Will turned around, delighted to see a group of Dark Wizards. He had expected seven or eight at most, but there were well over a dozen. He could catch plenty of test subjects in one go.
They were dressed in all sorts of ways. Some wore ragged coats, others greasy cloaks. A few wore ordinary Muggle clothes, though those were stained with blood and marked by burns.
They were an ugly lot. Some were covered in warts and scars, some were thin as skeletons, and some had sharp, long noses and teeth, like witches in Muggle cartoons.
They all held wands aimed at Will. Dark red, sickly green, and ashen light flickered at the tips like the tongues of venomous snakes.
Their leader wore a coat pieced together from several layers of different-colored cloth. A scar ran diagonally from his forehead to his jaw, and part of his nose was missing. His eyes were small and cloudy, filled with naked greed.
"Hand over the Galleons," he said, sounding certain he had Will cornered. "You'd better know what's good for you, or—"
As he spoke, he aimed his wand at Will. The Wizards around him did the same.
To their astonishment, another hand emerged from Will's clothes, holding a pure white wand. Everyone who saw it thought it looked unnaturally clean.
That was because it was not a wand at all. It was a white wooden stick Will had conjured to fool people.
When Will drew it, the Scar-Faced Dark Wizard shouted, "Get him!"
Multicolored spells flew from their wands toward Will.
Will neither dodged nor flinched. The ground beneath his feet began to writhe, as though something alive were surging under the paving stones.
Chunks of earth and stone sprang up, spinning, changing shape, and coming together in midair. They