Late at night, London had grown quiet as well.
When the blood-red glow surrounding them faded, Harry began to examine the street where he stood.
He seemed to be in the heart of London, because towering commercial and office buildings—things that would never exist in the wizarding world—surrounded them.
A garbage truck so full it was nearly overflowing stood on the road outside the alley. Its driver was struggling to replace a blown tire with a wrench.
The Muggle did not glance into the alley even once.
"We're..."
Ron's astonished cheeks puffed out as he stared at the red telephone box not far from them. Uncertainly, he said,
"In the alley by the Ministry of Magic entrance."
Hermione recognized it too. Her brow slowly furrowed as she looked toward Ilune.
"That's right, it's—"
Ilune said confidently, her delicate porcelain-like face turned toward the ground.
"I can sense him. He's underground."
"So Malfoy came to the Ministry of Magic?"
In the bleak, icy wind, Neville gripped his sword tightly and stared in surprise at Harry, whose face looked sickly beneath the dim yellow streetlamp.
Could there really be such a coincidence?
They had come to the Ministry of Magic to rescue Sirius, and then the mark Ilune had placed on Malfoy had led them straight to the Ministry?
As Neville saw it, it would have made more sense for them to have landed amidst a group of Death Eaters there to receive Malfoy.
"It fits..."
Harry looked at the battered red telephone box and spoke softly to everyone.
"Who was Malfoy taking that wand to?"
Understanding dawned on everyone's faces, and even Hermione nodded inwardly.
That wand belonged to the Dark Witch, Vitia Criona.
But she clearly had no authority to order Malfoy around. It could only have been the Dark