The prisoners on the rocky ground were watching them too.
There was no fugitive's ferocity in those eyes.
Only an emptiness scoured by the sea wind.
The lead inspector swallowed.
"Don't get too close yet."
"Everyone, raise your wands."
"Seal off the rocky shore."
"Martin, verify their identities."
The employee called Martin immediately crouched down.
He pulled a register from his waterproof leather bag.
The edges of the register were damp with sea mist.
The pages began turning on their own.
"Name."
Martin questioned the nearest prisoner.
The man stared blankly at him.
"I don't know."
Martin froze.
"Date of birth."
The man clutched his head.
"Don't ask."
"It hurts when I try to think."
The female inspector beside him carefully studied their condition and said quietly, "It looks like someone tampered with their memories."
The lead inspector's expression darkened further.
"Don't rely on their statements."
"Get the wanted register."
"And the old Azkaban register."
Martin immediately crouched down.
He pulled a thick, heavy register from his waterproof leather bag.
The Ministry of Magic's gold-stamped emblem was pressed into its spine.
The pages rustled as they turned on their own.
Moving black-and-white wanted portraits rose into view, one after another.
Some of the people in the portraits sneered.
Some narrowed their eyes.
Some looked blurred by the wind.
The female inspector waved her wand.
A strand of pale blue light fell across the prisoner's face.
The light traced his facial contours.
His brow ridge.
The bridge of his nose.
His jaw.
An old scar behind his left ear.
The register suddenly stopped.
The man in the portrait slowly raised his head.
His face aligned with that of the man on the ground, bit by bit.
Martin's fingers stiffened against the page.
"Impossible."
The lead inspector immediately demanded, "Explain."
Martin looked