Hogwarts: My Yorozuya has no taboos!

Chapter 3 May Merlin bless his fart…

Given the considerable success of their trip to Azkaban, Ares was not in a hurry to open for business.

One by one, the wizards who had been chatting idly dispersed, while Ares remained seated at the bar, lost in thought.

Ares wouldn't be surprised that Quirinus Quirrell robbed Gringotts, even though most wizards familiar with Quirrell's first reaction upon hearing the news was—he might have gone mad.

His attempt to infiltrate Gringotts failed, his identity was revealed by the goblins, and he became a wanted man by both the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts...

Gently swirling the wine glass, Ares, with a ray of sunlight, gazed at the brown sediment drifting in the wine, his eyes deep and unfathomable.

The possibility that this was purely accidental is as theoretical as the probability that Charlie Cannons would win this year's Quidditch World Cup.

Boom, boom, boom!

The commotion in his pocket snapped Ares out of his reverie, and he took out the baby bottle.

Upon leaving Azkaban, the dead blowflies displayed unprecedented vitality. Even with their bodies covered in milky white liquid, they continued to violently pound against the bottle walls, expressing their anger and disbelief with a buzzing sound of their wings.

"You heard everything, didn't you?"

Ares stared at the dead fly's two large green eyes and said softly.

"He escaped and wasn't caught—I believe he's safe now."

The dead fly was not about to give up; it flapped its wings and made a shrieking sound.

"Go find him? Oh, no, it's not time to meet yet—oh, that's a good suggestion, it's not impossible..."

Ares blinked thoughtfully, put down his glass, placed a few Galleons on it, and got up to leave the bar.

"You've just been released from prison, Ares—"

Old Tom, who was so busy his shoes were smoking, saw this scene and asked, panting heavily,

"Don't you plan to take a couple of days off to rest?"

"I'm going to try my luck in Knockturn Alley, Tom—"

Ares waved to Tom as he walked towards the back door of the bar.

"There are all sorts of people there, and Quirrell might be hiding there. You know, the bounty the ministry and the fairies have set for him is pretty high... and it doesn't matter if he's dead or alive."

"Then go and try your luck, Ares—if you manage to see him, don't forget to remind Quirrell that he still owes me thirteen scoops for drinks!"

Old Tom chuckled a few times in a hoarse voice, then turned and went about his business.

..........

In British wizarding families, when a young wizard mentions Knockdown Lane out of curiosity, he often receives the sternest warning from his parents.

In reality, while Knockturn Alley is home to all sorts of people and teeming with unscrupulous shops selling contraband, it's not as evil as it seems. Most adult wizards occasionally visit Knockturn Alley for various reasons, and their only concern is keeping a close eye on their wallets to avoid losing their wealth, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

The truly dangerous place in Knockout Alley, and the very place that gave it its name...

Underground.

Half an hour later, Ares, dressed in a black cloak, appeared deep in Knockout Alley, in front of a strange church.

The word "eccentric" is not an exaggeration to describe the church standing in an old square surrounded by broken bricks and tiles.

The church, weathered and broken by the passage of time, is not the kind of medieval Gothic or Baroque domed architecture commonly found in the Muggle world. To be honest, it is more like an ancient castle, resembling Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ares continued his stroll forward, stopping in front of the building, most of which was buried underground, with only the clock tower exposed above ground.

Under the influence of magic, the rusty bronze hands continued to spin rapidly around the huge clock face, as if they would never stop.

As the hour, minute, and second hands met at twelve o'clock, Ares slammed into the metal clock face, and with a ripple-like movement on the surface of water, he vanished into the blazing sun.

In the world deprived of light, Ares could feel himself falling rapidly... as if there was no end in sight.

But in reality, just a second later, his feet touched the solid ground, and the pressure on his knees was as if he had only jumped down two or three steps.

The spacious, dilapidated hall was not worth mentioning except for its dim lighting. Ares continued down the stairs along the side wall, passing through a damp corridor. On both sides of the corridor were morgues that had once been used to store the "Holy Relics." The cold air was filled with decay and ignorance that had not dissipated even after a thousand years.

Just like the buildings on the ground, outside the church is another alleyway.

The underground cavern was shrouded in darkness, its only source of faint light being the mummified corpses standing like guards before rows of decaying buildings, their faces rotting and their eyes glowing with a fluorescent green light. The fact that these mummified corpses wore rotten monastic robes and rusted cross badges on their chests easily explained where the "Holy Relics" that had been displayed in the morgue they had passed earlier had gone.

The blood-red mud seeping from the cracks in the rocks overhead turned into a rain that halted Ares's steps. When the rain subsided, the foul-smelling air was once again filled with the thick stench of blood.

Several eyes were watching from the shadows, but Ares ignored them. He stopped again at a crossroads, then walked toward a round hut built of gray cobblestones.

Pushing open the door, a burst of light and noise rushed in.

The house, which looks no bigger than a broomstick shed from the outside, is surprisingly spacious inside, about the size of two Quidditch pitches.

The vast area was divided into sections by bamboo fences, where slave owners displayed their wares in their own ways.

"Is there any fresh dragon's blood left?"

An adult Norwegian Spinosaurus was bound to a giant cross-shaped log with iron chains as thick as a bowl around its neck, limbs, and tail, resembling the crucified Jesus.

Ares approached the dragon and asked softly.

Upon hearing the sound, the dragon opened its eyes and looked at Ares, its blood-red vertical pupils revealing a hint of pleading and affection.

The shopkeeper, dressed in a linen shirt and with his hair stained with blood and dirt, looked up. His cold gaze swept over Ares before turning to look at the barely breathing dragon behind him, carefully assessing the situation.

"We can only sell one gallon at most, then we need to let this beast catch its breath."

"Let's leave it at that then."

Ares nodded.

The boss waved his cane-like wand, and beneath his feet stood a leather tube, its head raised like a venomous snake, its tip connected to a dragon's heart at one end and a dripping spout at the other.

The tap was turned on, and a large gush of bright red, scalding dragon blood gushed into the iron bucket. The bound dragon didn't even have the strength to open its eyes.

With the money and goods exchanged, Ares turned and left, completely ignoring the greedy gaze that had followed him ever since he bought the dragon blood.

But negligence always comes at a price.

This is true both in the world under the sun and in this underground overturned alley, which is like a projection of hell on earth.

However, it was not Ares who paid the price.

Ten minutes later, as Ares confirmed his direction amidst the rubble—

Whoops!

A sound like the flapping of a raven's wings suddenly rang out, and two crimson dots flickered in the darkness before flitting through the air like ghosts. From within the billowing cloak, a lifeless, ashen hand reached out and grasped Ares's nape!

Swish!

"ah--!

The piercing scream lasted only a moment before it was forcibly stopped by the owner of the voice, lest he become the target of more hunters in the dark forest.

Ares slowly turned around, his indifferent gaze from beneath his hood enveloping the attacker.

The attacker fell to the ground, his hood falling down to reveal a young man in his early twenties.

His right hand was severed at the wrist, the cut smooth, as if caused by a spatial displacement.

The young attacker was panting, blood gushing from the wound on his wrist. At this rate, he would probably die in less than half a minute.

Strangely, the blood did not continue to gush out, but stopped at a speed visible to the naked eye. Then, even the blood scattered on the rough stone slab seemed to flow backward and return to the young man's body. Finally, a blood-red light flashed, and the severed arm healed.

"A newcomer?"

Ares was not surprised to see this scene, and he asked softly.

"Forgive me—forgive me, sir—"

The young vampire lay prostrate at Ares's feet, its face paler than the infernal. It sobbed softly.

"I—I'm so hungry—"

"I hope this teaches you a lesson; people who lack discernment don't last long here."

Ares spoke calmly, then turned and left after finding his way, leaving behind only the vampire with scarlet eyes filled with resentment.

For the next half hour, Ares continued searching for his way.

This place is vast, much larger than the surface Knockturn Alley, like a small town forgotten by time from ancient times. Lacking sunlight and landmarks, this underground Knockturn Alley is like the most complex and difficult-to-discern maze, even a "regular" like Ares cannot pinpoint its location accurately.

Fortunately, he eventually found the house where he had arranged to meet Quirrell.

This house, built of loess and bricks with a thatched roof, was no different from any of the other houses in the neighborhood. If there was anything special about it, it was the mummified corpse standing guard at the door, staring at the sky with a terrified expression, its left hand having six fingers.

Ares did not rush in; instead, he stood at the doorway, his dark eyes radiating keen insight as he peered through the mud wall at the room.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes—

As time quietly passed, Ares's expression under his hood underwent a subtle change.

嗬—

After a barely audible sigh, Ares did something extremely unwise for Knockturn Alley—he deliberately pulled back his hood, revealing his true face.

A sudden commotion erupted from the alleyway corner. The vampire who had just escaped, leading a group of equally filthy scum, had followed the scent and approached Ares again.

"I'll teach you a lesson too, sir!"

The young vampire, emboldened by his companions, had a ferocious look in his eyes and a mocking smile.

"Here, those who are soft-hearted don't live long!"

"I've learned a lot—"

Ares nodded calmly.

click!

Suddenly, from the void, the sound of shattering glass rang out!

The vampire, sixty feet away from Ares, had a stiff smile on his face, and a line of blood appeared on his forehead, quickly eroding his face and spreading all over his body.

Snap—

Two breathtaking seconds later, the young vampire's body was split in two, each falling to one side and turning to ashes.

The killing did not incite fear, but instead fueled the ferocity of these blood-sucking dark creatures!

In the dim light, pairs of scarlet eyes gleamed with a bloodthirsty light as they slowly approached Ares; a massacre was imminent.

click!

Suddenly, the wooden door of the house next to Ares opened from the inside, and a person walked out of the room.

He was an old man.

In the dim underground, the old man's beard and hair emitted a faint silver light like starlight, and his thin but tall body exuded an extraordinary aura that was incongruous with the underground overturned alley.

"I'm sorry, we...we took the wrong turn."

The true leader of the vampires, in his panic, blurted out incoherent words. He hurriedly nodded to the old man, then turned and walked away.

Soon, the group of vampires disappeared around the corner, but the rustling conversations continued—

"This is unbelievable! How could Dumbledore be here?!"

"Maybe we accidentally stumbled upon something!"

"You mean—"

"Shut up!"

hiss--!

A collective gasp filled the air.

"That young man looks like Ares Delfino from the Yorozuya?"

"Whoever he is, may Merlin protect his ass... there's murderous intent, run!"

In the dead silence—

Albus Dumbledore: ...

Ares Delfino: ...