The Black Bloodline of Hogwarts

The glittering powder fell and exploded in the flames. Green flames roared up and licked from his feet to the top of his head, engulfing him completely.

He instinctively closed his eyes, but it was too late—the green light pierced through his eyelids, and his entire field of vision turned into a scalding green, as if he had sunk to the bottom of a lake at midday in summer.

Then came the spinning. Not a normal spinning, but a hand gripping the back of my neck and twisting me like a towel.

The ground beneath his feet had gone; the stones at the bottom of the fireplace had vanished, leaving him only with flames and wind. His arms were pressed against his sides, but the brick walls were still hurtling past him—no, not hurtling past, he was falling, falling into a bottomless chimney, faster and faster.

The world around me became a tunnel, a rapidly receding tunnel formed by the fireplace openings. Each fireplace opening was like a window, through which a second flashed by in the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and so on.

He knew he was moving, knew the fireplace screen was leading him in a certain direction, but he had no control over himself. He was like a leaf caught in the wind, thrown into a river he couldn't see, left to drift along, not knowing when it would stop, or whether it would keep spinning like this forever.

Then, just when he felt he couldn't take it anymore, he was vomited out by the fireplace.

He knelt on the ground, panting heavily, and after a long while, he slowly stood up.

Beneath his feet was gray flagstone floor, above him a low vaulted ceiling, and all around him was an empty room. The green flames of the fireplace behind him gradually died down, returning to their normal orange-red hue.

He had never been here before. Outside the room was a narrow courtyard piled with empty barrels and moldy wooden crates. He guessed this was the back room of the Leaky Cauldron, and he could vaguely hear the noise coming from the front.

"Blake?"

A voice came from the shadows.

Julien turned around, and the wand slid into his palm.

He was a middle-aged man with a slightly hunched back and a pale face, but his eyes gleamed sharply under his hood.

"Don't worry, this is still the Leaky Cauldron after all," the man said casually, then reached out from under his gray cloak, revealing a badge in his palm—a withered rose branch entwined with stars.

"The Rozier family?" Julien asked tentatively.

"Lady Ophelia sent me." The man's voice carried a roughness honed by life on the streets.

"This is the key. It can be stored for a long time and won't activate unless triggered." The man handed over something that looked like an old button, its material unclear. "Crush it to activate. It lasts for seven minutes and leads to the Rose Garden in Hogsmeade. Maximum of five people."

After fastening the button, carefully place it into the backpack.

"And this," the man reached out again, revealing a crystal bottle—a pale golden liquid flowing slowly within, like solidified aurora borealis.

"A variant of the Tears of Eternity. Goods from the North are transshipped through me."

"Did Lady Ophelia send you here as well?"

"No, this is a job I took from the Verakati tribe. How could their stuff be given to the Rozier family? There's a grudge between them."

"You must have quite a clientele," Julien said sincerely.

"Alright, mission accomplished. I heard you're going to Knockout Alley. Good luck." The man slowly retreated, gradually disappearing into the shadows.

Julien steadied himself, took out a fruit candy with a face-changing effect, and popped it into his mouth. Not bad, it tasted like durian.

If an outsider were present, they would notice that Julien's facial features had changed slightly: his eyes became longer and narrower, his nose wider, his eyebrows raised, his snout protruded slightly forward, and his ears became somewhat protruding.

Her facial features haven't changed much, but overall she looks like a completely different person.

He went around to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, ignoring the surprised look on the owner Tom's face, and went straight into Diagon Alley.

It wasn't raining in London, and there were still quite a few people around. After several twists and turns, Julien arrived at an alleyway where no one was stopping.

The street sign at the entrance of the alley reads "Flipping Alley".

Julien took a deep breath and went inside.

The air in Knockturn Alley is completely different from that in Diagon Alley. It's not the freshness of magic, but a kind of old, fermented scent, mixed with too many secrets.

The light came from a source hanging in the narrow sky overhead, and everything was shrouded in a morbid hue.

Most of the shops lining the street had no signs, only some special symbols—skulls, snakes, crossed wands, and many other ancient markings that Julien could not decipher.

He walked along the narrow street, his boots stepping over something sticky, possibly blood or potion residue.

There were few pedestrians, but everyone was wrapped in a cloak, and everyone cast a scrutinizing glance from under their hoods.

There were no pleasantries, no eye contact, only calculations—calculations of value, calculations of threats, calculations of timing.

From the moment he entered Knockturn Alley, Julien noticed that two wizards were following him. They came from different directions, not as if they had arranged it beforehand, but as if they had both set their sights on him as their prey.

Julien remained calm, continuing his slow, steady pace. On his way here, he had affixed several amulets crafted at the Requirement Shop to his body, confident they could withstand a few curses. Moreover, his combat prowess had been tested on the Requirement Shop's combat dummies.

Following Aberforth's directions from the Pig's Head pub, Julien entered a dark alley. This alley was a dead end. The two men behind him seemed in no hurry, standing at the entrance talking as if discussing who would get their prey.

After passing through a dripping archway and two shops that seemed to sell cursed dolls, Julien arrived at the end of the path.

The shop at the end of the alley has no clear sign.

To be precise, there used to be a signboard—a thick black iron plate, the name of the shop on it long since worn away by rust and time, with only a few blurry letters occasionally flashing a cold light in the moonlight, vaguely revealing: "Graves".

The two oak doors, which open outwards, are so dark they are almost black. The surface is unpainted, and the exposed wood grain looks like dried scars.

The lower half of the door is covered with fine, hair-like magical runes. If you don't look closely, you might mistake them for natural cracks. But if you shine a fluorescent light on them, the runes will wriggle slightly like living things, slowly moving from one position to another.

Julien forced himself to look away and pushed open the door to enter.

The doorbell didn't ring. The doorbells here are never rung for guests; they're only there to warn the homeowner.

The interior was even more profound than the exterior, with shelves extending downwards and disappearing into the green gloom. A cloying, almost rotten scent permeated the air, like expired perfume mixed with preservatives.

"Welcome. Dear—oh? Little guest."

A witch who looked to be in her thirties looked him up and down from behind the counter.

The witch wasn't wearing a wizard's robe, but rather a long blue velvet dress, her long caramel-colored hair flowing freely. Her smile was bright and warm.

However, she was still mixing a green solution in her hand, and a human eyeball kept bobbing up and down in the transparent beaker.

"Excuse me, are you Mrs. Serafina Graves?"

"Yes, miss," the woman corrected. "So you're saying you're lost, little one? Is there anything I can do for you? Or perhaps you could chase those two people outside away; it'll only cost 100 Galleons."

"100 Galleons?"

"Great value for money, isn't it?" The woman leaned forward slightly, chuckling, but her wine-red pupils revealed a seductive, cold, and dangerous allure.