You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: spatreon/darkshadow6395
Ian never expected this.
He'd only ant to give a thoughtful two-in-one Christmas present, but Aurora had responded by handing over an entire wizarding vault, one that Grindelwald had hidden away in a secure magical repository sowhere in Northern Europe.
A clever niffler always knows more than one burrow; was this ancient fortune being saved for a grand return? Ian couldn't quite make sense of it.
All he knew was that this gift was far too complicated and far too valuable. Even with his rather flexible interpretation of wizarding ethics, he found himself uneasy about keeping the enchanted key once he learned the truth.
"We have to follow the law; theft is still theft, Aurora," Ian blurted out, hurriedly trying to return the key as though it were cursed or red-hot.
"With my grandfather's silent approval, it hardly counts as stealing," Aurora replied, not even glancing at the key as she continued picking at her plate with infuriating calm.
"You don't honestly think I could take sothing like this from my grandfather without him noticing, do you?" Her tone was level, her manner composed; clearly, this German witch was far more pragmatic than most of the young wizards he knew.
"But…"
Ian was still wavering. He didn't outright contradict Aurora; from what he understood of Grindelwald, that old warlock was every bit as sharp and enigmatic as Albus Dumbledore.
If Dumbledore could unravel secrets from the tiniest turn of phrase, then Grindelwald, who is just as experienced and just as dangerous, could certainly glean much from Aurora's behaviour alone.
He wouldn't need Seer blood to know what was going on. Wizards like him didn't require crystal balls to perceive hidden motives, they had years of insight and layers of cunning that could peel a soul apart like parchnt. There was no way Grindelwald didn't know.
And besides—
There was no chance a vault key of this calibre wasn't protected by so sort of magical wards. Just as Ian debated whether to press the matter, Aurora looked up and t his gaze with her mismatched eyes, one glinting like stormlight, the other deep and steady.
"My friend, would you have press my warm face against your icy backside?" She said quietly, but her words sent a chill of familiarity down Ian's spine.
Just ten minutes ago.
Ian had uttered that exact line to Daphne Greengrass near the Great Hall's entrance. He reached instinctively for his robes, suddenly wondering if Aurora had planted so sort of enchanted listening charm on him.
"What are you fumbling for?" Aurora asked, tilting her head slightly, curious.
"Nothing, just wiping grease off my hands," Ian lied smoothly, feigning a wand flourish as if casting a cleaning charm on his robes. He'd already checked them for magical bugs earlier, but now he was starting to suspect that whatever it was might be on Miss Greengrass instead.
Perhaps all of Hogwarts was under Aurora's watchful eye… Thinking back to his ever-reliable roommate William from the Acolyte family, Ian had little doubt the Acolytes had more wizarding surveillance tools than anyone outside the Departnt of Mysteries.
"If you don't want it, maybe you'd like to return it to my grandfather yourself," Aurora said nonchalantly, pushing her plate aside and wiping her fingers on Ian's robes as if they were a common napkin.
"..."
Ian had no choice but to cast another cleaning charm on himself and reluctantly tucked the key back into his money pouch. He had a gut feeling that if he went anywhere near Grindelwald, it would turn into a thing.
Perhaps the old man didn't care much for treasure anymore, but Ian was certain he wouldn't pass up a good opportunity to ddle in a young wizard's affairs.
The experiences he'd lived through during the looped tilines—
Had given Ian a far deeper understanding of both Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore. Just as he lowered his wand again, a flurry of owls swooped down into the Great Hall.
The number of owls might not have been as large as usual, but there were certainly dozens fluttering through the air. After all, even for those who didn't return ho for Christmas, exchanging seasonal greetings with family was still a common tradition.
Ian, however, receives nothing.
He had no relatives who sent letters via owl, and he assud Aurora would be in the sa boat— another solitary observer watching others unwrap their festive mail.
But then—
An owl flew directly to Aurora, dropping a letter into her lap with practiced precision. Yet, instead of opening it, Aurora tucked it silently into her robes without so much as a glance.
"Aren't you going to read it?" Ian asked, his curiosity instantly alight.
He'd caught sight of a seal bearing an Austrian postmark, but it was clearly not from Grindelwald. The old warlock certainly wouldn't resort to sothing as mundane as owl post to send a letter.
"It's just rubbish."
Aurora shook her head dismissively.
Above her, the owl gave a tired hoot and circled once, expectantly. The German witch blinked at it in confusion but made no move to reward it for its delivery.
Clearly, she wasn't used to communicating by owl.
"When soone helps you out, even a creature, you should show a little appreciation," Ian said, pulling a handful of dried at from his pocket. The owl imdiately swooped down with gusto, snatched the offering, and gave a satisfied chirp before soaring off without a backward glance.
"So that's how creatures work," Aurora murmured, thoughtfully nodding.
"I've completed the controlled transfiguration of Fiendfyre. Care to join for a bit of duelling?" She asked casually, now clearly in better spirits after finishing her al.
"Oi, it's Christmas! Bit of a grim way to spend the holiday, don't you think?" Ian protested, glancing around. Although many of the students had gone ho for the break, a small number still lingered in the Great Hall. So couldn't or wouldn't return, while others, like Ian, simply found the back-and-forth more trouble than it was worth.
Naturally—
Most of those who stayed behind were Muggle-born first-years. For them, a Christmas at Hogwarts was part of the wonder— sothing they weren't about to give up so soon.
"I found a passage in the Restricted Section," Aurora said mildly, "About a senior from long ago who was killed during the holidays. So believe the current decline of the wizarding world started with him."
Aurora, with her special access to the Restricted Section, often bypassed the dark, forbidden magic in favour of combing through old secrets buried in long-forgotten texts.
"You're not talking about our Senior Tom, are you?" Ian asked, lowering his voice and casting a wary glance at the staff table— specifically at Professor Quirrell. The only holiday-homicide enthusiast he knew of was the noseless one.
"No, not him. From what I read, the one I an killed far more people in a single day than that fellow ever managed. In my view, he was the real Dark Lord."
"Compared to him, Voldemort…"
Aurora spoke in her usual calm manner, not even bothering to lower her voice, and she seed on the verge of saying the na outright, which caused Ian to hurriedly slap his hand over her mouth.
"There are still loads of students in the Great Hall!" He hissed.
It wasn't Voldemort's wrath Ian feared— it was the chain reaction that wrath might unleash.
If the Dark Lord decided to cast aside his façade right here, in front of the pumpkin juice and Christmas crackers, rlin only knew how many would get caught in the chaos.
"Do you have any idea how expensive funeral lilies are these days?" Ian muttered, dragging Aurora quickly out of the Great Hall. As they exited, he cast a quick glance back toward the high table.
Quirrell noticed.
Before the Defence professor could even form the question in his mind—
"He may already suspect you." Voldemort's quiet voice stirred.
He still possessed so basic discernnt, at least. Ian's ability to bluff didn't exactly hold up under the scrutiny of ancient, manipulative minds.
(To Be Continued…)
Ian never expected this.
He'd only ant to give a thoughtful two-in-one Christmas present, but Aurora had responded by handing over an entire wizarding vault, one that Grindelwald had hidden away in a secure magical repository sowhere in Northern Europe.
A clever niffler always knows more than one burrow; was this ancient fortune being saved for a grand return? Ian couldn't quite make sense of it.
All he knew was that this gift was far too complicated and far too valuable. Even with his rather flexible interpretation of wizarding ethics, he found himself uneasy about keeping the enchanted key once he learned the truth.
"We have to follow the law; theft is still theft, Aurora," Ian blurted out, hurriedly trying to return the key as though it were cursed or red-hot.
"With my grandfather's silent approval, it hardly counts as stealing," Aurora replied, not even glancing at the key as she continued picking at her plate with infuriating calm.
"You don't honestly think I could take sothing like this from my grandfather without him noticing, do you?" Her tone was level, her manner composed; clearly, this German witch was far more pragmatic than most of the young wizards he knew.
"But…"
Ian was still wavering. He didn't outright contradict Aurora; from what he understood of Grindelwald, that old warlock was every bit as sharp and enigmatic as Albus Dumbledore.
If Dumbledore could unravel secrets from the tiniest turn of phrase, then Grindelwald, who is just as experienced and just as dangerous, could certainly glean much from Aurora's behaviour alone.
He wouldn't need Seer blood to know what was going on. Wizards like him didn't require crystal balls to perceive hidden motives, they had years of insight and layers of cunning that could peel a soul apart like parchnt. There was no way Grindelwald didn't know.
And besides—
There was no chance a vault key of this calibre wasn't protected by so sort of magical wards. Just as Ian debated whether to press the matter, Aurora looked up and t his gaze with her mismatched eyes, one glinting like stormlight, the other deep and steady.
"My friend, would you have press my warm face against your icy backside?" She said quietly, but her words sent a chill of familiarity down Ian's spine.
Just ten minutes ago.
Ian had uttered that exact line to Daphne Greengrass near the Great Hall's entrance. He reached instinctively for his robes, suddenly wondering if Aurora had planted so sort of enchanted listening charm on him.
"What are you fumbling for?" Aurora asked, tilting her head slightly, curious.
"Nothing, just wiping grease off my hands," Ian lied smoothly, feigning a wand flourish as if casting a cleaning charm on his robes. He'd already checked them for magical bugs earlier, but now he was starting to suspect that whatever it was might be on Miss Greengrass instead.
Perhaps all of Hogwarts was under Aurora's watchful eye… Thinking back to his ever-reliable roommate William from the Acolyte family, Ian had little doubt the Acolytes had more wizarding surveillance tools than anyone outside the Departnt of Mysteries.
"If you don't want it, maybe you'd like to return it to my grandfather yourself," Aurora said nonchalantly, pushing her plate aside and wiping her fingers on Ian's robes as if they were a common napkin.
"..."
Ian had no choice but to cast another cleaning charm on himself and reluctantly tucked the key back into his money pouch. He had a gut feeling that if he went anywhere near Grindelwald, it would turn into a thing.
Perhaps the old man didn't care much for treasure anymore, but Ian was certain he wouldn't pass up a good opportunity to ddle in a young wizard's affairs.
The experiences he'd lived through during the looped tilines—
Had given Ian a far deeper understanding of both Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore. Just as he lowered his wand again, a flurry of owls swooped down into the Great Hall.
The number of owls might not have been as large as usual, but there were certainly dozens fluttering through the air. After all, even for those who didn't return ho for Christmas, exchanging seasonal greetings with family was still a common tradition.
Ian, however, receives nothing.
He had no relatives who sent letters via owl, and he assud Aurora would be in the sa boat— another solitary observer watching others unwrap their festive mail.
But then—
An owl flew directly to Aurora, dropping a letter into her lap with practiced precision. Yet, instead of opening it, Aurora tucked it silently into her robes without so much as a glance.
"Aren't you going to read it?" Ian asked, his curiosity instantly alight.
He'd caught sight of a seal bearing an Austrian postmark, but it was clearly not from Grindelwald. The old warlock certainly wouldn't resort to sothing as mundane as owl post to send a letter.
"It's just rubbish."
Aurora shook her head dismissively.
Above her, the owl gave a tired hoot and circled once, expectantly. The German witch blinked at it in confusion but made no move to reward it for its delivery.
Clearly, she wasn't used to communicating by owl.
"When soone helps you out, even a creature, you should show a little appreciation," Ian said, pulling a handful of dried at from his pocket. The owl imdiately swooped down with gusto, snatched the offering, and gave a satisfied chirp before soaring off without a backward glance.
"So that's how creatures work," Aurora murmured, thoughtfully nodding.
"I've completed the controlled transfiguration of Fiendfyre. Care to join for a bit of duelling?" She asked casually, now clearly in better spirits after finishing her al.
"Oi, it's Christmas! Bit of a grim way to spend the holiday, don't you think?" Ian protested, glancing around. Although many of the students had gone ho for the break, a small number still lingered in the Great Hall. So couldn't or wouldn't return, while others, like Ian, simply found the back-and-forth more trouble than it was worth.
Naturally—
Most of those who stayed behind were Muggle-born first-years. For them, a Christmas at Hogwarts was part of the wonder— sothing they weren't about to give up so soon.
"I found a passage in the Restricted Section," Aurora said mildly, "About a senior from long ago who was killed during the holidays. So believe the current decline of the wizarding world started with him."
Aurora, with her special access to the Restricted Section, often bypassed the dark, forbidden magic in favour of combing through old secrets buried in long-forgotten texts.
"You're not talking about our Senior Tom, are you?" Ian asked, lowering his voice and casting a wary glance at the staff table— specifically at Professor Quirrell. The only holiday-homicide enthusiast he knew of was the noseless one.
"No, not him. From what I read, the one I an killed far more people in a single day than that fellow ever managed. In my view, he was the real Dark Lord."
"Compared to him, Voldemort…"
Aurora spoke in her usual calm manner, not even bothering to lower her voice, and she seed on the verge of saying the na outright, which caused Ian to hurriedly slap his hand over her mouth.
"There are still loads of students in the Great Hall!" He hissed.
It wasn't Voldemort's wrath Ian feared— it was the chain reaction that wrath might unleash.
If the Dark Lord decided to cast aside his façade right here, in front of the pumpkin juice and Christmas crackers, rlin only knew how many would get caught in the chaos.
"Do you have any idea how expensive funeral lilies are these days?" Ian muttered, dragging Aurora quickly out of the Great Hall. As they exited, he cast a quick glance back toward the high table.
Quirrell noticed.
Before the Defence professor could even form the question in his mind—
"He may already suspect you." Voldemort's quiet voice stirred.
He still possessed so basic discernnt, at least. Ian's ability to bluff didn't exactly hold up under the scrutiny of ancient, manipulative minds.
(To Be Continued…)
User Comments
0 comments from readers