Chapter 719: Taboo
Scattered across the ground like shattered stars, fragments of Light shimmered in the air. Albus Dumbledore stood before them, his figure emerging as if from an ancient oil painting—a legendary Wizard etched into time. Every strand of his silver hair bore the weight of wisdom, and his sapphire eyes burned with quiet intensity. Cradling the boy in his arms with steady grace, he turned toward Harry, his lips curling into a gentle smile.
“You did well, Harry.”
His voice, warm and deep, carried undeniable certainty. Harry’s ears instantly flushed crimson. His eyes darted nervously between Dumbledore’s robes and the floor, flickering with uncertainty.
“I didn’t really do much… Wade was the one who beat them… Wait—Voldemort’s resurrection happened! He found me! He cast the Killing Curse at me… but I… I died… and then I came back? I… I don’t understand what happened…”
A look of genuine confusion crossed his face.
“I know, Harry. I know… we all saw it,” Dumbledore said softly. “But one thing is wrong—you didn’t die. Voldemort’s Killing Curse didn’t kill you…”
“B-But why?” Harry stammered. “I heard… everyone who’s hit by the Killing Curse… they’re dead.”
“Oh, there’s a certain complexity to it,” Dumbledore replied, a faint, almost smug smile tugging at his lips. “But that’s something we’ll talk about later. How about we sit down and I explain it to you slowly?”
Harry suddenly realized: this wasn’t school. This wasn’t the time or place for such a conversation. He nodded silently, stepping back beside Dumbledore, his eyes flicking with worry toward Wade. He clutched the Golden Water Kettle tightly, as if it were the only anchor in a storm.
When he’d woken up, he’d seen the tattooed woman unconscious, her body surrounded by the aftermath of battle. The Golden Water Kettle lay beside her—still untouched, unnoticed.
Without hesitation, Harry ran forward and snatched it up. The Magic Puppets made no move to stop him. But he couldn’t bring himself to use it on Wade.
There was no doubt—the Kettle was dangerously powerful. He feared that if he used it incorrectly, he might transform Wade into a baby… and have no way to reverse it.
Dumbledore’s gaze finally turned to the Dark Wizards scattered across the ruins.
Death Eaters. Wizard Purity Party.
The Light Beasts had attacked everyone present—regardless of allegiance. Yet they seemed to act with a strange, almost intelligent judgment, their power varying drastically depending on their target’s intent.
Braun, for instance, had only been kicked in the leg. Now he was on his feet, barely steadying himself—when a silver-eyed, shimmering lynx slammed into him, sending him sprawling again.
Most others weren’t so lucky. They were thrown to the ground, limbs twisted, bones broken, screaming in agony as they clutched their mangled limbs.
And a few—just a few—were left motionless, their bodies wracked with silent torment. They lay on the ground, eyes hollow, staring blankly at the sky as if already dead.
The remaining Light Beasts still prowled the battlefield, their forms fading into transparency. But they still struck—sudden, brutal, unrelenting.
Screams echoed through the ruins, rising and falling like waves across a shattered shore.
As the Dark Wizards, their bodies still reeking of forbidden magic, drew the Beasts’ attention, Braun finally managed to stand on his own two trembling legs. One hand pressed against his arm, which looked painfully dislocated.
He turned to Dumbledore, bowing slightly.
“An honor to meet you, Headmaster Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and probing, scanning the brown-haired youth before him.
After a long pause, he spoke slowly, “Mr. Braun… truly, impressive.”
Through the screen, human senses were limited to sight and sound. Many details remained invisible. For a moment, Dumbledore had truly believed this youth was the finest product of Gellert Grindelwald’s new generation—the crown jewel of the Wizard Purity Party.
But now, face to face, the old wizard sensed something… subtle. Something unnatural.
In an instant, the realization sent a jolt through him—so profound it made his skin prickle with dread.
Not because Wade still maintained contact with Grindelwald—Dumbledore had expected that for years. He knew the old friend’s obsession, his relentless charm. He’d long since accepted it.
What chilled him was the existence of the Magic Puppets.
These were not mere toys—no cute, rolling creatures from the window display of Aslan Magical Workshop. Not soldiers who charged fearlessly into battle, treating death as a mere formality.
This Braun… every movement, every breath, the texture of his skin, the depth in his eyes, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he spoke—everything was indistinguishable from a living human.
Unless you peeled back the skin, cut into the flesh… how would you ever know he wasn’t real?
This was beyond Alchemy. This was something darker.
Dumbledore’s long beard stirred in the wind, betraying the storm beneath his calm exterior.
He remembered Nicolas Flamel—once, casually, in a moment of idle talk:
“Life Alchemy… that’s the Forbidden Art of Alchemy.”
“When the creator blurs the line between life and creation, the first thing to vanish is their own sense of humanity.”
“Hah… though, history shows it’s always been the ultimate dream of the Alchemist.”
“Dementors, House-elves, succubi, centaurs, spirits of the dead…”
“So many of the creatures we know today—commonplace now—were once the masterpieces of ancient Alchemists.”
In that instant, Dumbledore’s usually gentle eyes flared with rare fury. His expression turned icy, terrifying.
“Mor… Flamel!”
“What have you and your kind taught Wade?!”
The fury in the Headmaster’s voice was like a blade—sharp, unrelenting. Braun instinctively took a step back.
He didn’t know what he’d done wrong… so it must be the other thing. Because of Grindelwald. Because of what he represented.
Braun forced a strained smile, bowing again.
“Please allow me to clarify: our mission was solely to prevent Voldemort’s resurrection—and his attempt to seize the Magic Puppet army. We meant no disrespect to Hogwarts’ dignity, nor any interference with the Magic School League.”
“Or… are you planning to detain every wizard who helped rescue your Champion?”
“Boom!”
A thunderous crack split the air.
Gellert Grindelwald made no effort to conceal his Apparition. He appeared in full form, his polished Dragonhide boots landing with a crisp thud on the luminous glassified ground.
The white-haired wizard had arrived precisely as Braun finished speaking.
He turned to Dumbledore, took two measured steps forward, and offered a theatrical bow.
“I’ve heard, Headmaster Dumbledore, that you’re the greatest White Wizard of our age… the very model of lawfulness.”
The words “lawfulness” dripped with mockery—deliberate, smug, dripping with irony.
“Please,” Grindelwald continued, “do enlighten me—what law did my children break today?”
He stepped closer, his smile widening—dangerous, playful, cruel.
“Or… has Britain’s Legal Enforcement Bureau decreed that a school headmaster may freely seize and detain foreign wizards at will?”
A cold, mocking edge cut through Dumbledore’s voice.
“How surprising, Gellert Grindelwald… I never knew you’d take the time to study legal codes.”
(End of Chapter)
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