Wade looked at Grindelwald, his pupils constricting instantly.
He now understood the meaning of "accompanying a king is like accompanying a tiger"... Even ninety-nine percent certain that the person opposite him wouldn't harm him, gambling on that one percent chance of their capricious mood suddenly turning hostile and insane still made his heart pound.
Wade remained silent for several seconds, then steeled himself and simply nodded.
"Hmm." Grindelwald's expression didn't change; instead, he smiled and said, "Very good, I like candid children."
His hand remained on Wade's shoulder, his gaze fixed on the young man's eyes, and he spoke slowly and sincerely:
"Wade, you possess exceptional talent, a talent that is extremely rare even among Wizards."
"I know you don't stick to convention, nor are you constrained by your background or upbringing. Instead, you yearn for some... change, pursuing something few others consider... like truth and justice."
Grindelwald leaned in slightly, his whisper seeming to sound directly in Wade's ear.
"I'm delighted to see a child like you—Muggles, Wizards, they seem indistinguishable in your eyes. You prioritize right and wrong, good and evil, yet you are neither rigid nor foolish, capable of seeing further."
"It makes me curious... if, ten years from now, you were to lead Wizards... what kind of future would you guide them toward?"
Wade couldn't help but wonder himself—Grindelwald had the ability to foresee the future. Was he saying this because he truly hadn't foreseen Wade's future, or was he using these words to entice and mislead him?
Then he remembered that Grindelwald's prophetic ability showed fragmented glimpses of the future, not the complete truth.
For instance, when he participated in the election, he foresaw the Qilin but didn't foresee his ultimate defeat.
Those who believe in prophecy are always eventually toyed with and deceived by fate. This seemed to be the common outcome for all who foresee the future and try to change it—Wade silently reminded himself, while also wondering if Grindelwald had abandoned the prophetic ability that had tripped him up multiple times.
In a flash, he didn't have time to ponder deeply. After a few seconds of愣, his brows subtly shifted, seemingly generating some ideas, or perhaps ambitions, due to Grindelwald's approval and anticipation.
Grindelwald didn't intend for him to answer at that moment. Instead, he lowered his hand and asked, like a professor checking homework:
"The books on your bookshelf are rare treasures. How many have you read so far?"
Wade honestly replied, "Three."
Grindelwald glanced at him, as if he could see the greed for knowledge beneath his well-behaved exterior, and meaningfully asked, "When you left today, you didn't stuff the remaining books into your pocket?"
Wade's fingertips twitched, feeling that Grindelwald seemed to sense he had cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on his pocket.
"No," he said. "I used a Duplicating Charm... thank you for providing me with so much parchment."
Grindelwald's eyes flowed with amusement: "Clever... and cunning... truly a Ravenclaw."
As they spoke, a green light suddenly shot towards Grindelwald from his blind spot. The Dark Wizard casually flicked his Wand, and a stone flew up, blocking the Killing Curse.
Then, his Wand quickly twitched again, and the fellow disguised as an ordinary Wizard who had launched the sneak attack stiffened before falling straight down.
Grindelwald paid no mind to this small interlude and continued, "A British Wizard once told me that while Hogwarts's Ravenclaws are intelligent, they are also conceited and prefer to play it safe."
"I'm pleased that you possess the virtues of Ravenclaw without those typical flaws. A love for reading and a thirst for knowledge are good habits, but don't limit yourself to the type of knowledge—whether it's Dark Magic or White Magic, both have value in learning."
"Just like Fiendfyre... it can kill, and it can also protect. What determines its effect is always your own intent, not the definitions given by others. Even Dumbledore, whom you admire, is just as proficient in Dark Magic."
"Since you've taken the books back, cherish them and read them carefully. If you have any questions, you can still consult me, just like today."
Grindelwald reached out and tapped his ear, then placed a small Communication Pea in Wade's palm.
Wade realized that this was the one he had worn the day he went to the supermarket. He hadn't seen it since waking up and had thought it was discarded or destroyed.
The young Wizard hesitated, then tucked the Communication Pea back into his ear, looking at Grindelwald and saying, "I thought you'd stop me... or at least not let me go back so soon."
Wade knew perfectly well how much benefit he represented.
Even setting aside other considerations, all of Alliance's technology for hijacking Streaming Mirror signals currently originated from Wade. If he were allowed to return, he might upgrade equipment, patch vulnerabilities, and create stronger defenses, rendering the "Zero-Day Squirrel" ineffective.
"You're too young... If I forced a thirteen-year-old child to join Alliance, even someone as unscrupulous as Voldemort would laugh at me."
Grindelwald said, "My expectations for you are far in the future... and even if I let you go back, I don't think you'd completely abandon the battle for public opinion to the foolish British Ministry of Magic, would you?"
Wade nodded: "I understand."
Hearing Grindelwald mention Voldemort, Wade felt a slight unease, as if he had overlooked something.
But that person wouldn't reappear for about another year and a half, so there was no need to worry too early... Moreover, without Peter Pettigrew, whether he could even be resurrected was another matter entirely.
Wade's thoughts spun for a moment, then the idea quickly faded and disappeared, much like a dream forgotten upon waking.
Grindelwald had merely mentioned it in passing, then said, "Dumbledore will probably arrive with people soon... you can find an opportunity to leave then."
Though he was speaking to Wade, his eyes gleamed with a complex light. Wade nodded, said nothing, and subtly took two steps back, putting distance between himself and this Dark Wizard leader who was so unsettling to one's heart.
...
Donovan wiped the blood from his face, hiding in the ruins of a building, watching the battle from afar, his eyes filled with horror.
Not far away, under a collapsed concrete pillar, lay another Werewolf named Kruse. One of his arms had been blown off, and his body was scorched black. He was groaning intermittently in pain, clearly not long for this world.
Donovan knew that if Lady Luck hadn't smiled on him today, he might be the one lying on the ground waiting to die.
He was among the first wave of cannon fodder sent out, but Donovan didn't want to die for The Organization. Relying on the fact that ordinary soldiers were hesitant to restrain him, a Werewolf, Donovan pretended to waste time hiding in the restroom, secretly observing the situation through the small window, planning to tip off Dumbledore later.
It was precisely because of this that he miraculously survived the paper airplane bombing, suffering only superficial injuries.
On the distant battlefield, explosions erupted periodically. Wounded and dead Wizards were carried away by their companions, leaving only Donovan's nominal comrades' bodies on the ground.
The cold, ruthless commands still crackled over the intercom: "Groups C and F, push forward! Don't fear sacrifice, remember your mission is to draw the enemy into the manor... Everything is going according to plan, victory is still ours..."
Not far away, the Werewolf Kruse exhaled his last breath, his mouth agape, finally falling silent and ending his long, agonizing torment.
Donovan felt a profound sadness, like a fox grieving for a lost rabbit. He ripped off his walkie-talkie, threw it to the ground, stomped on it viciously, and spat out a mouthful of blood before bending down and leaving his temporary hiding spot.
It was definitely the Wizards opposite them who killed them.
But it was those despicable people hiding underground, giving orders, who forced them into Werewolves and sent them to their deaths!
Donovan's hatred was clearly aimed. He sent a message to Dumbledore, then, hiding and sneaking, he entered the underground passage through a concealed entrance.
This place used to be a den of indulgence for some people; the underground structure was larger than the villa above ground, with passages extending in all directions and crisscrossing pipes overhead.
Donovan hid his shoes and quickly climbed onto the pipes. He checked his bearings, then, like an agile cat, crawled along the pipes.
Many well-dressed "socialites" used to frequent this place, and not long ago there were many soldiers, but now it was empty, with only an occasional team running past.
The Organization had a few Wizards who were particularly skilled at deleting and modifying people's memories. Under the influence of magic, those soldiers became puppets of The Organization, and they would carry out even suicidal orders without hesitation.
Although the memories were painful, Donovan was glad he never forgot who he was.
He crawled for a while, then suddenly heard voices from a room below—
Someone shouted angrily, "What's going on? Those Wizards haven't stepped foot inside the manor! Did someone leak information?"
Another retorted, "Only a few people know about the strong magnetic field generator hidden in the manor; even Abigail doesn't know. Who do you think would betray us?"
A third voice interjected, "I heard Grindelwald can predict the future. He must have foreseen danger in the manor, which is why he's been so reluctant to come in. Once he thinks enough people have been killed, he'll definitely come—after all, they want John Adler."
"That coward already escaped!"
"The decoy is still here! Until the Polyjuice Potion wears off, not even Grindelwald will be able to tell the difference between real and fake!"
"If we could use Polyjuice Potion, why didn't we use it from the start?" Someone complained, "Do you know how hard it was for me to tolerate that arrogant Muggle?"
"I just said they have prophetic abilities," another said impatiently. "If we sent the target away beforehand, would they still walk into the trap?"
"It's a shame the magnetic field decayed too quickly… The time powder didn't seem to work either…"
"I heard it was mostly fake stuff with a small amount of real mixed in, and it scattered with the wind, so it's normal that it wasn't very effective… The real stuff is still inside!"
"…So when are they going to come in?"
Donovan didn't listen further, quietly crawling away along the pipes.
He knew about those generators. Not long ago, many trucks secretly drove into the manor in the middle of the night. It was said that the trucks carried weapons specifically designed against magic, and no matter how powerful a Wizard was, they couldn't withstand them.
Originally, Donovan, at his level, wouldn't have been privy to such information, but he had many friends, one of whom was a Vampire with extraordinary hearing. That guy liked to turn into a bat and wander around at night.
Thinking about how that kid had already escaped earlier, but then inexplicably changed direction not far after flying out, plunging straight into the center of the explosion, Donovan clenched his teeth and continued to crawl.
After the Vampire kid secretly watched the generators being unloaded from the trucks, he saw where they were all sent. After Donovan flattered him a few times during his break, he told him everything.
Magic could erase memories, but it couldn't erase a love for gossip.
As Donovan recalled the terrain and the information he had gathered, he crawled through several corridors until he finally saw the huge, grayish-white machine.
It looked like the lower half of a rocket, its main structure encased, with several pipes, thick and thin, connected to its base and sides.
Donovan stood in front of the generator, silent for a long while.
He couldn't understand the structure of the thing, nor what those pipes were for, or the purpose of the valves and knobs on it.
But then he thought, he didn't need to learn how to use this thing; he just wanted to destroy it—and destroying a machine, wasn't that simple?
Donovan drew his military knife and cut all the wires he could see, then went to find the next target.
After cutting the third one, Donovan suddenly heard a faint voice behind him: "Good morning, sir!"
The Werewolf jumped, all the hairs on his back standing on end. He leaped onto the top of the generator, looking back, still shaken.
A neatly dressed, seemingly one-meter-tall little creature stood on the ground, looking up at him with surprise.
—A House-elf? I haven't heard of The Organization having such creatures!
Donovan held the knife, hesitating whether to pounce and kill the thing, when he saw another House-elf standing in the corner of the generator, staring intently at him.
Donovan's heart tightened, and he instantly broke out in a cold sweat.
"Don't be afraid, sir, Dobby means no harm," Dobby said politely. "Dobby and Mikey can still offer you some help."
"But before that, please tell us—" the other House-elf, Mikey, asked, "You are from the manor, why are you destroying your own place?"
This House-elf wore only a tea towel with a crest printed on it. He was even smaller, but his eyes were frightening.
Donovan looked at the crest with the letter "H" in the middle, and his mind jolted. He instinctively blurted out:
"I… I'm actually Dumbledore's man… Who are you?"
"So that's it."
Mikey didn't answer the foolish question. He looked up at the tall generator and said,
"Mikey heard them talking. This is the kind of machine that's very dangerous for Wizards, isn't it? Dobby, it looks like we need to destroy these things before we go looking for people."
He pointed with a slender finger, and a pipe as thick as an arm instantly snapped.
At the same time, on the battlefield outside the manor, Grindelwald suddenly looked up, squinted, and a burst of scorching flame erupted from the tip of his Wand!
In front, the air suddenly warped, and fire flashed. A white-haired, white-bearded Wizard suddenly appeared, his expression cold, his long robes gently fluttering in the air.
Dumbledore had arrived.
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