Fear had its limits.
Dewey gazed dreamily at the sun outside the window, squinting as he rolled around on the expensive carpet, meowing like a cat. Lockhart, who had come over after hearing the noise, could only twitch his brows.
He felt that something was off.
Was this editor a little too childish?
He felt that working with an editor like this might not have been a very wise decision.
At the very least, shouldn't the publisher have found him a mature editor to work with?
Why had they found someone like this?
He opened his mouth, but in the end, couldn't think of anything to say. He left in disappointment.
Dewey paid no attention to Lockhart outside the door.
After a while, Dewey stretched his arms and legs out wide, lying on the carpet in a starfish pose as he basked in the sun.
He began humming Hedwig's Theme, and relaxed a little.
The sunlight gave him a sense of security.
Every emotion had a threshold. Once an emotion reached its upper limit, getting a stronger reaction—greater fear, for example—required someone to break through that threshold again. In other words, they needed to cross the line and deal them a heavy blow.
Just like the panic he had caused in London today.
If he wanted even better results, he would have to keep causing major panics one after another. The path ahead would be especially difficult.
To make them feel an even greater, more terrifying fear within two days—one capable of stirring up the wizarding world—the simplest approach would be one of two things. The first would be to let the wizards witness Voldemort's resurrection with their own eyes: have him appear in London, kill Fudge with a single Avada Kedavra, then cackle and slaughter his way through the