Chapter 1311 Antonin Dolokhov
The ninth underground floor of the Ministry of Magic is perpetually dimly lit, surrounded by roughly polished black stones. Compared to the black basalt of the tenth courtroom, these black stones appear much more fragile, but they are not easily destroyed by ordinary wizards.
The torches on the iron brackets burned, casting swaying shadows onto the wall, elongating them into distorted shapes.
The air here always carries a faint, indescribable magical aura. If you follow the source of this aura, you will find that it actually comes from the Department of Mysteries.
The temporary detention room is located at the end of the corridor on the ninth floor, just three corners away from the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.
It consisted of several small, windowless rooms with a stone structure and heavy iron doors with only one observation window with bars.
Generally, this place only detains suspects awaiting preliminary trial, and the detention period will not exceed three days.
But today, the temporary detention cell welcomed an unusual guest.
Vincent walked in the middle of the group, the shackles on his wrists swaying gently with his steps, the subtle magic of Niven appearing especially eerie in the torchlight.
His demeanor remained composed, even overly cautious.
When going up the steps, he would lower his head slightly to watch his step, and when turning, he would turn slightly to the side to avoid the shackles hitting the wall.
The way he carefully handled the shackles didn't look like a prisoner at all; he looked more like an expert escorting cultural relics in a museum.
Arthur, with a solemn expression, walked beside Vincent, his eyes revealing a complex emotion that only those who knew him well could discern.
If he wasn't mistaken, the shackles had actually lost their ability to suppress magic, leaving only a seemingly sturdy shell.
Although he didn't know how Vincent had done it, why was he acting as if he was afraid of accidentally breaking the shackles if they were intact?
Therefore, when Vincent removed the Fiery Cage that had trapped Aiden, Arthur was not surprised, and even felt somewhat relieved.
Vincent is still Vincent; he always steps forward when a crisis comes.
After the line turned the second corner, the area where the temporary detention room was located was just ahead.
The corridor widened slightly here, with a heavy stone door on each side. As you went deeper into the corridor, the torchlight seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer.
Just as we were about to turn the last corner, the surrounding air suddenly changed.
It wasn't a change in temperature, nor a change in sound, but a feeling, a malicious intent that came without warning.
Arthur abruptly stopped and quickly drew his wand. The other Ministry of Magic staff also sensed something was wrong and raised their wands in warning.
"Back off!" Arthur had barely spoken when a burly man emerged from around the corner like a shadow.
He had a pale, distorted long face, a loose black robe draped over his body, greasy dark hair plastered to his forehead, and a cruel smile on his lips.
Antonin Dolokhov, that name pierced Arthur's memory like an icicle.
The faces of Molly's two brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt, flashed before Arthur's eyes.
They were among the earliest members of the Order of the Phoenix, brave, upright, and always wearing a cheerful smile.
In 1981, on the eve of Voldemort's downfall, they were ambushed by five Death Eaters, one of whom was Dolokhov.
Arthur felt a burning sensation rise from his stomach and rush up to his throat.
He remembered Molly's tears whenever she mentioned her brothers, how Bill and Charlie used to pester their uncles for adventure stories when they were little, and the empty chairs that were always absent from family gatherings.
Dolohoff recognized Arthur, and his cruel smile widened, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "Weasley, long time no see. How's your wife? Her brothers were talking about her before they died—"
"Disarm you!" Arthur practically roared the disarming spell.
The red light tore through the air and shone directly into Dolokhov's face.
Dolokhov neither defended nor dodged; the tip of his raised staff suddenly glowed red, but it was even more terrifying.
"Thunderbolt explosion!"
The two beams of red light collided, and the impact forced the Ministry of Magic staff behind Arthur to scramble against the wall for support.
Dolokhov let out a harsh laugh. "Still so slow, Weasley! Haven't you learned anything from your Mudblood friends?"
His laughter suddenly stopped as a figure walked up.
It was Vincent who stepped forward, despite his hands still being bound by shackles and despite facing a notorious Death Eater.
Dolohoff certainly recognized him: Vincent Wayne, the Muggle-born man whom the Ministry of Magic called the Dark Lord of the New Era, the little Mudblood who defeated Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Hmph—" Dolokhov snorted coldly, looking at Vincent's shackles with disdain.
What kind of Dark Lord is this Mudblood who was captured alive by the Ministry of Magic? Since you're looking for death, then so be it!
Dolohoff swiftly waved his wand, this time not with an explosion spell, but with an even more cruel incantation: "Crucible!"
He doesn't intend to kill Vincent, at least not now.
He wanted to see this "fake Dark Lord" writhing on the ground in agony, and to hear screams, wails, and pleas for mercy.
Then he heard a "clang," a dull metallic clang that was not the result he wanted.
Vincent twisted his wrist, the same action, the same shackles.
The Crucifixion struck the center of the shackles, leaving a shallow dent, and the surrounding magic dimmed like Niven.
Vincent looked down at his wrist, then at Dolokhov, and finally at Arthur, who had stood up. "Uncle Arthur, see? I didn't break this."
When Arthur saw Vincent's mischievous look, the anger in his chest immediately cooled down.
He remembered Fred and George, and how the two rascals would look at him with those same eyes every time they succeeded in their pranks, saying, "Dad, we didn't do this."
Arthur took a deep breath, and although his hands were still trembling, he gripped the wand more firmly.
He kept a straight face and replied in as calm a tone as possible, "Weren't the shackles already broken?"
Vincent curled the corners of his mouth. "Uncle Arthur, you must be mistaken."
Dolokhov's shoulders trembled violently, and his expression shifted from cruelty to rage.
He couldn't understand what these two were doing. Were they joking after the Cruciatus Curse? In front of him?
Very well, it seems the British magical world has been at peace for too long, even a mere Mudblood dares to openly ignore his existence.
Dolohoff suddenly swung his wand again, but this time his target was not Arthur, nor Vincent, but a young clerk standing closer to the wall.
"Confinement quickly!"
A strong magical rope shot out from the tip of the staff, instantly binding the young clerk and pulling him violently toward Dolokhov.
He didn't even have time to scream before he was dragged three meters away and fell into the hands of the Death Eaters.
"Put down your wand," Dolokhoff said, pressing his wand against the young clerk's temple. "If you don't, I'll make his brain flow out of his ears."
Arthur and the other staff members stood frozen in place.
They could attack, but Dolokhov would definitely have enough time to kill the hostages.
Even if he puts down the wand, the hostages are not necessarily safe. Death Eaters have no moral bottom line, and it's better to believe Fudge will voluntarily give up his power than to believe him.
……
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