Dumbledore watched from the side, every detail crystal clear.
Isaac had controlled the entire fight from the first second.
Ordinary wizards had zero shot against a prophet who could read the script in real time.
A Stunning Spell?
Useless.
Even the Cruciatus Curse meant nothing if the prophet saw it coming.
The Killing Curse was the same story—miss once and you were done.
The only way a dark wizard could actually win was to blanket the whole area with heavy AOE magic and hope it scraped Isaac off the map.
But that went against everything the intruder had come here to do.
When the dark wizard first laid eyes on Isaac, his opening move was Stupefy.
That told you everything.
He wasn’t here to kill.
He wanted the kid alive and under control.
Isaac dodged it clean.
The three Cruciatus Curses that followed all missed.
Then came half a Killing Curse.
The guy’s brain was clearly cooked from too much dark magic.
Any normal wizard would’ve clocked the situation and bailed or changed tactics by then.
Not this idiot.
He just kept swinging, swapping Cruciatus for Killing Curse like it would suddenly start working.
When you can’t land a single hit, even an Avada Kedavra chain is worthless.
Finally Isaac answered with his own spell—the Fire Shield.
The Waldore Gas Stove looked and felt almost identical to Grindelwald’s version, just different color and power.
Isaac’s casting stance plus the platinum hair and mismatched eyes… For one heartbeat Dumbledore almost saw young Grindelwald standing there instead, dueling for his life.
Fire Shield was Grindelwald’s signature move.
One of those master-level spells the greats kept in their back pocket.
Without Grindelwald teaching it personally, Isaac never could have pulled it off on his own—not even this watered-down youth edition that mixed Incendio with Transfiguration.
This was Grindelwald’s greeting.
Who will love you now, Dumbledore?
No time to mourn the old man’s lost romance.
Three Aurors from the Ministry’s Auror Office Apparated straight into the front yard.
The second they landed they spotted Dumbledore and Isaac standing in the hall.
All three froze, then sprinted toward the house.
“Professor Dumbledore!
We got an alert about an Unforgivable Curse being cast here.
What the hell’s going on?” Dumbledore turned and smiled at the familiar faces.
“Gawain, Kingsley, John?
Long time no see.
How’s life treating you?” Gawain Robards, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and John Dawlish.
Gawain ran the Auror Office as Rufus Scrimgeour’s right-hand man—basically number two in the whole department.
They only sent a team this high-level because someone had used an Unforgivable in a Muggle neighborhood.
“Uh… we’re fine, Professor.
So what exactly happened here?” The three stepped inside and finally noticed the dark wizard sprawled in the hall, barely breathing.
Isaac, Dumbledore, and a dark wizard.
Three generations mixed with an Unforgivable Curse going off in the middle of London.
Even seasoned Aurors hadn’t seen this kind of mess since Voldemort supposedly died.
“Here’s the short version,” Dumbledore said calmly.
“I received a letter from young Mr.
Waldore today warning me someone was targeting him.
I came as fast as I could.
Turns out I was still too late.
By the time I arrived, Isaac had already handled our friend on the floor.” Gawain’s eyes flicked straight to Isaac.
He could smell where the real story lived.
“Isaac—mind if I call you that, kid?
Can you walk us through it?
How did you take this guy down?” Isaac was surprised Dumbledore had trimmed a few details.
The version the headmaster gave made Isaac sound like some plucky rookie hero instead of a kid operating under Dumbledore’s quiet protection.
But if Dumbledore wanted it told that way, there was a reason.
These three Aurors were the ones who needed the clean story.
“It all started in Diagon Alley…” Isaac launched in.
He described spotting the tail, borrowing an owl from the shop to fire off an emergency message to Dumbledore, heading home, and then the dark wizard actually breaking in.
Since Isaac still couldn’t Apparate and Dumbledore hadn’t shown up yet, he’d had to improvise.
“I dodged his first spell, then hit him with Wingardium Leviosa to yank his wand away…” Isaac kept going all the way to the Fire Shield finale.
Gawain listened, his worldview getting rocked with every sentence.
Especially the part about dodging three Cruciatus Curses in a row and stuffing half a Killing Curse back down the guy’s throat.
The way Gawain looked at Isaac changed completely.
Was this kid some kind of mini-Dumbledore?
The story sounded like bad fanfiction.
But Gawain knew the truth in this world often sounded exactly that ridiculous.
“Isaac, you handled that like a champ.
At your age I hadn’t even mastered a single spell yet.” Gawain praised him first, then put on a regretful face.
“Still, Ministry rules say we have to check your wand.
That all right?” “Sure, Auror Robards.” Isaac handed it over without hesitation.
Gawain pointed his own wand at it.
“Prior Incantato.” The first spell that replayed was the Fire Shield.
Gawain was sharp—he immediately spotted it as a hybrid of Incendio and Transfiguration.
“A Fire-Making Spell variant mixed with Transfiguration?” He replayed the history further back, all the way to Isaac’s heavy Transfiguration practice sessions.
Gawain caught Dawlish’s eye.
The other Auror nodded—everything recorded clean.
“Thanks for the cooperation, Isaac.
Here’s your wand back.” One suspect cleared.
Now the dark wizard on the floor.
While Dawlish logged Isaac’s wand history, Kingsley knelt beside the unconscious man and rolled up his left sleeve.
“Robards, you need to see this!” Kingsley held up the forearm, showing the inner skin to his boss.