Only when Tiger's figure came into view did his suddenly clenched heart slowly relax somewhat.
"Tiger, have you seen Harry?"
His anxious tone carried some hope.
"Harry?"
Tiger wiped the blood from his knuckle-dusters, frowning slightly. "What's he doing here?"
"No, no, no."
Hagrid quickly waved his hands in explanation.
"He was at the Weasleys', using the Floo Network to get to Diagon Alley, but we never saw him arrive."
"He probably mispronounced the address!"
At this point, Hagrid's expression grew even more urgent. He couldn't help shouting again:
"Harry! Harry!"
"Are you here?!"
"I'm here! Hagrid!"
Harry's delighted voice suddenly rang out.
Draco's originally gloating expression froze abruptly. He spun around, tone shocked:
"Scarhead?!"
"When did you start hiding here?!"
Harry rushed out of Borgin's shop, ignoring Draco and striding toward Hagrid, his eyes still showing traces of lingering fear.
"Hagrid, this is wonderful!"
"Running into you here!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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