Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 529: America’s Trump Card

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"Alright everyone, here it comes!"

Hidden high in the air, Tom and Daphne both straightened the moment they spotted Dumbledore in his white robes. They leaned forward instinctively. Tom flicked his fingers, carefully adjusting the floating Lume-Lens in front of him so it focused perfectly on the figure below.

"Looks like the headmaster travels pretty fast. He made it to New York in just a day," Tom said. "He looks well-rested too. Probably even managed to get some sleep."

Back at Hogwarts, a Lume-Lens in the castle was projecting a live feed of the events unfolding in New York.

Several heads were crowded in front of it, eyes wide and unblinking, afraid they might miss a single moment of the show.

"I hope Professor Dumbledore finishes this before class starts," Hermione said with a conflicted sigh.

It was one in the afternoon, and there were only thirty minutes left before lessons began. Hermione didn’t want to miss something this exciting, but she also didn’t want to show up late to class.

Well... no one else really shared her concern.

Classes could always be attended later, and any house points lost could be earned back.

But watching Dumbledore storm the International Confederation of Wizards alone? That might be a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle.

Tom shifted the camera view toward a towering skyscraper.

"The headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards is the Seagram Building. Wizards from all over the world work here—more than five thousand of them. The most important departments are basically the same as those in a typical Ministry of Magic: Auror Administration, International Affairs, Transportation and Liaison, things like that."

"Most of the staff here are desk workers. Not exactly fighters. I doubt they’ll clash with Dumbledore head-on today. The real force will be the Aurors."

"The International Auror Corps is larger than any single country’s, but they wouldn’t keep all of them stationed at headquarters. So... Pierce definitely brought in outside help."

"The Magical Congress’ Aurors,’" Fleur said crisply. She glanced curiously at Cassandra. "Do you think we might see someone from the Vole family?"

Cassandra shook her head without hesitation. "I already told my father yesterday. He found an excuse to leave for Los Angeles. The rest of our relatives don’t work at the Ministry anyway. Our family mainly focuses on business."

"Really?" Ginny sighed in disappointment.

Cassandra’s brows shot up sharply. "Weasley, what exactly do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Ginny said with a shrug. "I just thought it’d be fair. Tom already beat you up once. If your relatives got a smack from Dumbledore too, that would even things out."

Cassandra exploded instantly. Her cheeks flushed bright red.

"Do you have to bring that up?!"

"If you didn’t want people talking about it, maybe you shouldn’t have acted that way," Ginny shot back. "Was it fun acting like you were better than everyone else back then?"

"Fine," Cassandra snapped. "At least I got taught a lesson by Tom. Unlike someone, who got completely fooled by a fragment of soul inside a diary and almost caused a disaster."

That did it.

Now it was Ginny’s turn to bristle.

Since this was a one-way broadcast and not a video call, Tom had no idea a hair-pulling fight was about to break out on the other side. He continued his commentary enthusiastically, even praising Dumbledore’s outfit for the day.

Then, suddenly, the scene on the Lume-Lens drew everyone’s attention back.

Dozens of figures dropped from the sky with sharp rushing sounds. They landed firmly on the ground, forming a solid wall blocking Dumbledore’s path.

At the front stood an old friend of Dumbledore’s—

The former president, Babajide Akingbade.

"Albus," Babajide greeted him, his tone complicated.

"Babajide." Dumbledore’s brows creased slightly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "You shouldn’t have come. You’re retired. Why step into this mess?"

"I didn’t have much choice," Babajide replied with a wry smile. "Albus, do me a favor. Let this end here. Pierce isn’t targeting your sister. He’s just trying to make a public statement to the outside world. To strengthen the confidence of the various Ministries of Magic in their resistance against Grindelwald."

"Not targeting her?"

Dumbledore lowered his gaze.

"If that’s not targeting her, then what is? Do we have to wait until Aurors actually start casting spells at Ariana before it counts?"

"Babajide," Dumbledore said quietly, "I don’t want to fight you. This is my final warning. Please step aside."

"Dumbledore, President Pierce will not meet with you today."

A wizard standing behind Babajide stepped forward, his voice firm and cold.

"Even if you are Albus Dumbledore, and even if you’ve contributed greatly to the wizarding world, you still have to follow the rules of the International Confederation. If you want to meet the president, you make an appointment and wait to be scheduled. You don’t just barge in like this without a shred of respect."

"Sorry," Dumbledore said.

Suddenly, a weary expression appeared on his face.

"I’m just... tired."

His voice carried deep weariness.

"I spent my entire life following rules and order. In the end, I realized that might have been the most foolish choice of all."

As the words fell, a wand slid from the wide sleeve of his white robe and dropped neatly into his hand. The tip trembled slightly, releasing a faint golden glow.

The wizard who had spoken earlier went pale.

"Dumbledore, what are you trying to do?!"

Dumbledore answered with action.

His wand tapped lightly against the ground.

A visible ripple of magic burst outward from him. The solid concrete beneath everyone’s feet instantly softened, turning into something like fluffy marshmallow, springy and unstable.

The Aurors were completely caught off guard. Their footing gave way at once, and several of them toppled over as the ground rolled beneath them like waves. A few nearly lost their wands entirely.

They hurriedly tried using Transfiguration to stabilize the terrain, but the results were minimal.

At the same time, mannequins from the nearby shop displays smashed through the glass with loud crashes. They stepped out stiffly onto the street. As they moved, their bodies hardened rapidly, transforming into cold, metallic forms that gleamed like steel.

Then they lunged straight at the Aurors.

The Aurors immediately Disapparated, trying to surround Dumbledore from every direction.

Right then, a crimson tornado of flames suddenly erupted out of thin air.

The blazing vortex was filled with tiny golden sparks and roared like a living storm, wrapping tightly around Dumbledore as it pushed forward, ignoring every obstacle in its path.

The firestorm didn’t move especially fast. Spells from the Aurors could easily hit it.

But the moment any spell touched the blazing barrier, the rapidly spinning flames would grab it and fling it away in another direction.

Not a single one reached Dumbledore at the center.

Watching this perfectly balanced attack-and-defense spell made Tom’s eyes light up.

Not bad. So the old man had tricks like this hidden away too.

Tom rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Maybe he should study it when he got back... actually, why bother figuring it out himself? He could just ask Dumbledore directly. Much faster.

Hidden within the fiery vortex, while the animated mannequins tangled with the Aurors outside, Dumbledore had only used two spells from start to finish.

And just like that, the first line of defense collapsed.

As the flaming vortex crept closer and closer to the headquarters building, Pierce, watching from the top floor, broke out in a cold sweat.

He frantically ordered his people to intercept.

More and more wizards Apparated onto the street. Some were International Aurors, others reinforcements from the Magical Congress.

Before long, the number of wizards gathered on the street had reached two hundred.

Compared to the time they surrounded Grindelwald, the scale wasn’t much smaller.

Aside from anomalies like Tom or raw power monsters like Andros, even a century king couldn’t realistically fight hundreds of wizards head-on.

The gap in "mana" wasn’t actually that huge.

But they could use their deep understanding of magic and refined combat techniques to control how many opponents they faced at a time—and then take them down one by one.

Grindelwald’s favorite spell, Protego Diabolica, was perfect for that. Most people couldn’t even survive standing near it. Organizing a proper group attack in those flames was nearly impossible.

But if the goal was mowing down weaker opponents?

Dumbledore was even better.

His Transfiguration was practically built to counter crowd tactics.

The stone statues on street corners. Store mannequins. Even the manhole covers in the road.

Everything became a weapon in Dumbledore’s hands.

Under his transfiguring magic, the entire street quickly descended into chaos. The Aurors might destroy one enemy with a spell, but the moment it shattered, two or three new transformed creatures would rush them from different directions.

They were quickly overwhelmed.

"Awesome," Daphne said, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

"Yeah, this is absolutely the direction I want to develop in!" Hermione stared at the screen without blinking, silently swearing that she would study Transfiguration seriously from now on and become a true master of it.

"Pretty boring, honestly."

Tom shook his head, looking unimpressed.

"If the International Confederation and the Magical Congress only have this much to offer, then today’s show might as well end here."

He hadn’t traveled all the way here just to watch Dumbledore bully a bunch of mediocre opponents.

What he really wanted was to force these organizations to reveal their hidden trump cards. Especially the Americans, who had been secretly researching mysterious powers from ancient eras.

So where were the results?

So far, it still looked like a bunch of amateurs.

Pierce was thinking the exact same thing.

"Where are your people?!" he shouted, yanking angrily at his tie as he roared at Samuel G. Quahog. "Bring out whatever you’ve been hiding! If you let Dumbledore keep showing off like this, do you really think you’ll still have any authority left afterward?"

"All you ever do is hide things! If you keep hiding them, both of us are finished!"

Quahog’s face was dark as storm clouds. He stayed silent for several seconds.

Finally, he gritted his teeth.

From inside his coat, he took out a palm-sized black stone tablet. Then he pulled out a small vial filled with blood that glowed with an eerie red light.

Under Pierce’s puzzled gaze, Quahog placed the tablet on the polished office desk. He twisted open the vial and slowly poured the blood onto the stone.

"What the hell are you—"

Pierce started to ask.

But before he could finish, the blood sank rapidly into the tablet. At once, intricate fiery-red patterns began spreading across its surface.

A terrifying pressure exploded outward.

The air in the entire office seemed to freeze solid.

Pierce suddenly found it difficult to breathe. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud.

Yet his eyes shone with wild excitement.

They had this in the bag.

Victory guaranteed.

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