In the suffocating silence of the Disposal Committee office, a sharp, twisted voice rang out like a broken gong:
"What… what is there to be afraid of?!"
It was Umbridge.
She abruptly lowered the hand that had been covering her mouth, her toad-like eyes bulging as she stared fixedly in the direction where Sagres had vanished.
"Look at yourselves! A bunch of useless good-for-nothings!"
She shrieked, her voice cracking with forced excitement as she tried to roar away her inner fear and stir courage in the others. "No matter how powerful he is, he's just one person. One person! How many Aurors do we have here? How many people? Let's attack together! Drown him in spells! Can he withstand the simultaneous barrage of dozens, even hundreds of spells? Take him down! Avenge Mr. Macnair! Uphold the dignity of the Ministry of Magic!"
She waved her intact hand, hysterically pointing toward the breach, as if Sagres were still standing there waiting to be cut down.
"He trespassed into the Ministry of Magic! Attacked officials! Cruelly murdered Mr. Macnair! The evidence is conclusive! This is open defiance of the law. It's rebellion!"
Umbridge's voice grew increasingly shrill, trying to rally everyone under the banner of righteous indignation. "Catch him! Minister Fudge! Catch this murderer! He just left. He surely hasn't gone far!"
Fudge was jolted by her frantic shouting.
He looked at Macnair's gruesome corpse, then recalled the terrifying power Sagres had displayed multiple times, and felt a chill shoot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.
Give an order?
What order? With what?
Was he supposed to send the Aurors at the door, who could barely hold their wands steady, to their deaths?
He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.
The other Aurors and staff, upon hearing Umbridge's screams, were not stirred to fight but instead recoiled in terror.
They looked at Umbridge as if she were a deranged lunatic.
Attack together?
Macnair's fate was a bloody example.
Fear gripped everyone's heart, paralyzing them.
"Useless! All useless!"
Seeing no one respond, and no one even daring to meet her eyes, Umbridge trembled with rage and cursed, "What's the point of the Ministry of Magic keeping you all? Not even one—"
"Shut up!" Fudge roared.
His fat face was streaked with veins of anger, his eyes filled with fury at Umbridge's foolishness and despair at his own predicament.
The cold alchemical prosthetic hand suddenly shot out, gripping the collar of Umbridge's pink cardigan like an iron clamp, the immense force almost lifting her stout body off the ground.
"Minister… I…"
"You brainless idiot, you fool!"
Fudge spat in Umbridge's face. "Put away your official jargon. Now. Immediately. Shut your stinking mouth right now!"
Fudge's sudden outburst was like a splash of cold water, instantly shocking the hysterical Umbridge into silence.
She stared at Fudge's bloodshot eyes and felt his hand, like an iron clamp, forcing the words back down her throat.
Fudge released her, then surveyed the terrified subordinates at the door, his voice hoarse and weak. "What are you still standing around for? Clear the scene. Seal off the information. Everything that happened here today…"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Macnair's decapitated body and the blood-stained great axe before finally settling on the shaken Umbridge, his tone chilling. "…Anyone who dares leak even half a word…"
He did not finish the threat, but everyone understood the consequences.
...
Meanwhile, deep within the Black Forest of Albania.
Winter sunlight filtered through the dense ancient canopy, casting only a few faint, pallid patches of light.
The air was cold and damp, permeated with the heavy scent of decay, the smell of centuries of fallen leaves, rotten wood, and the bones of unknown creatures fermenting together.
The gnarled roots of towering ancient trees lay exposed across the ground like giant pythons, twisted and entangled into a natural maze.
Deathly silence dominated the forest. The occasional cry of a strange bird or the rustle of some unseen creature did not break the stillness but instead deepened the eerie, oppressive atmosphere.
Sagres's figure appeared without warning in a moss-covered clearing.
His dark grey robes nearly blended with the surrounding tree trunks in the dim light; only his deep-set eyes glowed like cold stars.
"Evocatio Animae Lupi!"
A pack of glowing giant wolves materialized in the clearing at his incantation and immediately scattered.
Without a moment's hesitation, his figure blurred again and vanished from the spot.
The next second, he appeared atop the highest branch of a giant oak, looking down at the boundless dark forest below.
The cold wind swept through the treetops, rustling his robes, yet he remained motionless.
"Manifestatio Humanoide!"
Powerful magic, like an invisible spiderweb, suddenly expanded from him, rapidly spreading outward.
The forest's topography, the aura of magical creatures, and even the faint flow of the earth's ley lines all formed a three-dimensional image in his consciousness.
No anomalies.
At least, no obvious Dark Arts aura.
He frowned slightly. His figure vanished again, reappearing at the edge of a deeper canyon elsewhere in the forest.
The aura here was even more sinister, with a faint smell of sulfur and decay lingering in the air.
"Evocatio Animae Lupi!"
Sagres waved his wand again, and a pack of transparent, glowing wolves instantly appeared not far in front of him. With a light tap of his wand, the spectral wolves immediately scattered, silently blending into the forest.
Time passed slowly in suffocating silence. Throughout the entire afternoon, the information Sagres received was fragmented and faint.
Traces of various magical creatures remained in the forest: faint fluctuations from Bowtruckles, the dark aura of hidden Boggarts, and even remnants of werewolf and vampire activity.
But there were no suspicious magical traces with any clear direction.
Sagres did not give up. His figure flickered repeatedly through the dense primeval forest, each time appearing where magical perception might be more advantageous: beside the gnarled heartwood of ancient oaks, by gloomy streams glowing with faint magical luminescence, at the edge of black swamps radiating ominous auras and unknown threats.
Trace Revealing spell, Soul Tracing spell, Magic Echo. Several different detection spells were used in turn, but without exception they sank like stones into the sea.
He checked locations that might conceal magical caves or ruins and sensed nodes where magic abnormally converged, but aside from finding a few nests of low-level dark creatures and some long-abandoned ancient magical traps, he found nothing.
Sagres stopped at the roots of a giant dead tree, Trelawney's dreamlike whispers from the Hogwarts Christmas feast echoing clearly in his mind.
He was certain that Trelawney's prophecy referred to Pettigrew's journey to bring Nagini to Lord Voldemort.
The prophecy had already come true, or was quietly unfolding in some unknown corner of this forest.
But the forest was too vast.
Furthermore, Lord Voldemort's methods of concealment were likely extraordinary. He might be parasitizing some living creature, hidden deep within ancient ruins shielded by powerful magic, or even lying dormant underground in some special form.
A hint of irritation rose in Sagres's heart.
He swept his gaze across the oppressively silent dark-green sea of trees before him, and an extreme yet efficient thought flashed through his mind: a raging inferno.
To use the purest destructive magic to burn this evil-breeding forest, along with everything it concealed, to ashes.
However, at the very moment his killing intent surged, his keen perception caught a fleeting glimpse of sacred white light in the distant woods: a small group of unicorns quietly drinking in a clearing.
Farther away, Bowtruckles peeked their curious little heads from tree hollows, and a group of silly Pixies shimmered beside a few rare winter flowers.
The forest itself was innocent. It merely silently witnessed the struggle between light and darkness.
Destructive magic could indeed destroy hidden enemies, but it would also inevitably devour these innocent creatures and this ancient forest.
Sagres ultimately abandoned the mad idea, slowly relaxing his grip on his wand.
The lurking shadow lay beneath the ancient roots of Albania, greedily drawing strength from the darkness, patiently weaving its web of resurgence.
This close encounter, perhaps, was only a brief interlude granted by fate.
Sagres's figure merged into the forest's shadows one last time and vanished without a trace.
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