Chapter 708: Dark Wizard and Dark Wizard
"Wetherby," Fudge’s voice was strangled, as if someone had wrapped a hand around his throat. He gripped Percy’s sleeve, whispering urgently: "Draft the papers immediately—officially, propose Dumbledore for Minister. Hurry! I need an emergency meeting tonight!"
Percy’s glasses slid down his nose with a sharp clack. His eyes widened, staring like a startled owl, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, producing only short, breathless gasps: "Er... ah... uh..."
Fudge shot a frustrated glance at his sluggish subordinate and snapped: "Move, Wetherby! Get the first draft written right now—don’t disturb Dumbledore’s appointment!"
Everyone assumed the suffocating pressure stemmed from the slandered Dumbledore. Yet the Headmaster made no attempt to defend himself.
His gaze swept past the crowd, landing on an unremarkable corner—on a middle-aged wizard whose hair stirred without a breeze. His brow tightened almost imperceptibly, his lips pressed into a straight, rigid line.
At that moment, the man turned abruptly. Their eyes met—just for a heartbeat.
Crack!
In the stands, a ring of radial cracks erupted from a single point, spreading across the surrounding seats. Vines hanging from armrests snapped as if severed by an invisible blade, fluttering down like snowflakes.
The crowd grew utterly silent. Those who had once mocked Dumbledore’s power, ridiculed him as a senile old fool, now lowered their heads, cowed and meek as quail.
The screen’s view spun violently—Voldemort tossed his badge to a Death Eater, who fumbled it wildly, nearly exposing his face to the camera before steadying himself, still trembling with panic.
Of course, masked as he was, no one could see his expression—only the sudden, ragged rhythm of his breath.
Voldemort sneered. "Dumbledore, you’ve risked your own life, just to make everyone inside believe this boy is the one destined to defeat me.
But now—right here, right now—I will kill him in front of you all. That way, you’ll finally see how utterly ridiculous your faith in him truly is."
"Of course, I’ll give him a chance. A fair duel. That way, you’ll have no doubt—no room for doubt—about who is truly stronger."
The words sent shockwaves through the audience. Panic, dread, fury—nearly unbearable. Only Gellert Grindelwald remained unmoved, his anger dissolving into something close to amusement.
"This… is the 'Dark Lord'?" he murmured, turning his head slightly. His lips curled—not in a smile, but in cold, condescending pity, laced with unmistakable disdain.
"Challenging a fourteen-year-old boy to a fair duel, in front of the entire wizarding world?" Dreian frowned. "What kind of man dares compare himself to you?"
Since Voldemort had declared himself the Dark Lord, many had argued that Gellert Grindelwald was the original—the first. Voldemort, then, was merely the second.
Being outclassed by a younger man—this was humiliation enough.
But worse still: being paired with this childish fool as a peer? That was a deeper insult.
Yet this time, Grindelwald didn’t rage. He only laughed coldly. "I’ve seen fools before—but none so creatively stupid."
Antoine chuckled. "I truly doubt his brain hasn’t been lost somewhere during all those resurrections. Otherwise, how could he possibly do something so absurd?"
He paused, then turned to the screen, where the boy stood. "Still… poor little Wade shouldn’t be frightened, should he? After all, he’s just a tiny little friend now." He gestured, demonstrating a height of less than half a meter.
"Relax," Dreian said. "No one would dare harm a promising alchemist—especially not one who can craft magic puppets from nothing. Even Voldemort, for all his lack of sense, wouldn’t commit such a foolish act."
"Maybe not," Antoine muttered. "But look at what he’s done. Can you truly say he won’t suddenly go mad at any moment?"
Dreian said nothing. He couldn’t.
He wasn’t sure he could predict Voldemort’s next move—just as he hadn’t expected the Dark Lord to challenge Harry Potter to a public duel minutes earlier.
When the surviving boy fell into Voldemort’s hands, Dreian had assumed he’d be tortured cruelly in front of the cameras, then executed—used to break the spirit of ordinary wizards, extinguishing their will to resist.
Or even worse: Voldemort would humiliate the boy publicly, forcing him to kneel, to beg, to swear fealty—thereby shattering the hope people had placed in him. Though Dreian despised such tactics, he could at least understand them.
But this? A duel?
Regardless of the outcome—losing meant death. Winning? What then?
The boy was only fourteen. His future still held vast potential.
Even if Voldemort killed him instantly after the duel, the courage, the stubborn defiance he’d shown in battle would ignite every watcher.
He’d become a symbol—unbreakable, eternal—a banner for all who still dared to fight.
Dreian’s eyes narrowed with contempt. He couldn’t fathom the stupidity of the so-called Dark Lord, who clearly failed to see the very real danger in this.
Surely, this kind of thinking should be obvious?
Then his mind paused.
Had he, just over a year ago, considered such things self-evident?
No.
The very ability to think this way—wasn’t it born from the muggle books he’d read, from the endless letters exchanged with Wade Gray?
Two years ago, his vision of the future had been simple: one path, immediate and tangible; the other, the grand ideal promised by the Wizard Purity Party, to be realized once Mr. Grindelwald stepped out of Nurmengard.
The space between them? He’d never considered it. He’d simply believed everything would fall into place the moment Grindelwald was free.
So… was he truly any wiser than Voldemort, now?
Dreian’s gaze remained fixed on the boy in the screen—silent, motionless, lost in thought.
When Dreian fell silent, Gellert Grindelwald suddenly spoke.
"Never mind, Antoine."
His lips curved upward, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
"To experience magic from the very beginning again—this is a rare gift, for him."
"Besides, though his body has returned to childhood, his soul remains unchanged. All the magic he’s learned, all the spells he’s mastered—those powers still lie dormant within that small frame."
"When he finally steps into the battle—truly steps in—everyone watching will be stunned."
(End of Chapter)
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