Boom!
"Protego!"
The instant the potion bottle containing the Joy Potion shattered, Wayne instinctively cast the Protego to shield himself.
However—
Buzz!
A strange sensation surged through his body as his magic momentarily faltered. It wasn't much, just a fleeting obstruction, but it was enough to disrupt the flow of his spell.
Wayne barely had time to process what was happening before he felt the sharp sting of glass fragments slicing across his face. A few shards even flew dangerously close to his eyes. He instinctively shut them tight, his modified vision preventing him from being temporarily blinded. If not for the enhancements he had made to his eyes, the damage could have been severe.
Enemy attack!
That was Wayne's first thought. But the idea barely took root before he dismissed it.
Why would the heart of Ilvermorny—Grindelwald's stronghold—be so easily infiltrated? And even if it was an attack, it was far too weak to be effective. Something didn't add up.
Then another possibility struck him like a bolt of lightning.
A curse.
His mind rapidly pieced it together. Had the Magical Congress cursed him? It wasn't entirely out of the question—after all, he had crossed paths with numerous Aurors and had made more than a few enemies.
Wasting no time, Wayne ignored the astonished expressions of the young wizards around him. Muttering under his breath, he cast several diagnostic spells upon himself.
The little wizards, who had been watching the scene unfold, stared wide-eyed at their renowned Potions Professor.
Had Professor Wayne just... blown up a potion bottle?
Their jaws hung open in disbelief. It was rare for a professor to make such a mistake—especially one as formidable as Wayne.
Their minds raced. If any of them had caused an explosion like this, they would have been writing essays until their hands cramped, or worse, forced to stand in detention for a week straight.
And yet, here was Wayne, their strict, all-knowing professor, hurriedly casting spells on himself like a nervous student.
Just as some of them stifled their laughter, a sudden explosion rocked the air.
Boom!
A deafening roar echoed from outside the classroom.
The little wizards let out shrieks of terror, their previous amusement vanishing in an instant.
Wayne's eyes snapped toward the source of the sound, his instincts now screaming at him. This time, there was no mistaking it—this was an attack.
A real one.
"Hide! Get down, now!" he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
With a flick of his wand, a powerful Iron Armor Charm enveloped the students, forming an invisible barrier around them. Then, with another wave, he cast a complex Transfiguration spell, causing the young wizards to vanish from sight.
Relief settled over him—at least the students were temporarily safe.
His attention shifted to the window. Without hesitation, he pointed his wand, casting a shattering spell. The glass shattered into glistening fragments, and Wayne leaped out.
Whoever the enemy was, he needed to find them—and fast.
More importantly, he needed to capture someone. Interrogation would be the fastest way to get answers.
But the moment his left foot hit the ground—
Puff!
Wayne's foot sank into the earth as though it were quicksand.
His body lurched forward, but he reacted instantly, casting a levitation spell. He barely managed to steady himself before he could have face-planted into the dirt like a fool.
Another anomaly. Another calculated interference.
Wayne's heart pounded. This wasn't just an attack—someone was deliberately targeting him.
But before he could dwell on it, the sound of multiple explosions rang out from different parts of the castle.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Wayne's head snapped up. From various classrooms, other professors burst onto the scene.
Some of them looked even worse than him, their faces marred with blood, their robes singed from magical backfire.
His mind raced. If this was an attack, then where were the attackers?
Not a single enemy had shown themselves.
Before he could question it further, a deep chime resonated through the air.
Boom!
A strange sensation washed over Wayne, like a cool breeze sweeping through his body. A sudden euphoria followed, as though he had just taken a sip of the most potent elixir. His limbs felt lighter, his mind oddly at ease.
The other professors, too, seemed momentarily dazed by the mysterious effect.
Then, as if answering an unspoken command, a powerful presence manifested before them.
A figure cloaked in black, exuding an aura so overwhelming that the very air seemed to thrum with power.
Grindelwald.
"Leader!"
The gathered wizards immediately bowed their heads in reverence, their voices echoing in unison.
But Wayne barely heard them. His attention was solely fixed on the man before him.
Grindelwald's expression was grim, his face set in stone.
And in his eyes—those piercing, calculating eyes—Wayne glimpsed something he rarely saw.
Distress.
For Grindelwald, a man who thrived on control, to show such emotion, the situation had to be worse than Wayne had anticipated.
Wayne clenched his fists.
Grindelwald's gaze swept over Ilvermorny, his vision no longer confined to mere sight. He was looking into the very fabric of destiny itself.
Golden threads wove through the air, flickering and twisting—signs of the trajectory of fate shifting chaotically.
Ilvermorny was in turmoil.
If Grindelwald had not been here to stabilize the sea of destiny, the repercussions would have been devastating.
His wand, a lavender masterpiece pulsating with ancient magic, twitched in his grasp. With a series of precise movements, he traced luminous golden runes in the air. Each rune drifted down like falling embers, merging with the erratic sea of fate, gradually calming its tumultuous waves.
After what felt like an eternity, the invisible chaos subsided.
Grindelwald let out a slow breath, his gaze lingering on the now-settling energies. Then, without a word, he vanished into thin air.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Wayne exchanged glances with the other professors, the tension still thick in the air.
No one spoke.
Then, as if coming to a silent agreement, they each turned and hurried back to their classrooms. There was no time to waste—they had to check on the students.
No matter how powerful Grindelwald was, they couldn't ignore the possibility that the young wizards had been affected.
After all, even raising a cat for years could create attachment—let alone nurturing young wizards.
Meanwhile, in the Magical Congress.
Auror Comfort Room.
A secluded wing of the Congress, one that most outsiders never set foot in.
This was the resting place for Aurors who had been severely wounded in battle.
It was more than just a hospital ward—it was a sanctuary for those who had sacrificed everything.
Some had lost limbs. Others had suffered irreversible magical injuries.
Each and every one of them bore scars—both physical and unseen.
At this moment, Chenos guided Dumbledore through the chamber, introducing the fallen warriors with a solemn expression.
"Headmaster, this is Jaime," Chenos said, gesturing toward an Auror lying on the bed, his leg amputated below the knee.
"He was hit by a dark curse while fighting the Saints. If we hadn't severed his leg in time, he would have been completely crippled."
Chenos clenched his fists, his voice thick with barely restrained fury.
The hatred toward the Saints and Grindelwald was palpable in the air.
Dumbledore, ever the observer, took it all in with quiet contemplation.
The depth of this hatred—it was too uniform. Too precise. It felt less like natural resentment and more like... something cultivated.
Something designed.
A trace of goblin magic lingered in the air.
The American wizarding world had progressed more than he expected.
Chenos continued his introductions, subtly reinforcing the image of the Saints as heartless monsters.
Then, without missing a beat, he led Dumbledore toward their next destination.
"The young wizards," Chenos murmured.
Dumbledore's interest piqued.
The youth held the future. If Chenos intended to show him the next generation, it meant he sought influence.
Chenos wanted him tied to their cause.
With Dumbledore on their side, they would have an advantage not just against Grindelwald, but against the goblins, the Saints, and whatever threats lay ahead.
But just as they neared the next chamber, Dumbledore's voice rang out.
"Chenos, how is your Speaker Jack doing now?"
...
==============================================
Support me at [email protected]/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
=============================================