Chapter 284. Mr Crabbe and the Devil's Snare's New Ability
As soon as Adrian Wesson finished speaking, every eye fixed on the wand in his hand.
In most cases, a wand represented a person's identity.
Fudge seemed to think of something and called out to the crowd, "Mr Ollivander, are you here?"
Ollivander?
Adrian froze for a moment.
If he wasn't mistaken, the old craftsman had to be at least eighty or ninety by now.
Besides, Ollivander was devoted to wands; he hardly seemed the sort to take an interest in Quidditch.
Would he really be here?
The crowd parted, and two people emerged.
One was Ollivander himself; the other was a man of about forty or fifty with features and eyes remarkably like his—presumably his son.
"Mr Ollivander?" Adrian said in surprise. "I thought Quidditch wouldn't interest you."
"I never said that," Ollivander replied with a smile. "But you're right that I didn't come of my own accord. Someone sent me two tickets, and my son said it might give me new inspiration, so I came. I must say, this young people's sport has indeed given me some new ideas about wands…"
Adrian didn't know what connection Quidditch might have with wands, but that clearly wasn't important now.
"Could you do us a favour?" Fudge stepped up, supported Ollivander, and brought him before Adrian. "Do you remember this wand?"
Adrian handed over the wand he had taken.
"Mm… ebony, dragon heartstring, fourteen inches," Ollivander identified it almost at once. "I remember it clearly—this was forty years ago."
"Who is the owner?" Fudge asked quickly.
"Crabbe," Ollivander answered crisply, then passed the wand back to Adrian.
Everyone looked at one another. When it came to wands, Ollivander would never lie.
The Crabbe family, one of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight, was fairly well known in the wizarding world.
A pudgy Slytherin boy's face flashed through Adrian's mind.
Of course, Ollivander clearly didn't mean Vincent Crabbe, who was currently at Hogwarts; this could only be his father.
"Of course it's him!" Mr Weasley shouted angrily. "The man was a Death Eater to begin with—looks like he hasn't changed a bit."
He turned to Fudge. "Minister, I think the matter's clear enough. This was the work of Death Eaters. I propose we detain Crabbe at once."
Fudge, however, slowly shook his head.
"We all know a wand doesn't prove anything," he said firmly. "Today's events aren't necessarily connected to Crabbe. Perhaps someone stole Mr Crabbe's wand, conjured the Dark Mark, and meant to make fools of us. We all know You-Know-Who is dead, and Crabbe has mended his ways."
Adrian couldn't help shaking his head; Fudge was clearly deceiving himself.
To Fudge, if he classified this as 'Death Eater activity' and named Crabbe, it would cause major upheaval. After all, there were many ex-Death Eaters like Crabbe still in society, and investigating them all would be an enormous undertaking.
The best course of action now was to proclaim this an ordinary Dark wizard incident, with no connection to You-Know-Who.
"You know the truth in your heart, Minister," Adrian said with a sigh. "Lord Voldemort has already returned."
"Nonsense!" Fudge seemed flustered. "You-Know-Who died long ago. That's a fact confirmed by the Ministry!"
"Then why summon the Dark Mark?" Mr Weasley pressed him.
"Because it's the most terrifying symbol there is," Fudge said impatiently. "The Dark Mark doesn't mean Death Eaters did this. If you wanted, you could stitch one onto your robes. It's hardly difficult."
Adrian sighed.
Clearly, Fudge had lost his head and abandoned basic logic.
The Dark Mark was not merely an emblem; it was a piece of magic—the incantation is "Morsmordre." The mark had power: Death Eaters and Voldemort used it as their sign and signal, and it could be cast into the sky to spread terror—as had been done above them now.
At that moment, Barty Crouch, who had been silent for a long while, seemed about to speak, but Fudge cut him off immediately.
"All right, everyone, disperse," Fudge announced to the onlookers, brooking no argument. "The Ministry will give a proper explanation. We'll investigate thoroughly until we find the real culprit."
The crowd began to break up in twos and threes. Many witches and wizards wore worried expressions; clearly, Fudge's assurances had not truly calmed their fear.
In the end, only Adrian's group and the Ministry officials remained at the scene.
Fudge looked at Adrian. "Anything else, Wesson?"
"We at least have to find Mr Crabbe, don't we?" Adrian shrugged. "His wand is still in my hand. If it was stolen, I should ask him. I've lost a tent over this, after all."
Fudge sighed. "I'll be frank with you, Wesson. Lucius mentioned earlier that Mr Crabbe never came to the Quidditch World Cup. He ought to be travelling in France right now."
Adrian was a little surprised; Fudge probably wasn't lying.
Even so—"Not necessarily. I'll wager he's near the campsite now," Adrian said with a smile. "Come on, let's find him. We won't need long—twenty minutes will do."
Fudge frowned. "How are you going to find him? The campsite's enormous. Are you going to search every tent?"
Adrian lightly tossed the ebony wand and caught it again. "Leave it to me."
As he spoke, tendrils of Devil's Snare slipped from Adrian's robes and coiled around the ebony wand.
[Type: Devil's Snare]
[Level: 3]
[Traits: Intelligence, Parasitism, Magic Sense]
Magic Sense!
This was the Devil's Snare's newest ability.
It allowed the plant to perceive magical traces associated with an object it touched.
Every person's magical signature was unique, and the Devil's Snare could clearly distinguish those differences and track them to their source.
The ebony wand in his hand, after long use by its owner, had naturally become imbued with a distinctive magical imprint.
Which meant the Devil's Snare could now point them to the wand's owner.
Gripping the wand, the Devil's Snare extended more tendrils and arranged them in mid-air into the shape of an arrow: →
"Let's go."
Adrian set off first, the Ministry officials following behind him.
As for the Weasleys, after conferring with Adrian, Mr Weasley decided to withdraw with the children—Molly was still waiting for them at the campsite, and they couldn't be away too long.
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