Chapter 714: Braun
Behind the brown-haired youth, a silent tide of gray surged forward. In the night, countless figures clad in gray robes stood motionless, heads slightly bowed. The shadows cast by their cloaks obscured their faces completely, rendering even their silhouettes indistinguishable—no one seemed taller, shorter, fatter, or thinner than the next. It was a masterful illusion.
Among them, there was no whisper, no sway of the body, not even the faintest rise and fall of breath detectable. They stood like statues carved from stone on a graveyard’s tomb, spectral emissaries from the afterlife, radiating a chilling stillness and oppressive presence that belonged to the dead.
The courtyard’s onlookers were not strangers to these figures. They had seen gray-robed enforcers storm Muggle strongholds, rescue imprisoned minor wizards or Muggle children, or even execute notorious criminals. Some had called them "butchers without limits," "executioners in mourning robes." Others had mocked them as "the Wizard police who meddle in love affairs," or "hypocrites who stage murder as justice."
But now, face to face with this army of Death Eaters, they finally understood—no edited footage could ever convey this weight. When they appeared, the air itself seemed to freeze.
Fear rippled through the crowd. McNeil’s legs trembled. Crabbe nearly dropped his wand. Axley, Selwyn, and others began scanning for escape routes.
Regret flooded their minds—regret for not having fled like some of their colleagues, for having stayed out of fear of punishment from the Dark Lord, for daring to come despite the live broadcast, drawn by the summons of the Dark Mark.
…
Voldemort’s pale face betrayed rare shock.
—How could this be?
The monastery was protected by the Priori Incantatem Charm, and the Secret-Keeper was himself.
True, he had once breached the Potter home, shielded by the same spell—but only because Peter Pettigrew, the Secret-Keeper, had already betrayed him in secret. Otherwise, even if he ruled all of Britain, he would never have unearthed that couple from a rat hole.
He knew he had told the location of the monastery to only a few—men under his direct watch, none of whom had ever left his side.
Except…
A thought too unthinkable to write down crept into his mind. Voldemort spun violently, his crimson eyes slicing through the darkness like a blood-red arc.
"Barty Crouch!" he roared.
No answer.
The little Barty Crouch, who should have stood among the Death Eaters, was nowhere to be found. Voldemort’s pupils twitched violently.
He remembered… the note with the address. The parchment he had personally handed to Little Barty Crouch.
A colossal wave of rage overwhelmed him. His mouth twisted upward, revealing a ghastly, bone-white smile.
"Traitor…" The word slithered out between clenched teeth. The surrounding Death Eaters shivered in unison.
"How dare you—betray me!"
Voldemort’s roar erupted, his arm sweeping in a wide arc. His wand sliced through the air in a glowing crescent, unleashing a torrent of magic that tore through the scorched atmosphere like a blade of wind.
The Death Eaters recoiled in horror, collapsing to their knees like wheat before a scythe—except Crabbe, slow to react, his bulk making his movements clumsy.
"AAAAAAH!"
A scream tore from the man’s throat as blood erupted like a fountain. His arm, along with half his shoulder, flew into the air. The severed limb landed, fingers still twitching reflexively.
The brown-haired youth stood within the blast radius—but not a single eyelash flickered.
"Shield Charm!"
Several figures behind him raised their wands in unison. A layered wall of invisible force rose like iron and bronze, shielding him. The spells collided with a deafening explosion of flame and light. When the smoke cleared, the youth stood unharmed.
Then, suddenly, he laughed—softly, almost casually—as he drew from his pocket a crumpled, folded piece of parchment.
"Betrayal?" His voice curled upward with amusement. "You really think someone leaked the address? There was no leak at all. As a leader, I suggest you take a moment to reflect on your followers’ loyalty."
He stepped forward at a leisurely pace, as if strolling through a garden. As he passed, he casually stepped on Crabbe’s severed arm. Then, as if only just noticing, he shook his head and sighed.
"Tsk, tsk… How pitiful. We didn’t catch a traitor—we just found a little mouse sneaking out, and took this note from him."
He waved his hand. The parchment ignited instantly, burning to ash before it even hit the ground.
"See? Gone. Now you don’t have to worry anymore, do you?"
He spoke with playful ease. His eyes flicked toward the shadowy edge of the door—where a hood trembled, barely perceptible.
The real traitor—Malfoy—was hiding among the ranks of the Wizard Purity Party, just as the youth had said. He had barely escaped the monastery when he was ambushed and seized by the party’s agents nearby.
But the youth made no mention of his name. Instead, he let it seem as though the fugitive was Little Barty Crouch himself. And as he spoke, he winked at Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius Malfoy stiffened. Then, slowly, he tucked his trembling fingers into his sleeve.
"I know you…" Voldemort narrowed his eyes, voice hoarse. "Braun—the heir of Gellert Grindelwald, the carefully nurtured prodigy of the Wizard Purity Party."
"Oh, I’ve long heard of your reputation, Mr. Voldemort," Braun replied, bowing elegantly, a perfectly measured smile playing at the corner of his lips. "It’s truly a pleasure to meet you here. We’re clearly kindred spirits. Though… I must say, your treatment of children is truly brutal."
He smiled, stepping past the smoldering remains of the magical puppets, and walked toward Wade. His voice softened.
"Of all these intricate creations, I care far more for the genius who made them."
Wade snapped his head up. At six years old, his small frame seemed even more fragile amid the towering jellyfish.
Voldemort’s slender eyes narrowed. His expression remained unreadable, though the tip of his wand flickered faintly green.
He longed to kill this insolent youth on the spot—but Braun was merely a rising star of the Wizard Purity Party, backed by hundreds of gray-robed wizards… and behind them, Gellert Grindelwald.
The gap in power was vast. Even Voldemort, confident as he was, could not deny that his own forces now stood no chance against the ever-growing might of the Wizard Purity Party.
The kneeling Death Eaters hesitated—should they rise? They stared at the youth’s exposed back, holding their breath, waiting, hoping.
Surely those magical puppets aren’t so easily defeated?
They’re just ants beneath his feet—how hard could it be to crush this overconfident wizard?
One Death Eater, wearing the Mother Mirror Badge, adjusted the camera angle carefully, ensuring the footage of the youth being torn apart by the puppets would be broadcast in full, worldwide.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The youth stepped into the dense swarm of magical puppets.
Silence fell. Everyone held their breath, as if the world itself waited for an inevitable explosion.
But nothing happened.
Everything remained still.
(End of Chapter)
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