The rain in London started again, and cold raindrops hit Finn's face, mixing with the white mist he exhaled from his hurried running, condensing into tiny water droplets on his chin.
He clutched his sister Lina's hand tightly, her small palm white from exertion. Lina's breathing was choked with sobs, her steps faltering, almost being dragged forward by Finn.
"Faster, Lina, faster!" Finn growled, his voice hoarse from fear and exhaustion.
The rain blurred their vision, and Lina could barely see the path ahead.
They had run into the narrow alleys of London's old town, flanked by towering, peeling buildings, with dim or gloomy light filtering from the windows.
The Muggles were oblivious to the chase in these late-night alleys; occasionally, late-returning pedestrians would glance at them briefly before quickening their pace and leaving, fearing trouble.
"Brother... I'm scared..." Lina's voice was tearful, her small body trembling like a fallen leaf.
She was his younger sister, a year younger than Finn, and had always been more protected within the family.
This was not the familiar forest edge, nor any village they had ever seen.
Around them were tall, crooked buildings, their walls covered in dark moss and unknown vines, with dim or eerily green light emanating from the windows.
The air was filled with an indescribable smell, a mixture of decay, blood, and a certain... nauseating magic, like countless cold little snakes burrowing into the cracks of their bones through their skin.
Finn forced himself to endure the dizziness and fear, crawling over to hug her.
He could feel the fine fur on his sister's body almost standing on end—that was their instinctive reaction as Werewolf cubs, a primal sense of danger.
"Don't be afraid, Lina, Father said there's someone here who will help us..."
Finn comforted her verbally, but he had no confidence in his heart.
He could feel that every inch of air in this area was filled with malice, not directed at them, but a kind of... deep-seated, pervasive rot and venom.
"Brother..." Lina's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, tinged with tears.
Her silver-grey curly hair was now disheveled and plastered to her face, her amber eyes wide with terror, her small body trembling like a withered leaf in the autumn wind.
She could feel countless sticky gazes hiding in the wandering shadows around them, like slugs crawling over her skin.
Finn gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, the pain from his knees hitting the ground becoming blurred.
He was the older brother; he had to hold on.
The old leather boot his father had given them before he died was still warm, as if his father's last bit of warm magic lingered on it.
"Go to London... find a Wizard named Borgin... the contract... will protect you..."
His father's voice still echoed in his ears, but this place, no matter how he looked at it, did not seem like a place of "protection."
The malice in the air was like a tangible spiderweb, entangling and tightening.
This was not hostility directed at them, but the stench emanating from the land itself—a scent that fed on torment, plunder, and despair.
They hid in the mouth of a gutter where trash was dumped, Finn peering out.
Not far away, a crooked sign was faintly visible in the dim light, its letters twisted as if struggling—"Knockturn Alley."
Finn pursed his lips, pulling Lina further into the shadows.
His Werewolf instincts made the hair on his body almost stand on end—not from cold, but from the pervasive, cold, slimy gazes, like countless small snakes, burrowing into the cracks of his bones through his skin.
But he couldn't panic; Father had said that with the contract, the person named Borgin had to help them.
This thought, like a thin thread, temporarily held his fraying nerves together.
"We have to find him," Finn whispered, "and get out of here."
They moved cautiously along the walls, trying to avoid the wandering figures in dark robes.
Most of those people had expressionless faces, their eyes empty or glinting with greed.
Just as they were trying to pass through a narrower side street, trouble found them.
Three scoundrels who looked like they made a living in Knockturn Alley noticed them.
The leader was a tall, thin man, his robes stained with grease, a grotesque snake-shaped tattoo crawling up his exposed wrist.
He bared his teeth, revealing yellow and black enamel, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the two children, as if appraising two insignificant scraps.
"Hey, look what we have here? Two little Werewolf cubs?" His voice was hoarse, tinged with mockery.
"Dirty little Werewolf cubs... but, maybe their pelts could be made into small charms to trick those curious fools."
Another short, stout woman cackled, her long, curved nails painted an eerie purple.
The two slowly closed in, their steps dragging, the malice in their eyes like melting asphalt, viscous and scalding.
Finn pulled Lina behind him, a low growl rumbling in his throat, sharp Werewolf claws already faintly emerging from his fingertips.
Although Werewolves, like Unicorns, were magical creatures, they actually had little value on the black market.
The stout woman and the tall, thin man were more interested in having some fun, tormenting the weak to relieve the emptiness and cruelty in their bones.
"Get lost!" Finn's voice was tight with anger and fear.
"Oh, quite feisty." The tall, thin man sneered, reaching out to grab Lilith, "The little one looks tenderer..."
Lina shrieked, recoiling sharply. Finn, without thinking, lunged and bit at the outstretched hand.
But he was only a cub after all, and the strength difference was vast; the tall, thin man easily dodged, backhanding Finn across the face.
A stinging pain erupted, and Finn stumbled from the blow.
Fear instantly overwhelmed everything; he grabbed Lina and turned to run—what contract, what Borgin, nothing was more important now than escaping these dirty hands!
Since the exit was blocked by the three Wizards, they rushed deeper into the alley in a panic, the laughter and footsteps of the others echoing behind them.
Lina ran stumbled, tears finally falling, but she bit her lip hard, not daring to make too much noise.
"If I'm not mistaken, you are Harris' children—Finn and Lina?"
A figure emerged from the shadows.
He wore a dark grey cloak, his hood pulled low, revealing only a segment of a pale, almost transparent jawline, and a faint, mocking curve at the corner of his lips.
He walked very slowly, each step on the dirty cobblestones like a dull echo on everyone's nerves.
After seeing the cloaked man's face, the woman's complexion visibly paled.
The leading tall, thin Wizard's legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees with a thud.
His knees hit the ground with a dull sound, but he seemed not to feel the pain, his teeth chattering, his lips trembling, unable to utter a complete sentence.
The man ignored them, turning to look at the two Werewolf children on the ground.
His gaze lingered on them for a moment; there was no sympathy, no pity in his deep eyes, only a nearly mechanical scrutiny, as if confirming whether an item was intact.
"Bo-Borgin, sir..." The man's voice was hoarse as if abraded by sandpaper, filled with extreme fear.
The other two also reacted, scrambling to prostrate themselves on the ground, kowtowing with hands and feet, their movements as frantic as startled rabbits.
"Mercy, Lord! It's this humble one who was blind!" The stout woman cried out, her corpulent body shaking like a sieve, "We didn't know they were your... esteemed guests!"
"We were blind! Lord! Please, spare us!"
The last man, scarred and silent, simply lay prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed tightly against the cold surface, not even daring to breathe loudly.
Their petty arrogance and malice, used to oppress the weak, evaporated instantly like dew in the sun before this figure, leaving only a deep-seated, ingrained fear.
As scoundrels who had long haunted Knockturn Alley, they knew all too well what this figure represented.
In Knockturn Alley, no one had ever seen Mr. Borgin of the Dark Arts shop actually make a move, but rumors about him were more terrifying than any dark creature—
It was said that he could make the most defiant Dark Wizard beg like a dog, could make the most vicious curses backfire on their caster, and in some ways, represented the dark side of the Wizarding World even more than the Dark Lord Grindelwald, who had only recently risen to prominence.
Born into one of the twenty-eight pure-blood families, he was devoted to the study of the Dark Arts, indifferent to the turmoil in the Wizarding World.
He was the true shadow of this dark territory, both before and after the Dark Lord Grindelwald's arrival.
To be targeted by such a figure, let alone bullying someone he intended to protect, even just blocking his path could lead to a death where not even bone fragments remained.
Morin stopped, his gaze from beneath the hood sweeping over the three trembling figures on the ground, without anger or disgust in his eyes, as if looking at three cockroaches blocking his way.
The hem of his cloak swept the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirty dust that struck the faces of the three.
But the three who had been so arrogant just moments ago didn't even dare to breathe loudly.
"Get out."
The three blinked a few times, exchanged glances, and confirmed they hadn't misheard, then vanished around the corner in an instant, moving as fast as if they were riding a Shooting Star broom.
Only Finn, Lina, and the figure standing in the shadows seemed to remain in the alley.
Morin slowly raised his head, his wand twirling casually, its tip glowing with an eerie green light.
A few screams and the dull thud of heavy objects falling suddenly echoed from the end of the alley.
The pale jawline visible at the edge of his hood moved:
"Old Harris certainly knows how to pick his timing, dumping two problems right after the Dark Lord stepped down."
Morin's voice held a hint of impatience, yet his expression remained blank.
Were it not for the contract, neither he nor his original self would bother with such street-level theatrics.
"Get up." He said to the two children, his tone still flat, turning and walking deeper into Knockturn Alley.
The two Werewolf children finally came to their senses; they helped each other up, trembling, heads bowed, not daring to look Morin directly in the eye.
Finn and Lina exchanged a glance, both seeing fear and bewilderment in the other's eyes.
But they had no choice; they could only keep their heads down, cautiously following behind the dark grey robe, disappearing into the even deeper shadows of Knockturn Alley.