Thousands of miles away, the infamous "London fog" that had once made the name of the Foggy City resound across the world was now drifting over a filthy river.
The river twisted and turned, its banks overgrown with weeds and piled high with garbage, yet at the far end of the river stood a grand textile factory.
It squatted there in the darkness, revealing only a massive shadow, gloomy and steeped in ill omen.
The surroundings were deathly quiet. Only the pitch-black river water whimpered softly.
A rat so large that one might suspect it had mutated scurried down the riverbank, sniffing hopefully at several wrappers from fried fish and chips buried deep in the weeds.
At that moment, a large carriage drawn by six winged horses appeared in the night sky.
It made a wide arc in midair before finally coming to a halt beside the river.
Sitting outside on the driver's bench was Little Button.
His expression wasn't exactly pleasant, but he still forced out a smile and pulled back the curtain, saying to Newland inside, "Mr. Veld, could you take a look, is this Spinning Street?"
Newland, who had been dozing with his head tilted to the side, groaned as he leaned out of the carriage.
The cold wind outside finally cleared some of the fog from his muddled head.
When he caught sight of the foul river, Newland frowned slightly, then immediately relaxed and said with a smile, "That's right, this is the place. You've stopped a bit far off, but it's fine. I'll walk the rest of the way myself, might as well sober up a bit."
As he spoke, Newland jumped down from the carriage and bowed to Little Button in thanks.
Only then did Little Button finally breathe a sigh of relief.
It had been nearly three hours since the two of them had left Flamel Castle.
Because Little Button had never personally been to Spinning Street, over those three hours he had performed Apparition more than six times with the carriage and Newland before finally finding this remote place.
The time spent escorting Newland home had greatly exceeded Little Button's expectations.
Although there were other house-elves at home, the thought of his young master and master calling his name and not seeing him appear right away filled Little Button with deep guilt.
So after hastily saying goodbye to Newland, Little Button vanished with a sharp pop, dissolving into a faint shadow.
And along with Little Button's disappearance, the smile on Newland's face vanished as well.
He turned his head and cast a look of disgust at the stinking river and the factory at its end, then quickened his step toward the rows of narrow alleys formed by dilapidated brick houses not far away.
The environment inside the alleyways was hardly any better than the riverbank.
The snowflakes drifting down from the sky melted the moment they touched the broken ground, turning back into liquid.
This left the ground soaked and densely covered with filthy puddles.
Some of those puddles were so large that they covered entire stretches of the road and nearly seeped into the homes lining the street.
Whenever he saw scenes like this, Newland couldn't help reminiscing about the beautiful streets of Diagon Alley, complete with proper drains and sewers.
Spinning Street had similar structures too, unfortunately, its drains and gutters served no purpose whatsoever in removing sewage.
Their only function, along with the trash piled inside them, was to produce vast amounts of stench to poison the residents here.
This was no exaggeration.
The drainage system of Spinning Street led directly to the foul river Newland had just passed.
So the smell on the riverbank and the smell inside Spinning Street were in fact exactly the same.
If one had to describe it, it was like the odor of various chemical reagents after fermentation, mixed with the stench of rotting food scraps.
Fortunately, it was winter.
In summer, the stench covering both banks of the river and the entirety of Spinning Street would be enough that an ordinary person wouldn't even dare step inside.
Covering his mouth and nose out of habit, Newland continued deeper down the street.
Several streetlamps were already broken. As Newland hopped between puddles, his figure was alternately lit by lamplight and swallowed by darkness.
He passed window after window boarded up with planks, his footsteps echoing as he stepped on the slick cobblestones.
Moving forward in this way, requiring complete concentration, was especially difficult for someone who was drunk.
Yet as he went farther into the street, the corners of Newland's mouth slowly lifted.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a house.
Dim light leaked through a gap in the curtains of a ground-floor window, projecting the silhouette of a person onto the glass.
The moment he saw that silhouette, the smile on Newland's face blossomed to its brightest.
He squeezed hard on the Extension Charm bag Sigefin had given him, then impatiently opened the door and walked inside.
"Mom! I'm back!"
Newland's joyful, excited voice made the person by the window turn around.
She was an elderly woman who looked to be at least over sixty.
She wore an old, faded but clean patterned sweater, the knitting was tight and careful, but the colors were distributed extremely irregularly, making it completely lacking in aesthetic appeal, as if it had been cobbled together from scraps of mismatched yarn.
Her graying hair had been deliberately arranged into a vintage hairstyle. This style, originating from the British royal family, should have looked exceedingly noble, but on her head it appeared somewhat odd due to her dry, lifeless hair that had no elasticity at all.
The old woman's eyesight didn't seem very good.
She squinted as she examined Newland for quite a while before finally complaining, "Newland, why are you only getting back now? I was starting to think you'd been carried off by those huge rats down by the river!"
Hearing his mother use the same words she'd always used in his childhood to scare him away from the river, Newland looked absolutely delighted.
Because he had already spotted the small table behind her, where a steaming little turkey sat, sprinkled with plenty of chopped carrots.
Though the old woman's mouth kept up its complaints, the corners of her lips kept rising.
She pulled out another old wooden chair from beside the table and said to Newland, "Well? Sit down already! I've reheated the turkey three times!"
Newland's gaze fell on the old woman's right hand, covered in calluses, missing the ring finger and little finger. His eyes welled with moisture, yet he hurriedly replied, "Okay! I'm coming!"
As he spoke, he quickly sat down. The old woman had already served him a large drumstick in a bowl, also piled thickly with chopped carrots.
He took a deep breath, made all the necessary mental preparations, then, under the old woman's close watch, shoveled a huge mouthful of carrots, stewed until soft, straight into his mouth. He chewed them a couple of times at random and swallowed quickly, like taking medicine.
Seeing this, the old woman gently patted Newland's head as she always had. The wrinkles on her face curved with her smile, like an old chrysanthemum in bloom.
This made Newland eat even more vigorously, but at the same time, the tears in his eyes finally spilled over.
He didn't actually like carrots.
But carrots had always been the centerpiece of his family's table.
He still remembered how his mother used to force him to eat a few more pieces when he was little.
For a long time, Newland had believed this was simply because carrots were very cheap, until he attended Potions class at Hogwarts and finally understood the deeper reason.
Carrots… help cleanse toxins.
After finishing the meal almost mixed with tears, the old woman hunched over as she stood up to tidy up, but Newland pulled her back down.
Facing her confused gaze, Newland licked his lips and untied the cord sealing the Extension Charm bag.
Clink! Clank! Clink!
Hundreds of Galleons, along with an entire golden candelabrum, spilled out onto the tabletop.
Under the dim light, the gold reflected dazzling brilliance, instantly making the small room several degrees brighter.
The little wooden table, which had served the Newland family for over twenty years, let out groaning sounds under the weight. Yet, surprisingly, the old woman didn't show the slightest sign of concern.
Her face was filled with shock and delight, and a brilliant golden glow seemed to coat her cloudy eyes.
But that shimmer quickly vanished, and the delight on her face instantly turned into terror.
"Mom, we can move away from here! What do you think about going to London? The city's environment has improved a lot over the years, at the very least, it's much better than Spinning Street. And there are top-tier hospitals and public facilities there. We..."
Newland continued speaking excitedly, oblivious, but halfway through, the old woman's trembling hand seized his arm.
"What did you do?"
Her voice was warped by fear.
Newland smiled and explained, "I found a good boss."
"What kind of boss could a student who hasn't even finished high school possibly have, one who lets you make this much gold?!"
The old woman suddenly raised her voice. Then, as if something occurred to her, she reached out and began checking Newland's chest and abdomen again and again.
"You won't find any scars," Newland said calmly.
"I didn't sell my kidney, or any other organs. I already told you before, the school I attend is very special, and what it teaches is far more useful than what other schools offer."
"And I," he continued, "am one of the most outstanding students there… so it's only natural that a boss would appreciate me. You don't need to worry. From now on, all you need to do is enjoy life."
The old woman's fear wasn't eased by Newland's reassurance.
But Newland wasn't worried. He simply comforted her again and again, describing their wonderful future life.
He knew very well what his mother was afraid of.
He just didn't agree with her way of thinking.
For children from poor families living in this kind of society, gambling for wealth was no different from betting on a rigged table run by cheats. Being offered a situation where risk and reward were even remotely balanced was already incredibly rare.
Like today.
He had almost died beneath Gringotts, yet he'd gained piles of Galleons and golden artifacts in return.
As for virtues like kindness and righteousness, qualities his mother constantly insisted upon, Newland couldn't have cared less.
After all, his father hadn't displayed such virtues when he abandoned them without a word; the factory owner hadn't displayed such virtues when his mother was injured and left disabled; and the high-and-mighty officials hadn't displayed such virtues when they were forced to breathe poison every day here…
The law of the jungle was the true underlying logic of this world.
Kindness, he felt, was something he might pursue after becoming rich and powerful, just like Sigefin was doing now, but at the very least, not yet.
Right now, his primary focus should be on improving the living conditions of himself and his mother.
And in that regard, Link was undoubtedly a perfect boss.
Because Link could not only give him money, he could give him privilege.
The privilege he had dreamed of.
Newland had long wanted to use magic to improve his mother's physical condition.
He had even secretly saved up money to brew a Restorative Draught and a powerful healing potion to restore her eyesight and her severed fingers. But after finishing the potions, he ultimately hadn't dared to take the final step.
He knew too well.
The Ministry of Magic's surveillance of wizards born to purely Muggle families like his was absolutely comprehensive.
Forget letting his mother drink a potion.
The moment he dared reveal anything about Hogwarts or the magical world to her, Aurors and Hit Wizards would burst through the door and arrest him on the spot.
But now, he believed that this privilege, long reserved only for pure-blood aristocratic wizards, would soon fall into his hands.
He was very confident about that.
More precisely, he was confident in Link, this boss he had chosen to follow.
Listening to his mother's nagging, Newland rose with a smile and began clearing the dirty dishes and gold coins from the table, his mood radiant.
———
[The Ministry of Magic]
[The Minister's Office]
The lights here were not turned on. Fudge sat silently in the darkness.
On the desk in front of him stood a miniature Christmas tree.
The magical lights decorating it were the sole source of illumination in the entire office.
This faint glow fell on Fudge's face, revealing an expression of deep anxiety.
Just a few hours earlier, he had received news that Voldemort, leading a large group of Death Eaters, had raided Gringotts, flattening it, along with half of Diagon Alley, in the process.
Even though the official reporting to him had sworn an oath that it was true, and there were over twenty eyewitnesses at the scene, Fudge still couldn't quite believe it.
Or rather, he was unwilling to accept the reality of Voldemort's return.
But shortly afterward, Scrimgeour, covered in blood, limped into his office despite the horrified stares of everyone outside and delivered another piece of news.
What happened at Gringotts and Diagon Alley was real.
But it hadn't only been the Death Eaters and Voldemort present.
To be precise, aside from the Death Eaters and Aurors, there had been a third force at the scene, one just as powerful.
And the result of the three-sided battle was this, of the hundred-plus Aurors and Hit Wizards he had brought with him, nearly all had been wiped out.
That represented almost half of the Ministry of Magic's current military strength.
Then, with a ferocious expression, Scrimgeour had informed him that the Ministry must enter a state of war and that the Auror Office would be granted unlimited funding.
Yes, what Scrimgeour delivered was a notice, not a suggestion.
That was the most accurate description of his tone at the time.
After throwing down those words, Scrimgeour slammed the door and left.
Leaving Fudge alone, sitting blankly in his office, his face deathly pale, feeling as though he had plunged into an icy abyss.