The atmosphere at the scene was somewhat delicate.
In response to Dumbledore's words.
Ian nodded and turned to Grindelwald.
Let's go.
He did have something to discuss with the professor, Grindelwald didn't move. He stood there, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on Ian, his voice low. "You still haven't told me how you knew."
He was quite surprised that Ian had guessed his secret. A very faint smile appeared on Ian's lips, almost the first time he had shown such a "expression" that evening.
"You didn't tell me when... you became a Hogwarts professor."
Grindelwald fell silent.
Under the moonlight.
The two looked at each other.
Silence fell again.
The Auror around them couldn't understand what they were saying at all and could only stare blankly at the scene.
Professor Hogwarts?
Grindelwald?
How is that possible?
When did the First Generation Dark Lord become involved with Hogwarts?
Only Dumbledore, in his deep blue eyes, showed an extremely complex emotion—understanding, surprise, and a hint of... deep worry.
He finally understood.
Now I understand why Grindelwald's attitude towards Ian was so strange, why Grindelwald would ask a strange boy for help, and I also understand... the true meaning of Ian's "Professor." Actually, for Dumbledore, knowing Grindelwald's secret, it wasn't difficult to guess this.
Such is the nature of those who are almost supernaturally intelligent.
Let's go.
Ian spoke again, this time in a calmer tone, yet with an undeniable air of authority. Grindelwald took a deep breath and finally stepped to Ian's side.
The next second, their figures disappeared into the moonlight.
The Auror remained rooted to the spot, unable to recover for a long time.
" Professor Dumbledore..." Scrimgeour began with difficulty, his voice hoarse, "Who exactly is that... that Mr. Ian? And Grindelwald... what he just said..."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then spoke slowly, his voice carrying a hint of weariness that even he himself could not hide:
"I don't know either, Scrimgeour. Before tonight, I didn't know such a young man existed. After tonight..." He paused, gazing in the direction Ian had disappeared, his gaze distant, "Perhaps, many things need to be reconsidered."
The night wind blew by, carrying away the last trace of the stench of blood, but it could not take away the shock and mystery that lingered in everyone's hearts.
Who exactly is that boy?
What secrets does Grindelwald hold?
What changes will Voldemort's escape bring?
Nobody knows the answer.
Only the moonlight, coldly spilling onto the empty Street, stood like an eternal, silent witness.
As night deepened, the Auror continued their final preparations amidst the ruins of East End of London.
Forty-seven Death Eater were arrested—the largest number of Death Eater captured in a single operation since the First Wizarding War. They were chained together with Magic Chains and squatted on the ground like livestock awaiting slaughter, trembling. No one resisted, no one tried to escape, and no one even dared to look up at Dumbledore was not far away.
Ian has already left with Grindelwald.
But that terrifying sense of oppression still loomed over the hearts of every Death Eater like an invisible shadow.
"Take them all away!" Scrimgeour waved his hand and gave the order. The Auror began to escort the Death Eater in batches through the Floo Network and Apparition to the Ministry of Magic's temporary detention center, and then transfer them to Azkaban.
Dumbledore volunteered to accompany the escort. Although utterly exhausted and pale from Mental Power, as a firsthand witness to tonight's events and the most authoritative source of information, he felt it necessary to personally ensure the prisoners' safe arrival and to provide firsthand testimony to the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry of Magic's temporary detention center was located in the Emergency Management Hall deep underground. When the forty-seven Death Eater were brought in, the night-shift clerical staff and Auror all gasped in shock. These dark Wizard, usually so arrogant and rampant in the shadows, were now ashen-faced, ragged, and their eyes vacant, like those of walking corpses.
"This is... total annihilation?" a young Auror murmured.
"It's worse than being wiped out." His companion lowered his voice. "I heard they were taken down by one person. One person, who took down five of Voldemort's clones, scaring those cowards into kneeling and surrendering on the spot."
"A person? Who? Grindelwald?"
"I don't know. Director Scrimgeour won't say anything, only that things are complicated."
The escort process proceeded in silence. Registration, body searches, sealing of wands, application of shackles to suppress Magic Power... The Death Eater were manipulated like puppets, not a single one uttering a sound, not even the most basic curses or threats.
This bizarre compliance sent chills down the spines of everyone present from the Ministry of Magic.
What exactly happened to them to terrify them like this?
Finally, all the formalities were completed. Dumbledore and an elite Auror Squad, escorting forty-seven Death Eater, arrived at Azkaban, a remote island in the North Sea, via the Floo Network.
Azkaban's reputation is known to everyone in the Wizarding World.
This ancient fortress, perched on the desolate reefs of the North Sea, appears from the outside as nothing more than a sinister, terrifying black stone castle, weathered day and night by the sea. But when the prisoners pass through the rusty iron gate and step inside, the true horror of Azkaban is revealed—it is indeed hell on earth. The air is icy cold, not just ordinary cold, but a chilling cold that seeps into the bone marrow and freezes the soul. Behind the iron bars on both sides of the corridor, one can vaguely see huddled figures and hear faint, chilling whimpers. And in the deeper darkness, monsters with tattered cloaks and rotting hands float.
Dementor.
They are Azkaban's guardians and the most horrific form of punishment. Their very existence can drain away all joy, hope, and warmth, leaving only the deepest despair and terror.
When the first Dementor slithered out of the shadows and pointed its rotting hand at the Death Eater —finally, the Death Eater, who had been like walking corpses, erupted.
"No! No! Don't come any closer! Don't come near me!" A Death Eater frantically retreated, but was pulled back by Magic Chains and fell to the ground. He struggled and screamed, his face filled with extreme fear, " Dementor! Dementor! They'll suck my soul! Don't let me be with them!"
No Wizard is afraid of Dementor.
"Help! Master will come to save us! Lord Voldemort will not abandon us!" another Death Eater screamed, his voice filled with the last vestiges of desperate madness.
"Master is Legend! He's omnipotent! He'll come to save us! Then, all of you lackeys of the Ministry of Magic will die!" "Yes! Master will come! Azkaban can't hold him! He's stronger than Dumbledore! Stronger than anyone else!" A few Death Eater, barely managing to muster their strength, began to shout wildly, trying to combat the fear brought by the Dementor with their fanatical faith in Voldemort. But most of them simply collapsed to the ground, trembling, their eyes filled with despair and collapse.
Dumbledore's voice rang out amidst the chaos. Not loud, yet clear enough to reach everyone's ears, carrying a chilling calm. " Voldemort cannot save you."
The shouting Death Eater suddenly looked up and stared intently at him.
Dumbledore's gaze swept across their faces, his azure eyes devoid of any emotion, only a cold, factual statement. "Just hours ago, your 'omnipotent' master abandoned you and fled alone. And his five avatars—you watched them vanish before your eyes—were easily suppressed by one man. Legend? Yes, he is Legend. But so what?"
He paused, his voice still calm, yet carrying a chilling undercurrent. "Before true power, even so-called ' Legend ' can flee in disarray. Voldemort's only concern now is himself. As for you all..."
Dumbledore's gaze swept over all the Death Eater. "Just expendable pawns."
His words were cold.
Dead silence.
The Death Eater had been shouting moments before suddenly froze their madness and fanaticism, replaced by a despair that was even more profound than the fear instilled by the Dementor.
Yes, they saw it with their own eyes.
The black-haired boy suppressed five of the master's clones with a mere wave of his hand. And the master? From beginning to end, the master was bogged down in a mental battle with Dumbledore, powerless even to destroy the clones. In the end, he simply Apparition away without even glancing at them.
Master... will you really come to save them?
Or rather, does the owner still have the ability to save them?
The silence was broken by a burst of wild laughter.
A disheveled, distorted-faced middle-aged Death Eater— once the patriarch of a Pureblood families— laughed wildly, his laughter filled with madness and despair, echoing through the corridors of Azkaban and startling a chorus of Dementor ' hissing whispers.
"Hahaha! Dumbledore! You're right! Our master can't save us! But so what?"
He stared intently at Dumbledore, his eyes burning with a final, twisted smugness:
"Your era has come to an end! You witnessed firsthand that your master had become Legend! And what about you? You're old! You're tired! You couldn't even kill him! You could only watch helplessly as he escaped!"
His voice grew louder and louder, more and more frantic:
"I admit it, we lost tonight! We lost to a monster that appeared out of nowhere! But so what?! Master is alive! He will become stronger! He will find that monster, kill him! And then—none of you will escape!"
He opened his arms wide, as if embracing his Destiny:
"Just seeing this is enough to make me die happy! Dumbledore, you will come to hell to join us! You will! Soon! Soon!" The maniacal laughter echoed through the corridors of Azkaban, lingering for a long time.
Dumbledore stood silently, his azure eyes fixed on the crazed Death Eater, his face expressionless. Only when the laughter gradually turned to sobs and whimpers did he speak slowly, his voice still calm:
"Take him away."
The Dementor slid forward, its rotting hand resting on the Death Eater's shoulder. His body instantly stiffened, all the madness and smugness in his eyes vanished, leaving only an empty, deathly despair.
The other Death Eater dared not utter another sound, allowing the Auror and Dementor to lead them into their cells one by one. The sound of the iron doors closing echoed through the cold corridor like a death knell.
After the last Death Eater was imprisoned, Dumbledore turned and left Azkaban.
Dumbledore didn't utter a single word during the swift journey from Azkaban back to the Ministry of Magic.
The Auror traveling with him carefully observed his expression—that usually gentle and composed face, seemingly always in control, now bore an undisguised weariness and... a deeper, unspeakable heaviness.
The Death Eater's maniacal laughter and the words, "You'll come to hell to keep us company," were like a thorn stuck in everyone's heart.
The Ministry of Magic building remained brightly lit. Tonight's events were too significant; almost everyone had been urgently recalled. Footsteps hurried down the corridors, Owl flitted back and forth, and various departments were working through the night to deal with this sudden incident that had shocked the entire Wizarding World.
Dumbledore was taken directly to the Minister's Office.
The office was already full of people— Minister for Magic Fudge, Head of the Auror Office Scrimgeour, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation Barty Crouch, several senior members of Wizengamot, and some officials that Dumbledore didn't recognize but were clearly of high rank. All eyes turned to him the moment he entered.
" Dumbledore!" Fudge practically jumped to greet him, his face a mixture of anxiety, relief, and bewilderment. "Thank God you're alright! Please, have a seat! What happened tonight? Were all those Death Eater really captured? Forty-seven?! And someone said they saw Grindelwald? What...?"
"Minister," Scrimgeour interrupted, his tone weary but methodical, "Let Professor Dumbledore catch his breath. Tonight's matters are complex; we need a complete account, not a jumble of questions."
Fudge sat back down awkwardly, but the urgency in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.
Dumbledore sat down in a chair, took a cup of hot tea, but didn't drink it. He was silent for a few seconds, as if organizing his thoughts, then slowly began to recount the events of the evening, from his trip to the night market with Grindelwald to search for clues, to Voldemort's sudden appearance and encirclement.
Then there was the astonishing power displayed by that young man named Ian Prince —at this moment, Dumbledore recounted all of these events in their entirety.
Of course, he omitted Grindelwald's speculations, and also Ian's final word, "Professor," which made Grindelwald's expression change. Those things were too complicated and too bizarre.
It wasn't appropriate to reveal this in such a public setting. But even so, what he said was enough to leave everyone present speechless. "A... a seventeen or eighteen-year-old boy?" Fudge's voice trembled. "One person, suppressed five Legend- level avatars of Voldemort? And then those Death Eater... surrendered?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded.
"Where's Grindelwald? What's he doing there?" Crouch asked sharply, a wary glint in his eyes.
"He was... assisting," Dumbledore carefully chose his words, "He was also saved by that young man."
"Saved by a boy?" Crouch asked incredulously. " The First Generation Dark Lord, saved by an unknown boy?"
Dumbledore did not answer.
She simply glanced at him quietly.
There were too many unspeakable things in that one glance.