Outside the temple gates.
Shawn transfigured a soft bed and gently laid the dazed Theodore on it.
He pressed a finger to Theodore's forehead and examined him carefully with his divine sense.
He discovered that, besides Theodore's magical energy churning and rapidly increasing, his soul was in utter turmoil, as though some energy were stirring it up from every direction.
Shawn frowned slightly and slowly withdrew his finger. This looked tricky.
He first glanced back to see how things were going with Tom.
Tom hovered in the air atop black fog. With the large-scale spells cast by his Bone-Handled Wand, he single-handedly kept more than a dozen elite Aurors suppressed on every front.
Lights of various colors flashed through the spreading black fog as countless Serpentine Chains lashed back and forth.
Muffled grunts rang out one after another, and bound figures were hurled out of the fog.
The elderly witch Rola had taken a particularly brutal beating, leaving her face swollen and bruised. Despite her miserable state, she still glared defiantly at Tom.
Meanwhile, the Cloak Figures continued watching from the sidelines. When Shawn's gaze swept toward them, they all bowed to him, their manner deeply respectful.
Shawn narrowed his eyes slightly and gave the Cloak Figures a polite nod.
He was now absolutely certain that these were Old Fawley's people.
But a moment later, another question occurred to him.
Old Fawley had instructed Old Nott to rescue those veteran Death Eaters, yet Voldemort was now mixed up with the tattooed group.
The relationships here were rather complicated.
Sure enough, in the adult world, there were no permanent friends or enemies.
On the ground, the elderly witch Rola was trussed up like a parcel. She spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Shawn, order your subordinate to release me at once! Are