Hogwarts: Lacus doesn't want to be a witch who destroys nations.

The air in London's sewers was a mixture of years of grime, cheap alcohol, and the distinctive body odor of werewolves.

Lux, with her fluorescent green hair that stubbornly radiated life even in the dim light, carefully supported "Grandpa Squib" Holmes and followed behind Scarface's guard John, stumbling back to the Fang Gang's gathering place made of tattered planks and canvas.

"Wait here, Fenrir will be back when he's done with his business." John pointed to a pile of musty-smelling burlap sacks in the corner.

"Don't wander off or cause trouble, and especially keep an eye on your Squib grandpa, don't let him cough himself to death here." He glanced at Holmes with disdain, then turned and walked toward the noisy campfire.

Lux nodded quickly and helped Holmes sit down on the relatively drier burlap sack.

Holmes immediately got into character, curling up and burying his face in the collar of his worn-out coat, making a series of coughs that sounded like he was about to cough up his lungs. After successfully attracting a few indifferent or annoyed glances from those around him, he quickly reduced his presence to a minimum.

Lux tries her best to play the role of a nervous and curious "little green-haired werewolf Lina" who has just joined the group, timidly looking around at her surroundings and "fellow werewolves".

Gang members gathered in twos and threes.

Several burly men near the campfire, shirtless and revealing their bulging muscles and hideous scars, were gulping down cheap fire whiskey. They were rudely boasting about how valiant they had been during the full moon the previous night, how many imaginary enemies they had torn apart, and how fanatical they were about the future Fenrir and the Sorcerers had painted for them. Their words were full of "let's do something big" and "let those high and mighty wizards taste what they're made of."

In the shadows, on the edge of the room, the atmosphere was entirely different. Several relatively thin, weary-looking werewolves, both male and female, sat silently, their eyes filled with worry and numbness. One of the middle-aged female werewolves clutched a tattered rag doll tightly, sobbing softly, "...I've had enough...Every month is like walking through hell...and I have to kill people...I just want to live peacefully, to be with my family..."

Beside her, an old werewolf with graying hair sighed and said in a hoarse voice, "Fenrir is too radical... The Sorcerers? Grindelwald? They only use us as tools! Last time they sent Pete and the others to steal that batch of potion ingredients, and what happened? Pete was hit by an Auror's stun spell and is probably already in Azkaban! And the Sorcerers didn't even show their faces!"

"Exactly," another younger werewolf chimed in indignantly, "They said they'd give us potions to control our transformations! They need potions themselves! They make us do all this dirty work, offending the Aurors and legitimate potion merchants. Now it'll be even harder for us to buy healing potions on the black market!"

Holmes listened intently: "There are internal conflicts among the werewolves. The Sorcerers are instigating the werewolves to rob potion raw materials, and the potion trade chain..."

Just then, Holmes's gaze swept across the room and finally landed on a small figure huddled in a corner.

It was a little girl who looked to be only about ten years old. She was wearing an old dress that was obviously too big for her and had been washed until it was faded. She was barefoot, her little face was dirty, and she was sitting on the cold, damp ground with her knees drawn up to her chest.

She was excessively quiet, out of place with the surrounding atmosphere, which was either frenzied or dejected. What was most striking were her eyes, which were very beautiful, with extremely rare, almost transparent light gray-blue pupils, like the surface of a frozen lake in winter, filled with a bewilderment, vigilance and a deep sadness that were incongruous with her age.

Holmes's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

These eyes... these light gray-blue eyes, are just like those of his long-deceased old friend and partner from the depths of his memory.

His mind raced instantly. Watson's only daughter, Mary, had a daughter after she got married. Judging by her age, she should be about this age!

Could Watson's letter have been written by his family? A chill ran down Holmes's spine. Fenrir, the Mughal Party, the kidnapped werewolf, Watson's daughter…

Clues swirled wildly in Holmes's mind as he tried to piece together a complete picture.

"Lina! Squib! The boss is back and wants you to come over!" Scarface John's rude shout interrupted Holmes's thoughts and also attracted the little girl's attention.

She quickly raised her eyelids, her light gray-blue eyes sweeping over Lux and Holmes in the dim light, before swiftly lowering them again, shrinking even smaller in the corner.

Holmes forced down his turbulent thoughts, reverted to his frail, coughing old man persona, and, supported by Lux, staggered toward Fenrir's office once more.

In the dark cave, Fenrir Greyback was polishing his gleaming silver dagger when he saw the two enter, especially when Lux brought in the exquisite ebony box. For the first time, his usually cold face showed undisguised astonishment.

"You...you really got it?" Fenrir's voice was filled with disbelief and suspicion, his sharp gaze sweeping over Lux and Holmes like a knife. "That old vampire Borgin-Bock, and that mysterious collector, didn't give you any trouble?"

"Cough...cough cough..." Holmes used a cough as an opening at the right time, successfully attracting Fenrir's slightly impatient attention.

"I'll go to the store to check on things first, while Grandpa keeps watch outside."

Lux immediately got into character, her face a mixture of lingering fear and triumphant excitement: "Boss... Boss, that was terrifying! That collector... he... he didn't seem to be in the store, and the clerk... the clerk was really fierce, saying if you can't afford it, get out!"

She deliberately stammered, her voice trembling, "Grandpa was so anxious he almost fainted! And then...and then I thought, the task the eldest brother assigned...I have to complete it!"

"While the clerk turned to attend to a wealthy-looking wizard, I slipped to the back and saw this box on the table... next to it... and next to it, there was a moving human hand wiping the table. I was so scared I almost screamed!"

Lux patted her chest, letting out a breath that still felt lingering fear: "I grabbed the box and ran out. The clerk seemed to have noticed, and Grandpa immediately blocked the doorway, pretending to fall and demanding compensation from the clerk. I... I just ran for my life! I didn't dare look back! I ran through several alleys before I finally shook off the chasers!"

As she spoke, she used exaggerated gestures, her fluorescent green hair swaying in strange patterns, portraying a naive young man who relied on luck and a bit of cleverness to complete a task.

Holmes then let out a series of even more violent coughs, as if using up his last bit of strength, and weakly nodded to Fenrir, his cloudy eyes filled with a tragic sense of "it's all for his granddaughter."

Fenrir's gaze swept back and forth between the two, scrutinizing every detail. The vivid description seemed too real for him to be fake. He finally chuckled and reached for the ebony box.

"Hmph, consider yourself lucky you weren't caught and chopped up to feed the giants." He casually opened the box, glanced at the opal necklace lying quietly inside, and the flowing milky white luster made a greedy glint flash in his eyes, but it was quickly covered up.

He slammed the box shut and tossed it onto the table as if it were nothing more than a worthless trinket.

"Alright, I'll accept the necklace. The mission was... barely passable. Lina, from now on, you're a member of the Fang Gang. You can keep this Fang Necklace. As for you..."

He gave Holmes a disdainful look. "Since your granddaughter is somewhat useful, there's a pile of hay in the corner. Go and stay there, just don't die in front of me."

"Thank you, boss! Thank you, boss!" Lux's green hair swayed happily.

"Don't get too excited," Fenrir interrupted her coldly. "Joining the gang is just the beginning. There's an important gathering later, and bigwigs from the UMNO party are coming to inspect. You better behave yourself, take your Squib grandpa down to the open space below and wait, watch and listen, and speak less! If you dare to cause even the slightest trouble..." He made a throat-slitting gesture, his eyes sinister.

"Understood! Understood!" Lux quickly pulled the still coughing Holmes away from the oppressive cave.

Back in the relatively noisy open space, Lux found an inconspicuous corner, helped Holmes sit down, and the two quickly exchanged a glance.

"That girl..." Holmes said, his voice barely audible except to Lux, "her eyes... are very much like Watson's."

Lux's heart skipped a beat: "Dr. Watson? You mean...?"

"It's just a suspicion, but the possibility is high. The clues are vague, but they are indeed related. If she really is a Watson's child, then her situation is extremely dangerous." Holmes's eyes were as serious as iron.

Just then, a commotion arose at the entrance to the clearing. Fenrir strode out, his face displaying a deliberately respectful demeanor. Following him were three figures clad in dark gray robes, their faces covered by expressionless silver masks!

Even through the masks, Lux and Holmes instantly recognized them as the three fake Aurors who had taken the severely wounded werewolf away from the Thames River on the night of the full moon and had used the Cruciatus Curse on Lux.

The masked man at the head of the group was tall and imposing, and his appearance instantly silenced the noisy open space, making even the crackling of the campfire sound exceptionally clear.

All the werewolves, whether fanatics or despondents, instinctively held their breath, and a tense atmosphere filled the air, a mixture of awe and fear.

Fenrir bowed and scraped as he led the masked man to a makeshift platform in the center of the open space.

The masked man at the head of the group stopped, his cold mask sweeping across the entire area like a king surveying his territory. He spoke slowly, his voice coming through the mask:

"Brothers of the Fang Gang!" His voice wasn't loud, "The roar of the full moon has subsided, but our dawn is about to break!"

"The great leader, Lord Grindelwald, foresaw the collapse of the corrupt old world! He guided us to break the Statute of Secrecy that imprisoned freedom and power, and to establish a new order ruled by true strength!"

The masked man's voice was fervently inflammatory: "And in that new world, races like yours, possessing wild blood and unwavering will, will no longer be marginalized, driven out and feared! You will become the cornerstones of the new order! The sharp blades that expand our territory! You will gain the dignity, the power, and—true freedom—that you deserve!"

He paused deliberately, letting the alluring prospect ferment in the minds of every werewolf.

"Look at those high and mighty wizards!"

His voice suddenly turned fierce, filled with deep-seated hatred and mockery: "They monopolize knowledge and hoard wealth! Especially those so-called alchemists! Nicolas Flamel! That miser who lived for centuries!"

"He hoards the Philosopher's Stone—this magnificent creation capable of turning lead into gold and granting immortality! Yet he stingily hides it away, solely to satisfy his corrupt desires! He fears the sharing of power, fears the overthrow of the old order! He, and everything he represents, are stumbling blocks to our path to a new world!"

The masked man suddenly raised his voice, booming like thunder: "But! Great power has never been truly monopolized! Under Lord Grindelwald's guidance, we have mastered wisdom beyond the mortal realm! We have successfully recreated the lost alchemical secret—human transmutation!"

He suddenly raised his hand, and from his wide robe sleeve, a stone the size of a pigeon egg, radiating an eerie blood-red light, appeared in his palm!

The stone seemed to be made of congealed blood, with a viscous liquid slowly flowing inside, emitting a nauseatingly strong stench of blood and a powerful, chaotic, and destructive magical aura.

"Look! This is power! This is proof of breaking the monopoly!" The masked man held up the blood-red magic stone, his voice filled with an almost manic excitement.

"Under the blessing of the ritual, it has absorbed enough life essence and acquired nascent power! Now, it is time to test its worth and show you the promised future!"

His cold mask turned to Fenrir: "Fenrir, bring up a werewolf and let him feel this power that originates from the very essence of life!"