Hogwarts: Dumbledore reigned over the wizarding world

Chapter 171 Weakness, Therefore Guilty!
"I didn't expect to see such a rare scene as soon as I entered. Is this your chairman's hobby? Making protected magical creatures kill each other?"

He asked with a smile, his tone as if he were chatting casually, but the content subtly carried an aggressive undertone.

“That’s research!” Lu Ping corrected. “The chairman is researching a new type of wolfsbane medicine. Also, I must remind you that these fire dragons were all purchased through legal channels with complete procedures. If you need, I can show them to you.”

The middle-aged wizard nodded noncommittally: "Thank you for your help. The more detailed the better."

"..."

As they were talking, several more people came down, including staff members of the Magic Congress, members of the WAC delegation, and even a representative of the Federation at the end.

The middle-aged wizard glanced at the representative, seemingly lost in thought.

At this moment, the battle between the two fire dragons in mid-air also came to an end. Just as the middle-aged wizard had predicted, the Spinosaurus was defeated!

Spinosaurus is a relatively "all-around" fire dragon in evolution. Its huge skeleton makes it one of the largest fire dragons. The spines on its back give it a variety of attack methods, and its teeth and claws are also poisonous.

However, in the biological world, "all-rounder" usually means having no outstanding strengths. Spinosaurus had only a skeleton and no muscles, and was just like a skeleton. It was no match for a large fire dragon in terms of strength.

The thorns are more of a deterrent than a practical weapon, and the poison is far less effective than that of the Venomous Fang Dragon.

Faced with the tree bee, which is covered in sharp spikes and has a very powerful fire-breathing ability, the Spinosaurus has no advantage whatsoever.

Finally, its throat was ripped open by the tree wasp's mace-like tail, and a large amount of blood gushed out. The severely injured Spinosaurus fell to the ground helplessly!
As the battle drew to a close, the heavily wounded Spinosaurus crashed to the ground with a deafening roar, while the victorious Tree Bee, also covered in wounds, landed panting.

Lupin gestured to the crowd behind him, inviting them to follow him: "Please come with me."

Gazing at the Spinosaurus lying on the ground, groaning in pain, and the blood-soaked, ferocious tree bees beside it, the wizards exchanged bewildered glances.

A witch from the Magical Congress hesitated, "Perhaps you could call Vaughn Weasley over to register?"

Upon hearing this, the wizard from the Federation at the back of the line rolled his eyes.

Lupin frowned and looked at the witch seriously: "Madam, Mr. Vaughn Weasley is the president of the WAC. He represents all the werewolves, committee members, and executive committee members of the WAC. We are willing to abide by American laws and register wands and personal magical items because we respect you and hope that you will reciprocate with equal respect!"

His words were very impolite, and the witch blushed.

But it was unclear whether they felt ashamed or embarrassed.

However, no one cared about her thoughts anymore; everyone stared wide-eyed into the distance—waves of magic were clearly emanating from Vaughn Weasley.

The invisible pressure made everyone feel as if they were underwater, and the air was so heavy that it was almost impossible to breathe.

Then, the severely injured Spinosaurus floated into the air, along with many pieces of equipment whose purpose was unknown.

hum-

hum-

I could hear the magic constantly gathering, resonating from the high-speed compression of the air.

At the same time, everyone saw a faint, magical aura gradually flickering around the fire dragon.

It was an indescribable light, like lightning, yet also like flames.

If there were Muggles here, they would surely realize that the patterns left by those fleeting glimpses of light have a very charming geometric beauty, as if a paintbrush is drawing a structure in the air that abandons other forms of matter and retains only spatial relationships.

The frequency of light is getting faster and faster.

The remaining streaks of light in the field of vision thus "connected," forming a strange pattern that vaguely appeared before everyone's eyes.

But strangely, no one can accurately describe what it looks like. It seems that everyone, from every angle, can only see one side of it and cannot observe the whole thing.

All the people saw was that the light grew brighter and brighter.

At one point, it suddenly exploded!

Like fireworks in full bloom.

At the same time, the fire dragon also "exploded," its scales, skin, fascia, bones... This giant beast, which had been fighting with its own kind just moments before, was instantly disintegrated layer by layer from the outside in.

What's even more chilling is that it's still alive!

It was exposed, with blood vessels and nerve clusters like threads, and layers of internal organs like membranes, wriggling on their own.

It was still emitting mournful howls.

Moreover, the magic in mid-air did not end. As the fire dragon was decomposed, the numerous floating devices automatically gathered around it. In an instant, the densely packed structure of the fire dragon after its decomposition in mid-air resembled an automated factory, with each device busily and efficiently processing data automatically.

"……What's this?"

Among the staff of the Magic Congress, some groaned.

Everything before him was completely beyond his comprehension; he couldn't even understand what it was for!
"This is the president's latest research achievement, the live organism detection method." Lu Ping said with a complex tone, yet with a hint of reserved pride, "It can delve into the physiological mysteries of a living organism at the cellular level while ensuring its survival."

The staff of the Magical Congress were given a little WAC shock!

Magic that I can't understand.

Equipment whose purpose is unclear.

I don't understand the nouns.

All of this suddenly instilled a sense of awe in them towards their target of the day—Vaughn Weasley, a young wizard who was only 12 years old.

So when Lupin brought them to Vaughn and indicated that they could begin their work, they looked at Vaughn, who was surrounded by quills and notebooks, constantly recording and checking various data, and were completely at a loss as to where to start.

Their leader, the Magic Congress official, instructed, "Register the werewolves and dragons. Carefully check all the paperwork to ensure there are no errors or omissions. Those who are still alive should leave their magical marks as required. As for Vaughn Weasley's wand registration, I'll handle that!"

After giving his instructions, he walked over to Vaughn.

He smiled casually and said, "Hello, Mr. Vaughn Weasley, it's a pleasure to meet you... Oh, let me introduce you, I'm Michael Graves, the head of the Magical Security Service. You can call me Michael."

Upon hearing his self-introduction, Vaughn, who had been engrossed in various information, finally spoke:
"Who is Percival Graves to you?"

Not far away, several Magic Congress employees who heard the name exchanged glances.

Inside Congress, no one dared to mention the name in front of the Graves family, because it represented shame!

About 60 years ago, Percival Graves, then head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was controlled by Gellert Grindelwald.

Grindelwald disguised himself as him and infiltrated the Magic Council, causing a series of events that not only nearly led to a large-scale exposure of magic but also caused huge casualties throughout the Magic Council.

In the aftermath of the incident, while people condemned the murderer Grindelwald, they also did not let Percival Graves off the hook, because as the security chief at the time, he failed to fulfill his duties!

The Graves family was deeply ashamed, believing that Percival had tarnished their family honor.

Vaughn certainly understood this, but he still asked anyway.

Besides his own curiosity about what happened to the poor wretch Percival Graves, he also knew that he and the pure-blooded Americans would never be friends.

He also knew that Michael Graves wouldn't be angry—

What's so infuriating about the "provocation" from the opposing side?

Sure enough, Michael Graves smiled and said slowly, "He was my great-uncle, a poor man who was subdued and impersonated by Grindelwald, which contributed to Grindelwald's fame and also to the career of your country's magizoologist Newt Scamander. Everyone benefited, but he, the victim, was hung on the pillar of shame and died in despair."

"Tell me, what's the logic behind this?"

"This reminds me of an example from a Muggle society." Vaughn's hands didn't stop, the instrument floating above his head hummed, and in his eyes, a waterfall of information kept falling: "A girl was assaulted by a man on her way home at night. The girl bravely chose to call the police, thinking that this would bring her justice. But what she couldn't understand was that after the news came out, people criticized her, asking, 'Why did you walk home at night? Why did you dress so provocatively?'"

Michael Graves looked surprised: "Such a thing happened? Where did it happen?"

"You seem puzzled, right here in America?"

“I’m sorry, this might sound arrogant, but—yes!” Michael Graves smiled gently. “I thought these stupid Mudbloods could understand the true meaning of the survival of the fittest? Please forgive me, I find it hard to believe.”

Lu Ping, who had been quietly attending to the two men, couldn't help but widen his eyes upon hearing this.

He stared at Graves in astonishment.

They probably never expected that this seemingly well-mannered guy would express such blatant discrimination.

He couldn't help but look at Vaughn again, only to find that his chairman showed no surprise.

Vaughn didn't even stop his magic. While observing and recording the information flowing before him and adjusting the equipment, he casually said, "Do you think that Percival Graves and that Muggle girl, as victims, are being criticized because they are weak, and therefore guilty?"

"Of course, we shouldn't approach this from a single perspective. We can also look at it from another angle—if my great-uncle had been strong enough to subdue Grindelwald, wouldn't the rest of the story have been avoided? And that... Muggle girl... what an uncomfortable nitpicking... if she had been strong enough to subdue the aggressor in return, the rest of the story wouldn't have happened either."

Michael Graves shrugged: "In general, their suffering and pain stem from incompetence and weakness, so it's to be expected!"

This……

Lu Ping was dumbfounded; he simply couldn't understand such values.

He glanced around at the busy Magic Congress staff and noticed that they didn't react unusually to Graves's words. Unlike Vaughn's indifference, their behavior seemed completely normal!
Is this the concept of pure-blooded Americans?
He suddenly understood why his guild leader had expressed such an unfriendly attitude when he met with the security chief of the Magic Congress.

We have completely different values, so what's the point of talking?

Meanwhile, Vaughn and Graves' seemingly casual probing and exchange of words continued.

"Michael, so in your opinion, am I the weak or the strong?"

“That’s hard to say, Mr. Vaughn Weasley. While you’ve arranged this ingenious meeting to show off your skills to me, and I admit your magic is impressive, I must say you’re far too arrogant.”

"Oh? I'd like to hear your profound insights."

"You flatter me..." Graves chuckled, his demeanor warm and gentle. "Before I can give my assessment, I must admit that to possess such magical prowess at the age of 12, you truly deserve the title of genius, and you are worthy of the bloodline that gives you this.

“If we were enemies now, I would certainly not be your match, which is perhaps one of the reasons for your arrogance—you have indeed surpassed most wizards, but it is undeniable that you have not yet grown up, and there are many people stronger than you throughout America.”

"At the same time, we are also very clear about what you are planning to do in America this time. The current situation of the English Ministry of Magic and Minister Cornelius Fudge is a very obvious example."

"But I must say, you overestimated not only your individual strength, but also your own tactics... It is undeniable that one or two werewolves who can maintain their rationality during transformation may not be much, but when that number rises to hundreds or thousands, then they do possess undeniable potential."

"But all of this is predicated on you having the opportunity to truly control this emerging force—Mr. Vaughn Weasley, do you think those mixed-race bastards and Mudblood organizations will give you that opportunity?"

His smile grew even more amiable: "You are like a child carrying a huge pile of pots and pans through the bustling city, while around you, in those dark alleys and corners, are fools who have been completely driven to hatred and madness because of our indulgence, coercion, inducement, and provocation. How will they treat a child holding gold? Negotiate? Cooperate? Or... rob?"

Michael Graves's unvarnished words made Lupin, who was listening in, clench his fists.

How can there be such an arrogant person in the world?

Isn't this a naked threat?
Lu Ping snorted, barely suppressing his anger.

He looked at his guild leader. Vaughn gazed up at the various dragon organizations spreading across the sky, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. He finally turned back, a half-smile on his face:
"So, Michael, what advice do you have for this kid holding the pot?"

“No, no.” Michael said humbly and politely, “It’s not about giving advice. These are just casual conversations, sharing my personal views. I have no intention of influencing your decision. I just want to suggest a safer option that can gain widespread support—for example, you could disclose the wolfsbane potion formula to the Magical Congress, thus keeping those tempting potions in your hands in a different way!”

"The method you're describing is the creation of the North American WAC, entirely dominated by the Magical Congress?"

“This is just one possibility,” Michael Graves emphasized. “As I illustrated earlier, cooperating with the Magical Congress is somewhat like a Muggle choosing to deposit money in a bank. The wealth and power remain yours, and the Magical Congress simply shares a portion of the control and management.”

Ah!
Hearing the analogy, Vaughn chuckled: "Is this so-called possibility your personal analysis, or Woolworth Building's idea?"

Michael Graves considered for a moment, then smiled: “You don’t need to make a distinction. You can consider it as our mutual goodwill… Yesterday, our men at the port had the privilege of witnessing your arrest of the reactionaries. You demonstrated exquisite Apparition and formidable strength. Both I personally and Woolworth Building… are happy to invest in a very pure-blooded Weasley and Pwett.”

Lu Ping, standing to the side, clenched his fists even tighter, and couldn't help but speak up: "Chairman..."

The sound stopped suddenly.

Vaughn raised his hand, interrupting him.

He looked at Michael Graves: "If this is your final condition, then I think we don't need to talk anymore."

As for what Michael vaguely implied in his words—that they had been closely monitoring the delegation's situation since the cruise ship docked yesterday—Vaughn wasn't particularly surprised.

This is Boston, in New England, a traditional "blue state," and within the sphere of influence of the Magical Congress.

It's perfectly normal for the other party to have such good intelligence.

Upon hearing Vaughn's refusal, Michael Graves' expression remained unchanged, still displaying his gentle demeanor: "From my personal perspective, I suggest you reconsider. After all, whatever you ultimately want to do—whether it's out of kindness to save werewolves, or to create the WAC North American branch and expand your power—this is, in the end, the United States of America."

"The land that your will desires to pass through belongs to the Magic Congress and the people of the Federation... If the people are not satisfied, then even if we are unwilling, we will probably have no choice but to accept that regrettable ending."

The language, though diplomatic, conveyed a strong sense of threat.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Lupin looked angry and anxious, Vaughn was expressionless, while Michael Graves remained calm and composed.

He couldn't figure out what Vaughn Weasley was thinking with his stern face, but in his opinion, the other man had no choice.

Just as his diplomatic rhetoric conveyed, this is America, and anyone or any organization that comes here must abide by the rules here!
The so-called rules are the will of the "Federal People," or rather, the will of the Magic Congress!
The somber atmosphere persisted; Vaughn remained silent, and Graves didn't seem to care.

He looked relaxed into the distance, where staff members busily made registrations among the rows of iron cages.

The werewolves in the cage had a bad temper, and a roar could be heard from time to time, along with the ear-piercing sounds of the iron cage being hit and scratched.

“Werewolves are truly an incomprehensible bunch of beasts,” Graves exclaimed. Then he noticed Lupin’s unusual behavior, looked at the wound on his face, and realized, “So Mr. Lupin is also a werewolf. I’m sorry, I should have noticed sooner. If my words just now displeased you, I hope you can forgive my offense.”

"..."

Lu Ping's face was gloomy.

Graves continued, "But on the other hand, I must also mention that the werewolves of the Federation may not be as easy to manage as you two expect. After all, you two have always stayed in England and are only familiar with the English political system. You may not know much about the politics and situation of the Federation."

As they were talking, the statistics over there seemed to have finished.

A young wizard, around 20 years old, approached, looked at Vaughn with a mixture of curiosity and awe, and then reported to Graves:

"Sir, the registration is complete. There are currently 21 werewolves, which does not match the record submitted by WAC a week ago. There are 5 missing."

Upon hearing this, Graves looked at Vaughn.

When Vaughn brought the werewolves to America, he would of course register them. This brings us to the embarrassing fact that werewolves suffer from discrimination – no country in the world, including England, has ever reached a consensus on how werewolves should be classified. Werewolves are neither human nor magical creatures, and they are not even considered "commodities" that can be traded (they have no usable materials on them).

Because of the lack of accurate classification, werewolves are considered "dangerous items" in the United States, but they are not prohibited. Unclaimed "dangerous items" can be destroyed at will, while "dangerous items" with owners must be strictly guarded by their owners.

Otherwise, the owner of the "item" shall compensate for all losses incurred!
Therefore, facing Graves' questioning gaze, Vaughn calmly said, "Four were consumed by the experiments, and one is willing to abandon the darkness and join the WAC... Remus, take them to mark Matthew in a bit."

"Yes, Mr. Chairman."

Seeing that Vaughn was cooperating, Michael Graves nodded, signaling the young wizard to continue.

"Next up are the fire dragons. We found four remaining fire dragon corpses over there, namely..."

The young wizard reported on the types of fire dragons, and finally glanced subconsciously at the sky above, at the object that shrouded in mid-air, enveloped by immense magic, and which had completely lost its shape, becoming a bizarre form:
"...The only surviving fire dragons are the Norwegian Spinosaurus and the tree beetle, whose species match the description in the transaction documents previously submitted by Mr. Remus Lupin."

After saying that, he handed a document to Michael Graves.

Graves casually flipped through the list and noticed one item: "Mr. Weasley, you're going to receive four more fire dragons next?"

"Yes, we need it for research. Is there a problem?"

“No problem.” Graves closed the file with a beaming smile. “The Magic Congress will protect the freedom of friendly individuals within the Federation, including your freedom to conduct research.”

Friendly, free...

Vaughn chuckled silently. The other party's subtext was clear: if things turned unfriendly, the so-called freedom they enjoyed now would become a crime they were guilty of!
He didn't bother to say anything, and seeing that the other party had no objection to the existence of werewolves and fire dragons, he handed over the wand.

“Oh—an elderwood wand, a very rare material for the wand, very…” Before he could finish speaking, Graves’s smiling face froze for a moment.

In his hand, Vaughn's elder wand trembled violently, almost slipping from his grasp.

Graves knew perfectly well that it was the spirit within the wand resisting him!

"...very unruly and impressive."

He pursed his lips and gave Vaughn a deep look. Since taking over as the security chief of the Magic Council, he had almost forgotten how many wands belonging to powerful wizards he had inspected.

However, such spontaneous resistance from the wand was extremely rare in his 30-year career; he had encountered it almost never.

This usually means that the wand is very attached to its owner—wand makers would spout nonsense about a bond between the wand and its owner's personality, but Michael Graves knew very well that the wand was just a tool for casting spells; it had no emotions, no intelligence, and no consciousness.

Its "identification" is actually obedience to "power," and it is the spirituality of its master that far surpasses the provider of its materials and the person who made it!

Many thoughts raced through Graves's mind, but on the surface, he simply put on a smile again, took out his wand, and said to Vaughn in a casual manner, "I've heard that all the wands in your country are made by the Ollivander family?"

"Yes."

"Exquisite craftsmanship, astonishing artistry—no wonder it's a family tradition spanning over two thousand years." He raised the elderwood wand, examined its core, and then suddenly chanted an incantation:

"Flashback Spell!"

The powerful magic erupted in an instant, crashing towards the Elder Wand like a giant wave.

In an instant, the wand's resistance crumbled, and wisps of light, like wisps of smoke, slowly spread out from the elder wand.

Soon, several illusory figures appeared from the halo.

"...Watch out, Apparition—"

A faint, ethereal voice, seemingly from another world, rang in their ears as the figures appeared.

That was the scene from yesterday's raid on Essex and his men by Vaughn.

Vaughn watched calmly. The Flashback Spell is an investigative spell that can trace back a wand to a point in the past, in what context, and what spells were used.

Of course, the details of the recap weren't very detailed, which is why Essex's voice sounded so distorted.

Even so, in England, this magic, like the Truth Potion, is strictly prohibited by Wizengamor. Except under special circumstances, even the Ministry of Magic cannot use it on a wizard at will.

But in America, apparently there are no restrictions on a security supervisor using the Flashback Spell!
Watching the elderberry wand replay blurry scenes and indistinct human silhouettes under its magic, Graves felt a sense of curiosity:
"Mr. Weasley, are these the reactionaries from yesterday?"

“Yes,” Vaughn replied succinctly.

Graves, unperturbed, commented with interest, "Even though I saw some of those scenes in the memories of my intelligence personnel yesterday, I must say, your Apparition was breathtaking..."

Then, he changed the subject: "But I noticed that you later used memory magic many times, including Legilimency, and a strange magic that I don't recognize... Don't you have anything to say? For example, what are the names of the people whose memories you invaded, and what organizations they belong to?"

Vaughn shook his head: "I didn't get any useful information. They are very careful. There are wizards proficient in memory magic in the mind world who have set up defensive spells."

Michael Graves looked directly at Vaughn, and after a moment, he smiled and said, "I can understand. Ever since we caught a few guys last year and used their memories to carry out a few raids, these filthy rats have become more and more cautious and cunning. Two months ago, we even had a memory magician who was turned into an idiot by a self-destruct trap implanted in the mind of a rat... I'm glad you didn't encounter similar insidious tactics!"

"Thanks for caring."

Vaughn, whose expression had remained unchanged, politely thanked them: "You've already tallied the items and checked the wands. Is there anything else? I would be even more grateful if you could leave as soon as possible and not delay my experiments any further!"

Hearing his impolite words, Graves' smile faded slightly, but quickly returned to normal: "I'm sorry to have bothered you, but I hope you understand that these checks, including what I said to you, are all for your own good!"

Ah!
Vaughn chuckled. "Thank you, I'll think about it... By the way, please give my regards to Woolworth Building!"

This is clearly a way to drive customers away.

Even after his repeated hints, Vaughn still showed no further interest. Michael Graves frowned, but maintained his composure and nodded reservedly.
“Okay, that does need to be considered. Woolworth awaits your reply.”

With that, the smile on his face vanished completely. He tossed the elder wand to the young wizard beside him and ordered, "Wittwig, leave your mark, let's go!"

The young wizard named Witwicky hurriedly caught the wand and quickly recited the spell.

A silver thread emerged from the elder wand the instant the spell was completed, wrapping around the wand in circles and emitting a faint glow.

Then it slowly disappeared.

"Mr. Weasley, the Magical Congress will monitor your wand usage and location information in real time while you are within the Federation. This is a sacred right granted to the Congress by the people of the Federation, and you are not allowed to modify, damage, or conceal it without authorization..."

After nervously reciting the "warning," Witwicky breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Vaughn had no objections, and hurriedly caught up with Michael Graves, who had already stormed off.

Soon, only Vaughn and Lupin remained in the suitcase space—the Federation wizard who had followed them in earlier had also left at some point.

Vaughn glanced at Lupin: "You go too. Take them to register Matthew's information, and try to meet any other reasonable investigative requests they may have."

"President..."

Lupin, who had been holding back his words, was somewhat annoyed and resentful.

"Go ahead, don't give them any excuses for now. We can talk about it after they leave!"

Lupin rarely dislikes anyone.

Of course, there were people I've met in the past who were particularly annoying—like Umbridge—but none of them have ever made Lupin hate them to the point of loathing as Michael Graves is today!

I despise the other person's superficial politeness!

I despise the other person's pretentiousness!
(End of this chapter)