Rain, like icy needles, slanted and pierced the glass window of Borgin's magic shop, converging into winding streams that blurred the dim alley outside.
Inside the shop, it was warm and cozy, with an old-fashioned kerosene lamp hanging in the center of the ceiling.
An orange-red glow spilled over stacks of tin cans and glass bottles covered with labels, and the air was filled with the scent of sulfur, dry moss, and a certain sweet, earthy aroma—
It emanated from a pot of Bloodsucking Vine in the corner, its deep purple tendrils adorned with pearl-like dewdrops; it was the most satisfying magical plant Mr. Borgin had cultivated.
Unlike the Whomping Willow, this Bloodsucking Vine possessed a remarkably high level of sentience, always trembling slightly when Morin caressed it, as if playfully seeking attention.
Finn placed the last bottle of Shrinking Potion back on the shelf, his fingertips unconsciously caressing the rough aspen wood wand in his pocket.
Mr. Borgin had bought it for him from Ollivander's Fine Wands, its core a Dragon heartstring, and it always carried a warm, restless tremor when held.
Lina, meanwhile, was wiping a silver cauldron behind the counter, her hawthorn wood wand tucked diagonally into her apron pocket.
For the past half-month, Mr. Borgin had not only taught them basic magic knowledge but also had them practice some advanced magic spells.
"Werewolves are not just beasts that use claws," Mr. Borgin said calmly.
"magic treats all talented individuals equally, and that, of course, includes Werewolves."
"Finn, look, the 'Screaming Banshee' has grown taller again," Lina said, pointing to the plant by the window, which was covered in wrinkled red flowers. Its petals' edges were like sharp blades, and at this moment, they swayed slightly with Lina's voice, emitting an almost inaudible hiss.
She quietly drew her wand, lightly tapped the soil at the edge of the flowerpot, and whispered, "Accelerate Growth."
Several tender green shoots immediately emerged from the soil, coiling around the flower stem, making the entire plant look more vibrant.
Finn grinned, revealing two pointed canine teeth.
"When Mr. Borgin comes back, he'll have to get it a bigger pot again."
He waved his wand, lightly tapping a jar of wriggling worms on the shelf: "Freeze!"
The jar immediately stopped steadily in place, and he proudly raised an eyebrow. "It seems my 'Freezing Charm' is getting more and more proficient."
Just then, the wind chime on the door suddenly let out a series of urgent, piercing clangs, not from the wind, but more like it had been struck by something heavy.
Finn and Lina instantly exchanged glances. The smile in the boy's eyes faded, and the girl's hand silently gripped the wand in her pocket.
The door creaked open, and three tall figures squeezed in, bringing with them the fishy stench of rain and wet mud.
They wore coarse cloaks, their hoods pulled low, but their exposed chins were covered in thick black fur, and their eyes gleamed with a wolf-like ferocity.
"Harris's brats."
The leading Werewolf's voice was hoarse, like two stones grinding together.
"We're not sure if you're lucky or unlucky; you managed to escape so far, but you probably won't die comfortably."
Finn abruptly shielded Lina behind him, the aspen wood wand instantly in his hand, its tip aimed at the enemy.
His voice was a bit tight, but his wrist was remarkably steady: "Is Cole that coward, not daring to come himself?"
"Still talking tough even at death's door."
Another Werewolf sneered, lunging forward, his thick arm swiping through the air.
"Bite him!" Finn growled, simultaneously waving his wand: "Incarcerous!"
A rope as thick as a python shot from the wand tip, but instead of hitting the Werewolf, it wrapped fiercely around the leaves of a nearby Biting Cabbage.
The plant, stimulated, suddenly opened its leaves, revealing a dense array of sharp teeth, like a small bear trap, quickly tearing the rope and biting fiercely into the Werewolf's wrist, almost embedding itself in his bone.
The Werewolf cried out in pain, punching the flowerpot. Amidst the sound of shattering terracotta, the Cabbage's leaves clamped tightly onto his flesh, and dark green sap mixed with blood flowed down.
"Damn plant!" the leading Werewolf cursed, drawing a short knife from his waist, but it was knocked away by Lina's spell: "Stupefy!"
Her hawthorn wood wand gave a slight flick, and a powerful, heavy spell shot towards the leading Werewolf's face.
The Werewolf's movements froze, his eyes instantly becoming unfocused, and he stumbled into the shelf, sending several bottles of Bat Spleen Laundry Powder clattering down.
Lina seized the opportunity to wave her wand again: "Reparo!"
The Devil's Snare, torn by the Werewolf, sprang back up, black tendrils snaking out like pythons, coiling with thorns around the Werewolf's ankle, forcing him to his knees.
"Quick, deal with them!" The leading Werewolf shook his head, shaking off the effects of the stunning spell, and drew his wand. A red light struck the root of the Devil's Snare.
The tendrils instantly withered, but this brief delay was enough. Finn waved his wand again:
"Fulgari!" A skull from the shelf suddenly flew up and struck the Werewolf in the face.
The Werewolf slapped the skull away, and the next second, he looked dazed, slumping to the ground, drooling and giggling foolishly.
Lina and Finn seized the opportunity to plug their ears, shatter the glass, and release the Mandrake Morin had just acquired yesterday.
She and Finn then ran up to the attic, nimbly dodging the Werewolf's counter-spells.
The remaining two Werewolves' faces instantly changed dramatically. They covered their ears and retreated repeatedly, as the cry had terrifying power for Werewolves, whose hearing was more acute than a Wizard's.
The shop immediately descended into chaos.
The Werewolves' strong bodies moved left and right, but they were constantly restricted by the combined magic and plants of the Finn siblings—
Finn continuously used minor jinxes to disrupt their movements, causing the Werewolves to groan in misery and desperately dodge.
After all, getting hit by a "Leg-Locker Curse" amidst the onslaught of these plants could be fatal.
Lina's "Growth Charm" and "Healing Charm" resulted in a relentless barrage from the plants.
Occasionally, miscellaneous items summoned by "Fulgari" would also cause interference.
The siblings worked in perfect harmony, one attacking and distracting, the other assisting with defense. The arcs of their wand movements became smoother, their spells more practiced, and various colored lights flickered in the dimly lit shop.
They didn't let a single precious potion bottle break, nor did they allow any magical artifact to be damaged.
Mr. Borgin had said these things were worth more than their lives, and now, protecting them became their weapon against fear.
But the Werewolves' strength was ultimately superior.
The leading Werewolf seized an opening, used brute force to break free from the Devil's Snare, and kicked over the pot of a Strangler Vine that was trying to sneakily hang a Werewolf.
Another Werewolf took the opportunity to shoot a rope from his wand, coiling it around Finn's leg.
The boy fell to the ground. Just as he was about to use a "Counter-Charm" to break free, a heavy boot stomped on his back, and the aspen wood wand clattered as it was kicked far away.
Lina gasped, trying to pull her brother, but her spell was deflected by a Werewolf's Expelliarmus, and her hawthorn wood wand also flew away.
She was grabbed by the arm by that Werewolf, struggling desperately, her fingernails almost embedding into his flesh, but the Werewolf remained motionless, instead tightening his grip with a cruel grin.
"It's over."
The leading Werewolf panted, looking at the subdued siblings, a cruel smile on his face.
"I hear the more a prey struggles, the more tender its flesh."
Finn gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, but he couldn't move.
Lina's eyes reddened, not from fear, but from anger and indignation—they had clearly improved so much, yet they still...
The leading Werewolf looked around triumphantly, seemingly admiring his spoils.
His gaze swept over the counter, then the shelves, finally landing on the inconspicuous purple vine in the corner.
The vine was still trembling slightly, as if in fear.
The Werewolf recalled the humiliation he had suffered earlier, perhaps wanting to vent the anger of having been harassed by the combined magic and plants.
He strode over, raised his foot, clad in a heavy leather boot, and stomped down hard.
There was a soft crunch, accompanied by a wet sound, like berries being crushed.
That Bloodsucking Vine, which Mr. Borgin called "Little Darling," along with its flowerpot, was reduced to a blurry purple mess.
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