Bad, Worse, Worst

Orion looked up at the flames spreading overhead, his gaze slowly returning to his son, then back towards the bridgehead.

The Cuthbert family children were still tugging at Roxier's sleeve, while Mulciber looked up, a small grin spreading across his face.

The children huddled together, their faces tilted back, necks stretched out, staring at the blue curtain of fire in the sky.

Who exactly is that friend?

It was remarkable that Regulus brought this up here, in front of his family, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Auror, in front of hundreds of people.

Orion's gaze lingered on the children for a moment.

Regulus's closest confidants, the Slytherin, were all here. He called them friends and would take them along to practice Magic. Even the two Half-bloods would stand up for them.

But Regulus didn't need to specifically mention these children in this situation.

Aside from Slytherin, there were only other houses, so Orion shifted his gaze to the side.

Slytherin gathered in one group, while the other houses each took up their own group.

Gryffindor's red scarf, Ravenclaw's blue collar, Hufflepuff's yellow trim—it was all a mess, with a few other things mixed in that didn't look very appealing.

The young wizards from each academy huddled together, gazing up at the fire in the sky. Some had their mouths agape, while others pulled at the people next to them to talk.

Sirius stood in the front row of Gryffindor, head held high, his expression quite remarkable.

Of course, there are also Pure-bloods and children from the Sacred Twenty-Eight in other academies.

The Longbottom and Pruitt are in Gryffindor, and the Bones are in Hufflepuff, but those kids don't align with the Pure-blood Faction, and they're even less aligned with the Black family.

The Bones family member had clashed with the Black family at the Ministry of Magic, while the Longbottom and Pruitt families were clearly on Dumbledore's side.

People with similar stances are easy to get along with, while those with opposing stances can't get close even if they don't become enemies. If the adults in several families barely exchange a few words throughout the year, how can the children possibly get together?

Then their origins wouldn't be Pure-bloods; they'd be Half-bloods, or even Muggle-borns.

Orion frowned slightly.

Given Regulus's current status, when it comes to making friends, the first principle is equality, and this equality doesn't even have to be based on social status.

With Regulus's intellect, depth, and vision, it's not enough for anyone his age to be on equal footing with him; they need more than just friendship.

A teenager, standing before Regulus, was not intimidated by him, could chat with him, felt comfortable around him, and even asked a question that was worth mentioning specifically in this setting.

If it's someone of the same sex, not of Pure-bloods, and without a background or confidence, they can't do it.

When boys reach this age, if they encounter someone stronger than themselves, they will either submit, avoid them, or fight back.

Those who submit to each other can't become friends, those who avoid each other will never meet, and those who fight each other are even less likely to become friends.

Orion glanced at the other outstanding young witches in the academy, a smile gradually appearing in his eyes.

That's something worth keeping an eye on, as for their background--

Someone across from him moved, and Orion turned his gaze back to Crouch, his expression returning to normal.

Walburga looked up as the sea of fire stretched into the distance, beyond the Castle spires in her sight, and rose even higher up in a vast expanse of blue flames.

She slowly loosened her grip on the hand in front of her. After the initial shock, her pride shone even brighter. She looked down at her son, a smile spreading across her face.

He then looked at Crouch with a disdainful gaze, his lips pursed slightly.

Silas's wide hood slipped back a little, the fire burning in the sky, the light shining down, revealing his forehead and half of his cheekbone, and the thirty-odd people also quietly tilted their faces upwards.

The hem of their black robes fluttered in the wind, but the group remained silent.

Beneath the flames, Crouch gripped his wand, his head held high, refusing to lower it.

Blue flames surged and rolled above, the deepest part of them a dark, intense color, flowing to the edges before spreading out again.

The Castle towers were bathed in blue light, the bridge railings were blue, and even the Auror's face beside me was tinged with a different color.

As he watched, a chill began to run down his spine, and a name suddenly popped into his mind: Grindelwald.

There are many Magic involving blue flames; even an ordinary wizard can conjure one, simply by adjusting the color of the Incendio.

But the raging sea of fire overhead reminded Crouch of the war records he had read.

Grindelwald, all by himself, was able to prompt the Ministry of Magic of various countries to mobilize manpower and suppress information, fearing that the public would know just how much destruction the wizard they were facing could cause.

The specific nature of this Magic remains unreliable in the relevant materials.

Dark Arts, a profound Fire-Making Spell, or some variant of Fiendfyre —there are various interpretations.

Those who survived could describe what they saw, but no one had the chance to ask Grindelwald how Magic was constructed.

But he could see clearly how this thing came to be.

The orange-red fire, the pouncing beast head, then the color changed, a bird flew up, and the whole sky became like this.

In Young Black's hands, Fiendfyre was so tamed that not a trace of its original ferocity could be seen.

Did Grindelwald do the same thing back then?

Crouch's gaze returned to Regulus's face.

He had read the records of the battle with the Rowle family many times, but what he had written was far from the level of what he was seeing now.

The report contained beams of light, explosions, and shattered manor and land. He was able to think calmly at the time, annotating each point and even writing a few of his own judgments in the margins.

The thing above his head was making it impossible for him to calm down.

He suppressed the shock in his heart, and a trace of fear that he was unwilling to admit.

It cannot be completely confirmed whether it is the same flame. It does look similar, but similarity is one thing, and there must be a source for the connection. Grindelwald has been imprisoned for almost thirty years.

During the First Wizarding War, he had never heard of the Blight family having any contact with Grindelwald. Black's position in that period of history remained clean; he was neither involved nor took sides.

Then his gaze suddenly darkened; Dumbledore had not yet appeared.

He knew what Dumbledore was busy with—the things happening outside, the affairs of the Order of the Phoenix.

With such a commotion, Dumbledore couldn't possibly be unaware of it, and if he wanted to come back, he couldn't possibly be unable to.

Hogwarts is his territory, and his absence speaks volumes.

The relationship between Dumbledore and Grindelwald was never a secret; in fact, it could be said that the two were once very close, and even the later duel could not erase their earlier interactions.

How much of Grindelwald's Magic did Dumbledore know? Who dares to say for sure?

If Young Black's Magic was taught to him by Dumbledore, that makes sense.

So what exactly was Dumbledore's purpose? Was it to find a successor for Grindelwald?

The thought crossed his mind, and Crouch's lips tightened even more.

Voldemort's power is growing, and the situation in UK is getting worse. Dumbledore will also feel the pressure. It is far more useful to give a young wizard the power to change the course of the war than to ask around for help from various families.

Thinking further ahead, if the situation completely collapses and the existing forces are unable to control Voldemort, will Dumbledore release Grindelwald?

To use an even worse option to disrupt a completely corrupt situation?

Grindelwald, Dumbledore, Young Black. —these three names swirled in his mind, and he couldn't even tell which one might be worse.

His gaze fixed on Young Black, and then a worse thought popped into his head.

What if Dumbledore hadn't taught him? What if Young Black had created this Magic all by himself, modified Fiendfyre on his own, and mastered this power all by himself?

This seems to be the worst possible outcome.

As for Dumbledore and Grindelwald, it's an old score, and there are traces to follow.

But the fact that Young Black created this himself means that no one knows the limit of his power, and today he has already clashed with the Black family.

The Auror behind Crouch were in disarray.

One by one, they pointed their wands haphazardly, some at Regulus, some at the sky, the tips swaying back and forth, none of them able to stay still, yet none of them dared to let the tips of their wands light up again.

The Magic Power that had been pressing down on Black dissipated, and the hem of his robes billowed up at times, and was sometimes pulled to the other side by the wind that swept along the bridge, no longer pointing in one direction.

Regulus glanced at them.

The Fiendfyre, following his will, stopped high up. The urge to destroy had a direction; his gaze fell on the people on the bridge, and the flames carried that danger to them.

Moody noticed this, took a step back with his right foot, turned his shoulder to the side, and turned the threatening feeling coming from above his head.

He tried to summon his Magic Power, but before he could even raise the tip of his staff, his breath caught in his throat. The sea of fire above his head was still churning, but death suddenly seemed so close that it made his scalp tingle.

Moody stopped what he was doing, his eyes fixed on Regulus, his gaze sharp and fierce.

The Auror on the right trembled, trying to turn his wand back towards Regulus. Just as the tip of the wand turned, his expression changed abruptly, and his movement froze halfway.

Moody reached out his hand to him, slowly pressing down, his voice hoarse and strained. "Don't move."

His colleagues behind him looked over, exchanged glances, and then the tips of their canes fell onto the bridge surface one after another. They stood still, not daring to move.

Moody glanced toward the bridgehead.

The young Wizards craned their necks to look at the fire; some screamed, others tugged at their friends to talk. The professors were able to turn around and look behind them. Looking at the Auror nearby, their pale faces were covered in sweat.

Under the same sea of fire, separated by only a dozen meters, the difference in the situation was astounding.

Several older Slytherin finally turned to Regulus; they had been bothered by the trouble earlier, but now no one cared about the trouble anymore.

Regulus had summoned them to show them this.

Crouch represented the Ministry of Magic, Black family brought over thirty people. If the two sides were to actually fight, the consequences would be far-reaching.

These things required careful consideration just now, but now that the fire above our heads is all coming from one person, there's no need to think about it at all.

Write the letter immediately, but what if you write about a bird flying up and turning into a raging fire? How much would your family understand after reading that?

When his family asked about the extent of the fire, he couldn't even see how far it had spread. He underestimated the fire's reach, which would have hindered his family's judgment; he should write the truth.

I can't write it down because I can't understand it, I can't comprehend it, and I can't write it clearly.

I might have to take leave and go home so my family can use the Legilimency to directly examine it. This is a very serious matter, and we can't take it too seriously.

Someone looked at Avery and smiled. The Cuthbert family were really something; it was a good thing they had all been invited.

Avery turned his aching neck back, tried to suppress his solemn expression several times, and finally smiled.

He glanced at the senior students who had glared at him earlier, and mimicked Regulus's slight smirk. They immediately returned the smile with unparalleled warmth and friendliness.

Alex gazed at Regulus on the bridge, his furrowed brow gradually relaxing, and Lina and Samuel also let out a soft sigh of relief.

Hermes stared at Regulus, then suddenly grinned, revealing his teeth.

Crouch's palms were already sweaty. He turned his head to look at Moody, only to be met with a rather stern gaze.

Moody was not afraid of sacrifice or fighting. He fought his whole life and never enjoyed himself. He lost count of how many times he went back and forth between life and death.

He obeys orders, even unreasonable ones. If an order sends him to his death, he'll ask why, and then carry it out anyway.

But there is no point or need for fighting in this matter; Crouch has been doing this unilaterally from the very beginning.

He brought his men to the school to arrest a thirteen-year-old boy. The boy was sitting peacefully in the office, and he prepared to force-feed him Veritaserum.

As for calling more people, Moody glanced up at the sea of fire overhead.

Numbers are completely useless here; no matter how many come, they'll all die. If a real fight breaks out, the only option is to run.

The moment the thought of running away crossed his mind, a heavy pressure came from above, and a threat descended upon him.

Moody stiffened, stopped in his tracks, and turned his gaze back to Regulus.

If Crouch were to issue another order to forcibly take people away, then they might have to take him down first.

Anger welled up in Crouch's eyes.

He felt that Moody had taken him for a fool, thinking that even at this point he would still order an attack and continue to be aggressive.

Without a word, he turned his gaze back to Young Black.

The fire remained burning, and the people remained standing. If they were truly meant to be killed, there would have been no need to keep them alive until now. Black gave them the option to stop.

As long as the Auror returns alive, the murder case remains, the investigation materials remain, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement still has things to do, only the direction must be completely changed.

If you back down in public, someone will definitely cause trouble when you get back.

Today's decision was made by him, and the conflict escalated under his leadership. Supporters may agree with a hardline stance, but they may not be willing to follow him in a battle destined to fail.

If everyone dies here, and then the Ministry of Magic tries to fill the gaps with its authority, the result will only be worse. The first thing the Ministry should probably do is replace the Director.

Crouch raised his hand and pressed it down beside him, his voice forced out through clenched teeth. "Put away your wand."

No one moved for a moment.

Moody turned and glanced at the crowd, nodding to the nearest Auror, who then returned his wand to the wand clasp at his waist, and the others in the back followed suit.

A sense of relief visibly swept through the group, and their shoulders gradually relaxed.

Crouch's hand froze in mid-air as he saw who they were waiting for instructions from, and he also saw Moody turn his gaze back to the front.

He slowly lowered his hand, his chest heaving violently, his face extremely pale.