Aurors: Are We Still Proceeding?

The Werewolf camp in the distance.

Night fell, and the rolling hills provided natural cover. A group of Auror stood among the trees and rocks, wands in hand, their breathing barely audible.

"Master, everything is ready, we can move out at any time," a middle-aged Auror whispered to the wizard at the front.

The wizard at the very front did not turn around.

He stood beside a protruding rock, his figure sturdy and upright. His long, brown hair was streaked with gray strands, and beneath his thick eyebrows, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat on his nose, behind which were a pair of sharp, yellow eyes.

Even when he was just standing still, this person exuded an oppressive aura of someone who had long held a high position, like a weathered old Lions, whose claws and teeth were still sharp despite his age.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office.

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the Auror waiting behind him, his voice low and clear.

"Werewolf are cruel and cunning, and Fenrir Greyback, their leader, is an even more vicious scoundrel. This operation has been in preparation for months, and we finally managed to catch them Werewolf- handed." Scrimgeour spoke quickly, reiterating the objective, "This is the largest Werewolf encampment in Britain, and many of them are criminals wanted by the Ministry of Magic. Our goal is to wipe out this camp; the main target is Fenrir Greyback..."

But Scrimgeour did not receive the response he expected after his speech.

What he saw were faces and pairs of eyes, with a silent blue light reflected in them.

At the same time, Scrimgeour also felt a surge of scorching heat coming from behind him, pressing against his back; even through his robes, he could feel the unusually high temperature.

He turned around abruptly.

Shock was evident in Huang's eyes.

The low-rise buildings that used to be there are gone; the houses with scattered lights and the dilapidated entrance to the mining area have all disappeared.

Instead, towering blue flames appeared!

The flames rose from the ground, reaching a height of no less than a hundred meters, and spread out to the left and right, like a huge curtain enveloping the entire camp.

The blue flames were eerily beautiful in the night, without any thick black smoke. The flames burned silently, with only heat waves spreading outwards in layers, so intense that even those on the hillside could feel the scorching heat.

"What's going on? Have the Werewolf discovered us?"

"What kind of magic is that fire? Is it a trap designed to target us?"

"Idiot, traps don't activate prematurely. This is a defensive measure to prevent us from entering..."

Several young Auror couldn't help but whisper among themselves. Some of them had limited involvement in the operation, and the scene before them was beyond their comprehension.

"Director, should we still proceed?" The middle-aged Auror who had spoken earlier stepped forward hesitantly, his voice filled with obvious uncertainty.

Scrimgeour ignored him.

He stood there on the hillside, staring intently at the high wall of blue flames, the flickering blue light reflected in the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses.

He recognized the fire.

As a seasoned Auror, Scrimgeour had memorized almost every magical record marked "high risk" in the Ministry of Magic's archives.

He was familiar with the traces left by Dark Magic, and with the descriptions of forbidden spells in the documents.

These blue flames, which appear bewitching and magnificent in the night, are Fiendfyre.

No wonder the Auror behind him didn't recognize it; the flames were too different in appearance from regular Fiendfyre.

Ordinary Fiendfyre is dark red, mixed with black smoke, and has a ferocious appearance, like a living beast devouring everything.

The sea of fire before us was a pure, serene blue, like an aurora borealis that had fallen to the wrong place, a color not belonging to the human world.

This color of Fiendfyre belongs to only one wizard:

Gellert Grindelwald.

The moment the name flashed through Scrimgeour's mind, it felt as if someone had sliced the back of his neck with an ice blade.

Impossible!!!

The man was imprisoned in Nurmengard and hadn't stepped out for decades.

Grindelwald himself had no descendants, and his family had dwindled to almost nothing, with no one left to inherit everything.

Acolytes?

The word appeared in Scrimgeour's mind, echoing repeatedly, spreading out like ripples.

Could it be that one of the Acolytes of yesteryear received personal instruction from Grindelwald and learned this blue Fiendfyre?

However, the Ministry of Magic's records clearly state that none of Grindelwald's most trusted followers ever used such a flame.

The Blue Fiendfyre is Grindelwald's exclusive mark, and no one else has ever wielded it.

Could it be... that Grindelwald himself has emerged from Nurmengard?

The thought had barely formed when Scrimgeour nipped it in the bud.

Impossible, absolutely impossible!

And even if Grindelwald did come out, what would he be doing in this remote Werewolf camp? Helping the Auror of the Ministry of Magic catch criminals?

Scrimgeour didn't believe that Nurmengard's magical barrier was strong enough to "imprison" a wizard who had once stirred up the world.

He only believed in the one who truly "locked up" Grindelwald —Albus Dumbledore.

If Grindelwald really leaves Nurmengard, either Dumbledore dead, or... the Minister for Magic can be replaced.

Scrimgeour didn't believe that Dumbledore, decades after personally defeating Grindelwald, would suddenly want to rule alongside Grindelwald and change the stable world order...

All he wanted to do right now was contact Dumbledore!

Just as Scrimgeour's thoughts were racing, a commotion suddenly came from the direction of the curtain of flames.

A humanoid creature burst out of the wall of fire.

The thing was engulfed in blue flames, making its face and clothing indistinguishable; only a humanoid shape could be vaguely discerned. It struggled desperately as it broke through the wall of fire, its limbs twitching.

But it didn't get very far.

A giant hand formed from flames reached out from the wall of fire, moving slowly and deliberately, as if catching a flying insect, and grabbed the howling Werewolf back to its original position.

The blue fingers closed, and the struggling humanoid figure was swallowed back into the sea of fire. The faint wail, like a snapped string, vanished abruptly.

The flames continued to burn quietly.

On the hillside, the Auror looked at each other in bewilderment.

"It doesn't look like a defensive measure..." a young Auror said softly, his voice a little dry.

At first, I thought the flames were a defense set up by the Werewolf to block our attack.

But now it seems that's not the case?