Isaac watched the scene unfold and actually felt a little sorry for the guy.
If this had been one of those worlds where interrupting a spell causes magical backlash, that wand yank would’ve hurt like hell.
Too bad Harry Potter’s world didn’t run on that rule.
Failed spells just left the caster winded.
And since they were indoors, there wasn’t even a breeze to choke on.
“You filthy little mudblood!” The dark wizard’s already-fragile sanity snapped.
He hurled the giant baseball-bat wand aside and yanked a fresh one from under his robes.
“Crucio!” “Crucio!!” “Crucio!!!” Three Unforgivable Curses blasted out in rapid succession, each one darker and more vicious than the last.
By the third, the man’s face was twisted with pure sadistic joy.
None of them hit.
Every single curse grazed past Isaac’s body and slammed into the wall behind him.
Isaac dodged with dramatic flair, then flashed the dark wizard a bright, cheerful smile.
“Not bad~” That was the final straw.
The wizard’s eyes went blood-red.
His wand snapped up.
“Avada—” “Expelliarmus!” A bright red Disarming Charm slammed into the man’s chest.
His wand went spinning through the air straight into Isaac’s waiting hand.
Isaac had spent the month before term started drilling Expelliarmus harder than anything except Transfiguration.
In the books Harry turned it into a red welding torch that could go head-to-head with Killing Curses.
Turned out it was also ridiculously effective against anyone who actually needed a wand.
Like right now.
The wandless dark wizard lost all sense of safety and lunged straight at Isaac.
“Incendio!” The wizard braced for the flames to hit him head-on.
Instead, Isaac pointed his wand at the floor.
A ring of fire erupted around them like a giant gas stove burner—bright, roaring, and terrifyingly fast.
The last thing the dark wizard saw was Isaac standing in the exact center of the flames, grinning up at him like a little devil.
His lips were moving.
The wizard couldn’t hear the words over the roar, but he could read them.
“Protego Ignita!!!” The youth-edition Fire Shield detonated.
A wave of crimson fire surged upward and swallowed the airborne dark wizard whole.
Furniture, carpets, both wands, even the walls—everything caught.
The entire villa became an inferno.
“Ha… hahaha… HAHAHAHAHA!” Isaac stood in the single untouched circle at the heart of the fire, laughing like a maniac while completely ignoring the heat.
“Dumbledore, save me!” The laughter cut off instantly.
Isaac started yelling for help at the top of his lungs.
The center of the Fire Shield was safe, sure—but the collapsing, burning wreckage of the house wasn’t.
Grindelwald’s original version probably had real protection.
This youth edition?
Mostly just dramatic.
Isaac had barely finished shouting when a flash of light deposited Dumbledore right beside him.
The headmaster didn’t even wave his wand dramatically.
“Finite.” The raging flames vanished like someone had hit a giant delete button.
The ruined villa and the badly burned dark wizard were suddenly exposed.
Isaac’s Fire Shield could be canceled with Finite.
The wandless dark wizard obviously couldn’t do that.
So he got cooked.
Good news: ordinary fire burns were something St.
Mungo’s handled every day.
The man would be patched up in an hour and sent home.
Bad news: he’d just cast an Unforgivable Curse in front of Albus Dumbledore while attacking a first-year.
Azkaban was about to welcome another Hogwarts graduate.
Dumbledore gave the ruined villa one casual flick of his wand.
“Reparo.” The entire house reversed like a video playing backward.
Burned walls, shattered furniture, even the damage from the dark wizard’s earlier spells—all of it knitted itself back together in seconds.
The villa looked exactly like it had before the fight.
“Reparo,” Isaac repeated under his breath, watching in awe.
Same spell.
Completely different result.
That was pure mastery.
Isaac finally let out a long breath.
The house belonged to Grindelwald.
He really didn’t want to explain how he’d accidentally burned it down on his first day.
Once the repairs were done, Dumbledore bound the unconscious dark wizard with a casual flick, then lowered his wand.
He didn’t bother repairing the man’s wands.
He wouldn’t be needing them anymore.
Dumbledore turned and stared at Isaac for a long moment.
Isaac knew the old man wasn’t really looking at him.
He was looking through him—at someone else.
Great.
Now I’m a goddamn time-post-office for their tragic romance.
“Isaac,” Dumbledore said, voice rough in a way Isaac had never heard before.
“That spell just now…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
The stance, the magic, the way Isaac had stood in the heart of the fire—it had been too much like someone else.
Someone with platinum hair and mismatched eyes.