Vincent paid no heed to Scrimgeour's accusation. He calmly looked into the other man's bloodshot eyes, reddened by agitation and rising blood pressure.
"Is it right for the Ministry of Magic to cover up the truth and use lies to paint a peaceful picture?"
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "So you broke into my home in the dead of night just to debate right and wrong with the man hunting you down?"
"Of course not." Vincent tilted his head slightly. "I'm not that bored."
"Then what are you—?"
He took a step forward, making Scrimgeour feel immense pressure. "I came to give you a chance to continue your vacation. At the same time, I need to borrow your identity for a while."
"Are you insane?" Scrimgeour's pupils suddenly contracted. "Wayne, do you know what you're saying?!"
Vincent lowered his gaze to the wand pressed against his chest. "On the contrary, I'm perfectly clear-headed.
"I'm looking for someone—an antisocial thrill-seeker who's been planting cursed objects all over the Muggle world. Fudge happens to need you back to stabilize the situation, while you, Rufus Scrimgeour... you're tired. You need rest, far away from all this mess."
Scrimgeour tightened his grip, as though the wand would pierce Vincent the next second. "What if I refuse?"
Vincent remained calm, his azure eyes seeming to silently proclaim something.
When a sharp, blade-like magical fluctuation suddenly surged through the air around them, Vincent reached out and gently pushed aside Scrimgeour's wand.
With a boom, the thick wooden floor exploded into a large hole, while every flying splinter froze eerily in midair.
The disbelief on Scrimgeour's face quickly turned into resignation.
He could feel everything around him enveloped by a powerful magic that did not belong to him. Under its cover, every move he made would be known