Someone hurried into Silverhand Manor.
Barty Crouch Sr.'s face was ashen, his strides long and forceful, his mood obvious at a glance.
"Johnny! Sir Johnny!" he shouted as he stormed into the manor.
His aggressive voice echoed through the empty halls.
"Minister Crouch."
A silver albatross flew into the entrance hall, John's voice coming from its beak.
Barty Crouch Sr. stared at the albatross with a dark expression. "You owe me an explanation. I distinctly remember telling you not to go too far!"
"I'm sure Minister Crouch won't mind heading to the garden. I'm a bit tied up at the moment."
The albatross's beak opened and closed as if it were speaking.
With a sharp flick of his robes, Barty Crouch Sr. turned and strode toward the garden.
The albatross dissolved into silver light and vanished.
When Barty Crouch Sr. reached the garden, he saw the infamous Johnny Silverhand accompanying a little girl, catching butterflies.
A butterfly with iridescent wings fluttered toward him. Irritated, Barty swatted it aside.
He stepped forward with long strides.
Butterflies fluttered about, darting through the air.
Taro giggled, and John, standing not far away, let out a soft chuckle. With a light flick of his wand, the butterflies turned into a shower of petals that drifted down from the sky.
"Sir Johnny." Barty Crouch Sr.'s expression was dark and unsettled.
"Minister Crouch." John flicked his wand again, and the petals transformed into a rabbit that hopped off across the garden.
Taro squealed and chased after it.
"A child's nature is to play, isn't it?" John glanced at Crouch's expression and smiled faintly. "Relax a little. Aren't I right here?"
"You exiled the Shafiq family," Crouch said grimly. "And now you're moving against the Carrow family as well."
"Johnny, I told you—don't go too far."
"The ones who went too far aren't me, Barty," John replied calmly. "It was them."
"But you can't stop Aurors from enforcing the law!" Crouch roared.
Thankfully, Taro had already run off after the rabbit—otherwise that shout might have frightened her to tears.
"And what would Aurors do if they took them in?" John asked in return. "On what charge—kidnapping, or kidnapping a magical creature?"
John continued evenly, "We both know how many people see werewolves as 'creatures,' not as people."
Killing a human and killing a non-human were two entirely different crimes.
One was their own kind; the other was an intelligent beast.
Barty Crouch Sr. was left speechless. After a moment, he said heavily, "You carried out private justice. Not only did you disgrace the Ministry, you've also given those pure-bloods a reason to unite against you."
"Pure-bloods are already few in number. They need ways to preserve their bloodlines. Karl was the sole heir of the Carrow family."
Barty fixed his gaze on John, his voice cold. "The extinction of a single family is enough to make the pure-bloods stop at nothing to come after you."
Pure-blood families were still people. They feared that one day, their own lineages might decline.
Even though today's pure-bloods controlled immense wealth, their numbers were shrinking by the day.
They were afraid—afraid that one day they might end up like the Carrows, with their last descendant dying without explanation.
The only solution was an unspoken rule: for the sake of their families, they had to band together.
And Crouch himself was a pure-blood.
Coming here to warn John was already the greatest help he could offer as a friend.
Those officials, those businessmen—how many pure-bloods would hear this news, and how would they react?
Barty knew all too well what kind of power those people wielded.
"You should be afraid, John," he said, no longer calling him Johnny, his voice weary. "They don't know who you really are. They'll latch onto you like mad dogs."
"Karl could have died at the hands of the Ministry—but he should never have died by someone else's hand."
"Shh~ And what about you, Barty?" John asked with an inexplicable smile. "Are you going to follow that unspoken rule and turn on me as well?"
Barty Crouch Sr. flared with anger. "Do you really think I would do that?"
"Heh~ Just checking," John said, waving a hand lightly, completely at ease. "As long as you're not part of it, that's enough."
"And you're not worried at all?" Barty frowned. "I know you acted to steady the werewolves, and in that sense you even helped me indirectly. But if they truly join forces, there's very little I can do for you."
As Minister, Barty couldn't simply seize all authority for himself.
Pure-bloods relied on political power to secure their status, and much of that power lay in their hands.
Barty had never feared Voldemort as an external threat. But those pure-bloods—even without Voldemort's strength—possessed soft power in the form of influence and wealth.
A dull knife cutting flesh: it wouldn't kill, but it would hurt.
"Barty, they won't unite," John said calmly.
"But that's an unspoken ancient agreement—"
Barty had only just begun when John cut him off.
"An agreement only works if someone actually keeps it," John said with an unreadable smile. "There's never a shortage of people who know how to read the situation. When the price becomes heavy enough, they'll think twice."
His words plunged Barty into silence.
It was like a massive shock—draining the color from Barty's face in an instant.
Barty's lips went white. As if realizing something, he asked in panic, "Tommy—where is Tommy Shelby?"
He had finally noticed what was wrong.
As John's butler, the person Silverhand trusted most, Tommy Shelby hadn't been seen since the moment he entered the manor.
Not only that—the manor was unnervingly quiet.
The security personnel were gone.
A possibility flashed through his mind, and Barty roared, "Tell me, John!"
In the flowerbeds, Taro hugged a black-and-white rabbit, her smile bright and carefree.
John rubbed the emerald-green ring on his finger and said calmly, "Barty, do you know why rules exist?"
"They were never meant to bind the strong."
"And Silverhand… has never been among them."
"Listen carefully, Barty—the storm playing out in the night~"
…
Boom!
An explosion shattered the quiet of the Rowl family estate.
Three members of the Rowl family had been discussing how to deal with Johnny Silverhand, swearing by the so-called pact between pure-bloods.
The next moment, their house was blown apart.
A hook pierced through the shoulder blade of a tall, blond man and dragged him screaming into the darkness.
Flashes of spell light crisscrossed the Rowl manor. The centuries-old house was reduced to rubble under the barrage of magic.
...
Boom!
The same scene played out at several other estates.
The Selwyn family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, pure-bloods of noble lineage who, like the Blacks, believed fervently in blood purity.
That belief was precisely why members of the Selwyn family had become Voldemort's supporters.
At this moment, the head of the Selwyn family was fleeing in disgrace through the forest outside the ancestral castle.
"Huff... huff... Ack!" His foot slipped, and he tumbled straight into the river below.
The Selwyns were known for their refined appearances—handsome features and immaculate dress.
Now he dared not slow down for even a second. Foul mud clung to his clothes and hair, his face twisted with terror.
The raging current swept Selwyn onto the opposite bank.
He didn't stop, running at full speed.
From time to time, a shadow flickered behind him, sending waves of panic through his chest.
Perhaps his luck had finally run out—he reached the edge of a cliff.
"Apparate—Apparate!"
Selwyn waved his broken wand again and again, desperate to escape.
But he couldn't Apparate at all.
In a rage, he hurled his wand away and let out a roar.
"Well, well, look who this is?" A mocking laugh rang out.
Selwyn turned, his face deathly pale.
A grinning man and an Asian wizard were walking toward him.
"You can't do this!" Selwyn cried in terror. "I'm a Selwyn! Sacred, pure wizarding blood runs in my veins!"
"Oh?" Gus put on a puzzled look. "Sacred wizarding blood? Then may I ask, noble Selwyn—why were you plotting against our lord?"
"That was a misunderstanding! I never meant to go against Lord Silverhand!" Selwyn's face drained of color as he babbled frantically. "It was Karl—yes, Karl Carrow!"
Like a drowning man clutching at a last piece of driftwood, he rushed on desperately. "Karl Carrow planned everything! And—and the Rowls! That's right, it was all them. I'm innocent!"
He rambled on in panic. Beside Gus, the Asian wizard's face showed impatience; he drew his wand, ready to strike.
"Shh—" Gus raised a finger, signaling Selwyn to be quiet, then scolded the Asian wizard. "How can you treat a noble Selwyn like that?"
The Asian wizard's expression darkened, and Selwyn felt a spark of hope flare in his chest.
Gus pulled an unregistered wand from his pocket and said reproachfully, "Of course you should use this one. Your own wand would let people trace you. That's not professional at all."
The Asian wizard impatiently took the wand.
"Wait—I can pay! I have a lot of money!"
"In the drawer in my study—"
"Avada Kedavra."
The merciless voice sent the Selwyn family head plunging into the ravine. The Asian wizard expressionlessly snapped the unregistered wand in half and tossed it down after him.
Gus clutched his chest in mock anguish. "What a waste. If you'd killed him later, that money would've been mine anyway."
Already used to Gus's erratic behavior, the Asian wizard returned to Selwyn Castle and took a piece of parchment from his pocket.
Most of the family names on it had already been crossed out.
Gus hugged a chest, grinning like a miser. "The boss never said we couldn't make some extra on the side. We split it fifty-fifty."
"I only take what I'm owed," the Asian wizard replied, ignoring him.
Within Selwyn Castle, lives were erased one by one.
And it wasn't just here. In a single night, five pure-blood families were wiped out.
"Oh, right," Gus said, pulling a piece of human skin from his pocket. He casually picked up a wand from the ground and pointed it at the skin. The Dark Mark rose into the sky above Selwyn Castle.
________
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