The silence in the hall after the voice echoed was enthralling. It was suffocating and oppressing. The Lords of the Wizengamot were exchanging nervous glances, questions flickering between them. What was happening? And no one had any idea. Everyone was only looking for answers. Their hearts were palpating and they were frightened.
But they did not have to wait any longer for the answers.
The atmosphere in the hall suddenly turned even more frightening and oppressive. A black mist started to spread throughout the hall from out of nowhere.
Although the density of the mist was low and it did not truly obscure visibility, its sudden appearance made the Lords even more anxious. It was hovering in the hall and it was making everyone uncomfortable. It was like death and horror was suspended among the mists. The mist lowered the temperature in the Wizengamot hall further, and the Lords felt their blood turning cold.
The spectators in the visitors' gallery, on the other hand, were less affected by this phenomenon. They remained with their eyes glued to the Wizengamot floor.
"What is happening?" someone questioned from the council floor.
"Minister?" The man's voice was completely terrified, shivering with fright. "What is happening? Did you get control of the wards back?"
"Minister," another voice interjected. "Do something. Call for the Unspeakables."
"I… I do not know," Harold Minchum almost stammered.
He craned his neck toward the old man who had intended to go to the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables were the only one now capable of providing answers.
"Why have you stopped?" he questioned. "Go and find out! Bring the Unspeakables."
Although the Minister was trying to maintain a calm facade, anyone could tell he was utterly terrified. The old man, Head of the Department of Administrative Services, gave an equally terrified nod before he again started to descend toward the exit. But he had barely taken a couple of steps when he halted once more. Another forced halt!
An enormous pressure had suddenly descended upon the hall, making the air even heavier.
Antonio's hand tightened on his wand. He and everyone else could feel that the person whose voice they had just heard was about to make his entry.
This time, no Lord had the opportunity to speak, make a remark or ask a question as the next phenomenon started almost simultaneously.
The fabric of space started to twist in at least half a dozen places inside the well of the Wizengamot. Antonio narrowed his eyes, wondering how many Death Eaters Voldemort had brought with him. If there were too many, it would be a huge problem to deal with them. Though his eyes remained focused on the twisting space in the well, his mind was fugging through all the possible strategies and moves he would be making in the upcoming battle. His blood was pumping and the adrenaline inside him was rushing.
Everyone braced themselves for the impact as space was finally torn apart and a dozen men appeared in the well. Apparition.
They stood at the edge of the well, forming a circle with their backs facing each other. They had their wands drawn, and it was pointed directly at the Lords of the Houses.
But more than that, everyone's focus was on the attire of the men who had made this sudden entry. They were dressed in the classic robes and masks of the Death Eaters. Their appearance confirmed the dread that had been growing in the mind of quite a few people. That their Ministry had been intruded and there was no other organization daring or audacious enough to do this but one. The Death Eaters.
Antonio still had his eyes narrowed, wondering where Voldemort was. He was certain that the voice which had echoed just now had belonged to Voldemort. He was certain that the Dark Lord had come in person.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Minister asked in as courageous a voice as he could muster. "Who are you people? Do you know the meaning of this?"
"What are you trying to do?" he questioned. "This is a very grave crime you are committing."
"Minister!" one of the Death Eaters responded. His voice sounded like a distorted magical recording. Clearly, it was being altered with a magical spell, making it impossible to identify. "Stay standing where you are."
"And this advice is for each and every one of you," he said, his gaze sweeping the entire hall. "It would not take us a moment to blow your heads off!"
The man had barely finished when the wooden doors of the Wizengamot were almost smashed open, and more than ten Aurors came rushing into the hall. They had their wands out and pointed at the Death Eaters. Though one could see small flickers of fright and nervousness on their faces, they were holding themselves well. Their hands were steady and their eyes were focused.
As soon as they appeared, the Lords almost breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if they had been granted mercy, granted salvation.
But Antonio knew better. If Voldemort had planned all of this, he must have taken the possibility of Aurors crashing his party into account.
Antonio was not sure how much control over the Ministry wards Voldemort had established. If he had full control, he could evict all the Aurors in a moment. But even if he had not, he most probably had something else in mind. Or maybe these twelve men were truly great wizards who could take the Aurors head on. For now, he kept waiting. For the real player, for the Dark Lord, to show himself.
"Drop your wands!" one of the Aurors roared. "You have no way out of here! More backup is arriving soon."
The Death Eater who had spoken chuckled slightly, as if mocking the Auror.
"It is quite a threat you are giving," he smirked. "I do not think we would really have any need to escape."
"But if you dare to make a single move," he said, his tone turning evil, "I can assure you that you will surely lose a couple of your precious Lords."
"Lords who have been very steadfast in their opposition against us," his voice echoed through the hall.
Even before the last word had escaped the Death Eater's mouth, there was a sudden movement among the Lords.
"Hmph!" A cold and dismissive snort erupted from the crowd, and a man moved. It was Head Auror Alastor Moody.
His wand snapped toward the speaking Death Eater, a curse ready to erupt from the tip.
But before he could cast his spell, a bolt of light struck him squarely in the chest, sending him tumbling backward. He smashed against his own chair, and a painful groan escaped his mouth.
The eyes of everyone in the hall turned toward the person who had just cast the spell on Moody. It was not any of the masked Death Eaters. It was a Lord of the Wizengamot. A Lord who had been standing among the other Lords.
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