Chapter 709: Green Light Teleport
Gellert Grindelwald’s tone carried a deep sense of expectation—and a subtle, mocking amusement. Antoine’s eyes twitched sharply.
Suddenly, he realized: the leader wasn’t merely hoping for Wade’s growth in this encounter. He was expecting Wade to reveal magical traces that shouldn’t belong to Wade Gray at all—traces that would betray something far darker beneath the surface.
And when that happened, Wade would have no choice.
With Voldemort’s legacy as precedent, the British wizarding world—so long lulled into decades of peace—was fragile, timid, and utterly incapable of accepting another “Dark Wizard” rising from Hogwarts.
The more exceptional Wade became, the more they would fear him.
But this child wasn’t the kind to endure the weight of universal condemnation, to stay in a place that doubted him, excluded him, and resented him, just to prove kindness and loyalty.
If the wizarding world—Hogwarts itself—turned hostile toward him, if they questioned his allegiance, he would choose the most rational path: leave Hogwarts. Leave Britain. Truly join the Wizard Purity Party.
The thought clenched Antoine’s heart. He lowered his eyes, hiding the storm within.
As a member of the Wizard Purity Party, he should welcome such a recruitment.
Yet as a friend… he couldn’t help but hope.
He hoped Wade would grow, unburdened, under the sunlight, free to become who he truly was.
But… could that ever be possible?
---
Harry didn’t dwell on fairness. To him, every second was a life-or-death battle.
He gripped his wand tightly, breathing deeply, forcing calm into his trembling mind.
“So… Wizard Duelling?” Harry asked.
In his mind flashed images of Wade duelling Malfoy, of himself and Wade taking turns fighting Sirius Black and Remus Lupin in the Forbidden Forest.
Voldemort’s pale face flickered with irritation—this boy’s insolence had clearly offended him.
But he quickly composed himself, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. “Come now, let us bow to each other, Harry. Dumbledore would surely hope you show some courtesy.”
Courtesy?
Harry couldn’t help but recall Wade’s mocking laugh:
“When the real battle comes, no one’s standing around bowing like fools. Ambush if you can. Evade if you must. Protect yourself first. Only when the strength is so uneven that you have time to spare do you bother with elegance and manners.”
Extreme disparity?
That was exactly what this was.
Voldemort, confident and cold, used the duel to perform the ritual of a Dark Lord’s “courtesy.”
But Harry couldn’t follow Wade’s advice. He couldn’t ambush. He couldn’t run.
The entire world was watching. He couldn’t let Hogwarts fall into shame because of him.
Harry locked eyes with Voldemort, his gaze unyielding. They both bowed slightly—mirrored in perfect precision.
“Good,” Voldemort murmured, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly replaced by cruel delight. “It seems you’ve prepared to meet Death. Now… let us duel!”
He raised his wand with sudden force.
“Cruciatus Curse!”
“Expelliarmus!”
Almost simultaneously, Harry shouted his most trusted spell.
The two beams of light collided in midair.
Harry lunged to the side—then froze.
His wand erupted in violent tremors.
He clamped his fingers tighter, eyes widening in shock.
The two spells hadn’t deflected. They hadn’t exploded.
Instead, they fused into a single, radiant golden line.
The golden light surged like electricity. The wands vibrated violently, locked together, binding the two wizards.
Harry strained to hold on, fingers white-knuckled.
Across from him, Voldemort fought desperately—but could not break the connection.
Their bodies rose helplessly into the air, suspended just beneath the shattered stained-glass dome of the church.
They stared at each other, both faces twisted in stunned disbelief.
Then—without warning—the golden beam split into thousands of dazzling arcs.
They wove through the air, interlacing into a magnificent, shimmering cage, trapping them inside.
The Death Eaters below screamed in panic, firing spells at the cage—but every spell shattered against an invisible barrier.
Instantly, every strand of light began to vibrate.
A haunting, ethereal melody filled the air—the song of a phoenix.
And droplets of warm, glowing light began to slide along the golden threads, pulsing with gentle radiance.
Harry’s instincts flared. With every ounce of willpower, he pushed one of the light beads forward, guiding it along the golden line toward Voldemort’s wand.
As the bead inched closer, Voldemort’s expression shifted—shock, then fear.
He roared in defiance, straining against the bond, but could only watch helplessly as the first bead touched the tip of his wand.
“Aaaaaaah—!”
The wand screamed in agony, a piercing, endless shriek echoing through the church.
The Death Eaters clapped their hands over their ears.
From the wand, a wisp of smoke burst forth—a hand, formed of shadow. It vanished into the air.
Then another, larger shape emerged.
A man—curly-haired, wearing pajamas, his face blank with confusion.
“Help… child,” he whispered, voice trembling with pain. “This land… was my ancestral estate. He took everything from me…”
The wand screamed again.
Another light bead struck it.
A new shadowy figure rose—this one unmistakably foreign.
“Stop! Potter!”
As the other Death Eaters stared in awe at the floating duelists, Little Barty Crouch suddenly surged forward, wand pressed against Wade’s chest.
“Or I’ll make this boy feel the Cruciatus Curse!”
Wade lifted his hand. A strange power stirred within him, boiling beneath his skin. One twitch of his fingers, and he could snap Barty’s wrist.
“Don’t move, child.”
A voice—soft as a feather—landed in his ear.
Wade froze.
He didn’t recognize the voice.
It wasn’t in his memory.
Yet… it was familiar.
It echoed the same melody that now filled the church.
Suddenly, it clicked.
He looked up at Harry, high above.
And stopped.
Harry hesitated only two seconds.
When the third pale-white figure emerged from Voldemort’s wand, he roared:
“Please—stop him!”
Then, with all his strength, he yanked his wand upward.
The golden line snapped.
The cage shattered.
The phoenix song faded into silence.
The ghostly figures lunged forward—hundreds of them—surrounding Voldemort, their slender fingers reaching for his eyes.
He screamed in horror, staring at the souls he’d murdered, now rising to claim him.
Still airborne, Harry twisted in midair, sweeping his wand in a sharp arc.
“Expelliarmus!”
Little Barty Crouch was flung backward, wand flying from his hand, crashing hard into a stone pillar.
But the Death Eaters surged forward—
“Stupefy!”
“Cruciatus Curse!”
“Sectumsempra!”
Harry rolled, dodging the spells. They streaked past him, exploding behind.
The boy moved with lightning speed—two more Death Eaters fell instantly.
“Get out of the way!”
Voldemort’s scream tore through the air.
“He’s mine! I’ll kill him!”
The Death Eaters hesitated—then stopped.
But Harry didn’t pause.
He charged toward Wade, his cloak billowing behind him like a storm.
For the first time in his life, he forgot fear.
His eyes burned brighter than the sun.
“Avada Kedavra!”
The Dark Lord’s roar split the air.
A green bolt shot straight across the distance—perfect, precise—striking Harry in the back.
The black-haired boy staggered forward two steps.
He reached out, fingers trembling, eyes wide with regret and reluctant surrender.
“Dong!”
The Savior collapsed at Wade’s feet—only one foot away.
Wade slowly lifted his eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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