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Chapter 437: Gellert Grindelwald's Paper Airplane
Dawn broke cold and quiet. Wade pushed open the window, and a frigid gust of air rushed in, sweeping away the stale breath of the room that had lingered all night. He tilted his head upward, watching the sky still speckled with faint, dim stars. Beyond the distant mountains, shrouded in darkness, the jagged silhouettes of snow-covered peaks glimmered faintly under the starlight.
The Wizard Purity Party had begun their operation early—so early, in fact, that it was still two hours before sunrise. One by one, the rooms of the castle lit up with flickering candlelight, and the corridors echoed with footsteps. Hogwarts had been in session for two days now, but at this hour, only the House-elves would be stirring, preparing breakfast. The students, no doubt, were still deep in dreams.
Wade exhaled softly. For a moment, he felt a pang of nostalgia—missed the rhythm of school life.
As the scent of burning pine filled the bedroom, Wade washed and dressed. He draped over himself the cloak that obscured his form entirely, then attached the few protective charms he’d crafted himself. Turning back, he gazed at the towering bookshelves lined with enchanted tomes.
Due to the language barrier, Wade’s reading speed had been painfully slow since arriving from Germany. He’d skimmed only the table of contents at first, selecting only the most intriguing volumes for deeper study. But he hadn’t abandoned the rest—he’d used a Replication Charm to copy every book, stuffing the duplicates into the pockets of his clothing with an Invisible Expansion Charm.
This was his chance to flee. Even if the Adler estate was warded against Apparition, he could first transform into a falcon, escape the spell’s range, and then Apparate away. The key was simply to break Gellert Grindelwald’s line of sight.
The Wizard Purity Party? Most of them were barely more than mediocres. Wade had quickly sized them up. Far from the feared, ruthless Dark Wizard army of legend, today’s faction was more akin to Ministry of Magic wizards—only with one critical difference: they wielded lethal Dark Magic without hesitation. The wounds they inflicted were often incurable.
And yet, battle was a potent catalyst. From the footage he’d studied, their skill levels were rising rapidly. But despite their improved combat ability, most of them lacked the awareness—or the strength—to stop a small falcon mid-flight in the chaos of a battlefield.
Life in the castle had been tolerable, even pleasant. But Wade hadn’t spoken to his parents in far too long. They must be worried sick.
And then there was the matter of studying magic. Hogwarts’ library was infinitely more welcoming than trying to learn through trial, error, and fear of accidentally casting a spell wrong—especially when every mispronounced word risked disaster.
The wizard who’d nearly been trampled by a cow had warned him repeatedly: using magic wrong was dangerous.
When he stepped out of his room, it remained just as he’d left it—his notes still scattered on the table, two sets of spare clothes hanging by the bed. If this attempt failed, he could always pretend nothing had happened and return to the illusion of peace.
…
Morning mist clung thickly to the forest. A thin branch snapped under the black leather boot of a man walking silently through the trees. A low, rhythmic crackling followed—then the slow, sinuous glide of a thick-bodied serpent slithering over dead leaves and snow.
The wizard in the gray cloak moved almost as one with the fog, trudging along a rugged forest path. At last, he stopped atop a hill. With a flick of his wand, he wove thick mist around him, blurring his outline until he was nearly indistinguishable from the shadows.
Then he tapped his wand against a nearby tree stump. It transformed into a tall, soft-backed chair. Only then did he pull back his cloak—revealing a baby with a serpent’s face.
The infant clung to the wizard’s neck with thin arms, then was carefully placed on the chair at eye level. Around them, several flames sprouted from the ground, warming the air.
The serpent, Nagini, seemed to relish the heat. She coiled around the chair, her head resting lazily on the armrest, her tongue flicking out like a whisper.
“Master,” the wizard murmured.
Below, nestled in the valley, lay the Muggle estate.
The infant opened its long, narrow eyes—pupils blood-red. Its weak, slender hands rested on its stomach, one clutching a wand nearly as long as its own body.
“Wait,” the infant said, voice sharp and cold. “Today, we may witness a fine performance.”
“Yes,” the wizard replied, his face pale and gaunt beneath the hood. His yellowish hair fell across his forehead. He looked in his thirties, but carried a strange, unsettling elegance.
“Your father—how is he?” the infant asked softly. “Still searching for you, Barty?”
The question sounded like idle small talk, but from the infant’s lips, it carried a chilling weight.
Little Barty Crouch flinched. A sneer twisted his face. “No. He’s returned to his post. He’s buried in work—completely consumed.” He paused. Then, more fiercely: “But I don’t believe he’s forgotten me. That man’s stubborn as stone. If you wish, I’ll kill him for you.”
“No need,” the infant said, savoring the word. “He’s still useful. Let him remain in that state. The Brain Chamber’s spell worked perfectly. No risk of exposure.”
Barty stared at the serpent-faced child with reverence. “They say even the Silent Ones in the Department of Mysteries dare not use the Brain Chamber to alter a wizard’s mind. Yet you… you know how to wield it.”
A quiet laugh escaped the infant. “Gellert Grindelwald’s empire was built on Muggle wars. When the Muggle governments he allied with collapsed, his downfall was inevitable—even the Brain Chamber couldn’t reverse that.”
The estate below was silent, still—like a painting.
Bored, the infant spoke again. “You know, Barty, when I was young, I worked at Borgin and Burkes. Not a respectable job, but it gave me access to secrets hidden from most. Some noble families in decline sold their ancient spellbooks for mere Galleons. I once saw a priceless research journal traded for only 2 Galleons and 13 Sickles.”
The infant smirked. “Its former owner had been one of the Silent Ones who studied the Brain Chamber—no one knew it better. Yet among all who read that journal… only I recognized its worth.”
Barty listened intently. The fact that his master had once been a submissive shop assistant, that he’d acquired such a treasure for so little, did not faze him. Unlike the Death Eaters who joined for power, fame, wealth, or the thrill of destruction, Barty’s loyalty was absolute. Even now, in this small, grotesque form, the infant’s evil soul remained unchanged—yet Barty’s devotion did not waver.
The infant shifted, stretching. “The Brain Chamber can’t force a person’s will. It can only whisper to the mind—tiny, unnoticed thoughts. Like making everyone unconsciously ignore two wizards who’ve long been dead.”
He smiled, smug. “So while the others fight and bleed, we can sit back and watch. Wait until we’ve completed every preparation for my resurrection. Wait until my loyal followers return… Then—”
He trailed off, reaching out to stroke Nagini’s head.
Barty glanced at the serpent with envy. But then he reminded himself: it was just a mindless beast. His expression settled into calm again.
“I will bring Harry Potter to you, Master,” Barty said, voice steady. “No matter the risk.”
And I’ll kill every traitor and coward in the process!
Harry Potter belonged to his master. But Barty despised those who’d never even tried to find the Dark Lord. When he’d been imprisoned by his own father, drifting in darkness, every fleeting moment of clarity had been filled with longing—to return to his master’s side.
But those who’d escaped punishment? They lived in comfort, luxury, never lifting a finger for their master’s soul, which had wandered lonely and broken through the forest for years.
“You mustn’t risk your life, my child,” the infant said, voice warm. “Your survival means everything to me. Be patient. The moment will come.”
Suddenly, he paused.
They’re coming.
Before he could finish, space several hundred meters from the estate warped. The air rippled like water, swirling in concentric circles. Then, figures began to emerge—dozens, then hundreds.
The estate erupted in alarms—sharp, piercing shrieks. Heads popped from the quiet houses, people rushing out.
“Looks like they’re not getting the element of surprise,” Voldemort murmured, one hand resting on his chin, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “They were ready. Dumbledore’s on his way… Perfect. Makes it all the more fun.”
Boom!
A missile screamed through the air, trailing fire, hurtling toward the gathering of wizards.
…
Boom—Boom—Boom—
Explosions tore across the sky above the estate—giant bursts of fire, searing heat blasting outward, sending blackened debris flying.
Machine guns raked the air with bullets, but the lead Dark Wizard plunged his wand into the ground and conjured a vast, transparent barrier. It shielded his entire group.
Other wizards arrived via Portkey, appearing in a dark, swarming mass like a funeral cortege.
John Adler stared at the sky, now crimson with fire. His face was pale, sweat dripping from his brow.
“They were prepared!” Adler stammered. “You wizards are supposed to be relics of the Middle Ages! How did you even survive that missile?”
He’d expected carnage. But the attack barely made a dent. The wizards hadn’t suffered significant losses. Bullets glanced off them as if they were made of stone.
Shield Charms alone couldn’t stop bullets—but when combined with obstacle spells, they became devastating. Dragonhide cloaks enchanted with shielding performed like bulletproof vests, though the protection didn’t last long.
Gellert Grindelwald, who’d lived through the world wars, had mastered such tricks. Even in isolation, his knowledge of Muggle weapons surpassed that of most wizards—and even most Muggles. After his escape, he hadn’t forgotten to study them.
When Adler turned to Abigail, demanding answers, she only said, “Fear now is premature. Our assault has just begun.”
The next instant, their expressions froze.
From among the wizards, countless paper airplanes rose into the air—each carrying a familiar, ominous shape: cannonballs.
“Get down—there’s a bomb!”
Screams tore through the estate. But too many stared upward, frozen in horror, paralyzed by panic and despair.
Gunfire lashed upward, intercepting some of the planes—adding streaks of fire to the sky. But the rest darted through with uncanny precision, swerving toward the crowds below.
Ordinary soldiers, Werewolves with thick hides—none could survive. They crumpled like paper.
Only a few Vampires transformed into bats and managed to flee upward, wings beating frantically. But when the explosions roared across the sky, some bats suddenly veered wildly—plunging straight into the flames.
“How… how did they do that?” Adler whispered. Then, in a flash, he seized Abigail’s arm. “Take me away! Now! Now! I’m leaving this cursed place!”
Another wizard sneered. “Coward! These men were meant as cannon fodder. You’ll see our true power when the Wizard Purity Party steps inside.”
“Shut up!” Adler roared, his finger nearly in the man’s face. “You know how much I fund you every year! I didn’t come here to be bait! I don’t care what tricks you have left—get me out of here!”
The man’s face hardened. But Abigail stepped between them.
“Mr. Adler is right,” she said calmly. “Now that the Wizard Purity Party has arrived, he no longer needs to stay. You continue watching. I’ll escort him to safety.”
The man grunted, silenced.
Adler didn’t care about the tone. He grabbed his briefcase and followed Abigail out the door, promising, “My life is worth more than anything. Protect me to safety, and I’ll give you a fortune you’ll never see in a lifetime.”
Abigail said nothing. Wand in hand, she walked beside him—loyal, silent, a guardian.
…
Gellert Grindelwald lowered his wand. With a flick, he signaled.
At Wovilet’s side, several alchemy apprentices opened their satchels. From within, an endless stream of paper airplanes poured forth—like a white wave, unending.
Each plane bore a cannonball many times its weight, flying with unwavering purpose toward the enemy lines. Their light, paper bodies floated like letters sent by the dead.
Even the members of the Wizard Purity Party stood stunned, mouths agape, staring upward.
“See?” Gellert Grindelwald coughed softly. “We are wizards—but we are not limited to magic alone.”
“Muggle weapons’ greatest flaw? They create machines of death… and then, inevitably, they turn on their creators.”
(End of Chapter)
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