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HP:BSG - Chapter 702: Watched by Everyone
🕑 Added 2025-11-21 12:22:25 +0000 UTCThe stands of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch fell into a sudden, jarring silence.
A second later, chaos erupted.
“No—Harry! NO—!” Hermione shot to her feet, her face went deathly pale and her fingers dug so hard into Ron’s arm that he winced.
Ron sat frozen, wearing a stunned, foolish look. His mouth hung open as he said, “What… What was that? Did you see it? Did they… did they suddenly shrink?”
Some people screamed in terror; some gripped their wands with their eyes blazing with fury; others covered their mouths as silent tears rolled down.
Foreign witches and wizards scrambled to their feet and anxiously muttered, “Oh, I think we should leave… Yes, we should definitely leave…”
Fred held Fiona tightly, and his voice trembled as he repeated over and over, “Believe in Wade, believe in Wade… Do you remember what he said? He said he would come back safely! Believe him!”
As he spoke, his eyes were locked onto Dumbledore at the judges' stand.
Albus Dumbledore… reputedly the most powerful wizard alive—Wade had always held deep admiration and trust for him… If Wade truly was in danger, perhaps only Dumbledore could save him…
Sirius—like a furious wild beast—vaulted over the railing and charged down from the stands, only realizing halfway that even if he reached the Forbidden Forest, he couldn’t bring the two children back. He pivoted abruptly and bolted toward the judges' platform.
Lupin and many concerned witches and wizards were already gathering there, exclaiming:
“Dumbledore, what do we do now? That scene on the screen—there’s no way that was part of the tournament!”
“Conspiracy! This is a complete and utter conspiracy!” Umbridge shrieked. “If certain people think they can force the Ministry’s hand with such tricks, even parading the corpse of someone long dead, then we absolutely will—”
“Do be quiet, Umbridge.” A square-jawed, grey-haired witch said impatiently, “Do not use your petty, shallow thinking to judge the headmaster of Hogwarts. Dumbledore, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will spare no effort to assist in rescuing those two students.”
“Thank you, Madam Bones…”
Dumbledore hadn’t even finished speaking when Fudge—only now recovering from shock—burst out fearfully, “Dumbledore, what in Merlin’s name is happening? Don’t tell me you knew nothing about what that boy said! I need— the Ministry needs an explanation!”
He collapsed into his chair and his thick lips trembled uncontrollably, though he muttered, “That man… he’s been dead for years… the whole world knows that… right?”
Professor McGonagall, white as chalk, said, “Albus, we must act immediately!”
Snape stood in a shadowed corner of the pitch. He said nothing, looking at no one. His eyes were fixed on the now-blank Streaming Mirror screen, and his fingers unconsciously rubbed the place on his arm where the Dark Mark lay.
Amid the chaos, Dumbledore—center of everyone’s attention—rose to his feet. As he lifted his hand, the stands fell instantly silent. Hundreds of eyes, filled with hope, fear, and dread, locked onto him.
His gaze swept across the pitch, and his silver hair and beard fluttered faintly in the breeze. When he spoke, his voice was steady, heavy:
“Everyone… remain calm.”
He pointed his wand toward the sky. A silver phoenix Patronus burst upward, and a translucent silver barrier spread outward from Dumbledore, filling the stands with a soothing, steadying power.
“I believe the Ministry must immediately form an investigative task force,” Dumbledore said, turning to Fudge with a tone that allowed no argument.
“We must seal off the area, examine the magical traces on the Cup, and determine the location of the structure visible in the final moments of the transmission.”
Fudge bristled at being spoken to as though receiving orders. His instinct was to refuse or deflect, but just as he opened his mouth, Rita Skeeter—dragging her personal cameraman—sprinted into view, shoving a camera lens and microphone directly at him.
Instantly, the words Fudge had intended to say twisted direction.
“Y-yes! Yes, of course—seal it off immediately! Where are the Aurors? Why aren’t the Aurors here yet?”
Scrimgeour limped over and said in a low, steady voice, “All Aurors have been deployed. The Cup will be retrieved shortly.”
Dumbledore nodded, then turned to Professor McGonagall. “Minerva, take the students back to the castle. Strengthen the protective enchantments.”
McGonagall nodded. Her eyes were still full of worry, but she trusted Dumbledore and asked no further questions.
“Filius.” Dumbledore looked at the tiny professor who seemed on the verge of leaping into the air with worry, but was forcefully restraining himself from shouting. With a silent sigh, he said, “Please take our guests to the castle to rest. If anyone wishes to leave, do not stop them.”
“All right.” Professor Flitwick couldn’t help but ask, “Albus, the boy—Wade—what will become of him…?”
“Filius.” Dumbledore gave him a small nod and said softly, “Trust me… and trust him.”
Flitwick’s expression shifted slightly. The tension in his face eased just a bit, though the worry was still unmistakable.
“Alastor.” Dumbledore turned to Professor Moody, who had been silent all this time. The two exchanged a brief, understanding look. Then the headmaster said, “Protect them.”
“I know.” Moody growled the words, leaning on his staff as he moved toward the Greys.
In the crowded stands, the couple didn’t stand out. Their clothing had fewer Muggle-like traits than most wizards, and as long as they didn’t loudly announce themselves as Wade Grey’s parents, no one would notice.
Thus Moody didn’t go right up to them—he stationed himself nearby, watching every suspicious figure with sharp vigilance.
As the stands buzzed chaotically, with many people preparing to leave, the previously blank Streaming Mirror suddenly flickered several times… and then lit up again.
The noise in the audience cut off instantly. Every eye widened. People squeezed near the exits turned back. Students who had begun lining up under the prefects’ instructions also craned their necks toward the screen.
“That’s strange!” The SMC supervisor quickly checked his equipment and said, “I didn’t activate this.”
A hand rested on his shoulder.
“Sit down.” Marchionne said gravely, “Right now… we’re just spectators.”
“This… could it be…?” The supervisor pointed at the screen, then at the badge on his chest.
Because he idolized the young Wade Grey, his Softglow Badge displayed two simple capital letters—“WG.”
Marchionne nodded.
“He really is…” The supervisor’s jaw hung open for a long moment, at a loss for words, before he finally managed, “Is he truly an alchemist?”
Marchionne had difficulty disagreeing.
If one were an alchemist, why not live like his own teacher, Professor Murray—remaining safe, avoiding conflict, enjoying a life of wealth, respect, and peace?
Wade’s talent was extraordinary, undeniably so… yet his love for danger, his constant attraction to peril—Marchionne had no idea how such a personality had formed. It often caused him great frustration.
Just then, the snowflake-like flickering on the screen cleared abruptly, revealing a chilling scene—
A grotesque, snake-faced infant, encircled by a massive venomous serpent. Its tiny red hands held a wand nearly as long as its own body.
Barty Jr. Crouch—long thought dead—stood beside him, his expression so fanatically deranged it made one’s skin crawl.
His very presence confirmed the identity of the infant at his side.
Then, from within the Streaming Mirror, came the raspy voice of the baby—
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