https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-701-Raven-and-the-Streaming-Mirror/13685928/
Chapter 702: Gazed Upon by All
The stands of Hogwarts’ Quidditch Pitch abruptly fell into silence—utter, lifeless stillness.
The next moment, chaos erupted.
"No, Harry! No—!" Hermione shot to her feet, her face as pale as parchment, fingers digging painfully into Ron’s arm.
Ron sat frozen, his mouth agape, staring blankly. "What... what was that? Did you see it? Did they—did they just... shrink?"
A voice screamed in panic. Another gripped their wand, eyes blazing with fury. A third clamped a hand over their mouth, silent tears streaming down their cheeks.
Several foreign wizards rose from their seats, flustered. "Oh, I think we should leave now... this is too much..."
Ferdinand clutched Fiona tightly, his voice trembling. "Wade, Wade... remember what he said? He promised he’d come back safe! He promised!"
As he spoke, his eyes remained locked on the Referee Bench—on Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore—widely regarded as the most powerful wizard in the world. Wade had always held him in the highest regard, trusted him completely. If Wade was truly in danger, there was no one else they could rely on...
Sirius Black roared like a wounded beast, vaulting over the barrier and sprinting toward the Forbidden Forest. He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped, realization dawning—no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t bring the children back. With a flash, he turned and charged toward the Referee Bench.
Remus Lupin and several other concerned wizards had already gathered around Dumbledore, voices urgent. "Albus, what do we do now? That painting on the screen—it’s not part of any tournament schedule, is it?"
"Conspiracy! Pure and simple conspiracy!" Umbridge shrieked. "If anyone thinks they can force the Ministry into submission with this kind of stunt—trying to drag up the dead, revive a long-dead Home—then we will—"
"Shut up, Umbridge," snapped a gray-haired witch with a sharp jaw. "Don’t try to smear Hogwarts’ Headmaster with your petty mind. Dumbledore, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will do everything in its power to aid in the rescue of these students."
"Thank you, Ms. Bones..." Dumbledore began, but before he could finish, Fudge—still reeling—sputtered in panic, "Dumbledore! What is going on? Don’t tell me you knew nothing about this! I need—the Ministry needs an explanation!"
He slumped back into his chair, thick lips trembling. "That man… he was dead. Everyone knows he’s dead… right?"
Professor McGonagall’s face was ashen. "Albus, we must act—now."
Snape stood at the edge of the stadium, motionless. He didn’t look at anyone. His eyes were fixed on the Streaming Mirror Screen—now blank, empty, utterly transformed. His fingers absently brushed the Dark Mark on his forearm.
In the midst of the turmoil, Dumbledore rose—calm, composed. As he raised his hand, the entire stands fell silent instantly. Hundreds of eyes, filled with fear, dread, and desperate hope, turned to him.
Dumbledore’s gaze swept across the crowd. His silver-white beard stirred gently in the wind. His voice, deep and unwavering, cut through the tension:
"Everyone—remain calm."
He pointed his wand toward the sky. A silver phoenix Patronus surged upward, blazing into the heavens. A shimmering, translucent barrier of silver light spread outward from him in an instant, filling the stands with a soothing, protective energy.
"I believe the Ministry of Magic should immediately establish an Investigation team," Dumbledore said, turning to Fudge, his tone unyielding. "We must seal the site, examine the magical residue on the Trophy, and determine the location of the building shown in the final painting."
Fudge bristled at the commanding tone, instinctively preparing to deflect or refuse. But before he could speak, Rita Skeeter—her exclusive photographer in tow—darted forward, camera lens and handheld device thrust directly into his face.
The Minister’s words faltered mid-sentence, twisting abruptly. He nodded frantically. "Yes, yes—seal it immediately! Aurors! Where are the Aurors?"
Rufus Scrimgeour limped over, voice grim. "They’re already on it. The Trophy will be retrieved shortly."
Dumbledore gave a single nod. To Professor McGonagall, he said, "Minerva, gather the students and return them to the Castle. Reinforce the Protection Charms."
McGonagall nodded, her expression still clouded with worry—but she trusted Dumbledore. She said nothing more.
"Filius," Dumbledore said, his eyes softening as they fell on the short professor, visibly trembling with anxiety, barely holding back a scream. He exhaled quietly. "Take the guests to the Castle Rest. If anyone wishes to leave, do not stop them."
"Of course," Flitwick replied, but couldn’t help adding, "Albus, what about Wade—"
"Filius," Dumbledore murmured, barely above a whisper. "I... I believe in him too."
Flitwick’s expression softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing—but the fear remained.
"Alastor," Dumbledore turned to the silent Professor Moody. Their eyes met. A single nod passed between them.
"Protect them," Dumbledore said.
"I understand," Moody grunted, his voice rough. He leaned on his cane and moved toward the Gray couple.
Among the crowd, the couple stood out only by their quiet demeanor. Their Muggle traits were far less pronounced than most wizards present. Unless they shouted their identity, they’d go unnoticed.
Moody didn’t approach too closely. He stayed nearby, eyes sharp, scanning every suspicious figure.
Just as the stands descended into chaos, and many began to rise, preparing to leave—something changed.
The once-blank Streaming Mirror Screen flickered violently, then—suddenly—lit up again.
The noise vanished. Every head snapped toward the screen. Those near the exits, waiting in line under Prefect supervision, turned in stunned silence.
"Strange..." The FMC Director stared at his device, frowning. "This wasn’t my doing."
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"Sit down," Machionni said quietly. "Right now… we’re just spectators."
The leader pointed at the screen, then at his chest badge. "Is it… could it be…?"
The badge on his chest bore the simple, glowing letters—“VG”—a soft, luminous insignia. The badge of Wade Gray.
Machionni nodded. "He truly is..."
The leader opened his mouth, speechless. After a long pause, he finally whispered, "Is he really... The Alchemist?"
Machionni couldn’t argue.
A true Alchemist—why couldn’t he live like his mentor, Professor Mor? Safe, detached, free from conflict, enjoying wealth, respect, and peace? Wade was brilliant beyond measure—but his thirst for adventure, his reckless spirit… it constantly left Machionni frustrated.
Then, the screen—still flickering like falling snow—cleared in an instant.
A deeply unsettling image appeared.
A strange, serpent-faced infant, cradled by a colossal venomous serpent, gripped a wand nearly as long as his tiny body. His fingers, red and delicate, clutched it like a lifeline.
Little Barty Crouch stood nearby, his face twisted in frenzied ecstasy—so unhinged it was almost nauseating.
His very presence screamed the infant’s identity.
And then, from the mirror, a voice came—rasping, cracked, childlike, yet chillingly clear.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
