The full moon lit the figure clearly for everyone to see. He was not riding a broomstick. He was flying under his own power, and now he was slowly descending.
At last, the Grey-Robed Man stopped in midair, about two or three meters above the ground.
Alarm bells rang in Scrimgeour's head. His wand was already in his hand.
The reporters tried to raise their cameras and photograph the mysterious Grey-Robed Man, but their bodies refused to obey.
No one had cast the Imperius Curse on them. Whenever they raised their cameras, Gray-Black Mist surged around them. Wrapped in it, they felt as though they had encountered their worst fear. One by one, they trembled, too frightened to move.
"I say, all who take photographs shall face terror," the Grey-Robed Man declared. His voice sounded young.
One reporter discovered that the Gray-Black Mist dispersed as soon as he lowered his camera. The others quickly lowered theirs too. No one dared raise one again.
"Don't be afraid!" Amelia Bones called to the reporters. Then she turned to the Grey-Robed Man. "Who are you? What do you want? We can talk!"
Percy found the voice oddly familiar. He felt as though he had heard this person speak before.
"Bones, we don't negotiate with people like this." Fudge frowned at the Grey-Robed Man. "Who are you? Do you know what crime you're committing by threatening other wizards in front of the Minister for Magic? Do you know that could land you in Azkaban—"
Fudge failed to notice Scrimgeour beside him, eyes wide. Scrimgeour knew that trick all too well!
He knew someone who could do it. The figure before them was the Christmas Dark Wizard!
The dangerous man who had single-handedly defeated him and a whole group of Aurors under his command!
Hadn't