When Fudge saw Umbridge rush in with her people, he seemed to grasp at a lifeline.
A glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes, and his back straightened slightly, though his body was still trembling.
Sagres's expression remained unchanged.
He did not even turn to look at Umbridge. His gaze stayed calmly fixed on Fudge, as if those who had burst in were nothing more than a swarm of buzzing flies.
Seeing herself ignored, Umbridge grew even angrier, her voice rising. "Did you hear me, Greengrass? I order you—"
Sagres finally turned his head, his deep grey eyes locking onto the chattering Umbridge.
Just one look.
Umbridge's voice cut off abruptly, as if her throat had been seized by an invisible hand.
As though stared down by a venomous snake, her blood froze instantly, and an irresistible fear surged into her heart.
"Dolores Umbridge."
Sagres spoke slowly, his voice calm yet clearly echoing through the deathly silent office, each word carrying a chilling killing intent.
"If you say one more word."
He paused, his gaze like an ice pick piercing into her fear-widened pupils.
"I will kill you."
His tone held no ripple, yet it made everyone present's heart skip a beat.
Only Fudge's heavy, fearful gasps remained in the office, along with the faint sounds of Aurors swallowing nervously.
Umbridge froze in place. Her flushed face instantly turned deathly pale, the pink bow on her chest trembling comically with her rapid, frightened breaths.
She opened her mouth but did not dare make a sound.
Sagres no longer looked at her. He turned his gaze back to the ashen-faced Fudge, his voice returning to its previous cold calm. "Watch your dog, Fudge. If there's a next time, I won't mind cleaning up some trash for the Ministry of Magic."
With that, he ignored the silent, stunned people in the office and, just as calmly as he had arrived, left the Minister's office.
It was not until Sagres's footsteps completely disappeared down the corridor that the frozen air in the office seemed to flow again.
Umbridge's legs gave way as if she were about to collapse from exhaustion. An Auror nearby, quick-witted, caught her before she could hit the ground.
Fudge, meanwhile, slumped back into his Minister's chair, covering his face with his hands, his corpulent body trembling uncontrollably.
After leaving Fudge's office, which was filled with lies, Sagres did not immediately leave the Ministry of Magic.
Pettigrew's abduction was itself a massive dereliction of duty by the Ministry, and Fudge's clumsy cover-up only added fuel to the fire.
But rather than pursuing Fudge's responsibility, Sagres was more concerned with another question: How had a prisoner, whose magic was nearly depleted and who was under strict guard, been abducted from the core area of the Ministry of Magic? And who was the one who took him?
Based on the information he had obtained from Fudge's mind, he expertly made his way to the temporary detention area beneath the Ministry.
It was even quieter than usual here, and the air carried the slackness that followed tension.
Outside the small cell where Peter had been held, two tense Aurors with shifty eyes stood by the door.
They were clearly extra personnel temporarily assigned by Fudge to support the "Dementors out of control" excuse, more for show than anything else.
Sagres did not alert them.
A powerful Confundo isolated his presence from the guards, and he silently entered the cell.
The furnishings were extremely simple: cold stone walls, a cramped space, and a rusty iron bunk bed.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat, but beneath it lingered a very faint trace of blood.
Sagres's gaze swept inch by inch across the walls, floor, and doorframe of the cell.
Finally, near the iron bunk on the stone floor, he found an anomaly.
It was a ten-inch-long slash.
The mark was very fresh, its edges sharp, clearly made recently.
The Ministry's cleanup crew had obviously cast Reparo, restoring the floor to a roughly even surface.
But this hasty repair looked childish and clumsy in Sagres's eyes.
The stone texture beneath the repair was unnaturally distorted, and more importantly, that faint scent of blood was seeping from the "repaired" slash.
Sagres stepped closer, his slender fingers hovering above the mark.
"Not a cutting spell…"
He immediately ruled out the most direct magical method.
The marks left by cutting spells would show obvious signs of magical dispersion, whereas this mark, though sharp-edged, carried the texture of physical impact and tearing.
"A cold weapon?"
Sagres frowned slightly, quickly reconstructing the moment of the attack in his mind. The jailbreaker's movements had been swift, the target clear.
Judging from the depth of the slash, the angle of entry, and the clean, forceful trajectory, this was an experienced veteran accustomed to using cold weapons.
A wizard infiltrating the sensitive core of the Ministry of Magic to break out a prisoner, yet abandoning more efficient magic in favor of a primitive physical strike?
This abnormal choice, like a lone lamp lit in the darkness, instantly illuminated Sagres's thoughts.
Who would be so familiar with the structure and security of the temporary detention facility and still be able to avoid most magical detection?
Someone from within the Ministry of Magic.
And who within the Ministry would frequently need to use cold weapons?
The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
The core mission of this department was to "dispose of" dangerous magical creatures sentenced to death.
And their executioners' iconic tool was the executioner's great axe, commissioned by the Ministry from goblins and imbued with powerful anti-magic and bleeding curses.
…
The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures' office was located in a secluded, poorly lit corner of the Ministry of Magic, where the air was perpetually filled with a strange odor, a mix of preservative and animal stench.
The Christmas holiday had left it almost deserted, with only a storage room at the end still glowing with dim yellow light, a sliver of brightness leaking from beneath the door.
Sagres silently pushed open the half-closed door.
The office was cluttered, with grotesque creature skull specimens and sharp tools hanging on the walls.
A tall man with a gaunt, expressionless face stood with his back to the door, carefully wiping a large double-bladed axe resting on a stand with an oilcloth stained with dark reddish-brown smudges.
The axe blade gleamed coldly. Even in the dim yellow light, it shimmered with an ominous dark red hue. The handle was made of dark hardwood, wrapped in non-slip leather.
Hearing the door open, the man spun around abruptly.
When he saw the figure silhouetted in the doorway, a flash of undisguised astonishment crossed his rigid, numb face.
"Greengrass?"
Walden Macnair's voice was dry and hoarse, edged with disbelief.
"You know me?" Sagres asked calmly.
Macnair instinctively dropped the oilcloth he had been using to wipe the axe. His body tensed slightly, and the hand that had held the cloth subtly moved toward the wand at his waist.
"You used to be with the Auror Office, but as far as I know, you've already left the Ministry of Magic. What brings you to my… 'trash disposal' place?"
Macnair tried to mask the turmoil in his heart with words. As he spoke, his eyes cautiously scanned Sagres's face, trying to read his intentions.
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