Chapter 17 - The Attack
The Minister for Magic, Wilma Dean, arrived in the underground level via the telephone booth, accompanied by her assistant and two security wizards. In her seventies, Wilma displayed short, coppery hair, and her grave expression reflected the seriousness of the situation as her eyes observed the disorder in front of her. The red dress she wore stood out imposingly amid that chaotic scene, contrasting with the crowd of witches and wizards dressed in somber tones that gathered before her. Next to the Minister, her assistant Mircella Wilker, a woman in her early thirties, kept her vibrant red hair pinned in a high bun. Her slender stature, almost matching that of the robust security wizards, exuded a striking presence.
Upon opening the booth door, the muffled sounds of the demonstration grew louder. Outside, the Wizards' Square was teeming with protesters waving their signs and chanting furiously, the echoes resounding throughout the place. To reach the Ministry, she would have to cross that restless crowd of demonstrators, who now stood between her and the imposing building. The dense, pulsating throng stretched as far as her eyes could see, making her path inevitably arduous.
…
Fleur paused for a moment, her eyes fixed on the void, as she tried to connect with Zaino through their magical bond. She closed her eyes, focusing on her heightened sense of smell and the mental connection she always had with the basilisk. Breathe, she told herself, trying to remain calm. She silently conjured the message in her mind, sending a command to Zaino.
However, the silence that returned to her was deafening.
The absence of a response, the profound emptiness of that missing connection, began to tighten in her chest. Her eyes widened, and a chill ran down her spine. He's not listening. A sense of panic swept through her like an icy blade. Her heart raced, and thoughts of Zaino in danger started invading her mind. Had he been captured? Or was he unconscious? Or worse, hurt?
— Zaino... — she whispered, almost imploring, hoping for any sign, however small.
Nothing. Fleur felt a deep dread; she knew that if Zaino wasn't responding, something terrible might have happened. The determination on her face intensified, and without hesitation, she took off her jacket with a firm gesture, preparing to channel all her energy. If he was in danger, she would have to send an even more powerful message.
…
In the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, the chaos had reached alarming proportions. Zaino, Fleur's basilisk, was surrounded by a reflective bubble that was supposed to act like a mirror, intended to reflect the creature's deadly gaze back onto itself. The magical sphere shone intensely, projecting a bluish light that filled the atrium with a ghostly glow.
Within the reflective bubble, Zaino, eyes closed and thus unaffected by the sphere, raised his scaly body, hissing furiously. The magic meant to protect them, by reflecting the creature's lethal gaze, was now creating an atmosphere of chaos. The spells cast by the Aurors ricocheted off the surface of the bubble, lighting the atrium with blinding flashes of magical energy.
The Aurors, amidst the uproar, shouted at one another, trying to find a solution as they continued their attacks:
— This bubble was not a good idea! It's sending our spells back at us!
— Of course it was! — another retorted, annoyed. — It's the only safe way to face a basilisk without getting killed!
— But what if he ends up killing himself with his own gaze? — said a third, his voice tense with worry. — If that happens, we'll be in serious trouble! Remember, basilisks are protected by law!
While the confusion among the Aurors grew, Zaino, unperturbed and imposing, remained inside the bubble, his mere presence further intensifying the panic around him. And then Moody's bellow echoed through the atrium for all to hear.
— Silence! — Moody shouted, his voice booming through the atrium with an authority that needed no magic. The impact was immediate; the shouting stopped, the spells halted in midair, and even Zaino, the basilisk, ceased his hissing.
The Auror cast a stern gaze over the crowd, his eyes boring into each anxious face.
— This basilisk is just a hatchling, in case nobody here has noticed — Moody growled, his voice dripping with scorn. — The worst he can do is petrify someone. And that can be solved with a good dose of mandrake potion, so stop acting like amateurs. And that blasted bubble around him is useless, since a basilisk cannot petrify itself. It's only getting in our way.
Murmurs began to spread through the crowd, but Moody raised his hand in an authoritative gesture, cutting off any discussion.
— Now listen carefully — he said, in a tone that left no room for doubt. — This basilisk has nowhere to run, now that all doors are locked. I'm going back to interrogate Malfoy. So consider this basilisk as a test. You are forbidden to cast lethal spells, and whoever gets petrified will have to work the year-end shifts, understood? — The harshness in his voice made it clear he was in no mood for games.
As soon as Moody finished speaking, the veteran Auror Alvin Arcor raised his wand firmly, ready to dispel the reflective sphere that Alice Roy had conjured around Zaino. However, something peculiar caught his eye. He noticed that every time the basilisk lunged forward toward the Aurors, its head moved beyond the boundaries of the bubble, as though it wasn't following his movements as it should.
Intrigued, Arcor removed the sphere and positioned himself strategically, analyzing the situation from the side, never looking directly at the basilisk's head. Then something became clear: the Aurors' spells weren't being reflected by the bubble, but were instead bouncing right off Zaino's carapace. He frowned, realizing what was before him.
— Someone has enchanted this basilisk with an extremely powerful magic — murmured Arcor, tension evident in his voice at the discovery.
…
Suddenly, before Minister Dean could exit the telephone booth, Mircella grasped her wrist firmly, preventing her from advancing.
— Minister, with all due respect, I suggest that we return immediately — said Mircella, her voice laden with concern. — We only have two security wizards, and they won't be a match for this crowd.
Wilma Dean, clutching a small sphere in her left hand, quickly assessed the situation around her and responded, with unshakable resolve:
— I appreciate your concern, Mircella, but I can't cower in the face of difficulties, especially after all the newspapers have been writing about me. Most of the wizarding population chose me because they believe I can do better than this. I am going into the Ministry. But if you wish to go back, I will understand.
Mircella, looking at the crowd and then at the lift, closed her eyes for a brief moment and said firmly:
— As you wish, Minister. But let it be on record: I advised you otherwise.
The two security wizards, noticing Wilma Dean discreetly drawing her wand from her robes, responded immediately, with a precision that revealed their rigorous training. In a swift, almost choreographed motion, they drew their own wands, gripping them tightly, ready for any eventuality. Their keen gazes swept the surroundings, alert to any sign of danger, while they positioned themselves slightly ahead of the Minister and Mircella.
…
In the Aurors' office, Fleur took off her jacket with a firm gesture, preparing to focus her electrical energy. If Zaino was being detained or weakened, the message she sent would have to be even more intense. Determined, she closed her eyes and began to summon her veela energy with force, feeling power pulsing throughout her body.
With the energy gathered, her vibrant voice resonated in the air, laden with authority and power:
— Enough, Zaino! Leave as we planned. If you need me, call me now!
Each word carried a command, her connection with the basilisk reinforced by the magical strength she channeled. Fleur knew that if Zaino could hear her, he would respond to her call.
…
Moody cast a firm look at Gabriel Lourd and ordered:
— Stay here until they sort out this situation with the basilisk, then head outside to help the other Aurors contain the protest. Those clowns are pushing the limits — Moody said sternly.
He paused, his body tensing for an instant as a strange energy coursed through his nape, causing his hair to stand on end. He stopped and looked around, intrigued.
— Did you feel that, Lourd?
— Feel what, sir? — replied the young Auror, puzzled.
Moody frowned, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. It was as if he were connecting the pieces of a puzzle that was beginning to make sense.
— Someone is using magic to control this basilisk — he muttered, his voice grave and cautious. — I already sensed something odd in the Aurors' office… I bet that's where it's coming from. Someone is acting like a puppeteer, pulling the strings. Now I'm going to catch this criminal red-handed — Moody growled, his eyes flashing with determination. — And he can open a brand-new branch of Parselmouths in Azkaban.
…
The square in front of the Ministry of Magic was buzzing with unrest, filled with shouts of protest and irritated murmurs echoing through the air. However, the moment Wilma Dean entered the crowd, a heavy silence fell over the place. She advanced with her chin raised and her wand held firmly at her side, flanked by her security wizards and her assistant. As they proceeded, the crowd reluctantly parted before her, like a sea being divided, creating a narrow corridor. The demonstrators, who moments before had been shouting and brandishing wands, now retreated, keeping a safe distance, their eyes on the Minister, laden with distrust and tension.
A few scattered jeers escaped the lips of some protesters, but that was all they dared to do in response. No one seemed brave enough to confront her directly. The Minister's presence was a force in itself, imposing and unshakeable, and every step she took increased the unease among those present, who backed away unwillingly, making room for her passage.
…
Before Moody could leave to investigate the Aurors' office, something caught his attention through the glass doors of the atrium. A red figure was crossing the furious crowd—it was the Minister for Magic, Wilma Dean, who had just stepped out of the telephone booth. She now faced a mass of demonstrators in revolt, vehemently protesting her presence. Moody narrowed his eyes, sensing the situation was about to spiral out of control.
— Damn it! — Moody cursed, gritting his teeth. — Come on, Lourd. The scoundrel controlling the basilisk probably planned this from the beginning: distracting me to leave the Minister exposed. But I won't allow that!
He shot a hard, severe look at Lourd, the tension in his voice revealing the gravity of the moment.
— Get ready, kid. This battle might get ugly.
Moving with precision, Moody placed a small magical recorder on the side of the door, hiding it strategically. He knew he couldn't split himself between tackling the basilisk and protecting the Minister, but he also wouldn't let the creature act without surveillance. The recorder would pick up any nearby sounds from Zaino, and Moody hoped that, by reviewing the recording, they might identify commands or spells used to control the basilisk.
With the device in place, Moody raised his voice authoritatively:
— As soon as you sort out this hatchling, go outside to ensure the safety of the Minister for Magic! — Moody said as he headed out the side door, followed by Gabriel Lourd.
His command echoed down the corridor, leaving a weighty silence in its wake. Everyone knew that with Moody's departure, the burden of responsibility now lay entirely on their shoulders. Zaino, standing in the center of the atrium, was no longer just a threat; he had become a test of courage they had to overcome. Failing would mean more than just risking petrification, facing Moody's displeasure seemed almost as terrifying as the basilisk itself.
Sensing the hesitation and fear around him, Zaino hissed again, a long, threatening sound that reverberated through the marble walls. Though young, the basilisk made it clear he wouldn't be an easy opponent. The warning was evident: they'd have to prepare for a battle worthy of the name.
…
Fleur kept her eyes shut, her body still pulsating with the energy she had built up, when at last she felt a shift in the air. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but then it came with force: a resonant hiss, filled with power and connection. Zaino!
The sound echoed in her mind like a comforting tune, and a wave of relief swept through her body, as though the weight she had been carrying vanished in an instant. She knew in that moment that the barrier isolating him had been breached. He was alright.
She took a deep breath, feeling the tension leave her muscles, her hands that had been clenched into fists now relaxing, her heartbeat slowing down. Zaino's hiss, though distant, carried a message: he was moving again, prepared to follow through with the plan.
Fleur opened her eyes slowly, and a small, almost imperceptible, smile of relief curved her lips. He heard. He's alright. The dread that had once consumed her thoughts was now replaced by a reassuring peace.
— Good boy... — she murmured softly, letting her voice drop with affection before issuing a renewed command. — Now get out of there! Follow the smell of the meat.
The certainty that Zaino was safe restored Fleur's strength. The map lay on Ron's desk, waiting for her. She approached it with resolve, focused on the final details she needed to memorize. She felt relief knowing that, despite the setbacks, the plan was back on track. Renewed in her confidence, Fleur was ready to finish her part and wait for Lucius to get them out of there.
…
In the interrogation room, Lucius was standing, stretching his back, pacing in circles around the small space. Meanwhile, Ron Weasley discreetly signaled Bruna Nichols to keep transcribing every detail that played out there.
— From what I see here, Mr. Malfoy — Ron began, alternating his gaze between the list in his hands and Lucius. — The missing jewels have only aesthetic effects?
Lucius paused briefly, evaluating the question, before responding in a controlled tone:
— Although many of these jewels, taken individually, may seem harmless, when combined, they have the potential to become a serious problem. If the person who stole the jewel in your possession gains access to the others listed, which I generously shared with you, that should be cause for great concern.
Still scrutinizing the list with a critical expression, Ron asked:
— It says here that 27 jewels are missing, but I see some asterisks. What do they mean?
Lucius replied without hesitation, his voice smooth and measured:
— Those asterisks indicate jewels that belong to sets, like the one found at the rally. There are nine others identical to it. For simplicity's sake, we tally them all as a single piece, as they share the same form and function.
He paused briefly, offering a slight smile before adding, with a hint of irony:
— Moody mentioned you'd offer me some coffee. I'm still waiting.
Ron, who had been counting on his fingers, lost track of his calculations at the mention of coffee. He frowned, turning his gaze back to Lucius.
— Would you mind if I finished my count? — Ron asked, maintaining a cautious tone.
— Not at all, please continue — Lucius responded, still with that subtle smile. — Though I could tell you the result.
Suspicious, Ron shook his head, answering firmly:
— No, thank you. Not that I doubt your kindness, but I prefer to trust my own calculations.
Finally, after a pause that felt longer than it was, Ron stated seriously:
— Actually, there aren't 27, but 58 missing jewels.
Lucius cracked a smile, as if Ron's conclusion amused him.
— Exactly, Mr. Weasley. But as you know, repeated items aren't counted individually in the collection.
Ron narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on a harder edge.
— I wasn't aware that a collection of jewels was counted like Chocolate Frog cards — Ron remarked, with a hint of irony.
Lucius, finding the analogy entertaining, replied with a small smile:
— A collection is a collection, Mr. Weasley, regardless of the object. The method rarely changes.
…
Wilma Dean advanced in determined steps toward the Ministry, her resolute expression shaped by years of political life. The crowd surrounded her on all sides, occupying every corner of the square right up to the steps of the building. Even so, her imposing presence forced a narrow corridor to open before her, allowing her to proceed with authority through the sea of agitated people.
Moody pressed forward, heading toward the Minister, opening a path with his usual firmness, pushing back the crowd gathered around the Ministry. Beside him, the young Auror Gabriel Lourd kept close, replicating Moody's firm, decisive movements while urging people aside. When they finally reached Wilma Dean, the gazes of Alastor and the Minister met, exchanging a brief nod of mutual understanding. Without a word, Moody took a position beside her, taking on his role of escort, while Gabriel Lourd stayed behind the security wizards, ensuring they moved forward, clearing the way through the crowd to the Ministry entrance.
Upon arriving at the front of the Ministry, Wilma stepped ahead, giving Moody a discreet nod of thanks, while the others held their positions, ready to act if anything unexpected arose.
…
Rita Skeeter, concealed in the midst of the demonstrators, watched the scene with her habitual critical gaze. The ironic smile on her lips grew while her Quick-Quotes Quill recorded every detail of the events. To Rita, the Minister, center stage, displayed an impressive composure despite the situation. Her unwavering presence, staring down the furious crowd, was something to behold. No one could accuse her of cowardice in front of an audience, Rita thought grudgingly, with a trace of admiration.
Rita continued splitting her attention among various matters, but what intrigued her most was a specific group she had been monitoring since the start of the protest. These were older men, elegantly dressed, standing apart from the mostly young crowd dominating the demonstration. Notably, this group was surrounded by young people wearing blue scarves, a detail Rita had not overlooked.
She studied them carefully, her journalistic experience alerting her that something was off. Then, suddenly, in a synchronized fashion, the young people encircling the older men raised their scarves, covering their faces completely and leaving only their eyes visible. The motion was quick and precise, as if it were a planned signal, something they had rehearsed beforehand.
Right after concealing their faces, the young people exchanged a brief nod with the older men and started to move forward, heading for the front of the crowd where Wilma Dean was standing. The tension in the air grew as the masked youths approached, while the older men stayed behind, observing silently. Rita sensed that this was more than a mere protest, that some scheme was afoot, placing the Minister squarely in the path of imminent danger. She knew she needed to pay attention to each detail, as something was about to unfold before her eyes.
Without wasting time, Rita slipped quickly to the iconic telephone booth that served as the secret entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Casting a quick glance around, she made sure no one was watching. She left her handbag, containing her notebook, hidden carefully in a corner behind the booth. Then, without hesitation, she transformed into her Animagus form—a small fly.
In the blink of an eye, she zigzagged through the agitated crowd, darting swiftly toward the group of youths wearing blue scarves. She navigated the tumult until she landed discreetly on one's shoulder. That's when she heard the muffled words:
— Don't stay so close, the shards could hit us here. Let's move farther back.
The urgency in the young wizard's voice made it clear something dangerous was about to happen.
…
In the atrium, chaos reigned. Aurors screamed in desperation, casting frantic spells at Zaino. The imposing serpent, eyes still shut, moved with calculated intent, hinting at an imminent attack. His sinuous body slid across the marble floor, causing the Aurors to hesitate, torn between bravery and self-preservation. At every advance, spells exploded around him, but Zaino remained unflinching, waiting for the real signal.
Then, a subtle electric pulse traveled through the air. Zaino, sensitive to the energies Fleur manipulated, sensed her silent message. He raised his head, capturing the electricity she had sent, understanding it was time to act. This was the precise moment Fleur, Lucius, and Rita had meticulously planned.
They knew there was a strong chance that all the atrium doors would be sealed so Zaino couldn't escape, so they had to prepare an alternate escape route. Lucius, with his vast experience and knowledge of the Ministry's internal workings—gained during his years on the Wizarding Council—knew exactly how to exploit the correspondence chutes. These chutes, connecting all the Ministry's offices, were magically cleaned once a week to facilitate the exchange of letters and items between departments. Zaino, still just a hatchling, could fit through them with ease.
The next piece of the plan rested with Rita. Though she had vowed never again to assume her Animagus form within the Ministry, Lucius persuaded her, assuring that the maintenance floor, where she'd need to operate, lacked the complex magical detection systems that protected the other departments. Naturally distrustful, Rita verified the information through her own sources, and feeling safe, agreed to go along. Hours before the operation, in her fly form, she had slipped through the shadows to the maintenance floor. There, she placed a piece of meat inside the correspondence chutes, choosing the spot with utmost care. The scent would be the key, guiding Zaino along the hidden escape route, away from guards and containment spells.
To finalize this part of the plan, Lucius had selected a special jewel from his collection for the mission: a choker enchanted to change the wearer's eye color to a deep violet and, as an altered effect, repel any non-lethal spell. Knowing the dangers Zaino would face, the jewel was crucial to protect him from the Aurors' curses—any direct spell would simply bounce away. Furthermore, as a precaution against the jewel being recognized, Lucius cleverly included it in the list of missing jewels he gave the Aurors, so he could easily pin the blame on the criminals who had raided his vault if anyone identified it.
Sensing Fleur's electric pulse, Zaino knew it was time to move. Faithfully following the instructions she had painstakingly taught him, he picked up the aroma of the meat in the air and slid quickly toward the opening of the chutes, next to the elevators. The choker at his neck emitted a gentle glow as his now-open eyes, tinted with that enigmatic violet, gleamed in the darkness of the shaft.
The Aurors, astonished and powerless, watched as Zaino disappeared into the chutes, leaving behind only confusion and dismay.
…
Ron took a deep breath, realizing that his conversation with Lucius Malfoy needed a more direct tack. He fixed his gaze on the wizard, who remained calm and collected, and spoke firmly:
— Mr. Malfoy, I ask that you sit down now, please, and allow me to ask a few more questions.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, but complied, sitting elegantly in the chair.
— Certainly, Mr. Weasley. I am at your disposal.
Ron approached, placing his hands on the table between them, while Bruna Nichols adjusted her quill to record every word.
— You willingly brought us this list of your missing jewels, as you yourself pointed out — Ron began, his tone serious. — But you made no mention of the secondary effects these jewels might have. Or did you think we didn't know that magical jewels such as yours almost always have unregulated modifications?
— You must be aware that, in the past, wizards wouldn't register the modifications made to their jewels. It was a way to gain an advantage in duels — Lucius said, speaking casually. — The requirement to register such modifications only came about after you were born, if I'm not mistaken.
Ron met his gaze steadily, then said:
— After Voldemort, I imagine.
Lucius fell silent for a moment, then shrugged.
— Could be — he answered, nonchalant. — I only have records of the modifications for the more recent jewels and those used most often by the family. Smaller, less important pieces were never properly documented… yet.
— Thirty years was enough time for that, don't you think, Mr. Malfoy? — Ron shot back, not hiding his irritation.
Lucius's eyes flashed with a hint of defiance, but his expression remained composed.
— As you may be aware, for the last ten years I was unable to deal with administrative matters. And before that… well, before that, let's say I lacked the inclination to follow certain rules — he said with a slight, ironic smile. — But I've already paid for that, Mr. Weasley. And as for these jewels, everything I can give you is on that list. Their primary function is purely aesthetic. However, there is a possibility that some have been altered over time for more dangerous purposes. But, as I said, I can't confirm anything with certainty.
Ron narrowed his eyes, his voice laden with frustration.
— "There is a possibility" isn't a solid basis for a serious investigation, Mr. Malfoy. We need a more detailed description of the possible modifications for each jewel.
Lucius eased back in his chair, his relaxed posture contrasting with Ron's tension.
— That's why you studied to become an Auror, and I did not, Mr. Weasley. Or do you expect me to do your job? — Lucius retorted, sarcasm evident in his voice.
Ron glared at him, realizing Lucius didn't intend to cooperate beyond what he had already said. With a frustrated sigh and a note of scorn, Ron asked:
— And what exactly did you study for, Mr. Malfoy? I can't seem to recall what your job was.
Lucius let out a short laugh.
— Actually, my degree is in wizarding arts and history, Mr. Weasley. If you need any tips on how to become more refined, I'd be most happy to oblige.
Ron sighed, trying to contain the anger threatening to boil over. When Malfoy gave them the list, he had felt a flicker of hope that they might finally move forward in the investigation. Now, faced with the realization that things wouldn't be resolved as quickly as he'd hoped, frustration ate at him, and he had to summon all his willpower to keep his irritation in check.
…
Wilma Dean stood at the entrance of the Ministry, her resolute gaze scanning the agitated crowd before her. With her wand in one hand and her touchstone in the other, she prepared to speak, taking a moment to assess the situation.
While she focused, she sensed Alastor Moody's presence beside her. He stepped closer discreetly, leaning in to speak in her ear, his voice low and urgent:
— Minister, there's a situation in the atrium I need to handle. I'll make sure everything is in proper order if you need to enter quickly.
Wilma offered Moody a small smile, giving him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the crowd. His warning reminded her that the situation could deteriorate at any moment, and her words might be crucial to soothe it.
She felt the weight of the moment. Her dark, determined eyes swept over the sea of witches and wizards before her, brandishing posters full of discontent and rage. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension thrumming in the heavy air of Wizards' Square. The Minister raised her wand calmly, pointing it at her own throat, and with a firm movement, cast the Sonorus Charm.
— Witches and wizards, I have come to speak to you with an open heart. — Her amplified voice rang out at its greatest volume, exploding across the space. The sound reverberated like thunder, violently echoing off the stone walls and columns, rising to the vaulted ceiling and rattling the foundations of the shops and buildings around the Ministry.
The initial uproar gave way to a tense silence. Every eye was on her now. The collective breath held in suspension. Wilma surveyed them with an imposing stance, though her heart thudded in her chest, knowing that her words could either calm the situation or fan the flames.
She took advantage of the momentary hush to begin her speech:
— First of all, I want to acknowledge your right to protest — she began, her voice firm, yet seeking to connect with the outraged young wizards. — When I was most of your age, the government was extremely strict and oppressive. Back then, we couldn't stand up against what we believed was wrong. And that's why I fought! I fought so that young people like you could speak your minds today without fear of retaliation.
…
Fleur filled in the final detail of the map in her mind, a faint smile forming on her lips at the rush of relief. But at that very moment, a powerful vibration shook the room, as if the air around her had become tangible. She quickly looked up and, through the glass wall, saw the corridor. The posters taped to the wall trembled in sync with a resounding voice that echoed through the space. The unmistakable, magically amplified voice reached her ears: it was the Minister for Magic, Wilma Dean.
For a moment, Fleur remained still, her heart pounding. The Minister's arrival meant the time had come; Lucius would need to find her, and together they could escape all that confusion.
…
In the interrogation room, the tense silence was broken by the amplified voice of Minister Wilma Dean, reverberating off the stone walls. Ron, Nichols, and Lucius exchanged glances as they heard the Minister's words echoing through the corridor. Lucius, wearing his habitual expression of superiority, raised an eyebrow and, in an almost nonchalant tone, asked:
— Would you care to interrupt our interrogation to go help your Minister for Magic?
Ron shook his head, keeping his gaze firmly on Lucius, and answered with a slight smile:
— There's no need. Our Minister for Magic can handle a bunch of rowdy teenagers just fine. Besides, Moody is already there.
Lucius let out a theatrical sigh, leaning back in his chair as he spoke with a hint of irony:
— As you wish, Mr. Weasley.
Inwardly, Lucius was annoyed. The plan he had envisioned seemed straightforward: upon learning the Minister for Magic was facing an enraged crowd, every Auror would mobilize to ensure her safety. That, he thought, would lead to his early release, allowing him to meet Fleur.
But Ron Weasley, with his characteristic stubbornness, was determined to play hardball. He wouldn't give in so easily, and that complicated Lucius's plans. He kept his expression impassive, but internally, he began recalculating his options.
…
In Wizards' Square, the boos had become deafening, fueled by Kimmy's group, who stirred the crowd with increasing intensity. The sound echoed across the square, gaining strength by the second, as more witches and wizards joined the chorus of disapproval, turning the atmosphere into a wave of hostility.
Unfazed, the Minister went on:
— I know many of you are outraged by the criminal act that occurred in Diagon Alley — she continued — Forcing people to sleep against their will is a crime and will be punished as the law dictates.
Shouts of "Sleepyhead!" rose quickly, trying to divert attention from her words. Holding the touchstone in her hand, Dean kept her tone firm:
— But be mindful not to let yourselves be manipulated. I have neither proposed, nor do I intend to propose, any law that compels Hogwarts to accept more or fewer students from non-wizarding families.
"Liar!" the crowd shouted, in a reflex reaction. Still, Dean refused to be thrown off. Her gaze was steady, scanning for those who might be listening, who might still be swayed. Then she continued:
— I have absolute faith in Hogwarts' Headmistress and her Board of Parents and Teachers. I do not intend to interfere with the teaching practices they have established.
…
Rita Skeeter, still in fly form, took off from the shoulder where she had been perched, determined not to lose sight of the curious group of older men who had drawn her attention. Hovering over the crowd with alert eyes, she soon spotted them. Right then, one by one, they pulled up their scarves to cover their faces. Then they opened the black bags they carried. From one of the bags, one man pulled out a small catapult that appeared at first glance to be a mere toy. Yet the methodical way he moved set off Rita's alarm bells. Immediately after, another man pulled out of a second bag a sphere of blue energy, slightly larger than a melon, its intense, threatening glow making the air around it seem to vibrate dangerously.
The two men exchanged quick glances, and with a coordinated flick of their wands, they began casting a spell on the catapult, which in seconds started to enlarge. Rita realized instantly that something dangerous was about to happen and that she couldn't waste a second. Before the catapult had grown to full size, she dashed toward Minister Wilma Dean, flying as fast as her tiny wings would allow.
Gasps of astonishment and terror erupted among the protesters. The enormous catapult, completely out of place in that context, was loaded with a pulsing sphere of magical energy, whose ominous glow lit up the covered faces of the wizards. Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, the catapult was fired.
The magical sphere cut across the sky, a deadly light shooting rapidly toward the Ministry doors. Protesters and Aurors froze, horror dawning in their eyes as they realized the impending devastation and the chaos about to be unleashed upon them.