The purple flames swirled and spread in all directions, initially just flowing along the ground like a pool of spilled ink slowly spreading across the stone pavement.
But that speed only lasted for a moment, and then the flames suddenly shot up and poured into the shop windows and doors on both sides from the ground.
The shop window glass crackled and shattered under the intense heat, the shards being engulfed by flames before they even hit the ground.
" Fiendfyre! That's Fiendfyre!" someone shouted suddenly in the Ministry Atrium.
A young wizard standing in the back row subconsciously took a step back, bumping into the person behind him, but no one had time to complain, everyone's eyes were fixed on the light screen.
"He actually dared to use Fiendfyre? In broad daylight? Right here in Diagon Alley?" A middle-aged sorcerer in a dark gray robe asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"Has he gone mad? That thing is completely uncontrollable!"
"How could Professor Lockhart-- "
"What professor!" someone next to him rudely interrupted him.
"Didn't you hear what Minister Fudge said? He's a liar! He's controlled by a young Dark Lord now!"
The images on the light screen continued to play.
Purple flames had already engulfed the storefronts of at least five or six shops on both sides of the alley. The fire spread wildly to both ends of the alley, and the heat wave distorted the air into transparent ripples.
The screen shook violently; the wizard who had recorded this memory was retreating, but his retreat was nowhere near as fast as the fire was spreading.
" Aguamenti!"
A shout comes from the edge of the screen; someone is frantically spraying water at a bookstore window.
A jet of water gushed from the tip of the staff, appearing thick and rapid, but it emitted a sharp hissing sound as soon as it touched the purple flames, and the entire jet of water evaporated into a cloud of white mist in mid-air.
"It's no use! The water is no use!" The wizard's voice was already trembling with tears.
"How could it not work? Water can put out fires!"
"That's Fiendfyre! Ordinary water can't extinguish it!" An older wizard grabbed his arm and dragged him backward. "Forget the shop, run!"
A moment of silence fell over the Ministry Atrium.
" Fiendfyre is one of the most malevolent flames in Dark Magic; ordinary spells are completely ineffective against it," an elderly wizard standing in the front row explained in a low, somber voice.
"I read in a book that the last time Fiendfyre appeared in Britain was decades ago."
"So how was it destroyed later?"
"It burned everything down, then it extinguished itself."
After those words were spoken, the murmurs in the main hall immediately subsided.
Everyone understood the consequences from that answer: if the Fiendfyre wasn't extinguished, the entire Diagon Alley would be burned to ashes.
The image on the light screen flickered again.
The camera was frantically trying to get closer to the alley entrance, but the shops on both sides of the alley were already distorted by the flames, and the broken supports of the signs were crashing down from above, sending sparks flying everywhere.
"My shop..." someone stood in front of their burnt-down shop, their voice trembling with tears, "I've run this place for twenty-three years..."
But he only stood there for a short while before being pulled away by the people next to him, because the fire had already spread from the roof of the neighboring house.
The people in the main hall watched the horrific disaster and discussed it animatedly.
"The fire is too big... too fast..."
"At this speed, there's simply no time to put out the fire."
Can the person escape?
No one answered the question, because the image on the light screen had already provided the answer.
The entire Diagon Alley had been transformed into a purple inferno, with flames leaping from the rooftops of the shops on both sides, converging into a rolling curtain of fire above the alley.
Diagon Alley was filled with screams and footsteps as wizards surged into Diagon Alley depths like a flock of startled birds.
There were also several fire creatures whose names I didn't know, moving back and forth in the sea of fire.
" Merlin's beard..." someone murmured in the main hall.
"What is that? Can there be something inside a fire?"
"They are demonic beasts formed from Fiendfyre! Those things will actively hunt down living creatures!" The old wizard's voice had changed.
"They hunt living things? Those people in Diagon Alley— "
He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood what he meant.
The air in the main hall suddenly froze.
The wizard who recorded this memory was clearly also running desperately towards the alley entrance.
The camera shook violently, and other frantically running wizards occasionally flashed across the edge of the frame; everyone's face was filled with fear.
Then the camera paused for a moment, and the wizard, while running, tilted his head and caught something out of the corner of his eye.
Everyone in the main hall witnessed that scene.
A little girl in a red robe fell on the stone path and was crying loudly.
Behind her, a colossal wolf-shaped beast formed from purple flames was slowly walking towards her.
"My God..." A witch in the main hall covered her mouth.
From within the light screen came the shouts of wizards, " Alyssa! Come back quickly!"
A woman was seen running against the flow of people, reaching out her hand to the little girl as she ran.
"Mommy!" The little girl sat on the ground, stretching out her two little hands and crying out to the woman.
The woman finally ran up to her, scooped her daughter up from the ground, and held her in her arms.
But the fire wolf was already standing not far in front of her.
The main hall fell completely silent.
You can't even hear them breathing.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the light screen, so tense they held their breath.
The fiery wolf opened its mouth, and purple flames surged from deep within its throat, making it look like a real wolf baring its teeth.
Just as flames were about to burst from its mouth—
A black figure descended from the sky.
The hem of the black trench coat billowed backward in the airflow as the man landed in front of the woman, the black trench coat billowing behind him.
Almost simultaneously, the hundreds of people in the main hall breathed a sigh of relief.
"It's him..." someone whispered.
"That man in the trench coat."
"No wonder he looked familiar! He was there during the invasion of Hogwarts!"
"Yes, yes, that's the one with the fox mask!"
The images on the light screen froze.
The wizard who recorded this memory was also stunned, staring motionlessly at the back of the figure in the black trench coat.
The only sound on the screen was his rapid breathing; nothing else was visible.
The people in the main hall began to whisper among themselves.
But this time, the whispers were directed in a completely different direction than before.
"Wait, why wasn't this part mentioned in that supplement?" A middle-aged wizard wearing round-framed glasses turned around, his voice not loud, but everyone around him heard it.
What supplement?
"That article in the Daily Prophet this afternoon, the one Rita Skeeter, the one about 'Whom should we believe?'"
"Why wasn't it written?" another witch chimed in, her voice laced with obvious sarcasm. "It was just glossed over."
"Just mention it briefly?"
"It only mentioned one sentence: 'The masked man saved a mother and daughter,' that's the exact wording."
Just one sentence?
Just one sentence.
All eyes in the main hall turned to the golden figure in the center of the first row.
Rita Skeeter sat there, her back ramrod straight, a forced smile on her face, as if she didn't notice the gazes directed at her.
The female reporter in the round hat next to her glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and noticed that her hand holding the pen was trembling slightly, as if she had been straining.
The murmurs from the back row could already be heard.
"She definitely knew."
"She wrote it in such detail, how could she not know?"
"Knowing all this and still writing it like that... that's not very kind of you."
"For sales, what else could it be? Criticizing a You-Know-Who You-Know-Who more buzz than praising one."
"Tsk tsk."
Shh, keep your voice down, she can hear you.
"So what if she heard it? You're really giving her too much face."
The quill pen in Rita's hand made a "snap" sound under the strain, as if it were wailing about something.
But Rita maintained her smile, which was admirable in its composure.