"Shut up! Bastard! I will not hide—no matter how strong he is, he cannot stop me from blowing up the entire Azkaban! Chaos! Chaos is the stage he can never fully control! Once I regain my power, he is finished! Dumbledore is finished too!"
This time, Voldemort no longer ignored Little Tom's words. He roared madly in his heart.
"...It's time to let them taste the flavor of fear!"
In reality, Voldemort's voice suddenly rose, carrying a shriek similar to metal tearing, a madness that ignited the entire square.
In the audience, Bellatrix screamed with ecstasy, and Radolphus and the others waved their crude, randomly acquired wands excitedly. Soon, the crowd began to stir, like a muddy torrent about to break through the dam.
Lockhart almost fell in the shoving, stumbling to support himself on the cold stone wall beside him, his palm feeling a heavy moldy smell and something...cold?
The man instinctively looked up at a nearby floating Dementor. The darkness in that hood seemed bottomless, yet in his daze, he seemed to see a faint blue light flashing briefly in the depths of the dark, like a solitary star in the cold night.
"..."
"...Now, pick up your wands!! Charge out! For freedom! Across the sea!—Are our enemies!"
Voldemort screamed, the red glow in his eyes suddenly exploding, the madness spreading like a plague. At the breaking point, the crowd exploded, everyone surged towards the north of the square where Azkaban's gates were.
Good, it has begun.
The Dementors also moved. William was the only one who did not move, still quietly hovering there, watching Voldemort who was "burning" his own soul to ignite the ideological imprints planted in the minds of the masses—
You have to admit, madmen are indeed bold, not afraid of burning themselves out.
William squinted, though this was just a metaphor since the Dementors' body structure means they have no eyes.
Watching all the shouting people leave, numerous invisible tentacles stretched out from under William's cloak, fiercely stabbing at that "madman."
The seeds he planted earlier were soon to bloom and bear fruit...
...
Bellatrix screamed, charging towards the first reinforced iron door leading to the upper prison passage—
Followed by a horde of frenzied "Death Eaters."
Just when they thought they were about to start their assault—
"Boom!"
A tremendous crash from a direction not from the main gate shook the entirety of Azkaban!
Massive stones flew, dust billowed, cold sea wind swept in with rain and snow, revealing a jagged breach leading to the stormy night!
"Freedom!!" "Charge out!!" "For the Master—!!"
The darkness also brought "hope," people yelled and surged towards the dark opening, shouting slogans.
And on the high platform, Voldemort began to emit a piercing, sharp laugh, scarlet slit eyes shimmering with a frenzied red light—
"Go! My servants! Bring fear to your enemies! Let the flames of vengeance burn—"
True chaos erupted instantaneously.
The prisoners were no longer just emotionally frenzied, their survival instincts and long-suppressed madness were completely ignited by Voldemort.
They transformed into a chaotic, roaring torrent rushing madly towards the freshly blasted opening on the west side of Azkaban!
Lockhart ran forward swept up in the chaos, his mind blank, with only one thought left—leave here! To hell with who it's for!
Even if, after escaping, he might immediately face Auror spells or other threats—it was better than staying here to die! He was practically kicked out through the breach by those behind, cold rain and sea winds immediately hitting his face.
...
London, Ministry of Magic Building, the Minister's office was brightly lit.
Cornelius Fudge paced restlessly back and forth like a plump, caged beast, his expensive dragon hide boots leaving deep impressions in the carpet.
Sweat had soaked through his sparse hair on his forehead, making it cling tightly to his scalp.
"Bang!"
The heavy black oak door was almost knocked open from the outside, as the Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour, rushed in, his face unprecedentedly sullen, without a trace of courteous greeting, "Azkaban mass breakout! Why is there such a breach?! Cornelius? What the hell have you done?!"
Upon hearing this, Fudge turned sharply, the flesh on his plump cheeks quivering violently, as he snatched the parchment being waved in Scrimgeour's hand—which clearly showed Azkaban Prison had been completely breached, and...a mass gathering and agitation of Dementors via internal surveillance—
"How many have escaped?"
Fudge ignored Scrimgeour's questioning, instead affecting calm with a counter-question, though his hand holding the parchment trembled uncontrollably.
"...The summary hasn't arrived yet, but the scale of the Dementor disturbance—unprecedented!"
Scrimgeour cast a glance of indiscernible meaning at Fudge, shook his head, and spoke at a rapid pace, carrying a decisive gravity, "If nothing unexpected happens, probably no one would stay in that damned place, so, you know something, don't you, Minister?"
Fudge's breath became inadvertently rapid, his chest heaving intensely, and the man instinctively glanced behind him.
The next moment, out of the corner of his eye, Fudge glimpsed an inconspicuous crystal hourglass on his desk. At that instant, an extremely faint, almost undetectable blue glint flickered briefly in the hourglass, like a meteor in a summer night sky, vanishing in an instant.
Fudge's body abruptly stiffened, and simultaneously his heart instantly settled, as if he had found a backbone.
He turned around, and Scrimgeour was still waiting for his answer—
"We must inform Dumbledore, he has to mediate—Fudge."
Scrimgeour paused, looking at Fudge with a complicated gaze that contained annoyance, schadenfreude, and even the joy of likely ascending in position, "Draft a retirement notice, you can't suppress this..." Saying this, he turned to leave, seemingly certain of victory.
"What a load of bull."
Fudge said faintly, as if the person who was restlessly pacing back and forth moments ago was not him at all.
"?"
Scrimgeour's back slightly paused, not only due to Fudge's words but also because of the wand that had, unbeknownst to him, been pointed at his throat.
"...Lucius Malfoy?"
Watching the man with the wand walking in from outside the door, Scrimgeour's pupils started trembling uncontrollably. He was somewhat dazed as he looked at the group of wizards appearing at the door, then watched helplessly as they took the wand from his pocket—
The man dared not move, feeling these people would act ruthlessly without hesitation.
"You can't suppress this news, Fudge—Dumbledore will inevitably find out. Are you planning to discuss it with him face to face?"
Scrimgeour no longer looked at Malfoy, instead shouting at Fudge, seemingly trying to persuade their "Minister" to reconsider. However, what he said sounded more like a threat, "And you're actually collaborating with these...Death Eaters...wait, are you—"
"Don't bring that old man to scare me! Rufus—"
Fudge rudely interrupted the man's words, gritting his teeth, as if doing so would make his resolve a bit stronger.
"You're putting others at risk—"
"Silence him, for the time being."
Fearing those people might misunderstand, Fudge instinctively added a sentence, watching those black-robed men escort the unconscious Scrimgeour out of his office, Fudge slumped back into his luxurious ministerial chair, gasping for breath—
"They are professionals...what are you worried about? The gentleman's power?"
Lucius Malfoy sat on a sofa at the other end of the office, inserting his wand back into his cane, holding the pigeon-egg-sized gem. A smile appeared on the man's pale face, "He has planned everything..."
"Everything?"
Fudge muttered instinctively, "Everything?!" he shouted, "How could that be possible? It's...You-Know-Who! We know how insane he is, if he starts raiding and plundering the Muggle world with his followers, it wouldn't even take half an hour before Dumbledore has it on his desk—"
"He won't."
"What guarantee do you have?"
"It's not my guarantee—it's the gentleman's, he said he won't."
"..."
Fudge blinked, momentarily speechless.
He instinctively recalled, months ago, when it seemed like the entire Wizengamot jury had become his vassal, the boy.
"Your task now is to ensure that tomorrow, not a single inappropriate word appears in the newspapers or the bars. Those guys will lie low... However, you should still pay a visit to the Muggle Prime Minister, remember to speak euphemistically, just say...the wizards are planning to hold an event, so he shouldn't make a fuss—"
Lucius stood up, supporting his cane, smoothing out the slightly wrinkled robe from the movement. He put on his hood, nodded to Fudge, and then directly left the office.
"...Phew."
Fudge seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, still slumping in the chair until everything returned to calm, as if what had happened here and hundreds of kilometers away was merely a dream...but Fudge knew very well, that was utterly impossible.
After a long while, he shook his head, stood up straight, grabbed his coat, and left.
...
In the quiet office, red "flames" flew out from the fireplace, landing on the sycamore wood stand by the door.
A gentle gaze swept over the entire office.
A moment later, the "flame" flickered and disappeared as well.