As soon as Adrian's words faded into the night air, every pair of eyes in the gathered crowd turned toward the wand resting in his palm.
In the wizarding world, few things were as closely connected to a person's identity as their wand.
Fudge's face underwent a series of rapid transformations. His mind suddenly latched onto a potential solution to their current crisis. He straightened his shoulders and called out in a voice that was heard clearly across the gathered crowd.
"Mr. Ollivander!" He shouted, scanning the faces before him with hope. "Are you here tonight?"
Ollivander?
The name sent a ripple of surprise through Adrian's mind.
If he wasn't wrong, this old wand craftsman must be at least eighty or ninety years old.
More puzzling still was his presence at such an event. Ollivander had always been a somewhat eccentric hermit, completely absorbed in his craft to the exclusion of all other pursuits. Moreover, everyone knew Ollivander was obsessed with wands and he didn't seem like someone who would be interested in Quidditch.
Would he really be at the scene?
Yet, as if summoned by Fudge's desperate call, the crowd began to part. Through the human corridor that formed, two figures emerged from the shadows.
One was indeed Ollivander himself, the other was a middle-aged man of about forty or fifty, with facial features and eyes extremely similar to Ollivander's, presumably his son.
"Mr. Ollivander?" Adrian said in surprise. "I thought you wouldn't be interested in Quidditch."
"I never said that," Ollivander said with a smile. "But you're right. Someone gave me two tickets, and my son said this might bring me new inspiration, so I came. I must say, these young people's sport has indeed given me some new ideas about wands..."
Adrian found himself momentarily at a loss for words, unable to envision any meaningful connection between the art of wandmaking and the aerial acrobatics of professional Quidditch. But clearly, this was neither the time nor the place for such philosophical discussions.
"We need your expertise," Fudge interjected, practically vibrating with nervousness as he stepped forward to give Ollivander his arm in support.
With careful respect, he guided the elderly craftsman closer to Adrian's position.
"Can you identify this wand? Do you remember creating it?"
Adrian handed the captured wand to Ollivander.
"Hmm..." Ollivander murmured, his eyes closing as if he were reading the wand's history through touch alone. "Ebony wood, dragon heartstring core, fourteen inches in length... yes, yes, the craftsmanship is definitely mine."
His eyes snapped open with startling suddenness, focusing on some distant memory with precision.
"I remember this piece quite clearly, actually. It was crafted forty years ago. The ebony was exceptionally fine, imported from the mountains of Eastern Europe and the dragon heartstring came from a Hungarian Horntail."
"Who purchased it?" Fudge quickly asked. "Who is the owner?"
"Crabbe," Ollivander answered without the slightest hesitation, then carefully returned the wand to Adrian's waiting hands.
Everyone immediately looked at each other. Regarding anything about wands, Ollivander would absolutely never lie.
The Crabbe family, as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families in the wizarding world, had some fame.
The image of a Slytherin chubby boy immediately appeared in Adrian's mind.
But obviously, Ollivander's forty-year timeline pointed to someone from an earlier generation. This wand belonged to Vincent's father, a man whose reputation was considerably more sinister than his son's mere schoolyard bullying.
"I should have known!" Mr. Weasley exploded, his face flushing red with indignation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Crabbe Senior was a Death Eater from the very beginning—one of You-Know-Who's earliest and most devoted followers and it looks like he hasn't changed his ways."
He turned to face Fudge. "Minister, the evidence couldn't be clearer. This attack was orchestrated by Death Eaters. I strongly recommend that we arrest Crabbe immediately, before he has the opportunity to disappear or destroy additional evidence."
However, to everyone's surprise, Fudge slowly shook his head.
"I'm afraid the situation isn't quite as straightforward as you suggest, Arthur," He said with the expert politician's skill of sounding reasonable while being utterly stupid. "We all understand that the mere presence of a wand doesn't constitute definitive proof of anything. Today's tragic events aren't necessarily connected to Mr. Crabbe at all."
His voice grew stronger, taking on the confident tone of a man trying to convince himself as much as his audience.
"Perhaps someone stole Mr. Crabbe's wand months or even years ago, then chose tonight to use it in this attack specifically to embarrass our Ministry and create exactly the kind of panic we're witnessing now. After all, we all know that You-Know-Who is dead. And Mr. Crabbe has demonstrated clear evidence of rehabilitation since his release from Azkaban."
Adrian immediately shook his head secretly. Fudge was obviously deceiving himself.
For Fudge, officially characterizing tonight's events as "Death Eater activity" would open a Pandora's box of complications that his administration was simply not prepared to handle.
There were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of former Death Eaters living quietly throughout magical Britain who had received pardons or served their sentences and theoretically returned to law-abiding lives.
Launching a complete investigation into their current activities would require massive resources, create widespread panic, and potentially destabilize the fragile peace that had existed since Voldemort's first defeat.
The politically convenient solution was to categorize tonight's attack as the work of ordinary Dark wizards, criminals motivated by personal gain rather than ideological fanaticism, unconnected to any larger movement or resurgent evil.
"Minister," Adrian said with a heavy sigh, "I believe you know in your heart what really happened here tonight. The evidence points to only one conclusion: Voldemort has returned."
"That's absolute nonsense!" Fudge sputtered, his maintained composure cracking like thin ice under pressure. "You-Know-Who died years ago—this is an established fact, confirmed through official Ministry investigation and verified by our finest magical experts!"
"Then explain the Dark Mark," Mr. Weasley pressed relentlessly, gesturing toward the sinister symbol still glowing in the sky above them. "Why would ordinary criminals choose such a specific and terrifying symbol unless they were acting on behalf of its creator?"
"Because it's the most effective tool for creating mass hysteria!" Fudge snapped back, his patience finally wearing thin. "The Dark Mark represents the worst fears of our entire society, of course criminals would exploit that fear for their own purposes! But that doesn't mean this attack was orchestrated by Death Eaters. Anyone with basic magical knowledge could recreate the symbol and use it to terrorize the population. It's regrettable, but it's not evidence of You-Know-Who's return!"
Adrian suppressed another sigh, recognizing the futility of reasoning with someone so determined to ignore reality. Fudge's argument demonstrated either stunning ignorance of magical theory or a willful disregard for basic facts.
The Dark Mark wasn't simply a visual symbol that anyone could reproduce, it was a complex piece of magic requiring the specific incantation "Morsmordre."
More importantly, it served as far more than simple psychological warfare. The Mark was a sophisticated magical communication system that allowed Death Eaters and their master to locate each other across vast distances, to coordinate attacks, and to demonstrate their continued existence to both allies and enemies.
The Dark Mark hanging above them wasn't some cheap imitation created by common criminals, it was the genuine object, conjured by someone with close knowledge of its creation and purpose.
Fudge's eyebrows rose skeptically, his political instincts immediately suspicious of such a confident claim.
"How could you possibly know that? And even if you're correct, how do you propose to locate him? This campsite covers several square miles and contains thousands of tents. Are you suggesting we conduct a tent-by-tent search of the entire area? That would take days, even with a large team of Aurors."
Adrian's smile widened as he began to lightly toss and catch the ebony wand. "Leave that particular challenge to me, Minister. It won't take long, twenty minutes at most.""
As soon as he finished speaking, Devil's Snare vines extended from Adrian's robes and wrapped around the ebony wand.
[Species. Devil's Snare]
[Level. 3]
[Traits. Intelligence, Parasitism, Magic Perception]
Magic Perception!
This was a new ability the Devil's Snare had recently acquired.
This ability allowed the Devil's Snare to sense magical traces related to objects it touched.
Each person's magical signature was unique, and the Devil's Snare could clearly sense those differences and track their source.
And the ebony wand in his hand, after experiencing long-term use by its owner, would naturally be stained with unique magical imprints.
In other words, the Devil's Snare could now point them toward the wand owner's location.
After the Devil's Snare grasped the wand, it extended more vines, forming an arrow shape in the air. →.
"Let's go."
Adrian took the lead, with the Ministry people following behind him.
As for the Weasley family, a brief consultation between Adrian and Arthur resulted in a practical decision. Given that Molly was still waiting anxiously at their temporary shelter with Ginny, and considering that the children had already endured more than enough excitement for one evening, Arthur decided it would be best to escort his family back to safety.
They would leave the investigation in the capable hands of the Ministry professionals and return to the relative security of their intact camping area.
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