The gray mist swiftly enveloped Fudge and Umbridge completely, burrowing inward through the places where the features on their faces were.
Fudge and Umbridge's expressions immediately twisted into something incomparably grotesque, as though they were enduring immense pain.
An invisible hand seemed to seize their brains, slowly kneading them, crushing them bit by bit, yet deliberately controlling its strength so that Umbridge and Fudge remained conscious.
Then, the gray mist began spreading throughout their bodies, eventually filling every corner.
No matter how they struggled or opened their mouths wide, they could not make a single sound.
The gray mist seemed to form straws, greedily sucking everything from within their fat bodies.
Before everyone's eyes, the blood in their bodies was slowly drained away, their life force was stolen by an invisible power, their flesh gradually shriveled, and even their souls were torn apart by the gray mist and turned into its meal.
At last, the gray mist finished this less-than-appetizing Christmas dinner and slowly withdrew into the altar.
Voldemort held his breath, staring expectantly at the altar, waiting for the sight he wished to see.
Azkaban had been established on this small island because the original Magic Council had discovered the monsters known as Dementors here.
The form of existence of Dementors was exceedingly peculiar. Even after all this research, they remained difficult to restrain, and there were very few spells capable of killing them—let alone back then.
After suffering heavy losses, the Wizards' Council had only managed to defeat them; it had been unable to completely exterminate the Dementors.
The Wizards' Council of that time had been founded jointly by a group of highly respected masters of magic. Their conscience and sense of responsibility would not allow them to leave such creatures alive and unchecked in the world, nor