https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-429-The-Person-in-the-Streaming-Mirror/13685443/
Chapter 428: Waiting for You to Become a Companion
Wade noticed that Gellert Grindelwald seemed unable to recover any time soon, his gaze instinctively flicking toward the Entrance.
No one came in.
A chance… a chance…
Was this the moment?
Should he seize it and Apparate away right now?
With Gellert Grindelwald in such a state, he couldn’t suddenly intervene in his magic.
Wade drew his Wand decisively, swinging it once—then his face instantly darkened.
The air felt like solid stone. A single twist in place sent a crushing sensation through him.
Gellert Grindelwald, still coughing, let out a hoarse, rasping laugh.
Wade: “……!”
He gritted his teeth, fingers twitching around the Wand.
At that moment, the door burst open with a violent slam, and Dreian strode in, wrapped in chilling cold and the stench of blood. He scanned Wade briefly, then moved without hesitation to Gellert Grindelwald’s side.
“Sir!” Dreian dropped to one knee, swiftly pulling out a vial of pale golden potion and helping Gellert drink.
The Dark Lord’s condition stabilized almost instantly. When he lowered his hand, a smear of blood remained on his palm.
Dreian silently passed him a handkerchief.
For some reason, even so, Gellert Grindelwald kept laughing—his body trembling with it.
Dreian watched him with concern, then shot Wade a sharp glare, furious but not hostile.
“Gunter…” Gellert finally managed to stop laughing, whispering, “Did you catch him?”
“Yes, sir,” Dreian replied immediately, turning.
“Bring him here.”
“Yes, sir.”
After rising and stepping back two paces, Dreian exited the room. Passing Wade, he suddenly leaned in and whispered:
“Sir Gellert is unwell. His emotions must not be overstimulated. Be careful with your words—don’t make jokes that are inappropriate!”
Wade locked eyes with him. Only then did he realize, too late, that Dreian had assumed Wade had told some earth-shattering joke—so shocking it had nearly driven their leader to death from laughter.
Wade was speechless. Facing this terrifying misunderstanding, he had no idea where to begin his rebuttal.
Dreian didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and vanished down the hall in a hurry.
Then Wade felt a stare. Slowly, he turned—and met Gellert Grindelwald’s gaze, cold and unnerving, like a predator assessing prey.
“Wade Gray,” Gellert said, as if grinding the name between his teeth. He studied Wade from head to toe, then repeated it slowly: “Wade Gray…”
He asked, “Did Dumbledore teach you personally?”
Wade: “……?”
He blinked. Then, without hesitation: “Yes.”
Of course Dumbledore had taught him. He’d shown him the lives of two Dark Lords, even personally taught him Apparition.
—Though Wade suspected Gellert Grindelwald didn’t mean “class” in the academic sense. But at this moment, could he deny it?
No. Absolutely not.
Dumbledore was powerful, wise, and revered. The burden Wade couldn’t carry—the weight of such a vision—Dumbledore could bear effortlessly.
The great man’s far-sighted strategy might be correct… but it shouldn’t come from the mouth of a thirteen-year-old child.
Hearing Wade’s reply, Gellert Grindelwald fell silent for a long moment. Then, almost to himself:
“I thought all these years he’d been avoiding reality, hiding from the past… living like a detached professor in that school… I never imagined…”
He looked at Wade with a strange, almost fascinated expression.
“…He’s a professor. And he trained someone like you.”
Wade remained silent. All he could hear was the thunderous pounding of his own heartbeat.
Thud… thud… thud…
As if in response, the door suddenly slammed.
Wade swiftly pulled his hood up. Moments later, Dreian entered with two other cloaked wizards, using a spell to drag three figures in behind him.
One was an older man with a dark complexion and a beard; another, a woman in her forties or fifties, elegant and refined in her appearance; the third, a young man with striking good looks, his hands adorned with several gemstone rings.
They immediately recognized Gellert Grindelwald as the dominant figure. All three cast desperate, pleading glances his way, trying desperately to speak—yet their mouths remained tightly shut, unable to form a sound.
Dreian leaned down. “Sir, these are the managers of this place. The young man—according to reports—is the son of a Muggle noble.”
Gellert Grindelwald nodded. “Antoine.”
A cloaked wizard stepped forward instantly and bowed.
Gellert pointed at Wade. “You take this boy back first. The rest of the task requires his assistance.”
“Yes, sir.” Antoine Moro gave Wade a quick signal, then placed a hand on his shoulder and led him away.
As they left the room, Wade heard Gellert Grindelwald’s voice behind him:
“In the Muggle world, there are some with unusually strong wills. To avoid disturbing the flow of time, we should greet them before the Dementor’s Kiss.”
“Yes, sir.” Dreian didn’t hesitate. He raised his wand and cast the Cruciatus Curse.
The Muggle manager screamed—a low, animalistic wail of agony. Even in unimaginable pain, he couldn’t utter a single word.
“Let’s go,” Antoine said, gripping Wade’s arm. From his pocket, he pulled out a device resembling a lighter and pressed it forcefully.
Click.
In an instant, the two vanished from the spot.
…
Wade reappeared in the same deep gray castle.
Now, it felt eerily empty and silent. Antoine Moro led him onto a circular platform.
In the distance, snow-covered hills stretched beneath a pale sky. A brown bear ambled slowly along the edge of the forest.
“Come on, Wade,” Moro said, pulling him through a small door into the castle. “Can you edit the footage we recorded?”
“A little,” Wade replied.
“Great!” Moro grinned. “I was afraid we’d have to kidnap an editor from Aslan’s Workshop! Now it’s easy—Hannah, my love, lend me your scissors!”
As they passed a woman carrying a basket, Moro suddenly snatched the scissors from her basket and grinned.
The woman stared, stunned, then burst out: “You thief! Give that back! I haven’t finished my work!”
“Sorry, sorry! I’ll return it soon!” Moro called over his shoulder, dragging Wade away in a hurry.
They dashed into a room filled with streaming mirrors of all sizes. Moro peeked out the window—no one followed. He slammed the door shut.
Then he solemnly placed the scissors into Wade’s hands, along with the mother mirror.
“Alright, go ahead—edit it fast! I have to return these to Hannah.”
Wade stared at him with a look of ancient bewilderment.
“Who told you you need scissors to edit video?”
“What? Don’t Muggles always cut film with scissors and glue it back together?” Moro scratched his head, puzzled. “I used to sneak in and watch once—out of curiosity… uh…”
He lifted the mother mirror, realization dawning. “Wait… there’s no film in here, right?”
“Of course not,” Wade sighed. “We’re wizards. We use wizard methods. Just return the scissors.”
Moro chuckled awkwardly, waved his wand, and the scissors trembled in the air—then shot through the window, flying away.
Wade worried the scissors might become a weapon, but it was too late. He shook his head, pointed his wand at the mother mirror.
Instantly, several child mirrors around the room lit up with the recorded footage.
The video began with the wizards arriving via Portkey at the base.
As Wade reviewed the footage, he taught Moro the basics of editing.
“The spell is actually simple,” Wade said. “Can you extract memories?”
“Of course I can.”
“Then it’s easy. Treat the video like a machine’s memory. Select the parts you need.”
He tapped his wand gently.
At that moment, the video showed wizards charging toward the base. A streak of silver-white mist rose from the screen, spiraling around his wand tip—identical in appearance to a memory fog.
“It’s no different from cutting film and splicing it together,” he explained. “But it’s far more flexible and efficient. Still, to make it truly powerful and engaging, you can’t just do simple cuts.”
“How?” Moro asked, genuinely curious.
“First, pick the most impactful scenes. Use color contrast effectively. The timing and style of transitions matter a lot.”
Wade manipulated the wand. The child mirror split into two halves, each playing a different scene.
Moro frowned. “But then we can’t focus on either half properly.”
“Exactly,” Wade said. “So people will watch it again—maybe even a third time—to catch what they missed.”
Moro tried it himself. He immediately saw the truth. He nodded, impressed.
Wade continued: “Don’t fear overwhelming the audience. Sometimes, a high information load is more compelling.”
“Adding bold titles and captions is crucial—they help viewers instantly grasp your message.”
“Graphic scenes of violence are easier to bear in black and white. And painful screams? They trigger discomfort and even physical revulsion in many. Replace them with fitting music.”
“I’ve learned how to change colors,” Moro said, scribbling notes furiously. “But how do you change the voice?”
“Re-record it,” Wade demonstrated. “Silence the original audio with a spell, then layer in new sound.”
“Wait—done?” Moro blinked. “This is too short! There are so many powerful moments we didn’t include! Can’t we make it longer?”
Perhaps because Wade now wore the identity of a teacher, Moro’s voice carried an unusual caution.
Wade shook his head. “You know what a 15-second reading is? Too long and attention drifts. 12 to 15 seconds is more memorable.”
“You can split the video into multiple short clips to deepen memory, grab attention, then compile them into a half-hour full-length version—perfect for playing before dinner.”
Though short videos hadn’t yet taken off in the Muggle world, Wade could already apply their proven techniques.
After teaching the method, he let Moro practice editing two clips until he mastered it.
When Moro saw his own work, he suddenly turned to Wade. “You do recognize Gellert Grindelwald’s vision, don’t you? Otherwise, you’d have just told me the spell to extract and merge clips. No need to teach me all this.”
The child mirrors still played, their flickering light casting shadows across Wade’s face—giving him an expression far older than his years.
He stared at the screen, at the grotesque, festering bodies of the victims.
Whispering: “I just think… this shouldn’t happen on this planet. That’s all.”
“Is that so?” Moro replied, smiling as if nothing had been said. “Wade, I’m waiting for the day you truly become one of us. I think it’s not far off.”
“Antoine!”
A man burst into the room, bleeding, his cloak half-burnt, clutching another mother mirror in his palm.
“This just happened—Gellert Grindelwald led us to destroy a Muggle wealthy manor! You should’ve been there! They built a palace-like basement, imprisoned hundreds… Oh!”
He froze, eyes locking onto Wade—especially his clearly youthful face. He choked, nearly biting his own tongue.
“This… this is…?”
“The prisoner and guest of Sir Gellert Grindelwald,” Moro said, taking the mirror from him. He waved dismissively. “That’s enough. I’ll handle it. Go get treated.”
“Prisoner? Guest?”
The wizard stared, utterly confused, before limping out, still bewildered.
…
Phoenix Society, Meeting Room.
Boom!
The door crashed open. A tall figure strode in—uninjured, yet pale as death.
“Dumbledore!” Kingsley Shakle, usually calm and composed, now looked shaken beyond words.
Dumbledore stood at once. “Kingsley, what happened?”
“Any message from Wade?” Remus Lupin asked urgently.
“No.” Kingsley shook his head, swallowed hard, then looked at the group. “But… he acted. Gellert Grindelwald…”
Their faces paled.
“The Ministry of Magic just received a report,” Kingsley continued. “In a single day, he attacked five Muggle locations. Left behind marks in the sky—fireworks spelling out Wizard Purity Party. And… and… at each site, they found…”
“Found what?” Sirius Black snapped. “Are you suddenly stuttering?”
Kingsley hesitated, unable to find the words. He pulled out a stack of black-and-white photos and slid them forward.
“See for yourselves.”
…
The Weasley family lived modestly, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren’t frugal by nature. In fact, they were masters at turning limited money into joy.
So even in their cramped living room, they’d squeezed out space for the most popular streaming mirror in the wizarding world.
Dinner was over. Mr. Weasley was still working late. Harry, Michael, and the younger Weasley children had piled onto the carpet in front of the mirror. Mrs. Weasley sat on the sofa, knitting while watching the “television.”
The current show was a sci-fi drama about aliens and supernatural phenomena—packed with Muggle imagination and stunning effects, enough to captivate everyone.
Though Michael and the others still worried about Wade, the dramatic opening theme music drew them into the crowd.
On screen, the hero finally caught the alien villain by the ankle—then the mirror flickered, going blurry.
“Strange… broken?” Fred and George rubbed their hands together, preparing to fix it. But the image snapped back instantly.
“What’s that?” Ginny Weasley gasped.
Everyone looked up.
The aliens and the heroes were gone. In their place, a dense swarm of cloaked wizards, like omens of death, surrounded a building. One raised his wand—the Blue Flame erupted in a violent explosion.
Mrs. Weasley’s face turned deathly pale.
(End of Chapter)
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