Chapter 207 — Dumbledore's Power
The leader's expression changed instantly.
Without another word, his wand ignited—roaring flames coiling at its tip.
"Fiendfyre."
Russell's pupils contracted.
Of course.
Followers of Gellert Grindelwald.
They preferred Fiendfyre over the quicker Killing Curse—not out of mercy, but because it erased everything. No evidence. No trace. And once unleashed, it would grow uncontrollably, devouring everything in its path.
More… efficient.
After casting it, the Acolytes didn't even bother with Russell and Wednesday anymore. They turned instead to investigate what had gone wrong with their plan.
By all accounts, when the final firework exploded, their hidden charges should have detonated simultaneously—masked by the noise.
But nothing had happened.
Behind them, Fiendfyre surged into monstrous shapes.
Russell tried a counter-spell—but it barely slowed the inferno. Wednesday attempted to blast through the wall behind them, only to discover it was reinforced steel.
They weren't breaking through that.
Not in time.
"Wednesday… do you have your broom?" Russell asked under his breath.
"No. I left it at Hogwarts."
Her voice remained calm.
The flames lunged—taking the shape of beasts—closing in—
Then—
A voice.
"Seems I've arrived just in time."
Relief flooded Russell.
Finally.
The air thickened—turning viscous, like golden honey.
At the factory entrance, an old man appeared.
White-haired. Calm. Unhurried.
Albus Dumbledore.
Light poured from the tip of the Elder Wand, washing over the ruined factory.
The Fiendfyre froze mid-motion.
Not extinguished—
frozen.
Suspended in the air like a sculpted masterpiece.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
Behind half-moon spectacles, blue eyes narrowed slightly. With a casual flick of his wand, a transparent barrier formed before him.
The Acolytes retaliated instantly.
Spells rained down—
—but his Shield Charm didn't just block them.
It reflected them.
Every curse rebounded with terrifying precision.
The leader's eyes widened. His wand spun rapidly, summoning the scattered metal into a towering steel construct—
—but Dumbledore simply tapped his wand.
The metal melted mid-air.
Flowed.
Reformed—
into a colossal sword.
"So many years… and you still haven't let go?"
A soft sigh.
The blade swept forward, severing five incoming chains in a single stroke. Its momentum continued, pinning three Acolytes to the concrete wall—steel rods threading through their robes without touching vital points, trapping them in place.
"Fall back!"
Russell dragged Wednesday into cover, watching in stunned silence.
Dumbledore walked forward.
Unhurried.
Each step placed perfectly between incoming spells—as though he were walking through gaps only he could see.
Finally, the leader raised his wand—
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green—
Dumbledore lifted his wand.
One simple motion.
The leader's wand flew out of his hand.
Then—
so did everyone else's.
One by one, the wands of the remaining Acolytes tore free, flying into Dumbledore's grasp as if drawn by gravity itself.
He stepped closer to the leader.
Reached out.
His fingers hovered over the Deathly Hallows mark branded on the man's forehead.
For a moment—
his expression softened.
Almost… nostalgic.
That was the difference.
Even after decades, Grindelwald still had followers willing to die to free him.
Lord Voldemort had followers too—
but loyalty like this?
Rare.
In Russell's memory, perhaps only Bellatrix had ever shown such devotion.
And even that… might have had other reasons.
"Dumbledore," the leader spat, refusing to yield, "you traitor."
"If not for your betrayal… Grindelwald's vision would have succeeded."
"We would already rule this world."
The leader glared at Dumbledore with a gaze that looked ready to tear flesh apart—like he wanted nothing more than to strangle him with his bare hands.
"I told you long ago," Dumbledore said quietly, "his vision was flawed. And now… it's too late."
"Too late?" the man snapped. "How can you know that without trying? How could those Muggles ever stand against us?"
His voice trembled with fury.
"Professor Dumbledore is right," Russell said, wiping soot from his face as he stepped forward with Wednesday beside him. "It is too late."
The leader sneered. "And now even a child dares lecture us?"
He stared coldly at Russell. "If you say it's too late… then tell me—how late?"
He didn't expect an answer. He assumed Russell was just trying to curry favor.
"About fifty years too late," Russell replied calmly.
"When Grindelwald began his rise, Muggle technology had already reached a level you can't even imagine."
He paused, then continued:
"Do you know what an atomic bomb is? A few of them could wipe out the entire British wizarding world. No one—no one—could stop it."
"And that's not even their strongest weapon anymore. That leap took them only a few decades."
The Acolyte leader's expression flickered—but he refused to yield.
"We could control their leaders," he insisted. "Take command from the top."
"You're right," Russell said, not arguing.
Then he tilted his head slightly.
"And then what?"
The question hung in the air.
Control them… and then?
The leader faltered.
For the first time—he had no answer.
At that moment, deep within the factory, a thunderous metallic rumble echoed.
The old woman stood in the distance, her face drained of color.
"The fireworks we planted… they've all been destroyed," she said hollowly. "We've lost."
Then—
her expression twisted into madness.
Even now, she wasn't finished.
"Still thinking about a last stand, huh…" Russell muttered under his breath, half-exasperated.
With a violent sweep of her wand, the entire factory came alive.
They had been here for a long time—long enough to carve countless alchemical arrays into its structure.
Now, they activated.
Steel surged like a tidal wave.
Flames roared through it.
A storm of metal and fire swept toward them—
and the old woman herself was swallowed within it.
"Finite Incantatem."
Dumbledore's voice rang clear.
Light burst from the Elder Wand.
The storm… stopped.
Flattened.
The Fiendfyre extinguished instantly, collapsing to the ground in a cloud of smoke and ash.
"Now!" the leader barked.
Seizing the moment, he grabbed two of his companions. They, in turn, seized the others—forming a chain, preparing to Disapparate together.