Gary heard muffled screams behind him, the ground beneath his feet burning with scorching flames.
The flames crept up his legs. At first, Gary only felt a sharp pain in his feet, then he lost all sensation.
He wasn't inherently against working for Lord Voldemort, especially if it meant saving his own life. Gary didn't consider himself so magnanimous as to disregard his own life and death; in his view, only by living was anything meaningful.
This was also why he had used Crucio on his companions earlier; only by living could he speak for himself.
He only hoped Alfrina and the others could forgive his actions. Casting those Crucio spells wasn't just tormenting their bodies; it was tormenting Gary's own heart.
Flames surged, their intense heat distorting the surrounding air. The Fiendfyre seemed to have determined that he wasn't truly sincere about helping Lord Voldemort. The flames quickly climbed to his knees, burning his robes to ashes.
Gary felt certain he was going to die. Once the Fiendfyre Curse touched a body, it clung like a maggot to bone, impossible to shake off. The victim could only watch helplessly as the flames slowly melted their body.
His leg flesh must have already melted, Gary thought. Would his flesh and blood, melting in the flames, give off the scent of roasted meat?
Gary couldn't help but laugh as he thought about it. Gary felt his vision blur. Would his eyeballs be the next to melt in the Fiendfyre?
Gary gently closed his eyes, clearing his mind of distractions, and immersed himself in his own world.
Just then, the dragonhide wand tightly clutched in his hand suddenly trembled. Gary opened his eyes and looked at the wand in his hand, realizing that the Fiendfyre had already attached itself to the dragonhide wand.
The dragonhide Gary used came from a Hebrides black dragon. These native British black dragons were numerous, and the MacFusty Wizard family even bred them on the island.
Therefore, the price wasn't expensive, and the quality of dragonhide produced by these not-so-aggressive dragons wasn't excellent, naturally unable to withstand the Fiendfyre's scorching.
Amidst the scorching heat of the flames, Gary could vaguely see the black dragonhide being burned by the inferno, gradually fading and curling. The smell of burning flesh came to him.
Gary couldn't tell if the smell of burning was coming from himself or from the dragonhide.
The dragonhide curled back, revealing the wand's true form.
The crimson wand, the moment it broke free from the dragonhide's restraint, was immediately engulfed by the Fiendfyre.
Gary's hands were completely covered by the Fiendfyre. Like his legs, there was a sharp pain first, then no sensation.
He saw the wand detach from his palm, but it didn't fall. Instead, it spun in place, like the barbecue grill they had used during their dinner the night they first arrived in France.
The crimson wand and the blue Fiendfyre intertwined. The wand rolled, throwing off a shower of sparks, then formed a blue barrier that enveloped Gary's body.
A cool sensation, followed by waves of intense pain. Gary realized that all the Fiendfyre on him had been separated by this blue barrier.
Gary inspected his body and found that his calves had carbonized into a leathery texture, his hands were covered in blisters and swollen beyond recognition, his entire lower robe was burned away, and his skin was terribly scalded.
Gary's hands trembled, not daring to move his wounds, gritting his teeth to keep himself from screaming. It was simply too painful!
A cool gas flowed from the barrier's surface to Gary's wounds, making the burning wounds feel cool and comfortable, as if a burn ointment had been applied.
The hostages huddled together, silence their only language. Just moments ago, two more had been pushed into the flames by Lord Voldemort, emitting only a single shriek before falling silent.
Alfrina's brows and eyes curved slightly downward. She stared intently at the patch of flames before her. She could no longer see Gary, and it felt as if a hole had torn open in her heart, bitter tears flowing inward, her heart aching.
"He'll be alright." Lily squeezed her hand. Alfrina's hand was impossibly cold, like a block of ice radiating its own chill in Lily's grasp.
Lily gently patted her golden hair. "Don't be afraid."
"It's been two minutes. He should have been burned to bones by the Fiendfyre by now," Alfrina said softly, sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the blue flames.
A normal person touched by Fiendfyre would turn to ash in mere seconds. Gary had been in the Fiendfyre for two minutes already; how could he possibly be alive?
"Hurry, hurry..." Mr. Shafiq clasped his hands over his chest, praying to Merlin, hoping Dumbledore would arrive quickly.
The Aurors hadn't stopped attacking. Countless spells struck the Shield Charms constructed by the Death Eaters, only creating ripples on them, unable to penetrate the defense at all.
The Death Eaters, for unknown reasons, perhaps following Lord Voldemort's orders, only defended their position, showing no intention of launching a counterattack.
Lord Voldemort pushed the hostages into the Fiendfyre while drawing and writing on the ground with his wand.
More and more hostages perished, including many who had previously stepped forward, claiming they would work for Lord Voldemort.
As more and more people died, the Fiendfyre absorbed more magic, its range expanding to the Aurors' side, threatening to burn everything to ashes.
The Aurors were in a dilemma: if they used all their magic to extinguish the Fiendfyre Curse, they would be killed by the Death Eaters like defenseless Muggles; or they could stand there and watch the hostages they were supposed to rescue die one by one, including their primary rescue target, Corella, the Chief of the American Magical Congress, who was still sprawled on the ground.
Those hostages who passed through the Fiendfyre didn't go to the Aurors. The distance between them and the Aurors was still great, and if they rushed towards them rashly, they might be attacked by the Death Eaters behind them.
These people, willing to work for Lord Voldemort, no longer trusted the Aurors. They only wanted to complete the task Lord Voldemort assigned and then protect their own lives.
Most of them were neutral Pure-blood families, not targets of Lord Voldemort's wrath. Since the Muggle-borns were fine, Lord Voldemort would likely keep his promise.
Gary was still inside the blue protective barrier, watching his wand tumble in the fire. The crimson wand had already taken on a faint blue tint.
He couldn't figure out the secret of his wand; it always protected him in his most dangerous moments.
The wounds on his calves and hands were almost healed. The charred, leathery skin on his lower body had scabbed over and fallen off, revealing new, delicate, and pink skin.
Gary incredulously extended his hands and squeezed them together, the sensation of skin touching skin was so wonderful.
Just as he was joyfully examining his new skin, his wand started causing trouble again.