Hogwarts: The Greatest Wizard

Chapter 99 – The Second Step of the Plan

Even after selling several breeding farms, the Flint family still couldn't withstand the collapse of their capital chain.

Phineas had more than enough resources to launch a sustained attack. The Black family's vast wealth allowed him to strike directly at the Flint family's primary industries. The ensuing price wars and commercial clashes forced the Flints into a position where they had no choice but to act as Phineas intended—even knowing it would be a losing battle.

For instance, when they sold off their herbal farm in desperation, the buyer turned out to be a front—just one of Phineas's many white-glove agents working behind the scenes.

And this was only the beginning.

This first step—using capital and industrial networks to force other families to sell their assets—was merely a prelude. Though it might temporarily shift the balance in a commercial war, it left those families stripped of the means to recover or continue fighting.

Then came the second step.

Once Kreacher confirmed that the Flint family had exhausted their sellable industries, and that their herbal farm was now in the Black family's hands, Phineas moved forward. The battlefront stores and businesses suddenly ceased operations. The Flint family was left floundering—realizing too late that they had just sold off one of their most valuable assets, and now couldn't get it back at any price.

Panic set in.

Other pure-blood families began to sense something deeper was unfolding. They had vague suspicions, but no proof. On the surface, it seemed the Black family had overextended itself, and the Flint family only needed to endure until the Wizengamot stepped in and forced a resolution—reparations, perhaps, and some concessions. Losing the herb farm didn't seem so significant anymore.

But none of them knew what was happening outside the Flint estate.

In the dense forest bordering the manor, a hidden force was gathering.

At its head stood Puff, Phineas's loyal house-elf, now clad in tight-fitting leather armor, a short dagger at her hip. Behind her marched more than twenty house-elves in similar battle gear—Phineas's personal strike force, trained and prepared since the death of his mother.

But they weren't alone.

A second group stood nearby: gaunt, pale-skinned adult wizards in ragged robes. Their appearance might seem unremarkable at first glance, but any powerful witch or wizard would feel the difference—these were werewolf wizards.

Despite the Wolfsbane Potion created decades ago by Damocles Belby, the stigma around werewolves had never faded. Wolfsbane was costly, complex to brew, and accessible only to the elite. Most werewolves remained outcasts—shunned, feared, or outright hunted.

That made them dangerous. That made them perfect for war.

No pure-blood family would dare employ them—except Phineas Black.

Puff consulted a pocket watch, then addressed the gathered werewolf wizards in a firm voice.

"The master's orders are clear: no direct descendants of the Flint family are to survive. Collateral branches, do as you wish. All Galleons and treasure are yours—just don't touch our target."

She turned to the house-elves.

"Our mission is recovery. Bring back every magical item and book from the manor. Leave nothing behind. Begin."

At her signal, both forces vanished with soft cracks of Apparition.

The house-elves infiltrated silently, stunning and subduing any resistance before looting the manor's libraries and vaults.

The werewolf wizards, by contrast, stormed the gates with lethal precision.

These weren't wild beasts—they were killers trained by the darkness of the underground. Arson and assassination were second nature. Phineas had not only provided them with Wolfsbane and freedom, but also the one thing they had never been given: trust.

In return, they signed magically binding contracts. They could never turn on Phineas, regardless of who else hired them in the future.

Of course, he had no intention of dealing with monsters like Fenrir Greyback—those bound to the Dark Lord were beyond redemption. But the rest, the overlooked and outcast, now served him.

They moved quickly. The manor's outer defenses crumbled before their assault. The Flint wizards fell in droves—some stunned, some slaughtered.

Direct descendants of the family were executed without mercy. Collateral relatives were either maimed or left broken, incapable of continuing the fight.

Any wizard foolish enough to engage in close-quarters combat suffered fatal wounds. There would be no healing; no St. Mungo's mediwizards would arrive in time to treat the effects of werewolf bites. Silver powder mixed with plant-distilled water might stave off the worst, but true essences were rare—and already gone from the market.

Phineas Black had drawn first blood.

The war had entered a new phase. Not a political maneuver, not a financial push—but a cleansing fire.