https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-413-The-Hogwarts-Invitation-Letter/13685426/
Chapter 412: Gellert Grindelwald: Give me your Wand
Brolin’s voice carried a heavy sorrow, his words laced with disappointment. Abigail stood motionless, her eyes reddening, her jaw clenched. She wasn’t forgetting—she wasn’t unaware. It was just that, in the quiet moments spent with the children, she had found brief respite, a fragile breath of peace.
But her Patronus… it had changed. That was undeniable. And she couldn’t explain it.
Majer Byerd quietly turned his gaze away, his eyes drifting toward the wine bottles lining the shelf, their glass surfaces catching the dim glow of the overhead light.
A wizard who had undergone formal education, who carried a legitimate identity, joining their anti-Wizard organization—there had to be a reason. Either they’d grown up within the group, their parents part of the network, their loyalty to the cause stronger than any bond formed at a magic school. Or like Abigail, they harbored a deep, burning hatred for the wizarding world—so much so that they wished not only for their own destruction, but for the world’s.
After a long silence, Brolin exhaled deeply, softening his tone.
“Serah,” he said gently, “you’re exhausted. Go rest for a while.” He paused. “You don’t need to return to that school.”
“My mission isn’t finished,” Abigail snapped, lifting her head sharply. “I’m willing to prove myself through action!”
“I remember you wrote in your letter,” Brolin said, “that Wade Gray had already handed over the Magic Puppet to you?”
“…Yes.”
“Then your mission is complete,” Brolin stated flatly.
The faint smile on his face had vanished entirely. His eyes now held a quiet, unspoken doubt—something edged with suspicion.
A chill ran through Ari’s chest. She clenched her fists, lowering her gaze. “I understand.”
…
As their companion walked away, hollow-eyed and distant, Majer Byerd finally spoke.
“Serah just saved those students on the train. She’s at the peak of her influence. The children adore her—she’s earned their trust. Now she leaves… it’s disastrous for our operation.”
Brolin sighed deeply.
The white-haired bartender, polishing a glass by the bar, spoke up at last.
“Better for the mission to fail,” he said, “than risk a betrayal.”
“Abigail knows too many secrets. If she turned, the damage to our organization would be incalculable.”
“And she’s not just skilled—she mastered nearly every major branch of magic, and her academic record is flawless. We don’t have many like her. Even if she never leaves the base, teaching the children, she’d be far safer than someone whose loyalty might falter.”
“I understand,” Majer Byerd nodded.
“And how’s the child you brought?” Brolin asked. “The mission hasn’t gone well, has it?”
“Yes,” Majer Byerd admitted, shame coloring his voice. “Wade Gray remains elusive, even at school. He’s nearly impossible to approach. And Kariel was sorted into a different House—hardly any time to interact.”
“I may have chosen the wrong person,” Brolin murmured, shaking his head. “I thought his charm would make it easier to build rapport, to influence him. But I forgot—when the other side is a mountain of snow, a single torch won’t melt it.”
“I’ve heard even Ravenclaw students struggle to get a word in with that Gray boy.”
Majer Byerd frowned. “He has almost no friends. And the few he does have, he’s drawn into a small society—obsessed with study and research. No games. No romance. No parties. No Quidditch matches. Not even seen in the common room unless he has a class. Even his closest friends don’t know where he is when he’s not in school.”
He looked utterly bewildered. He couldn’t fathom how a teenager could live like that and still feel alive.
But he hadn’t done nothing. Over the past six months, Majer Byerd had opened a snack shop in Hogsmeade. On weekends, it drew a steady stream of students. Even without actively seeking gossip, he’d heard enough to understand why Kariel’s progress had been slow.
He’d begun to forgive the boy’s hesitation. If he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t know how to approach someone who couldn’t be found.
“Wade Gray surpassed most adult wizards in just a few years,” Brolin said, admiration in his tone. “Achieving all that? That kind of success demands a heart that embraces solitude, a mind that endures loneliness.”
“We’ve built our organization on that same spirit,” he added. “From another angle, such a pure scholar might actually be easier to use.”
—A pure scholar?
Majer Byerd thought back to rumors he’d heard—like the one about turning a cockroach into a cockroach bull, the one that made classmates wet themselves. He wasn’t so sure about the “purity” anymore.
Still, he bowed slightly. “Yes. You’re right.”
“As for the mission,” Brolin continued, “don’t worry too much. You’ll have a new ally.”
Majer Byerd hesitated. “Is it… the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?”
Serah’s departure meant a replacement was needed. Hogwarts was the only position where professors changed so often—ideal for planting agents.
Brolin shook his head. “We can’t keep putting people in the same role. Just wait quietly at home. You’ll be informed when the time comes.”
“Yes.”
…
Considering the comfort of a familiar home might make the children uneasy, Ferdinand had arranged for the cleaning of a house in Westminster ahead of time. On the third day of the break, Wade, Harry, and Michael moved in.
This time, each of them had their own bedroom. No more frantic scrambling for breakfast. The next day, Michael slept through the morning, waking only at noon.
Westminster was in the heart of London—far livelier than the remote village where the Gray family had lived before. In the mornings, when the streets were quiet, they went to see a film. In the evenings, they listened to opera.
The area was close to King’s Cross Station, and they often saw wizards in odd, old-fashioned robes walking by. Ministry employees came and went frequently.
Nearby, a park buzzed with activity. Even at night, it glowed under bright lights, filled with laughter and chatter. The roller coaster sent Harry and Michael screaming so loudly that Wade began to wonder if they’d accidentally triggered a magical outburst.
The park was already preparing for the upcoming Christmas Market. Vendors rolled carts, others carried bags or stuffed small items into their pockets, selling wares on the streets.
But the most popular attraction was video games. The thrill of leveling up, clearing stages, earning points—adults could get addicted. And for two thirteen-year-olds who’d never experienced such things before? It was pure magic.
After dinner, they sat in front of the game console. Michael waved at Wade.
“This game can be played by two,” he said. “You don’t have to stick with us all the time. Go do whatever you need to.”
Harry blinked. “Wade, don’t you like playing these games? Or do you want to try something else?”
His eyes scanned the wall full of game boxes, searching for one that might spark more interest. To him, every game looked fascinating.
Wade waved his hand. “It’s not about the type of game. I just… prefer studying magic.”
“Oh…” Harry looked confused, but nodded. “Alright… then go ahead and study…”
Watching Wade leave with a bright, almost eager expression—like he was off to a date—Harry sat in silence for a moment, then turned to Michael.
“Michael, have you finished your assignment?”
“Are you kidding? The holiday just started. Of course not.”
Michael pressed the power button, spun around, and sat cross-legged beside Harry, grabbing the controller.
“Should we… start writing our essays?” Harry shifted uncomfortably, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Don’t compare yourself to Wade!” Michael scoffed. “I’ve figured it out—he’s a monster. If you keep measuring yourself against him, you’ll wear yourself to death. Don’t worry. The assignment will get done. The holiday’s short. If we don’t enjoy it, what’s the point?”
“Yeah… you’re right,” Harry admitted, relaxing. He made a silent promise to himself.
Just one more round… Tonight, we play. Tomorrow morning—first thing—I’ll start writing.
…
The Black Fortress stood on a remote island, battered by sea winds that crashed against black rocks with furious force. Ice coated the surrounding waters, shards breaking apart under the waves, only to be shoved back by the next surge.
The ice collided with stone, producing a sharp, rhythmic crack-crack, like some beast gnawing and swallowing food.
The narrow cell was as cold as a giant block of ice. Frost covered the walls and floor. An old man, wrapped in a thin blanket, sat hunched, clutching several newspapers in his hands.
A giant mirror stood against the far wall. But instead of reflecting the old man’s face, it showed a scene of dozens of people searching through the ruins of a once-thriving island.
“Britain’s Ministry of Magic rescued dozens of children abducted by a Muggle organization,” the old man rasped, mocking. “Hogwarts’ train was attacked by Dementors. Muggles even developed weapons to suppress wizards?”
“According to the news,” a cloaked man replied from outside the cell, standing in the corridor. “When our people arrived, there was nothing left. But I’ve heard Dumbledore once faced that weapon firsthand.”
“What was the outcome?”
“Just as you see,” the man said. “The island is now ruins. Its owner killed himself before the Aurors arrived.”
“Hahahaha…”
Inside the cell, Gellert Grindelwald laughed—wild, breathless, coughing between fits.
“Poor Dumbledore… I bet the Ministry didn’t take him seriously at all.”
“No,” the man said. “Fudge is too busy preparing for the Quidditch World Cup in six months. He dismissed the whole thing as exaggeration—Dumbledore’s ‘weapon’ was just alarmist nonsense.”
Gellert Grindelwald laughed again, shaking with amusement. “I wish I could see Dumbledore’s face right now. Watching him pick fools who keep outdoing his expectations… that must be priceless.”
The man outside said nothing. He knew silence was safest. To agree or disagree could be fatal.
When the laughter faded, the man spoke again.
“As you predicted, the Muggles are advancing faster than ever. The threat to the magical world grows stronger every day. Sir, we need you to lead us once more.”
“Lead?” Gellert Grindelwald smirked. “Do you even know who I am now? Look at me, boy. Any student still in school could beat me. How can I lead you?”
“The magical world still fears you, sir. We still wait for you.”
The man’s voice rose, fervent. “The signs of danger are already here. But wizards remain blind, deaf, and indifferent!”
“This world is slow, stupid, bloated, and lazy! They only fight when death is at their doorstep—too late to save themselves!”
“Sir, what we need now isn’t a warrior—but a sage. A man who sees the future, who guides us. Your magic may be weaker than before, but your wisdom… that does not fade with time.”
“Return to us, Gellert Grindelwald. For a greater cause. For the survival of magic. For our ideal world. We need you. We beg you…”
Tears welled in the man’s eyes. His body trembled. He gripped the tiny window of the cell, pleading as if he’d tear out his own heart.
After a long pause, a voice came from within.
“Stop shouting. It’s giving me a headache.”
The man froze. His face drained of color. His strong frame shivered in the cold wind, as if he might fall from the tower at any moment.
Then, the voice spoke again—calm, cold, final.
“Give me your wand.”
…
Burnham, a quiet suburb. A hospital.
The wheels of a miniature cart creaked. A small, thin figure darted behind a door, only one calm eye peeking out, watching.
Two men in nurse uniforms pushed the cart down the corridor, too engrossed in their conversation to notice anything else.
Behind the door, Mabel exhaled in relief. She pulled out an apple she’d stolen from a ward and devoured it in a few quick bites.
Crunch, crunch…
A faint sound. One of the nurses turned his head.
“What is it?” the other asked, a blond man.
“Sounded like a mouse…”
The first man listened closely. “Where? You must be mistaken.”
“No, I swear I heard it…” He tried to pull the blond man back to investigate.
“Enough! Stop wasting time. Finish quickly and go rest,” the blond snapped, swallowing nervously. He glanced at the dark, overcast sky. “If we get back late… we might run into a Dementor. That would be the end.”
“Yeah…” The first man shivered. “If we’re caught… we’re not supposed to be here. Dementors… they’d give us the kiss…”
“Possibly,” the blond said. “I read in the paper someone suggested that. One hundred Dementors sent out—Ministry’s gone mad!”
“Those strange creatures… they might be nearby. Haven’t you noticed? The sky hasn’t been clear in days.”
“I’ve noticed. Maybe… maybe we should just leave. Escape from the city?”
“Are you mad? Don’t you remember Hogwarts’ train was tested by those monsters? What if we run into one on the way?”
The two men—Lockhart and Garr Troke, fugitives from Azkaban—glared at each other, threatening, then slumped forward, sighing in despair.
Far behind them, a black fog slithered silently across the rooftop, then followed the two men like a shadow.
(End of Chapter)
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