"Ireland scores their sixth goal… Ireland scores their seventh… Yes, cheer away—Ireland scores again, that's their eighth goal! Ireland is now leading 130 to 10—does Bulgaria still stand a chance?"
Ludo Bagman's hoarse shouting echoed constantly in the distance. Barty Crouch Jr., who was hidden in the shadows, waited another ten minutes before finally accepting the truth with great reluctance—
The plan really failed. The cursed trees didn't break into the stadium to create chaos, and the chance to kidnap Harry Potter slipped through their fingers.
Frustrated and confused, Barty Jr. ran through all the possible reasons for failure.
The Ministry of Magic shouldn't have been able to detect his perfect plan—he knew all too well how lazy and perfunctory most of them were.
And earlier that afternoon, he had even checked the forest himself. The trees were all intact and ready to be awakened at any moment.
Could it be that something went wrong with the awakening spell? Or did someone cast a protective enchantment near the stadium, blocking the signal from reaching the forest?
The worst-case scenario would be that Dumbledore figured it out. But that couldn't be… Could he really have undone all the enchantments in such a short time?
Besides, Dumbledore shouldn't have many allies available.
When Barty was in the VIP box earlier, he'd noticed that Dumbledore's followers were watching the Death Eaters—especially those whose identities had been exposed.
The Weasleys were eyeing Malfoys with thinly veiled suspicion back in the box. Their stares weren't simply hostile—they were cautious, alert… like Aurors watching a dark wizard during a shady deal.
Barty's heart stirred slightly.
Could it be that those traitors are planning something, only to be discovered by Dumbledore's people ahead of time?
If so… maybe this isn't a total failure— Maybe it is an opportunity.
Deep in thought, Barty shot a cold glance at the door to the VIP box behind him, then turned and walked down the stairs.
He needed to find out exactly what went wrong with the cursed trees he had worked so hard to awaken.
Ten minutes later, Barty stood at the edge of the forest and stared at the massive scars on the ground. His face had gone pale. His body trembled. Rage and terror surged together in his chest.
He clutched his invisibility cloak tighter around himself, and carefully avoided the still-burning remnants of the tree roots. He skirted around the magically created dark swamp, and followed the fan-shaped path of scorched earth deeper into the destruction.
The ash beneath his feet was thick but soft. He could hardly feel the resistance when his feet landed, and his shoes sank instantly into the gray dust.
There were no trees, no grass, and no insects crawling around. Only ash. Endless, drifting ash.
Barty crouched down and brushed away a layer of soot with his hand, revealing patches of glassy, glazed earth underneath. A shiver ran down his spine.
Who did this?
What kind of magic was this?
Was it Dumbledore…?
He shook his head.
No, this doesn't feel like Dumbledore's style. And more importantly, he didn't want to believe that it was him.
Then, Barty thought of another name—a dark wizard as famous as Dumbledore:
Grindelwald.
That old man had never operated in Britain before, but… what if?
A scene played itself out in Barty's imagination: [Grindelwald apparates into the campgrounds—maybe just to watch the match, or maybe for some other reason—and suddenly, an army of cursed trees comes rumbling out of the forest, charging at him.
Grindelwald naturally regarded this as a provocation and attack, and immediately responded with an impossibly powerful spell— Reducing the forest to white-hot ash in a matter of seconds… before calmly leaving.]
If this was Grindelwald's doing… then his power far exceeds what the Master had estimated.
Still, an aging dark wizard, on the brink of death, is easier to deal with than an unknown enemy. And if Grindelwald did use such a powerful spell, it's unlikely his body could withstand it—he might have already retreated to his lair to recover.
Barty Jr. pondered silently:If my guess is right, then the plan to abduct Harry Potter might still have a chance.
As he left the forest, he carefully erased all traces of his presence.
A formless breeze stirred the ashes on the ground, and when they settled again, all footprints had been completely concealed.
…
After the Alliance wizards Apparated away from the camp, Grindelwald remained behind.
"Wade, take a walk with me?" he said.
Delaine and Antoine understood his intention at once and slowed their pace to give them space. Wade even heard Antoine yelling something about wanting to catch the rest of the match.
So, the old man and the young man walked side by side through the camp.
Though the night was dark, lanterns of various sizes hung along the path, casting flickering light that stretched and shrunk their shadows with every step.
"Tell me, Wade," Grindelwald said in a calm tone, "how did it feel after you successfully cast that spell?"
Wade was silent for a moment, then replied, "...I think I understand now why pride is considered the foremost of the seven deadly sins."
Having the power capable of upending the world's order—it is almost impossible not to become arrogant, blind. To see others as tools, even as nothing. To justify one's own acts of conquest, bullying, and oppression as simple "survival of the fittest."
Grindelwald gave a sharp laugh at this.
"Child, I won't deny that Dumbledore taught you many useful things—but you've also inherited some of his laughable flaws."
"You're too passive, Wade Grey!"
"This world—war or no war—is always a battlefield. A brutal one. Struggles of life and death happen everywhere. Perhaps fear isn't strength, but—"
"To restrain your own power, to fear your own ambition, to not dare seize authority—"
"Do you know what that is? That's foolish self-deception! Hypocrisy. Naivety. Weakness!"
"You even believe a bunch of idiots can maintain peace in this world, fantasize that a decayed, incompetent Ministry of Magic could bring justice and fairness—and you refuse to make the harder, more correct choices!"
"When you can wave a wand and make your enemies vanish from the face of the earth—why let clowns stomp on your head?"
At first, Wade had lowered his head and listened as if being lectured—but the more he listened, the more something felt off.
It doesn't feel like Grindelwald is scolding me… or at least, not just me.
His heart skipped a beat. His throat tightened. — Could Dumbledore be nearby?
Wade instinctively looked around—but saw only the uneven rows of tents.
"Remember this—" Grindelwald suddenly stopped walking, turned, and looked Wade in the eye. His voice was low and firm:
"Silence can be a tactic—but it must never become a habit. Otherwise, even if you possess the greatest power in the world, you'll be nothing more than a puppet—shackled and manipulated by others."
His eyes flickered as he stared at Wade—then seemed to glance elsewhere, too.
"You know what I expect from you, Wade. But mark my words: Never let your morality become the shroud that buries your comrades."
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