An eerie stillness settled over the scene.
The gold powder had yet to finish drifting down. Faces changed again and again, suspicion, confusion, and a touch of absurdity passing through uneasy eyes.
Many quietly turned their gaze toward the backbone of the gathering—Chairman Hawthorne.
His decisiveness, composure, and reliability in the moment of crisis had won the trust of most of them. But if all of this had been some cruel prank... that would be rather awkward.
Hawthorne stood there with a dark expression, his earlier fervor replaced by profound caution.
Time seemed to halt for two or three seconds before Hawthorne raised his hand again and made a forceful downward gesture, allowing it to flow once more.
"Everyone... cease action and remain where you are!"
Hawthorne turned to the Aurors and issued another order:
"Mr. Hughes, I still need you to go to New York Square and confirm the situation there! Miss Goldstein, confirm whether Mr. Fisher is safe!"
The two accepted their orders and, without the slightest hesitation, walked out of the Manor and Apparated away.
The wait was not long. Ezra Hughes merely Apparated onto the rooftop of a tall building overlooking Central Square, took two glances downward, then stood invisibly among the crowd for a moment before immediately returning.
Yet those brief dozen seconds felt unbearably long to everyone.
Soon, with a sharp crack, Ezra Hughes reappeared.
He hurried up to Hawthorne and said in a low voice, "Everything in the square is normal. The Muggles have not gathered unusually either. No one is giving speeches about or discussing magic."
His words were like magic breaking the silence, stirring a suppressed uproar among the officials and guests.
What surged up first was a sense of relief so immense it nearly left them weak-kneed.
The terrible disaster