Chapter 534: Wand
Wade recounted everything in full detail to Dumbledore—the entire sequence of events, including the use of Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Harry.
After listening in silence for a long while, Dumbledore finally spoke. Wade studied the old man’s calm eyes, sensing something unreadable in his expression—something that seemed almost difficult to put into words.
After a long pause, Dumbledore asked gently, “You said you used… the magic taught to you by Gellert Grindelwald?”
“Yes,” Wade replied, meeting his gaze. “The same magic that destroyed the cursed trees in the forest.”
He had long suspected Dumbledore had been nearby at the time, and now he was testing the waters, just slightly.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression unchanged—no confusion, no disbelief—only quiet acknowledgment. “The man carrying the bundle… do you know who he was?”
Wade shook his head. “I never saw his face. I assumed the one who came out was Voldemort. I couldn’t risk waiting to see if I’d still have a chance to intervene once he entered the door.”
“That determination… was correct,” Dumbledore said slowly. “It seems you’ve destroyed Voldemort’s current vessel. He’ll be weaker than ever, and any attempt at resurrection will require far more time.”
Wade sighed. “It’s a shame the little Barty Crouch managed to escape. Without his help, Voldemort might have remained a phantom spirit in the forest for years—maybe even longer. Whether he’d ever find a chance to return is uncertain.”
Dumbledore exhaled softly, but Wade sensed the sorrow in his tone wasn’t quite the same as his own.
He remembered Voldemort once describing his state after losing his body—how he’d been even less powerful than the most submissive ghost, like the weakest creature imaginable. Every spell that could sustain him required a wand, and he had only one magic left: possession.
He could attach himself to animals—snakes, perhaps, because they lacked complex minds. But to possess a human, especially a wizard, he needed the person to willingly open their mind, to accept his presence.
And no matter the vessel, Voldemort’s presence always shortened the host’s lifespan. He had to keep switching bodies—enduring a slow, agonizing existence.
Wade thought it was a torment beyond death. More cruel than simply dying.
If Voldemort continued like this, decades from now, he might one day choose to end himself.
Take the dark wizard Serpentine, for example—the one who first created the serpent monster and pioneered the Horcrux. Tom Riddle had built upon his research, walking down the path of soul-splitting.
Yet after Serpentine died, there was never any tale of his resurrection.
So Wade doubted the man had any friends, any loyal followers. He likely didn’t even know his soul had been preserved in a Horcrux—maybe he thought he’d simply wake up again, like a man rising from a nap.
But no such thing happened.
Serpentine’s soul drifted for years, unmoored, unable to return. Eventually, overwhelmed by loneliness and despair, it simply faded away.
If Voldemort’s fate were the same, Wade would be content. All they’d need to do is destroy his remaining Horcruxes. Then, even if Harry’s fragment remained in his forehead, it wouldn’t matter—Harry would die in time, and his soul would join the afterlife, carrying that piece with it.
Wizards lived long lives, aided by potions and alchemy. Wade believed he’d outlive Harry by decades.
But Dumbledore didn’t seem to think that way.
Looking at the old man’s face, devoid of real joy, Wade realized: Dumbledore still hoped to follow his own plan. Destroy every Horcrux. Let Voldemort destroy his final piece of soul. Then, finally, end him.
He didn’t want to leave such a threat for the future—especially not for young wizards still too immature to handle it.
Wade studied Dumbledore’s serene expression and saw beneath it the quiet, unyielding control of a man who refused to let fate take its course.
Dumbledore asked a few more questions, confirming every detail. Then, after a moment of silence, he tapped the armrest gently.
“Wade… Sirius Black was turned into a squirrel, and you helped him. That was good. But I hope that next time you encounter something like this, you remain vigilant.”
He looked directly into Wade’s eyes. “Be especially careful of any small animals that approach you—no matter who they claim to be.”
A chill ran through Wade. He nodded, quietly.
“Now, go rest,” Dumbledore said with a small smile. “It’s still not dawn.”
“Yes, sir.” Wade drained the last of his water and turned to leave.
As he reached for the curtain, he suddenly remembered something. He stopped, then turned back.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, curious.
Wade opened his cloak space. After a moment, he pulled out a long, slender box. He opened it. Inside lay a collection of wands.
He rubbed the back of his nose awkwardly, avoiding the headmaster’s gaze. Then, in a quiet voice, he explained the entire incident—the Alchemist gathering, the kidnapping, the moment he’d managed to free everyone.
The wands had been taken by the attackers. He’d retrieved them later, but had no good reason to return them—so he’d kept them hidden.
In fact, when he’d returned from the island base, he’d considered asking Dumbledore to return them, saying they’d been found there.
But then Mabel had released the Silent Shadow. The moment slipped away. Later, he’d been sent back to school early by Professor Snape—never getting the chance to speak.
Later, during his time at Gray Castle, he’d witnessed Gellert Grindelwald and the Wizard Purity Party destroy the base.
He’d thought then, now’s my chance to return them.
But he paused.
How would people react? If they learned that Gellert Grindelwald had kidnapped him—fed him, treated him well, even handed back the spoils—would that make sense?
The Wizard Purity Party weren’t heroes. They weren’t even kind-hearted. They were dark wizards.
And if he could, at least publicly, he wanted to stand on the side of light and justice.
Even if Dreian and the others had discreetly protected his identity, Wade wasn’t about to broadcast his own connection to Grindelwald.
So he kept delaying.
And now, here he stood—still holding on to the wands, unable to use his own wand at school, burdened by a problem he’d forgotten why he’d ever kept.
But this attack—no one knew who the attacker was. The dark wizard could be anyone.
Could it be one of the men who kidnapped the Alchemists?
Now, Wade wasn’t afraid of revealing more of himself before Dumbledore.
But he suddenly realized: when facing Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore was his anchor.
And when facing Dumbledore, Grindelwald’s favor became a kind of shield.
He no longer felt the need to appear “good” all the time.
With that thought, he handed the box to the headmaster, not waiting to see the expression on his face.
Without a word, he turned and left.
(End of Chapter)
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