The Aurors were having a tough fight.
As the most powerful force in British wizarding society, second only to master wizards—especially with their specialized combat training and tight teamwork—they still couldn't handle the attacking dark wizards.
The reason was simple.
There were over a hundred enemies!
Not every one of them was a powerful dark wizard. A good chunk were just skilled at maneuvering all sorts of flying contraptions—some banned, like magical flying carpets, old-school broomsticks, a massive book flapping its pages like wings, and even various flying magical creatures.
These wizards, piloting their ragtag flying tools, didn't seem to have much offensive power. They focused on steering, leaving the attacks to the dark wizards they carried.
Even the dark wizards weren't all capable of matching the Aurors in combat. Many could only cast spells to obscure vision or mess with broomstick controls. But together, their teamwork caused the Aurors major headaches.
Bang!
An Auror was hit by a strange blob of black water. The impact nearly knocked him off his broom. Before he could steady himself, the slimy, soap-like black water made it impossible to grip his broom, and he plummeted toward the ground in a panic.
Luckily, Kingsley acted fast, casting a counter-charm to clear the magical effect and using a Summoning Charm to send the broom back to its owner, saving him from disaster.
"Who the hell are you people?!" Scrimgeour, the head Auror, roared in fury. Tossing aside the usual Auror code of conduct, he hurled the nastiest attack spell he could muster at a nearby dark wizard.
He was certain he'd never heard of an organization this large. These dark wizards, along with their "drivers" on all sorts of bizarre flying tools, couldn't possibly be unknown to him.
He was right. The sacred twenty-eight pure-blood families had influence stretching across Europe, even into Africa. Corban Yaxley had used his family's clout to build this force in a corner of the world where magical oversight was practically nonexistent, and now he'd brought them all to Britain.
The Ministries of Magic in various countries foolishly adopted Muggle-style borders to define their jurisdictions, leaving some smaller nations' Ministries as good as useless. Some had only one or two Aurors. Those places were perfect for secretly training an army.
If Scrimgeour dug deeper, he'd find that these dark wizards attacking him were even drawing stipends from some tiny country's Ministry, practically making them unofficial colleagues.
This group knew exactly how Aurors fought, with tailored strategies and contingencies. They were too familiar with Auror tactics, while the Aurors found some of their spells completely alien.
"Boss, something's off! They're trying to tie us down!" Kingsley shouted, his sharp instincts picking up on their strategy. His expression shifted as he yelled to Scrimgeour, "They might be going after Professor Lockhart!"
Scrimgeour's face darkened. He deflected an incoming spell, halted his broom, and scanned the chaotic, cloudy sky, hoping to spot the Ministry's prisoner transport carriage.
Amid the flashes of spells and dark clouds, his sharp eyes soon locked onto the carriage—and the man standing defiantly atop it.
How the hell had Lockhart, that fraud, managed to break free from the transport carriage?
What was he doing, casting a spell?
Suddenly, a deafening rumble tore through the sky. Before anyone could react, bolts of lightning ripped through the air, spreading rapidly through the crowd.
Thunder roared.
Countless lightning strikes fell like divine punishment, turning everything in sight into a sea of electricity.
"Protego!" Scrimgeour quickly cast Shield Charms on himself and his nearby colleagues to fend off the terrifying currents. The other Aurors followed suit, expertly casting the spell.
This separated them from the dark wizards. Few of the enemy could successfully cast a Shield Charm. These dark wizards, so reliant on dangerous, high-damage dark magic, weren't as skilled with standard spells.
Several were struck by lightning instantly, trembling as they fell toward the ground like dumplings in a pot.
But the spell wasn't done. They didn't even hit the ground—a powerful gust of wind yanked them back up. They flailed in the air, only to be struck by lightning again, completely losing their ability to fight.
And that seemed to be it.
Weather-based spells weren't commonly used in combat for a reason, as generations of wizards had learned. They were hard to control, indiscriminate, and consumed massive energy while rarely hitting the intended target effectively. It was a luck-based, wide-area attack.
Scrimgeour cursed under his breath. He had to admit Lockhart might actually have some master-wizard-level skill—pulling off a spell this massive wasn't something just any wizard could do.
But that was it.
Using a weather spell like this, one so hard to control, was downright foolish in this situation.
Typical Lockhart, always going for flashy, impractical nonsense, just like his personality.
Scrimgeour quickly realized he'd misjudged.
This wasn't a weather spell at all!
He stared, jaw dropping, as the sky transformed. Lightning tore through the air, filling it with a strange, ozone-like smell. Then, massive fiery serpents—formed from flames—emerged, lunging wildly at the dark wizards.
Well, he thought they were serpents. They were actually shaped like Basilisks.
Of course, Lockhart would know Basilisks all too well.
"Fiendfyre!" he and Kingsley shouted at the same time, frantically rallying the Aurors to regroup and prepare to defend against this terrifying spell.
Scrimgeour wasn't sure yet if Lockhart's spell was aimed at them or not.
Amid the sea of lightning and thunder, fiery Basilisks writhed.
The sheer power of this dark magic, and the cruelty of the wizard casting it, was laid bare before the Aurors.
None of them would ever forget this sight. The dark wizards, who'd been holding their own moments ago, stood no chance. They were devoured by the fiery beasts, their screams echoing as they were burned to ash, scattered by the wind.
Death, on such a massive scale, played out right in front of them.
Even knowing these were enemies, the Aurors couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the lives lost—and a chilling fear at the sight.
"Enough, enough…" Kingsley's dark face paled as he stared at the figure high above, wildly waving his wand. "Stop killing them…"
The dark wizards couldn't even escape. The relentless lightning tore through the sky, leaving them no choice but to face the fiery monsters.
Among the Aurors, the youngest, Nymphadora Tonks, was so shaken that her cool purple hair reverted to its natural black. Her eyes wide with shock, she finally understood what a "dark wizard" truly was.
Well, she was mistaken about Lockhart.
Lockhart was one of the good guys.
The real villain was Corban Yaxley.
A true dark wizard wouldn't waste time on such theatrics. Why bother when a simple Killing Curse would do?
"Avada Kedavra!"
At that moment, a bone-chilling green light shot from a corner of the sky, piercing the clouds and racing straight for Lockhart.
The Killing Curse! One of the three Unforgivable Curses!
That was a dark wizard's signature move.
"Watch out!" Kingsley shouted.
But a strange, multi-eyed mirror appeared like a shield, blocking the curse. It shattered into black smoke under the spell's force but reformed instantly.
"Yaxley!" Scrimgeour's face hardened as he glared at the blurry figure in the clouds. The figure was disguised by magic, but Scrimgeour recognized Yaxley's voice.
Thanks to Lockhart's earlier warning in the transport carriage, he'd been ready to identify the voice. After years as colleagues, he couldn't mistake it.
Yaxley was supposed to be at the Ministry, submitting an injury report on Vincent Crabbe to the Wizengamot. Yet here he was, disguised and attacking. It confirmed Kingsley's suspicions.
These dark wizards attacking the Aurors? Yaxley had likely sent them.
"Aha!" Lockhart let out a manic laugh as the Thestral-drawn carriage dove toward the source of the Killing Curse. "I've got you now!"
Countless fiery Basilisks surged toward Yaxley.
But faster still was a Thestral, which had been hiding in the clouds. The moment Yaxley cast the Killing Curse at Lockhart, it shot out, charging at the one who dared attack its master.
It wanted to rip Yaxley's head off in revenge.
But no—its master had given it a more important task: use its ability to sense memories to find Vincent Crabbe's soul!
It felt it!
The soul was trapped in a dark magic mark on Yaxley's arm.
Changing course mid-charge, the Thestral swooped in from behind and bit clean through Yaxley's arm.
This was a creature that could tear through dragon scales. A mere human, even with a Shield Charm, stood no chance.
Yaxley let out a blood-curdling scream as his figure spun and collapsed, vanishing in an instant.
The Thestral, still holding the arm, froze. It had planned a follow-up attack, but Yaxley was gone.
The Thestral-drawn carriage rushed forward. Lockhart squinted at the spot where Yaxley vanished, frowning. "Not Apparition?"
Scrimgeour and the Aurors quickly surrounded the area. He waved his wand, sensing the magic, then let out a heavy sigh. "Portkey."
No form of magical travel was more reliable for long distances. Apparition could be disrupted, but a Portkey? There was no counter.
"No helping it, then." Lockhart took the severed arm from the Thestral, prodding it with his wand to sense something. He nodded. "Vincent Crabbe's soul is trapped in here. You lot figure out how to handle it."
He drew some blood, stored it in a glass vial, and tossed the arm to Scrimgeour. "You Aurors should be able to identify someone from an arm, right?"
Scrimgeour stared grimly at the Dark Mark on the arm, a clear sign of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Before he could respond, Lockhart added, "Oh, and I should warn you—Yaxley's a werewolf. That arm's got highly contagious lycanthropy."
"What?!"
Scrimgeour's face paled. Forgetting all about Voldemort for a moment, he frantically cast protective spells on the arm.
"We need to get to the Ministry and sort this out. My poor student Crabbe is waiting for your help, and I'm keeping an eye on this." Lockhart hopped back into the carriage, poking his head out again.
"Come on, guys, move it!"
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