Fudge's Predicament

At the same time, the Ministry of Magic was in complete chaos.

The square before the golden fountain was nearly bursting at the seams.

The damaged dome had yet to be fully repaired. Magical lights flickered on and off, while the pungent stench of potions, scorched earth, and blood filled the air. At the center of the chaos, Cornelius Fudge stood helplessly at the foot of the fountain steps. Behind him lay the wrecked Ministry atrium; before him stretched a grim sea of reporters.

Camera shutters snapped like a torrential downpour. Quills scribbled frantically in midair, while magical amplifiers magnified every question until it echoed throughout the entire hall.

"Minister! Please explain why the Ministry's defenses were completely breached overnight?"

"The Aurors suffered devastating casualties. Does this mean your security policies have failed completely?"

"Dumbledore is still unconscious in the hospital. Have you lost the support of this symbolic figure?"

"Minister!"

"Please answer the question directly!"

"Has the Ministry of Magic already lost control of the situation?"

Fudge's breathing grew increasingly ragged. His hat was crooked, his bow tie loose, and sweat streamed down his temples. He kept wiping it away with his sleeve, but he could not get clean.

Just as he tried once again to resort to "under investigation" and "not convenient to disclose for now"—

Her movement was slight, yet the reporters around her instinctively parted to make way.

"Minister," her voice rang clearly beneath the dome through amplification magic, calm yet carrying an unsettling composure, "let's ask it another way."

She tilted her head slightly, her green eyes seeming to examine prey.

"Was the person who appeared on the battlefield tonight... The Mysterious Man?"

In that instant, it was as though even the air had been sucked away.

The shutters abruptly fell silent.

The whispers vanished