As Morin spread the three blood contracts on the ebony workbench in the basement, the fire in the fireplace licked the last piece of oak, crackling softly, and elongated shadows were cast on the walls by the flames.
Kevin, having just cleaned the bloodstains from under his fingernails with a Scouring Charm, now stood silently in the shadows, the mud from the wasteland clinging to the hem of his cloak seeping dark marks onto the flagstones—
He had brought back not only these parchment scrolls but also a corpse that had been eroded to an ash-black by the 'Turbidity.'
It wasn't due to any strange addiction, but rather to avoid giving the Aurors an opportunity to research the power of the 'Turbidity' and track his movements.
Unknown powers often appear more terrifying.
"This is the leader of that group."
Kevin's voice was as steady as a frozen lake, without a ripple.
"He's a shoddy Wizard named Marcus, who followed Grindelwald for some years.
That group said this blood contract could 'make the Ministry of Magic's parasites obedient.'"
Morin didn't respond, his fingertip picking up a silver probe and gently lifting the crease at the edge of the contract.
To be honest, this blood contract was pretty much as he imagined—possessing powerful magic, capable of silently controlling another's mind.
Unlike ordinary parchment, these three blood contracts used dragonhide to withstand such powerful Dark Arts contracts.
The paper was dark brown, with three intertwined circles occupying most of the space. Each circle's center was engraved with a simplified crest, and the edges were inscribed with Vague incantations in Ancient Runes, which translated to "Soul as quality, blood as proof."
He bent his knuckle and gently tapped the leftmost circle.
Instantly, the parchment seemed to be infused with life; the dark brown crest suddenly glowed red, revealing an eagle-headed, lion-bodied pattern, with a surname faintly appearing below: "Potterkin."
"Ignatius Potterkin, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
The acacia wand swept over the crest, a wisp of gray mist-like magic silently seeping in, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue:
"After Grindelwald's defeat, he rose to power by executing three fervent followers of Grindelwald. Tsk, truly unexpected."
Kevin's brow moved imperceptibly: "Does this mean this contract has expired?"
"Of course not, quite the opposite. The fact that Potterkin only dared to act after Grindelwald's downfall is enough to explain the issue—
Although such contracts often have limitations and lose their binding power over time, if the contract's originator is the most powerful Dark Wizard in history, the contract's efficacy will exceed both your and my imagination."
Morin chuckled softly, his wand gently tapping, and the name on the second blood contract began to appear on the dragonhide:
"Augustus Warrington, a standing member of the Wizengamot, responsible for revising magical education legislation.
Last year, he pushed for the passage of the 'Non-Magical Creature Protection Act'—
Sounds like a soft-hearted old man, right?"
"But both his children were fervent followers of Grindelwald. At the time, people were surprised, but now it's not so strange, after all, like father, like son."
Morin snorted, then examined the last blood contract:
"So Grindelwald's next unknown follower will be—"
As the red light glowed, the surname slowly appeared: "Travers."
"Cassandra Travers, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic."
Morin put down his wand and stretched with a big yawn:
"A reclusive single Witch, there's very little news about her. I never expected she had already sided with Grindelwald."
Kevin listened in silence, a spark from the fireplace illuminating his unruffled eyes beneath his cloak. It wasn't until the spark died out that he asked in a low voice:
"These three people... what can they do?"
"They can do a great deal."
Morin re-rolled the blood contracts and tucked them into a rusty old box. The box closed with a dull metallic thud, like a declaration that some seal had been completed.
"These three blood contracts came at just the right time. Thank you for your hard work, Kevin."
Morin walked to the window, watching the figures hurrying past in the alley, their necks hunched.
The Wizards of Knockturn Alley were always like this, both desiring the power of the Dark Arts and fearing the Dark Arts.
Morin had always disliked this hopelessly rotten place.
"Let's go, Kevin."
Morin suddenly said, stretching his arms again contentedly.
"You should lie low for a few days. I found you a Muggle cottage; the scenery is nice, you'll like it."
After Kevin left, Morin stared blankly at the silver-gold-haired Werewolf siblings in the crystal ball.
Lina was painting a small wooden robot, her wand deftly outlining patterns with her fingertips; Finn was adjusting a self-flying broomstick model, his brows slightly furrowed, his expression focused—
Morin collected himself and took out a parchment from the drawer, embroidered with the House of Malfoy crest in gold thread.
He picked up a quill, dipped it in special ink, and wrote a few lines on the paper:
"To Mr. Abraxas Malfoy:
Thank you for your assistance regarding the approval for opening a Diagon Alley branch.
Enclosed is our latest product, which you might like.
—Caractacus Borgin"
Morin rolled up the parchment and tucked it into a velvet pouch. With a tap of his wand, the pouch transformed into a bat, which flapped out the window and disappeared into the twilight of Knockturn Alley.
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