Another long few minutes passed.
When they looked up again, their expressions were identical to Windsor's.
"That boy..." Ashworth murmured, his voice trembling. "Who exactly is he?"
"I can't sense the limits of his magical power." Fawley's voice trembled as well. "Standing there, he was like a pool of deep water, like... like an abyss. There is only one possibility."
He looked at Windsor, who voiced the chilling conclusion for him:
"His level is higher than Voldemort's."
Dead silence.
Absolute dead silence.
The people who had been arguing fiercely just moments ago now stood rooted to the spot as though petrified, their faces filled with terror and bewilderment. Higher than Voldemort?
Voldemort was already a legend.
What could be higher than a legend?
No one knew.
Nor did anyone dare to imagine it.
At last, Windsor broke the silence. "Notify the International Confederation of Wizards. This is no longer something the British Ministry of Magic can handle alone. Also—"
He looked at Fudge. "Bring in the people from the Department of Mysteries. We need more precise testing."
The people from the Department of Mysteries arrived an hour later.
Three figures in gray robes, their faces entirely concealed in shadow, appeared soundlessly in the office. No one saw how they had arrived.
And no one dared ask.
Under Dumbledore's lead.
They returned to the scene.
At dawn, the ruins in London's East End were shrouded in a thin veil of morning mist.
By the time the Ministry of Magic's emergency response team arrived, the area had already been heavily cordoned off by Muggle police—at least twenty police cars were parked nearby, their flashing lights especially glaring in the dawn. Dozens of armed police officers patrolled back and forth outside the barricades, their faces tense and confused.
"They must have seen something