Chapter 440: The Battle of Black and White
A blazing Flame transformed into a colossal Dragon, roaring as it charged toward Dumbledore. Phoenix Fawks shot into the sky, colliding with the beast in a cataclysmic clash that sent a blinding flash of light erupting across the heavens.
Dumbledore appeared, clad in silver-gray robes, his long silver-white hair whipping wildly in the wind, his blue eyes flashing with icy brilliance.
"Dumbledore!" Gellert Grindelwald shouted, madness flickering in his gaze, his wand trembling at the tip as if unable to form words—then he cried out again, "Dumbledore!"
With a sudden, violent sweep of his wand, he unleashed a lightning-fast spell aimed at Dumbledore. The latter flicked his wand once, deflecting the attack with effortless precision.
Neither spoke. Neither incanted. They moved like whips, their wands slashing through the air, spells colliding in a storm of dazzling light—each strike radiating destructive power.
Whether by intent or accident, the spells that were deflected or misfired flew toward the nearby manor. With thunderous booms, the new reinforcements sent by the Organization were obliterated the moment they emerged—vanishing from the ground as if erased.
Worse still, entire sections of the estate began collapsing. Buildings crumbled, concrete cracked and buckled, vehicles flipped, weapon turrets twisted into grotesque shapes before being tossed aside like sandbags. Exposed beneath the shattered surface were vast underground structures, and fleeing figures darted through the chaos like frightened animals.
At that moment, every wizard from the Wizard Purity Party and every soldier from the Organization had stopped fighting. Panic-stricken, they fled in all directions.
Werewolves sprinted, bats scattered in terror, ordinary soldiers cursed their lack of extra legs, while wizards Apparated kilometers away, watching the battlefield in stunned awe.
"Dumbledore… How did Dumbledore get here?" the members of the Wizard Purity Party whispered to one another, their voices trembling. Even Dreian was drenched in cold sweat, breathing raggedly, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms—yet he felt no pain.
"Dumbledore… he’s alone…" Dreian swallowed hard, his throat working painfully. His chest heaved. "We should go help Gellert Grindelwald!"
He took a step forward, his legs feeling glued to the ground, then another. Just as he raised his wand, Mor lunged forward and pinned him to the earth.
"You're mad!" Mor roared. "Look over there! If you get close, you’ll be vaporized by the backlash! Right now, Gellert Grindelwald doesn’t have time for anyone!"
Dust and mist swirled in the center of the battle. Flame-light danced wildly in the storm-wracked air. The once-flat terrain now erupted with towering stone pillars, stone giants, and prison-like cages—like the very landscape had warped under the fury of their duel.
The two figures flickered in and out of sight, their eyes locked, cold as steel, as if facing their most hated enemy.
Anyone who witnessed it could not doubt: one moment of weakness, and the other would be completely destroyed.
Dreian’s pupils contracted. Veins bulged at his neck. He seized Mor’s arm with a snarl, his voice a raw rasp from between clenched teeth:
"Gellert Grindelwald… he’s unwell! He can’t sustain this much longer!"
Even in his panic, he kept his voice low—only Mor could hear.
Mor stared at him, stunned. Then his face drained of color, turning as pale as paper. Slowly, he turned his head toward the battlefield, his lips trembling:
"But… how can we help? If we go, we’ll just die! And with all this chaos—spells flying everywhere—we might even hit Gellert Grindelwald himself!"
Dreian seemed pulled back to reality by the question. His eyelids drooped. His wand arm sagged, trembling uncontrollably.
He realized, with crushing clarity, that they could do nothing but watch and wait.
If Dumbledore didn’t stop, Gellert Grindelwald had no chance of survival.
Perhaps he should never have tried so hard to help Gellert Grindelwald escape Nurmengard. If not for that, he might have lived far longer—rather than burning the rest of his life in a single, desperate blaze.
Now, recalling Gellert Grindelwald’s words over the past few days, Dreian suddenly understood—he had been giving his final instructions. Even choosing his successor.
Had he known his end was near when he escaped?
Dreian’s face turned ashen. Blood seeped between his fingers.
He despised his own stupidity. He had thought his immaturity had disappointed Gellert Grindelwald, that he would still have time to walk under his guidance. But he never thought…
Suddenly, Dreian remembered Gellert Grindelwald’s praise for Wade Gray—and spun around, scanning the crowd of cloaked wizards. But the boy was nowhere to be found.
Though all wore cloaks, Wade Gray was unmistakable as The Alchemist—his robes adorned with unique alchemical devices. Dreian had memorized every detail. He couldn’t be mistaken.
He grabbed Mor’s arm. "Where’s that kid? Did you see him?"
Mor stared, bewildered. "Wasn’t he with you and Gellert Grindelwald…?"
They both turned, eyes wide, toward the battlefield, their temples throbbing. A wave of dizziness washed over them.
"He couldn’t… he couldn’t have been caught in that…" Mor murmured. "He didn’t get out, did he?"
Dreian opened his mouth several times before whispering, desperate, "Can he Apparate?"
Mor looked at him, hollow-eyed. "Thirteen years old… what do you think?"
Dreian’s vision blackened.
…
A massive explosion echoed through the earth, shaking the underground tunnels even through thick soil and reinforced concrete. The sound was heavy, oppressive—like the world itself was groaning.
Walls trembled. Ceilings cracked. Dust fell in thick clouds. A piece of peeling plaster landed on Dobby’s head.
"Up there, it’s really intense," Dobby said, brushing the debris off. "Do you think Muggles brought out some terrible weapon?"
Makki bit his lip. He and the other house-elves had secretly eavesdropped on Professor Abigail’s lesson about Muggle weapons. The thought of missiles, nuclear bombs—his eyes filled with fear.
But then he straightened, resolve hardening. "The most dangerous weapon is right here. No matter what, we must destroy them all. We can’t let them harm Master Gray!"
Dobby puffed out his small chest, clenching his fists. "Yeah!"
When they’d heard someone in the wizard group mention Wade’s name—and even heard Wade’s voice—they’d felt overwhelming joy. But the boy stood beside over a hundred Dark Wizards… and Gellert Grindelwald, the most feared Dark Lord of all.
Even if the house-elves feared for Wade’s safety, they dared not leap out to rescue him.
Then they heard voices from below—the arguments and plans of those inside. They learned that this place was rigged with weapons designed to block magic and cause unbearable agony.
Of course, they hoped the Dark Wizards would lose. But Wade was among them. And Muggle weapons couldn’t target only the Dark Wizards—they’d hit Wade too.
After a long, agonizing silence, the two house-elves made their choice. They ran into the underground complex, determined to destroy the machines first.
"If we lose track of Master Gray now, we can find him again later," Makki told himself. "But if he loses his magic… if the Muggles catch him… then it’s all over."
He used that thought to steady himself—and to convince Dobby. The two little sprites swallowed their sorrow, temporarily becoming allies of the Wizard Purity Party.
…
While the battle raged above, another group flew high over Sweden.
A broomstick sped through the air, with a Rubik’s Magic Puppet leading the way, shielding the wind. Behind it, Mabel, cloaked and holding a map, followed. Atop Peter Two, Mihal stood, his cloak scorched with two holes from the heat—but he didn’t care.
After receiving a message from Machionni, the magic puppet team had first tried to locate the Adler family. But the distance was too great. The entire homeland had gone silent.
None of the magic puppets or Mabel could Apparate. They had no Portkey. Their speed relied solely on the broomsticks.
It had taken nearly a full day to fly from Britain. Another two days to reach the Adler estate. If they were unlucky, they’d arrive only to find ruins—just like the other places. Then they’d have to spend another two days flying back.
"No," the Rubik’s Magic Puppet declared firmly. "The Wizard Purity Party can run wild, but their nest can’t."
So the team didn’t leave. They kept searching, crossing off more castles from the map.
"This area’s been cleared," Mabel said, drawing a cross on the map. "We should pick another direction."
Suddenly, the puppet said, "Hmm… those people below—they look odd."
Peter Two squinted. "You’re right."
Below, a convoy of trucks sat parked by the roadside—over a dozen large freighters, motionless. People in this country didn’t usually start work this early. If there were emergencies, they’d drive through the night. But stopping here? It wasn’t normal.
And beside each vehicle stood black-cloaked soldiers. On each truck’s front was a radar-like device, slowly rotating.
"Where’s the strange part?" the cloaked figure with a raised hood asked. "Tell me!"
"Wait—just let me descend," the broomstick said, tilting forward and diving.
"Wait!" the puppet warned. "Those instruments down there… they feel dangerous. Don’t get too close."
"It’s… it’s them!" Mabel whispered, her voice trembling. "I recognize their clothing!"
The puppet’s eyes spun a full 180 degrees, seeing Mabel shiver, her body beginning to emit a faint, ominous black fog.
"Stay calm, Mabel," it said. "Our mission is to rescue the Master. Control your emotions. Otherwise, you’ll become a mindless Silent Shadow."
"I… I understand," Mabel forced out, taking deep, deliberate breaths. "They’re here for a reason. I’ll go find out what."
She slid down from the broomstick, her cloak flaring like wings. In midair, her form dissolved into a swirling black fog, flowing like a waterfall onto the ground. Moments later, she reformed into human shape.
Her pupils were white. Her eyes glowed with dangerous light.
But then her cloak settled onto her shoulders, the hood pulling itself up.
"Be careful," the cloak whispered, like a thief. "I’ve given us Invisibility. Move slowly. Or grab a Life-and-Death Elixir from the magic puppet. It’ll help when we act."
It sounded even more eager to strike than Mabel herself.
Mabel gripped the edge of the cloak, a faint smile touching her lips. She calmed. Then, light and swift, she crept forward.
A young man held a briefcase-like device, adjusting dials. A small screen displayed green lines and numbers.
"Definitely," the young man said to his companion. "Magnetic field readings are off. Matches exactly what we’d expect after magical interference."
The high-cheekboned man nodded. "Satellites confirm people disappearing suddenly nearby. So the lair must be ahead."
"But…" the shorter, stocky bald man said, "that place was just a Viking-era ruin. Just a few walls and weeds. Even local kids avoid it."
"Exactly why it’s likely a wizard’s hideout," the high-cheekboned man said. "They always hide their homes."
The young man nodded silently.
The high-cheekboned man turned toward the vehicles. "Get ready. As soon as we get the signal, we attack!"
Mabel blinked. She turned and darted back toward the magic puppets.
The young man suddenly gasped. "Huh?"
"What?" the bald man asked.
"Readings fluctuated. Something magical passed nearby."
He turned, scanning the area. The cloak’s protection was flawless. Nothing was visible. The bald man saw nothing either.
"What was it?" the bald man asked.
"Can’t say… maybe a ghost. Or some creature that can become invisible."
The young man sighed, awed and wistful. "I wish I knew what the world looks like through a wizard’s eyes."
"Whatever it is," the bald man shrugged, "the firepower will make them surrender."
"What if it doesn’t?" the young man asked.
"Then we just need more firepower!" the bald man declared, pounding his fist with finality.
…
"Ahem!" Gellert Grindelwald suddenly coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. His spell, aimed at Dumbledore, veered wildly—and exploded a distant tree into splinters.
Dumbledore did not strike. His wand remained pointed at Gellert Grindelwald, but the light at its tip began to fade.
"Why hesitate, Dumbledore?" Gellert lifted his eyes, sneering. "Afraid to kill me? Or is it true—the greatest wizard in history still can’t cast the Killing Curse?"
(End of Chapter)
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