Wade looked at Grindelwald, and his pupils instantly contracted.
At that moment, he finally understood what it meant to "accompany a ruler as one would a tiger."
Even if he was 99% certain that the man in front of him wouldn't harm him, betting on that remaining 1%—that the man might suddenly become moody or go mad—was enough to send his heart racing.
Wade was silent for several seconds, then gritted his teeth and simply nodded.
"Good," Grindelwald didn't turn hostile. On the contrary, he smiled and said, "I like honest children."
His hand still rested on Wade's shoulder, his gaze locked onto the young man's eyes, and he spoke slowly and sincerely:
"Wade, you possess truly exceptional talent. Even among wizards, this kind of gift is incredibly rare."
"I know you aren't bound by convention, nor are you restricted by your origins or upbringing. You long for… change. You seek things that most people rarely contemplate—like truth and justice."
Grindelwald leaned in slightly, and his whisper seemed to echo right beside Wade's ear.
"I'm truly glad to see a child like you—Muggles or wizards, in your eyes, there seems to be no difference. You care more about right and wrong, good and evil. Yet you're not rigid or foolish—you're able to look far ahead."
"It makes me wonder… if ten years from now, you were the one to lead the wizarding world… what kind of future would you guide them toward?"
Wade couldn't help but feel curious—Grindelwald has the ability to foresee the future. Is he saying this because he genuinely hadn't seen my future? Or is he trying to manipulate and tempt me with such words?
Then he recalled that Grindelwald's foresight came in fragmented glimpses, not complete truths.
For instance, when he took part in the election, he foresaw the Qilin, but didn't see that he would ultimately fail.
Those who trust prophecy too much always end up tricked and betrayed by fate—Wade reminded himself of this silently, while also wondering whether Grindelwald had given up using the prophetic power that had misled him several times.
In the blink of an eye, he didn't have time to think too deeply. He was briefly stunned, then his expression shifted slightly—perhaps stirred by Grindelwald's recognition and expectations… or maybe, by emerging ambition.
Grindelwald didn't seem to expect an answer right then. He lowered his hand and asked like a professor checking homework:
"The books on your shelf are rare gems. How many have you read so far?"
Wade answered honestly: "Three."
Grindelwald gave him a look, as if seeing the hunger for knowledge beneath his obedient exterior. He asked meaningfully:
"And when you left today, did you stuff the rest into your pocket?"
Wade's fingertips twitched slightly—he had the feeling Grindelwald could sense he'd cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on his pocket.
"No," he said. "I used a duplication charm… thank you for having someone provide so much parchment."
Grindelwald's eyes sparkled with amusement: "Clever… and cunning… A true Ravenclaw indeed."
Just then, a flash of green light shot toward Grindelwald from a blind spot. The dark wizard casually flicked his wand, and a rock flew up to intercept the Avada Kedavra curse.
Then, with a quick flick of his wand, the man disguised as an ordinary wizard attempting a sneak attack suddenly froze, then collapsed stiffly to the ground.
Grindelwald paid no attention to this minor incident and continued speaking: "A British wizard once told me that while Ravenclaws at Hogwarts are clever, they tend to be conceited and overly concerned with self-preservation."
"I'm glad you have Ravenclaw's strengths without those typical flaws. A love of reading and a thirst for knowledge are good habits—but don't limit yourself to just certain kinds of knowledge. Whether dark magic or light magic, all have value in being studied."
"Take the Protego Diabolica spell, for example—it can be used to kill, or to protect. What determines its purpose is always your own intent, not someone else's definition. Even the Dumbledore you admire is well-versed in dark magic."
"Since you've taken the books back, cherish them and study them seriously. If you have questions, you can still ask me for guidance, just like today."
Grindelwald pointed to his ear, then placed a small communication bean in Wade's palm.
Wade recognized it immediately—it was the one he had worn on the day he went to the supermarket. After he woke up, it had vanished, and he thought it had been discarded or destroyed.
The young wizard hesitated for a moment, then put the communication bean back in his ear and looked at Grindelwald.
"I thought you'd try to stop me… at the very least, not let me go back so soon."
He was fully aware of the value he represented.
Even putting everything else aside, the Alliance's current ability to hijack the Streaming Mirror signal came entirely from Wade. If he returned, he could upgrade the equipment, patch the vulnerabilities, and create stronger defenses—rendering "Zero-Day Squirrel" useless.
"You're far too young… Even someone as shameless as Voldemort would mock me for forcing a thirteen-year-old to join the Alliance," Grindelwald said.
"My expectations for you are far in the future… And even if I let you go back, I don't think you'll leave the battlefield of public opinion entirely to the foolish British Ministry of Magic—would you?"
Wade nodded.
"I understand."
When Grindelwald mentioned Voldemort, Wade felt a twinge of unease, as if he had forgotten something important.
But that man probably wouldn't appear again for at least another year and a half, so there was no need to worry prematurely… Especially since, without Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort's resurrection might not even be possible.
Wade's thoughts swirled, but that idea quickly faded, like a dream slipping away moments after waking.
Grindelwald had only mentioned it in passing, and then added, "Dumbledore will probably show up soon with others… When the time comes, you can take the chance to leave on your own."
Although he was talking to Wade, there was a complex light in his eyes. Wade nodded without speaking, silently taking two steps back—putting some distance between himself and this dark wizard leader who was bad for his heart.
…
Donovan wiped the blood from his face and hid in the ruins of a building as he gazed at the distant battlefield with his eyes filled with horror.
Beneath a collapsed concrete pillar nearby lay another werewolf named Cruz—one of his arms had been blown off, his body was charred black, and he was letting out broken, pained groans. It was clear he wouldn't survive much longer.
Donovan knew that if Lady Luck hadn't favored him today, it might be his body lying on the ground waiting to die.
He had been part of the first wave of cannon fodder sent out, but Donovan had no intention of sacrificing himself for the organization.
Using the fact that ordinary soldiers didn't dare boss around a werewolf like him, Donovan pretended to be hiding in a restroom to kill time—and secretly watched the situation through the small window, preparing to report everything to Dumbledore later.
It was precisely because of this that he had narrowly survived the wave of enchanted paper airplane bombings and escaped with only superficial injuries.
On the distant battlefield, bursts of fire continued to erupt sporadically. The wounded and dead wizards were taken away by their companions, and the only corpses left on the ground were those of Donovan's so-called comrades.
Cold and ruthless orders continued to come through the walkie-talkie:
"Groups C and F, push forward as well! Don't fear sacrifice. Remember, your mission is to drive the enemy into the manor... Everything is going according to plan. Victory still belongs to us..."
Not far away, the werewolf Cruz exhaled his final breath with his mouth open as he finally fell silent—his long, painful ordeal came to an end.
Donovan felt a deep and bitter sorrow, the kind that arises when one beast sees another fall—an empathy rooted in shared suffering. He tore the walkie-talkie from his belt, threw it to the ground, stomped on it hard, spat out a mouthful of blood, and bent down to leave his temporary hiding place.
It was true that the wizards on the other side had killed them.
But the ones who had turned them into werewolves and forced them to march to their deaths were those bastards hiding underground, barking orders from the shadows!
Donovan's hatred had a clear target. He sent a message to Dumbledore and then, keeping out of sight, slipped into an underground passage through a concealed entrance.
This place had once been a den of luxury for certain elites. The underground complex was larger than the villa above, with sprawling corridors and a web of overhead pipes.
Donovan hid his shoes, climbed up onto the pipes with practiced ease, checked his direction, and began crawling along them like an agile cat.
This underground labyrinth had once seen constant foot traffic from well-dressed "high society" types. Not long ago, it had been full of soldiers. But now it was eerily deserted—only occasionally did a patrol squad rush past.
The organization had some wizards who specialized in erasing and altering people's memories. Under the effects of magic, those soldiers had become little more than puppets—willing to carry out even suicidal orders without question.
Painful though his memories were, Donovan was grateful that he had never forgotten who he was.
As he crept forward, he suddenly heard voices from a room below.
One man was shouting in fury: "What's going on? Those wizards haven't taken a single step into the manor! Did someone leak the plan?"
Another voice argued: "Only a handful of people know about the strong magnetic field generator hidden in the manor—even Abigail doesn't know. Who do you think would betray us?"
Then a third voice chimed in to reason:
"They say Grindelwald can predict the future. He probably foresaw danger inside the manor and that's why he's hesitating to enter. Once he thinks enough people have died, he'll definitely come. After all, what they're after is John Adler."
"That coward already ran away!"
"The decoy is still here! Before the Polyjuice Potion wears off, even Grindelwald won't be able to tell the difference!"
"If we could use Polyjuice Potion, why didn't we use it from the start?" someone complained. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to tolerate that arrogant Muggle?"
"I already told you they have the ability to foresee things," another person said impatiently. "If we sent the real target away ahead of time, would they have still walked into the trap?"
"It's a pity the magnetic field decays too quickly… And the Time Dust didn't seem to work either…"
"I heard it was fake—just a small amount of real stuff mixed in. Once the wind blew, it scattered. No wonder it wasn't effective… The real payload is still inside!"
"…So when are they finally going to come in?"
Donovan didn't listen any further. He continued crawling silently along the pipes.
He knew about those generators. Not long ago, several trucks had secretly entered the manor in the middle of the night. Word was, they carried weapons specifically designed to counter magic—no matter how powerful a wizard was, they couldn't withstand them.
Normally, someone of Donovan's rank wouldn't have access to that kind of intel, but he had a lot of friends—one of whom was a vampire with exceptional hearing who liked to fly around as a bat at night.
Donovan remembered how that vampire kid had just escaped earlier, but then inexplicably turned back and flew right into the blast zone. Gritting his teeth, Donovan forced himself to keep crawling.
That same vampire had secretly seen where the generators were moved after being offloaded from the trucks. During a break, a few compliments from Donovan had been enough to get him to spill everything.
Magic could erase memories—but it couldn't erase a love for gossip.
As Donovan recalled the layout and the intel he'd gathered, he crawled through a few corridors until he finally saw the massive, gray-white machine.
It looked like the lower half of a rocket. The main structure was covered, with several thick and thin pipes connected to its base and sides.
Donovan stood in front of the generator, silent for a long moment.
He didn't understand the structure of the thing. He had no idea what the pipes did, or what the valves and dials were for.
But then he thought—he didn't need to know how to operate it. All he needed was to destroy it. And destroying a machine… How hard could that be?
Donovan drew his combat knife and began cutting every visible wire he could find, then moved on to the next target.
After disabling the third one, Donovan suddenly heard a small voice behind him say:
"Good morning, sir!"
The werewolf jumped in fright and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He leapt upward onto the top of the generator and looked down in alarm.
A small creature, only about a meter tall and neatly dressed, was standing on the ground, staring up at him in surprise.
—A house-elf? I haven't heard of the organization having any of these creatures!
Donovan gripped his knife, hesitating whether to pounce and kill it, when he noticed another house-elf standing in the corner of the generator, staring at him intently.
Donovan's heart clenched, and cold sweat instantly broke out across his body.
"Don't be afraid, sir. Dobby means no harm," the elf said politely. "Dobby and Maggie can even offer you some help."
"But before that, please tell us—" the other elf, Maggie, asked, "You're part of the manor, so why are you sabotaging your own facility?"
This house-elf wore only a tea towel printed with a crest and was even smaller and thinner, but his gaze was intimidating.
Donovan looked at the crest, with the letter "H" in the center, and a jolt of realization hit him. His mouth moved instinctively:
"I… I'm actually one of Dumbledore's people… Who are you?"
"I see."
Maggie didn't bother answering such a foolish question. He looked up at the towering generator and said:
"Maggie heard those people talking. This is one of those machines that are very dangerous to wizards, right? Dobby, looks like we need to destroy these things before we find anyone else."
He pointed a slender finger, and a pipe as thick as an arm snapped instantly.
At the same time, out on the battlefield beyond the manor, Grindelwald suddenly looked up, squinting his eyes. A jet of searing flame shot from the tip of his wand!
In front of him, the air twisted sharply, and in a flash of firelight, a white-haired, white-bearded wizard suddenly appeared with an icy cold expression. His robes floated lightly in the air.
Dumbledore is here.
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- +235 Chapters
⭐MCU: Druid's Adventures (MCUDA)(⭐COMPLETE⭐) - Total Chapter 460
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⭐Marvel: Little Genius (MLG) (⭐COMPLETE⭐) - Total Chapter 450
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