Chapter 422: Grindelwald: Let's Investigate Him
Chapter 422: Grindelwald: Let's Investigate Him
A young wizard, standing on a vast bed sheet, slightly taller than a cigarette box, was pondering how his magic had become as feeble as a child's plaything. Suddenly, he heard a faint purring sound from a feline.
The cat prowled, waiting for the perfect moment, then pounced forward with the force of thunder and the speed of a gust. Its fluffy fur billowed in the air as it extended its front paws and opened its mouth in a silent roar.
The young wizard in front of him spun around and pointed with his wand, no thicker than a toothpick.
"Clear Waters, Flowing Spring!"
"Pfft!"
A stream of water, carrying an unexpected force, struck the cat's nose. Startled, the cat let out a painful "Meow," jumped twice in the air, and landed on the bed, rolling around while pawing at its nose.
Fortunately, the small wand only released a limited amount of water, and the cat was able to clean itself off within a few seconds. It stared at the tiny human with a mix of shock and fear, its pupils dilated from the terror.
Damn it!
Although the human had shrunk, they had discovered the cat's greatest weakness!
The cat glared at the human, but instead of seeing fear or relaxation, the human once again raised the toothpick-like wand.
"Meow!"
The cat let out a screech, pounced forward, and then swiftly dodged, running like the wind into the narrow gap behind the cabinet. It dug its hind legs into the ground, forcing its plump, round body into the confined space.
Grindelwald couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the cat's contorted and curled-up form reflected on the silver-white liquid surface.
"Let's go. It seems Ursula can only do so much."
The young man behind him lowered his head, as if ashamed of embarrassing his leader.
...
Voldemort wasn't particularly proud of intimidating a cat with a fear of water.
Just as he was about to test if the unlocking spell could open the door's lock, the latch turned on its own, and two strangers walked in from outside.
One was old, and the other was young.
The older one looked frail and haggard, while the younger one was robust and muscular, his well-defined physique evident even beneath his wizard's robe.
Voldemort's gaze swept across them, and then he turned his attention to the frighteningly thin old man.
His hair was almost entirely white, and his blue eyes were sharp. Despite being skin and bones, he exuded an extraordinary handsomeness, even if only his skeletal frame remained.
He gave off the impression that even at the age of two hundred, he could still walk the runway.
Voldemort fell silent.
Could it be...? Right after getting out of prison, he could accurately orchestrate a kidnapping in London, England?
Voldemort then remembered that the prison holding this man, Nurmengard, was built by none other than himself.
He had stayed in that prison not because he couldn't leave but because he chose not to.
It didn't surprise Voldemort at all that Nurmengard's administrators were Grindelwald's people, and it seemed... reasonable that they would actively or passively help conceal the news of his escape for a few days.
Voldemort remained silent, but the other man did not.
Grindelwald strolled into the room and calmly sat down in the only chair, while the blond man stood behind him with his hands clasped.
"Please sit, my young guest," Grindelwald gestured and smiled, "I hope Ursula didn't scare you too much."
"I'm sorry, it seems I scared her instead," Voldemort replied. "And in our place, we don't have the custom of making guests stand on the bed to talk."
"Hahahaha..."
Grindelwald burst into laughter, his throat sounding slightly hoarse, perhaps from past injuries.
"My apologies, we were indeed impolite."
As he laughed, he waved his hand at the male wizard beside him.
The blond wizard stepped forward, took out a small bottle, and used his wand to draw out a few drops of potion, which landed on Voldemort.
Voldemort's body quickly stretched upward, and the blond wizard simultaneously cast the counter-charm for the Shrinking Charm on his clothes. Within seconds, Voldemort had returned to his original form.
He couldn't help but stretch his arms, feeling the familiar strength and magic, which brought him a sense of relief.
Then he reached for his wand and was stunned.
The wand was still the size of a toothpick, pitifully small in his fingers.
"Oh, right," Grindelwald laughed again, pulling out a wand from his pocket. "This is your wand. The other one was just a toy borrowed from a child."
Voldemort: "... "
As his temples throbbed, he realized that Grindelwald's casual and friendly attitude was to his advantage.
Or, when he woke up and found himself not imprisoned or restrained, he knew that his life was safe for the time being.
He just didn't know what the other party wanted from him, and how long this friendly attitude would last.
Voldemort silently put down the toothpick wand and picked up his own wand, casually casting a cleaning spell.
The flow of magic was smooth and natural, and the cabinet in front of him instantly became spotless, so clean that it seemed to reflect light.
This was the familiar performance of his spells.
As soon as the toothpick wand was placed on the table, a fairy flew down from the chandelier. It grabbed the toothpick wand with both hands and buzzed angrily at the group, its words unintelligible but clearly full of profanities.
After buzzing for a while, the fairy flew back to the chandelier with its wand, sprinkling beautiful golden glitter along the way.
Voldemort: "..."
So that was really the fairy's wand...
Grindelwald, the infamous Dark Wizard, was acting a bit...dog-like.
As he thought this, he pointed his wand at the nearby blue banana plant and transfigured a soft, comfortable chair for himself.
Sitting down, Voldemort asked, "You 'invited' me here as a guest, and I appreciate your kindness. But I've been quite busy lately, and it may not be suitable for me to be away for an extended period. Please get to the point."
Grindelwald coughed a couple of times and leaned back in his chair, smiling. "You know who I am?"
"I guessed," Voldemort replied, not pretending to be innocent or naive.
"It's rare for a child of your age to know about me." Grindelwald leaned back in his chair. "Voldemort Grey, you're a smart kid. So, take a guess, why did I personally invite you here?"
Voldemort remained silent for a moment before asking, "For the puppet-making technique?"
"Hmm? Someone covets your skill?"
Grindelwald guessed, deducing the answer from Voldemort's expression. He shook his head. "I don't believe in things that can think independently."
"Then you're here for..." Voldemort searched his mind for his inventions. "—The Daily Prophet?"
"That's right." Grindelwald smiled. "I've heard that every wizarding household now has at least one Daily Prophet, and it's on from morning till night, used more frequently than Muggle televisions. All the programs are broadcast from the Aslan Magic Workshop, right?"
"Not entirely," Voldemort cautiously replied. "The Aslan Magic Workshop is currently negotiating with various magical governments to allocate specific time slots for broadcasting their magical world news."
"And some stubborn wizards believe that the Daily Prophet monitors their lives and threatens their safety, so they refuse to accept this invention."
"That's just the opinion of a minority," Grindelwald said. "When I was young, many people thought that cameras would steal their souls, but now no one thinks that way."
"You're right," Voldemort agreed.
He had already guessed the other party's intentions and was weighing the pros and cons in his mind.
But Grindelwald didn't give him much time to think.
"As the inventor, can you bypass the magic workshop and make all the Daily Prophets play the images we specify?"
Voldemort raised his eyes and looked at him.
The organization with deep ties to Muggles coveted the puppet-making technique, and Grindelwald, the wizard who had spent nearly fifty years in prison, immediately realized the importance of controlling the magical world's public opinion.
After a long silence, Voldemort asked, "What if I say I can't?"
"Do you think I can't tell a child's lie?" Grindelwald pointed to his eyes. "I know you can, child. I see that you can."
Voldemort remembered that this man had eyes that could see the future—he was a natural-born seer.
Had he seen any visions of the future related to Voldemort? Voldemort wasn't sure, but the Dark Wizard before him certainly didn't have Dumbledore's good temper. Despite his current friendly demeanor, Grindelwald could be ruthless when he turned.
Voldemort slowly exhaled and said, "I'll need materials."
...
After leaving the room, Grindelwald handed the parchment filled with magical materials to the blond wizard. "While he's working, have one of our people watch over him."
"Understood... Do you want me to learn his crafting skills?" The blond wizard, Delian, added, fearing he might have misunderstood.
"Be cautious," Grindelwald said, "lest he creates something powerful and destroys the base, escaping in the process."
Drayne, although skeptical of a child's capabilities, nodded in agreement, "Understood!"
"Also..."
Grindelwald walked a short distance away, deep in thought, and said, "Investigate this Vold Grey further... Even if he's of Muggle descent, I want to know who his parents are, his performance at school, and his views on pureblood ideology and non-human magical creatures... The more detailed, the better."
"Yes, sir," Drayne replied obediently.
The Wizarding Supremacist Party's influence, of course, couldn't compare to its heyday, but wizards lived much longer than Muggles. After fifty years, many of the old comrades were still alive, and their children were now active in various fields.
As Muggle society developed rapidly, wizards found their living space increasingly squeezed. Some young wizards felt this threat and voluntarily joined the Supremacist Party, their ideas and actions even more radical than some of the elders who had experienced war and slaughter.
The current Wizarding Supremacist Party was like deep water under thin ice, still harboring immense power, and gathering information was no problem for them.
In front of him, Grindelwald's eyes flashed with interest.
—Despite being only thirteen or fourteen years old, his Occlumency skills were remarkably advanced, even preventing Grindelwald from unknowingly invading his memories.
When would one need Occlumency at school? Hogwarts wasn't Durmstrang...
Was it specialized training from Dumbledore? Of course, if he used his wand and forcefully employed advanced Legilimency, he might uncover those hidden memories, but it would cause irreversible damage to that precious mind.
So, Grindelwald chose to wait for his subordinates' investigation results, even if it took more time.
...
The owl that had flown out circled back and returned.
Harry untied the scroll from the owl's talons and found it was the same one he had sent out, his disappointment and worry overwhelming.
Michael leaned against the windowsill, propping himself up with his hands, and said, "I told you, owls are useless. If they worked, Dumbledore would've found the person by now."
Hedwig, the white owl, offended by being called 'useless', pecked Michael's wrist and flew out the window.
Michael's parents were currently abroad, and for their safety, they had to stay in a humble residence.
The Weasley family, with its large number of members, had limited space. To make room for the two boys, Ron had to temporarily move into his brother Percy's bedroom.
Percy was very unhappy about this, believing that Ron would disturb his NEWTs exam preparations. Ron, on the other hand, looked like he was about to enter a fiery pit.
"Spending the entire Christmas holiday with Percy is bad enough, but sharing a room with him is a nightmare!"
Ron mimicked Percy's tone, saying, "Ronald, take your socks off my bed! Ron, be quiet, I'm reading a very advanced Transfiguration essay!"
Harry knew he should laugh along, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and instead, his heart felt heavier.
After Ron finished packing and went upstairs, Harry tried writing a note for Hedwig to deliver.
When the owl returned without success, the two boys remained at the window, and it was already late, but neither wanted to sleep.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of an owl flapping its wings, and they looked up hopefully to see owls flying through the window, one after another, dropping boxes of various sizes before turning and flying away immediately.
"Ah, Christmas presents," Michael said blankly, "I'd forgotten it was Christmas today."
After standing for a while, Harry bent down and picked up a box, which happened to be the one sent by the Dursleys—the gift was in a plastic bag, probably grabbed by Aunt Petunia.
Harry found that he wasn't surprised or angry at all; he casually set the plastic bag aside and picked up another box.
Then, Harry froze.
"Michael..."
His voice trembled as he spoke.
"What is it?" Michael asked.
"Look," Harry turned the gift box over, showing the side with the name to Michael, "This is from Vold!"
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
