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Chapter 431: The Wizard Purity Party's Banquet
The Blazing Flame Spell crackled within the fireplace, warming the room to a cozy glow. Wade tossed a few pine logs into the hearth, using the old iron tongs to shift them with a few precise jabs, then settled into the sofa with a book in hand.
Since Mor had helped him edit videos and taught him how to use the tools, Wade’s status had quietly risen. Dreian even upgraded him to a suite with a fireplace and sent over a stack of magical tomes.
The downside? Most of the books were in German—some even written in archaic script. Wade hadn’t studied German, so he’d asked for a dictionary, which he now flipped through as he read, struggling to keep up.
Still, the similarities between English and German—especially in root words and sentence structure—helped. Some words were nearly identical. It wasn’t like learning a completely new language from scratch.
When Mor had free time, he’d often drop by. Sometimes he’d translate German books into English for Wade. Other times, he’d teach him how to read the script. Whenever Wade mispronounced a word, Mor would collapse onto the floor, laughing so hard he clutched his stomach—Wade had no idea what absurd image had popped into his head.
The book in Wade’s hands chronicled some of Germany’s most infamous magical events from the distant past—some real, some merely mistaken for magic, but in truth, the result of Muggles turning on each other.
In Britain—especially at Hogwarts—such books were rarely seen. Most had been hidden away, forbidden for students to read. Wade had seen a few in the Black Family Manor, but only a handful.
Yet here, with Gellert Grindelwald, such history was not only permitted—it was encouraged.
For instance, in the 16th century, the Archbishop had ordered the purge of witches, Protestants, and Jews. Hundreds from twenty-two villages in Trier were burned alive. Among the victims were local sheriffs, judges, members of Parliament—even priests.
The author, a survivor of the witch hunts, wrote in the final passage:
> “Poor Weber was the only true wizard to die in this massacre. When his neighbors knocked on the door, he likely thought they’d come for a drink. Instead, they brought a sharp axe.”
>
> “After Weber’s death, his wife and two children—both under ten—were also killed. What’s more tragic? The neighbors who attacked them gained nothing. Worse, they were accused of being possessed by the Devil and sentenced to die immediately.”
>
> “From capital to village, from Trier to Saxony, from governors to shepherds—no matter your identity or where you lived, if you were suspected of being a wizard, you were executed.”
>
> “Hanging, burning, breaking on the wheel, slow dissection, disembowelment, explosion… People used every torture they could imagine, even if only one wizard existed among a thousand—maybe even none at all. They carried on the slaughter with grim resolve.”
>
> “They never worried about killing innocents—perhaps that was the point all along.”
>
> “The executions were brutal and horrifying, yet the onlookers clapped and cheered, laughing as if they’d forgotten they, too, could be next. This collective madness fills me with dread—like every soul present had become a demon, and the world itself was a hell.”
>
> “Obliviation charms don’t always work. Muggle-borns and talented individuals hidden among Muggles can still see through magic.”
>
> “I dared not use magic anymore. I burned all my books, hid my wand in the deepest part of the basement, and barely escaped. But when will the next purge come? I don’t know.”
>
> “Schmidt hasn’t contacted me in over two months. I don’t know if he’s alive. This evening, I accidentally repaired a broken cart wheel with wandless magic. I don’t know if Miller saw it. But I swear, his gaze felt… strange.”
>
> “Maybe hiding among Muggles isn’t wise. The only real safety lies in complete isolation—retreating underground like ancient wizards. Only then can we avoid such tragedies.”
>
> “Yes, life would be inconvenient. But better than living in constant fear of the axe falling.”
“Knock knock knock.”
The door tapped softly. Wade closed his book, called out, “Come in!” and tossed another log into the fireplace.
The room was already warm, but the chilling words on the page had left him feeling cold to the bone.
“Hey, Wade!”
Mor stepped in, grinning. “You’re reading again! Everyone’s back—they’re holding a banquet in the Great Hall. Come join the fun!”
“A banquet?” Wade shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“I know you don’t want to reveal your identity. Don’t worry—I’ve already prepared everything.” Mor pulled a bottle of Polyjuice Potion from his pocket and placed it on the small table beside Wade. “Go on. You’re cooped up in your room all day. I’m worried you’ll go soft. And Gellert Grindelwald didn’t imprison you, did he?”
Wade eyed the potion. He wasn’t interested in banquets—but he did need to get out. Especially after reading that passage, which chilled him more than any horror story ever could. He needed noise, people, firelight.
He set the book down, picked up the potion, sniffed it, then drank it in one gulp.
…
Minutes later, Mor and a young wizard with brown hair and pale skin walked down the corridor together.
“How’s the new look?” Mor said, grinning. “I picked someone handsome for you!”
“Brown?”
“Yeah. You were ‘gray’ before. Now you’re ‘brown.’ Helps you remember your new name.”
They entered the Great Hall.
Unlike Hogwarts’ bright, colorful hall, this one felt dim and heavy—walls and floor in shades of gray, smoke curling through the air. Long tables, each seating a dozen or more, were laden with food and drink. By the fireplace, a few people played guitar and accordion, singing softly as they drank.
Most were eating or drinking. Others wandered with glasses in hand. Some puffed on long pipes or cigarettes, exhaling smoke into the air. A dozen people danced in the open space at the center, cheered on by a crowd of onlookers.
Wade had expected something solemn—perhaps elegant, refined. But this felt more like a regular inn.
“Eat, drink, sing, dance—do whatever you want!” Mor said, nudging him. “You can even drink a strong spirit if you like. I’ll bring you back if you get drunk. And hey, my dear friend—you’re part of this victory too!”
His voice was loud enough to catch the attention of a passing brunette with a tray. She glanced at Wade, smiled, and showed two tiny, charming canine teeth.
Wade grabbed a glass of red wine but didn’t drink. He walked to the fireplace, picked an unoccupied stool, and leaned against the wall, listening to the singers.
“The magic wind blows through the quiet town,
The ancient bell shatters dreams…
Beneath the old oak, wizards and fairies dance.
The centaur points the way—
The brave youth sets off on his quest…
A thousand-year tale told,
A timeless promise guarding the earth…”
“What does ‘the promise’ refer to?” Wade asked the man beside him.
“A thousand years ago? Who knows?” Mor shrugged.
“A thousand years?”
“That’s probably the time of Merlin,” the woman beside him said, her voice soft and melancholy. “They say back then, all races could live under sunlight. Wizards were respected.”
“No need to mourn the past, Mary,” another man said, clinking his glass against hers. “We’re building a new era.”
“So I follow Gellert Grindelwald!” a bearded wizard declared. “No more hiding!”
“But the defenses have gotten stronger. They know someone’s hunting them. Injuries are increasing.” Mary frowned.
“Muggle weapons are dangerous,” said an older man. “But the young ones lack training. Mbi—your Shield Charm always lags. Last time, a gunshot broke your leg.”
“That was a surprise attack!” Mbi snapped. “Can you stop a bullet from behind?”
“I’ve never been hurt. Isn’t that proof?” the man said smugly, shaking his head.
A few people chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mbi,” someone said. “Scars are manly. Or just use more Scar Remover?”
“Being broken in the leg is lucky,” another said. “Nubel wasn’t so fortunate—he died.”
“Battle always brings casualties,” Dreian suddenly appeared from nowhere, cutting in. He looked at Mor. “I’ve been looking for you, Antoine. Where’s the person you’re supposed to be watching? Why isn’t he in his room?”
Mor slapped Wade on the shoulder. “Right here. Come on—finally got him out for a drink, and now you’re interrupting?”
Dreian stared at Wade. Their eyes met. Recognition flickered.
“Sorry,” Dreian said, tone serious. “I’ve two bottles of Mosel Riesling I’ll send your way later. But right now—come with me.”
“I don’t really like drinking,” Wade said, setting down his untouched wine. “What’s going on?”
As curious eyes turned toward them, Dreian lowered his voice. “It’s… weapons-related.”
He didn’t use Wade’s name. He didn’t even mention “Alchemy.”
Even though they all knew—Wade didn’t want to reveal his true identity or face. He wanted to return to his old life. Yet none of them exposed him. Instead, they actively protected him.
This respect, this empathy—it gave Wade the illusion that he was no longer an outsider, but one of them.
They pushed through the crowd. Dreian casually blocked a few tipsy drunkards. Laughter and cheers echoed from a group of young wizards celebrating recent victories.
Dreian, cold and silent, stood out like a shadow. Wade looked more at ease in the chaos than he did.
Mor trailed behind, finishing his drink in one gulp before hurrying after them.
Outside the Great Hall, Mor inhaled the crisp night air, shook his head, and suddenly remembered something.
“Gellert Grindelwald didn’t attend the banquet… Is he injured? Sick?”
Dreian gave him a cold, piercing look. “That’s not your concern, Antoine.”
Mor didn’t flinch. “What do you need with Wade?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m responsible for him. I’m his temporary supervisor. You can’t just drag him away without explanation.”
Dreian stared at him—then at Wade. After a pause, he finally decided to reveal part of the truth.
“Tonight’s operation… we faced a counterattack we didn’t expect.”
…
Wade hadn’t taken part in any of the Wizard Purity Party’s attacks—except the first day—but he’d helped Mor edit the videos daily. He knew their operations better than most participants.
After the island that birthed the Silent Shadow was destroyed, the Ministry of Magic believed the matter was closed. But Gellert Grindelwald disagreed.
He personally led raids, capturing the subordinate, family, and friends of the fallen leader, then using Memory magic to scour their minds. Eventually, they uncovered the base where Wade had been taken during the attack.
Using the same method, they found a second, third, fourth—five bases in total—before finally pausing.
During the raids, they’d even encountered werewolves and vampires—creatures that terrified ordinary wizards. But under Grindelwald’s command, they offered no resistance.
For days, the party seemed quiet. But in truth, their operations had gone underground. The targets were no longer organizations—they were individuals.
Yet those individuals held immense status.
Celebrities. Politicians. Tycoons. Renowned judges. University professors—names Wade recognized from the news, from history books—were all members of the secret group.
Wade had stood at his bedroom window more than once, watching familiar faces dragged into the castle like dead dogs. Once polished, dignified, now twisted with fear or shock.
These people provided not only intelligence—but wealth. That was why the Wizard Purity Party was so energized lately.
They’d also changed their method. No longer announcing killings as the work of the Magic Institute. Instead, after extracting all intelligence, they used the Imperius Curse to force the target to commit suicide.
Neither the Dementor’s Kiss nor the Imperius Curse left traces on the body. Even magic couldn’t reliably detect it.
So, apart from those involved, no one else suspected foul play. To outsiders, these were just isolated tragedies—proof of today’s unbearable societal pressure. No one dared question.
Originally, these small-scale operations—capturing a few Muggles—posed little danger. The real challenge was avoiding detection: staying out of sight, evading modern surveillance cameras, and pinpointing the target.
But tonight, the operation failed—unexpectedly and catastrophically.
Wade followed Dreian through winding corridors, down several flights of stairs, until they reached a vast, dim basement.
There, in the center, stood Gellert Grindelwald.
And on the cold black stone floor—seven or eight bodies lay motionless.
Grindelwald was lifting a white cloth, gently covering the terrified face beneath.
“Sir,” Dreian said. “Wade Gray has arrived.”
But Wade’s eyes were drawn to something else—something small, in the hands of Wovilet.
A tiny crystal vial.
It glowed with faint golden light.
(End of Chapter)
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