Chapter 419: You Look Familiar
The air around them went utterly still.
After a few seconds, Harry glanced left and right, frowning. "That person... which one? Who are you talking about?"
Remus Lupin blinked, then understood. He let out a silent, bitter smile.
When he was born, the name Voldemort hadn’t yet become synonymous with terror. Remus had grown up hearing tales of the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald—his name etched deeply into his memory. But to Harry and the other children, Grindelwald was merely a figure from history, no more real than the mythical Demon Emeryk or the legendary Fairy Noltye—just another dry, frustrating fact in History of Magic textbooks.
Even worse, because Grindelwald was still alive, the influence of the Wizard Purity Party lingered, and the Ministry had restricted detailed teaching on that era. As a result, school curricula focused on the Goblin Rebellions, the Giant Wars, the evolution of wizarding laws, and other such topics.
Among the three children, only Wade, after his initial shock, wore a thoughtful expression. Harry and Michael looked completely blank.
Suppressing his rising anxiety, Remus explained:
"Gellert Grindelwald—was one of the most powerful Dark Wizards in history. Dumbledore defeated him in 1945, and since then, he’s been imprisoned in Nurmengard. But now… he’s escaped."
The memory of Grindelwald’s reign of terror across Europe and America sent a chill through Remus. His pulse quickened.
"Locked away for… nearly fifty years?" Harry mused, eyes wide. "That old, can he even do anything now?"
"Anything is possible," Remus said grimly. "But peace? Never. Come on. I’ll escort you back. Then I have to find someone—talk things over."
Seeing the seriousness in his face, the children couldn’t protest. They hurried toward the exit of Diagon Alley.
The street was nearly empty now. The once-crowded thoroughfare felt eerily vacant. Hidden in the shadow of a shop’s awning, Mabel suddenly turned her head—and froze.
There—finally—was the person she’d been searching for.
She opened her mouth to call out, but hesitated. He had companions. She closed her lips, pulled her hood lower, and quickened her pace, following behind.
She needed a moment alone with Wade.
Just as the group approached the archway, panic surged through her. Without thinking, she broke into a sprint—and stumbled, kicking a cage outside a pet shop.
Thud.
She fell hard.
The shopkeeper didn’t even scold her. He was too shaken by the news of Grindelwald’s escape, pacing frantically like a rat desperate to find a hole to disappear into.
Mabel looked up.
The archway’s bricks were already sealing shut, closing like a wall. The figures beyond vanished—already gone.
"Wait—!"
She cried out, but it was too late. The arch was now a solid wall. Seamless. As if two worlds had been divided.
…
Wade thought he’d heard a familiar voice. Instinctively, he turned.
Only a dirty wall remained. Snowdrifts still piled in the corner, untouched by melting.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.
“Nothing…,” Wade said, turning back and pulling his hood up.
Probably just the wind.
They stepped back into The Leaky Cauldron.
The usual chaos and noise were gone. Only an old, bald wizard sat in the corner, slowly sipping a drink. Two others, wrapped in black cloaks, were slumped over tables, asleep. The owner, Tom, muttered curses under his breath, waving his wand to straighten the scattered tables.
He glanced up at their footsteps, but didn’t greet them. His mood was clearly sour.
Then he saw someone familiar.
The man’s face, previously sour as if someone owed him a thousand Galleons, instantly brightened into a grin.
“Oh! Mr. Potter!” Tom hurried through the narrow gaps between tables. “I’d have died if I hadn’t recognized you! Fancy a warm cup of chocolate?”
Harry stopped, forced a smile, and shook his hand. “No, thank you. We’re heading back.”
The old wizard in the corner lifted his gaze, his eyes scanning Harry’s face, then flicking to the others beside him.
“Ah… well…,” Tom released Harry’s hand, still looking disappointed. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready, Mr. Potter.”
Remus led the group through the pub. As they stepped out the door, a sudden chill touched Wade’s forehead.
He looked up.
Fat flakes of snow were finally falling—soft, thick, drifting down from the sky.
The clouds overhead loomed dark and heavy, pressing against the rooftops. Within them, shadowy shapes moved—too large for birds, too unnatural for storm clouds.
Harry paled instantly. A cold numbness crept into his limbs.
“Dementor!” he almost shouted.
Remus glanced up. “Not coming for us. Just patrolling—probably. Let’s go!”
He flagged down a taxi, explaining:
“The Ministry forbids them from causing mass panic. So these creatures either drift with the clouds or only emerge at night.”
A deep blue taxi pulled up. Wade and the others climbed in quickly, urged by Remus. The car shot forward, disappearing into the distance.
Wade pressed his face to the window, wiping away the fog on the glass.
He kept glancing back.
He couldn’t shake the feeling—those Dementors were descending. Were they using the snowstorm to hide, slipping in unnoticed, feeding on the happiness of ordinary people?
Christmas was nearly here. Muggles had no idea about Grindelwald’s escape. The city buzzed with holiday cheer—carols rang from every street, laughter filled the air.
To a Dementor, that joy was intoxicating.
But before Voldemort’s return, the Ministry still held firm control over the Dementors. They’d been loitering on this island for nearly ten days, mostly behaving—except for that one attack on the Hogwarts Express.
So Wade turned away, pulling his gaze back inside.
He heard Harry whisper to Michael:
“Are we still going to the department store?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Michael said casually. “I just remembered—heard of Grindelwald before. But even at his peak, he never managed to take over Britain.”
Harry nodded, relieved. “Good. I haven’t bought all my gifts yet. Don’t want to just throw something together tomorrow.”
To them, Grindelwald’s escape wasn’t a crisis. It was like if Hitler were to rise again—people on the other side of the world would still go to work, eat dinner, and enjoy life. They wouldn’t stop living just because of a ghost from history.
Only if Voldemort returned in full force would they fear. Because Harry Potter would be his first target.
But Grindelwald had been imprisoned long before Harry was born. Not even Harry’s parents had known him. No hatred. No personal vendetta. No “you die, I live” reckoning.
Remus, sitting up front, heard their conversation—and suddenly realized how overly dramatic he’d been.
Maybe the fear had spread from others. Maybe it was just the atmosphere.
He took a slow breath, silently chiding himself. Even the children were calmer than he was.
But still… Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald once. Maybe this time, Britain would be the first target.
Yet the man had just escaped. He’d need time—time to gather allies, plan, rebuild.
…
Mabel knelt on the ground, dazed and lost. She didn’t know where to go.
Then, gentle hands lifted her.
“Are you alright, child?” a soft voice asked.
Mabel froze. Before she could react, she was effortlessly pulled to her feet. By the time she realized she should grab her hood, it was too late.
Oh no… he saw my face!
Panic surged. She lowered her head, refusing to look at the kind wizard. She braced for a scream, for recognition.
Black mist swirled at her feet—but she held it back.
Even if this man had only offered a small kindness… she didn’t want to harm him.
Then, high above, a Dementor stirred.
The creature, drifting aimlessly, suddenly veered—straight down toward them.
“You look familiar…” the wizard said, studying her. “Were you one of the children in the bookstore earlier? Where are your parents?”
Mabel said nothing.
He doesn’t recognize me? Impossible.
Her photos were plastered all over the city—front-page headlines in the Daily Prophet, even featured in Muggle news.
She looked up.
The wizard was the very man she’d been hiding from—Ryan Troke, a vampire who didn’t drink blood.
Back then, she’d only sneaked into the kitchen for food or stolen a newspaper to read. She’d never truly met anyone in the house.
Now, her nerves were on fire. She stared at Troke, who still held her arm, scanning the street as if searching for her missing family.
“Did you get separated from your guardians?” he asked. “Where’s your home? I’ll take you back.”
Mabel stared, uncertain. Was he mocking her?
Didn’t he see her posters on the walls?
Yes, she was thinner now. Her hair was tied up. Her clothes were different—but her face hadn’t changed that much. How could he not know?
Troke frowned, seeing her silence.
Well… she’s one of my future students. Can’t just leave her here. What if she meets a criminal?
He forced a smile.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a bad guy. How about I take you to The Leaky Cauldron? Your parents might be looking there.”
Mabel hesitated, then nodded.
If he wanted to trap her… she wasn’t defenseless.
Troke smiled, pulling her toward the alley’s entrance.
His eyes flicked over the Wanted posters on the wall—something about them felt familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
This wasn’t the first time today. The child in the bookstore had felt the same way. He’d felt like he’d seen them before… but couldn’t remember.
Children’s faces… they all look alike, really.
He stopped.
A sudden drop in temperature. The warmth vanished. Joy fled. Only despair and sorrow remained.
He looked up.
Hundreds of Dementors were descending—straight at them.
Mabel saw them too. She knew these were the Ministry’s special forces hunting her.
She tried to leap away—but her arm was yanked hard.
“Let go!” she screamed. Half her body turned into swirling black mist.
Troke didn’t see it. He was focused on the lead Dementor—then, with a sudden twist, he yanked her close and spun her into motion.
Boom!
A massive explosion. The vampire wizard vanished—leaving only a Silent Shadow behind.
The Dementors missed. The first few crashed into the ground. Without a target, they scoured the street in rage, their skeletal forms writhing with fury—then vanished into nothing.
…
Mabel staggered, barely standing.
Then she heard Troke’s voice—angry, furious.
“What in the name of Merlin is the Ministry doing releasing these damned creatures? This is the second time they’ve attacked innocent people! That Hogwarts Express incident? Clearly caused by Dementor chaos. I almost believed their lies!”
He ranted, then saw the girl staring at him, wide-eyed.
She’s terrified, he thought. Gently, he said:
“Sorry, child. It was urgent. I brought you here. Wait a few hours, once the strange creatures are gone, I’ll take you back to Diagon Alley. Okay?”
Mabel stayed silent—cautious.
Troke wasn’t surprised. He’d grown used to her quietness.
He assumed she agreed, and smiled.
“Sit down. Have some snacks. I’ll write a letter.” He raised his voice.
“Garr—come down here! You’re in charge of the guest!”
“Got it, Uncle Ryan!” came a muffled reply from upstairs.
Troke heard footsteps. He smiled, turning toward his study.
He had no strength of his own—but he could report this to Dumbledore.
A minute later, Garr emerged, yawning, pulling on a sweater.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, walked straight to the fridge, and asked, “What do you want? Water? Soda? Black tea?”
As he turned, his eyes landed on the girl.
His jaw dropped.
The soda can fell to the floor with a thud.
He opened his mouth to shout—then a sudden, suffocating weight pressed him down. His neck locked. Breath vanished.
“What’s wrong, Garr?”
Lockhart, just finishing his skincare routine in the bathroom, opened the door—only to be dragged down and crushed beneath him.
The thin girl stood in the center of the living room. Her eyes were white. Her body, half-shrouded in thick, living shadow, loomed like a monster—pinning both men motionless.
(End of Chapter)
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