Chapter 679: Succession People?
On the stands, Wizards from across the world exchanged stunned glances, their hushed voices rippling through the air like waves.
“Bloody hell—could that really be a Fire Spell?”
“Must be one of those British tricks. They’ve been holding back for two rounds, saving their ultimate strike for the end!”
“Whether we win or not still depends on luck… maybe our home Champion will face the Triwizard Cup first. Not time to give up yet!”
“That kid’s only fourteen… such a level of control…”
“One hundred Galleons—I bet he’s a secret apprentice trained by Dumbledore. You know, not just some ordinary teacher-student bond, but an ancient, one-on-one mentorship, carefully nurtured over years…”
At the edge of the stands, a middle-aged Wizard who had been smiling pleasantly moments ago slowly suppressed his expression. A cold snort escaped through his nose.
“Sir,” said the Wizard seated beside him, his face visible beneath the cloak—Dreian, frowning deeply. “Won’t this make it too obvious? People might guess our connection to him.”
The middle-aged Wizard smirked. “Let them guess. I’d love to see what they’d do if they actually figured it out.”
Sunlight glinted off his sharp profile, casting a sinister shadow across his face.
Across from him, Antoine let out a soft chuckle. “I think when the truth is shocking enough, people will invent more plausible lies just to make sense of it.”
“Otherwise…” His gaze flickered, voice laced with amusement, “they’d have to confront the idea that the world’s greatest Dark Wizard and the greatest Light Wizard might be… working together again, after a century of separation.”
Hearing such a flippant, almost reckless remark, Dreian’s eyes widened in shock, his expression sharpening visibly.
He glanced sideways at the middle-aged Wizard—only to find his leader, though stern-faced, wasn’t angry at all. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of his lips.
Dreian fell silent, thoughtful.
Meanwhile, Minister of Magic Fudge sat rigidly on the referee’s bench, his round hat damp with sweat around the brim.
“Merlin’s beard…” Fudge’s lips trembled, his voice thin and strained, like steam squeezed from a teapot. His mind flashed with terrifying images.
For years, Fudge had assumed Dumbledore had no interest in the Ministry. Whenever the old Headmaster seemed to meddle in politics, Fudge had been resentful, even plotting ways to tarnish his reputation.
But now, realizing Dumbledore might have shifted his thinking—now, with power on his mind—Fudge’s eagerness to challenge him vanished instantly, replaced by a creeping dread.
It was as if he’d been lounging in a high-backed chair, savoring his lunch, when suddenly he felt the cold, crimson stare of some monstrous beast watching him from the darkness behind his back.
When the French Minister leaned over, cautiously remarking, “Your British young Wizard truly is impressive,” Fudge’s forced smile froze like a Petrificus Totalus charm.
His eyes fixed on the screen, watching the spider-like bodies scatter in the wind. His entire body shivered.
It was as if he were seeing it for the first time—realizing that if Dumbledore’s students could achieve such mastery, then what could he truly do?
Maybe… it was time to step down from the Ministry.
The thought struck him with startling clarity. Fudge gasped, startled by his own mind, a wave of regret and resistance washing over him.
Frantically, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a chocolate bar to steady his nerves. Umbridge leaned in, her voice syrup-sweet. “Minister, don’t you think Hogwarts’ education system is deeply flawed? Perhaps the Ministry needs to… offer some special guidance… and oversight.”
She knew exactly what her superior wanted to hear. And since her own magical abilities were mediocre, she didn’t grasp the true significance of what the Fire Spell had just demonstrated—unlike the more powerful Wizards, who would’ve felt the weight of such a display.
In her mind, true power always lay in arrogance.
But Fudge could no longer bear it. Weakly, he turned to the young man behind him. “I… I need… a hot Coco…”
Percy Weasley, seated directly behind him, was still staring blankly at the screen, his mind racing through every book he’d ever read, trying to imagine how a Fire Spell could be altered to achieve such power.
When Fudge’s trembling voice reached him, Percy froze for two seconds—then his body reacted before his brain could catch up. He shot up from his seat.
“Yes, Minister! I’ll get it right away!”
Bowing low, Percy darted down from the Head Table in a flurry of movement.
Only then did Dumbledore finally withdraw his gaze from the streaming mirror. He didn’t respond to the murmurs—some skeptical, some probing. Instead, his eyes followed Percy’s hurried retreat, watching the once-proud, brilliant student now hunched and desperate, his posture utterly changed.
He didn’t think Percy’s desire for power was wrong. After all, who, in youth, hadn’t dreamed of wielding the kind of force that could change the world?
But power was like a starving Dementor—unrestrained, it would never be satisfied. It would gnaw at your soul until you were unrecognizable.
The young man, flushed with excitement, bowing deeply, hands trembling as he offered the hot Coco—was this the same boy who had once stood tall, eyes bright, head high?
…
Crack.
Wade stepped on a charred leaf, his leg crunching through the brittle remains.
The heat from the Fire Spell still lingered in the air. Occasional sparks flickered like dying embers. Yet the Forbidden Forest had fallen into an eerie silence—no rustling, no whispering leaves, not even the faintest scuttle of small creatures.
As if all danger had vanished in an instant, fleeing far from where he stood.
Wade waited a few seconds, then pulled out his compass to recalibrate. It pointed straight ahead—toward the Triwizard Cup.
But navigating the forest was treacherous. Giant trees blocked the path. Patches of swamp and deep holes lay hidden beneath the undergrowth.
He glanced at a nearby blue bird and sighed.
If only he could transform into a falcon… the trophy would already be in his grasp.
But for a tournament, revealing his Animagus identity wasn’t worth it.
The forest felt isolated from the outside world. Twice, Wade tried summoning his flying broomstick with an Accio Charm—no response. Yet this only brought him relief.
Flying was Harry’s strength, and Krum’s. If he couldn’t soar to the finish line, it was actually an advantage for him.
After a moment’s thought, he left the main path, veering into a hidden spot, then raised his wand.
A ripple of magical light spread outward like water waves.
Instantly, the area came alive.
Moss peeled from tree trunks. Thorny vines writhed like serpents. Unicorn tail hairs rose from the leaf litter. Feathers from unknown birds drifted into the air. Mushrooms crawled across the ground, releasing clouds of spores. Insect shells and pebbles rolled and tumbled, as if stirred by unseen hands.
On the stands, someone inside screamed, voice rising in outrage.
“He’s making another Magic Puppet again! It’s not fair!”
(End of Chapter)
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