Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying

Chapter 870: Chapter 241: Dawn

Grindelwald’s expression stiffened slightly, then he tapped his staff on the ground and said:

”I think we all agree that the law is merely a chain that binds the genius of mediocrity.”

”I used to disdain these things, but a little friend inspired me. Upon re-evaluation, I found... behind these seemingly dull rules, there hides some very interesting logic.”

He caressed his staff, letting out a low chuckle.

”For example... casting magic in front of a Muggle is a severe breach of the Confidentiality Law. But as long as their memory is properly modified, it only requires a fine of a few Galleons...”

”Another example, the law also states that the rights of House-Elves must be protected, but ’voluntary service, self-punishment after mistakes do not constitute enslavement.’ See, isn’t it interesting?”

Dumbledore gazed at him calmly, with even a hint of pity in his eyes.

”Grindelwald... perhaps the law is indeed imperfect as you say, but its existence is not just to bind; it’s also to protect... to protect the basic order of this world.”

”If there are loopholes, then find a way to correct them, to mend them, rather than exploiting every possible gap for personal gain and then mocking those who abide by it as foolish.”

Grindelwald suddenly burst into a low, deep laughter.

”A touching speech, Albus...”

”But if I’m not mistaken, in just the past five years, you have published at least 23 papers pointing out 117 clauses in the current laws that need amendment, and proposed corrections three times at Wizengamot meetings... how many times has the Ministry of Magic adopted them? Shall I count for you?”

He revealed a cruel smile.

”Correcting? Mending?”

”How hypocritical, Saint Dumbledore!”

”You know the bureaucrats don’t even glance at what you’ve written, yet you comfort yourself by saying you’ve done your best, thinking it’s better than the Grindelwald who wants to tear everything apart, isn’t it?”

Dumbledore’s expression suddenly turned gray, as though he became a statue, and his fingers trembled slightly beneath his robe.

Suddenly, continuous popping sounds echoed nearby.

Scrimgeour appeared with a group of Aurors, running clumsily to Dumbledore’s side. Facing a group from the Witch Pure Party, they drew their wands but deliberately avoided Grindelwald’s gaze.

Scrimgeour coughed dryly, his voice eight octaves lower than usual:

”Professor Dumbledore, Minister Fudge said... to let us, allow us to come to assist... to follow your orders completely... he said... he said... the future of the British Magic World is entirely in your hands...”

Of course, Cornelius Fudge’s reaction wasn’t this agile; he merely deeply felt his shoulders couldn’t bear the increasingly heavy burden any longer, resolved to resign, and was simply seeking favor with the future Minister of Magic.

Each time he recalled the Minister’s unworthy behavior at that time, even a tough man like Scrimgeour felt his face burn with embarrassment, stammering through the message delivery.

However, their timely appearance was indeed clever. And behind this, Fudge’s intention was so evident that both Dumbledore and Grindelwald could see through it at a glance.

Grindelwald suddenly let out a light laugh, causing everyone’s nerves to tighten involuntarily.

He waved his hand indifferently, saying, ”Leave the British criminals to your British Ministry of Magic. As for us uninvited guests, it’s time we returned home.”

Grindelwald glanced at the boy in Dumbledore’s arms and casually waved his magic wand. A swirling deep blue light expanded in the air, causing every member of the Witch Pure Party it touched to instantly vanish from the scene.

”Auror, send my regards to Minister Fudge... If time permits, I will visit him.”

Leaving this light farewell, Grindelwald stepped into the blue light with composure.

With his departure, the ruins echoed with the sighs of relief from the Aurors, followed by the weak groans of the severely injured Death Eaters.

Scrimgeour glanced for instruction at Dumbledore, who remained silent but watched intently, leading him to wave his hand and order his men to capture these powerless Death Eaters.

”I never expected, MacNeil... for you to be a Death Eater!”

A stubbly Auror said in a low voice while tying up this colleague, ”Your parents would be ashamed of you. And your wife and daughter... Merlin above, you’ve ruined their lives!”

A strained silence filled the air.

The Death Eaters were dragged from the ground, their eyes vacant and expressionless as magical shackles were placed upon them.

Harry watched this scene unfold.

He saw these once-arrogant Death Eaters now like empty shells after a Dementor’s feast, and instead of satisfaction, a dull, bitter ache formed in his heart.

Perhaps the Auror’s earlier words made him realize these people weren’t born as criminals and executioners; they also had parents, lovers, children, and family and friends they relied on.

He noticed that among the escorted Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy was absent, which unconsciously filled him with relief only for him to frown at his own reaction.

It was then that something caught Harry’s attention out of the corner of his eye—

A cluster of light, like a dewdrop, trembled and emerged from a blade of grass, finally transforming into a firefly-sized deer.

This late-born little Light Beast danced through the air, running nimbly, each step sending out fine speckles of light.

In its short life, it reveled in the thrill of the chase, tirelessly weaving through the battlefield, at times chasing the light trails of its tail, at times stepping over a Death Eater’s nose, and at times gliding over treetop rocks.

Harry’s gaze involuntarily followed this free spirit, and when it passed by him, he reached out instinctively, feeling not an object but a warm sensation upon his fingertips.

After just ten seconds, the deer’s body began to turn transparent. It stopped at the edge of the wall and looked back at Harry, its eyes resembling two drops of frozen dew.

In what seemed like a mere blink, the deer vanished, like drifting smoke merging into the increasingly bright morning light.

In the east, the sky grew clearer as a beam of sunlight pierced through the gloomy clouds, shining straight on the monastery’s spire, the worn statue on top faintly discernible with its cast-down eyes.

”It’s daybreak, Harry,”

Dumbledore said softly, his voice sounding as if originating from afar, yet falling clearly into Harry’s ear.

”Let’s go home.”