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Italian Ministry Of Magic - Auror Department
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The assassin's eyes glazed slightly as the [Legilimency] spell took hold, while the dim cell, the silence, even the dust in the air, everything fell away as both he and Grindelwald were pulled into the mental chaotic mess of a broken man. The first memory showed a young boy, barely a teen, standing with trembling hands in the sitting room of a grand home. His family, all robed and bearing wands, stared at him with proudly displayed disgust.
"He's nothing," a woman who must have been his mother spat with a sneer. An odd sight, considering the amount of effort she had to go through to birth and care for the boy for so many years. "Not a single ounce of accidental magic. Not even a flicker — I had the House Elf watch him constantly."
A father, stone-faced, turned away. "The family has no use for squibs."
The next moment, the child's trunk was thrown onto the lawn, clothes tumbling out as the front door slammed shut behind him, with rain beginning to fall. His banging on the door for re-entry went on unanswered for days, and he knew full well they would simply use the Floo to get from place to place, so he forced himself to leave, lest he risk starving to death.
It seemed to be a few months later. He sat shivering beneath a bridge, skin bruised, clothing ragged. Pedestrians, magical and non-magical alike, walked past him. A man in Auror robes paused, who noticed him out of instinct, looked his way with disdain, then walked on.
Eventually, a pair of Muggle police officers approached. "You alright, kid?"
They took him to a Muggle orphanage, where magic was spoken of only in fairy tales, and while he was antisocial at first, he started to enjoy his days there as time went on. His dislike for Muggles, learned from his family, slowly ebbed away.
Years passed. He was older now, in his early twenties. Clean-cut. Smiling with a group of peers as he accepted a certificate from a muggle certificate. The world seemed bright again. He had fought, worked and earned a future, earning a job in urban planning, modest living arrangements, and even a woman who loved him. Then came the visit from Muggle authorities.
He rushed home, but nothing remained, only cinders. The Muggle authorities were baffled. No signs of arson. No accelerants. No witnesses. Just ash.
They were dead. His family. His wife. His son. All dead. And the only explanation he could think of was… magic.
Dark alleys in the shadier parts of the Italian magical society. Dingy pubs in Eastern Europe. Filthy wards outside major magical cities. He was older now. Hardened and with empty eyes as he overlooked his handy work in the magical newspapers. Bodies of witches and wizards were found with mysterious wounds, with no spell traces. All were killed with some form of poison or sharp objects like small knives or daggers.
He worked as a janitor, a porter, and a cook for those who weren't lucky enough to have House Elves. Always somewhere they wouldn't look closely. Always watching and calculating the best ways to kill his prey. Each kill left a scar. Each scar fed the rage.
Grindelwald tore free from the man's mind, letting the assassin slump in the corner again, breathing heavily as his eyes went wild, having had to experience the echo of his own memories. The former Dark Lord's eyes hardened as he took a long, sorrowful breath, peering at the slouched figure in front of him.
"...You fool," Grindelwald murmured with unhidden disdain, contrasting the sorrow in his expression.
The assassin bared his teeth in a snarl, rattling the chains on his wrists. "You have what you wanted. Just get it over with already."
Grindelwald shook his head slowly. "You really don't understand… do you?" An incredulous look crossed his features as he tilted his head. "I suppose my skills in Legilimens are a little rusty if I couldn't have you experience the memories properly."
The assassin blinked in confusion, momentarily having the wind knocked out of his sails. "Understand what?"
"You were the reason your family died," Grindelwald said flatly. "Not some wizard that hates those who do not have the ability to wield magic."
The silence that followed was short, before the assassin's expression twisted into fury. "Liar!" he roared, lunging forward, only to be stopped by an invisible force which yanked him back. "You're just another bloody wizard! Saying whatever you want to twist my head! I didn't do anything! Liar! Manipulative old bastard! Don't talk about my family like you knew them!"
His voice cracked as he thrashed against the magic holding him in place, eyes burning with hatred as he glared at the former Dark Lord. But Grindelwald remained still, gazing at him not with both anger and something close to pity.
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," Grindelwald said quietly, but the words were easily heard. "I do know them. I have known them for a few minutes now. Possibly even more than you can remember, at least consciously that is. You see, your trauma seems to have clouded your memories of the events that transpired on that fateful day, and the years prior."
The assassin's breathing hitched, even more confused by the words he was hearing, but he managed to maintain his snarl.
"You want to know why and how they died?" Grindelwald continued with a somewhat taunting brow. "It wasn't because they were attacked by a Witch, Wizard or even a magical creature… technically. It was because of you. Because of what you became. Because of what you did to your own son."
The man's snarling expression faltered. "W-What are you talking about? What nonsense are you spouting?"
"You found him doing accidental magic, levitating pebbles, making light flicker," Grindelwald replied, stepping forward slowly. "And instead of protecting him… you saw yourself. You saw your father. You saw your mother. And you hated him for it." The assassin's lips parted, but no words came. Only a faint tremble now. "You beat him, mistreated him. You tortured him for all intents and purposes. Years of it. Every time he flinched, every time he whimpered, you told yourself he deserved it. That he would never grow up hateful like his grandparents otherwise. That he'd learn the way you did."
"But he broke." He paused, letting the words sink in. "In a moment of despair, he did something only the most broken of magical children do. He became an Obscurial. But your mind seemed to have repressed the memories of your own actions where your family's death is concerned."
The fact that he thought himself a good person even after doing all he did to his own family was ironic, but Grindelwald saw no reason to continue harping on about it. He may not have been the best person to lecture another on harmful deeds done for good causes in that way, that was Dumbledore's purview.
The assassin's lips trembled as he started to remember what he had done, and tears began streaming down his face. "I—I don't… I don't know what that is…"
"An Obscurial is a child who suppresses their magic through trauma and abuse," Grindelwald explained patiently, wanting to give the man his much-needed closure. "Their power builds, chokes them, writhes within them like a caged beast, until it explodes. Most don't live past ten. Those who do become rather… powerful entities of destruction." He took another step forward. "Your son lived long enough to destroy himself and his mother, with one destructive burst of magic. That was the explosion the Muggles couldn't explain. An explosion you witnessed but just couldn't remember."
The assassin recoiled into the corner of the cell like a man stabbed through the chest, eyes going wide in disbelief as he started remembering the fateful day. He had been drinking and went overboard, going as far as harming his wife as she tried to shield their son from him.
"No… no, that's not—" His voice cracked, turning into a choking sob as he continuously shook his head, hoping to shake away the nightmare. "I didn't— I didn't mean to— I was just trying to… I-I don't…" His head sank into his hands as sobs began to wrack his body. "My boy… oh gods… my boy…"
Grindelwald said nothing as he waited, simply watching the man bury himself under his own grief. Minutes passed in agonising silence. Before the former Dark Lord wordlessly stepped forward. The assassin didn't even flinch, still hunched over, crying into his chained hands like a child.
Grindelwald raised his wand and stared down at him with solemn, distant eyes. "Hatred can be such a vicious cycle," he whispered, "it cares for no one, and only those with the strongest of hearts are able to fight against it. Those people are rare, and neither one of us was capable."
Even though the words were said with magic to ensure the sound travelled to his ears, the assassin didn't hear him. He didn't care. He was gone in his own mind, drowning in guilt, living through the memory over and over again.
Grindelwald gave a slow shake of his head, then murmured the last words the man would ever hear before leaving the land of the living, "Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green sailed from his wand, landing directly on the head of the sobbing man. The sobbing immediately ceased, leaving only silence. The assassin slowly slumped further, lifeless.
Seeing no reason to linger, Grindelwald turned and walked calmly to the cell door, retrieving his cane without looking back. He stepped out and closed it behind him with a soft click. A few silent stealth spells ensured his form was not visible and footsteps inaudible as he casually made his way out of the Italian Ministry and back into the shadows of the Wizading world, where an old relic like himself belongs.
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Romania - Transylvania
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The rest of our time in Italy went without incident. I mostly focused on fortifying the wards around the Vineyard, while the Flamels just enjoyed themselves drinking wine and sightseeing. Then we said our goodbyes to 'Antoni', not before telling him that we knew he was an Auror but didn't care as long as the Aurors didn't misbehave, and left for Romania.
After spending the afternoon at the magical hospital in Bucharest doing my regular meladictus treatments, we headed straight for Transylvania, mainly because I wanted to meet the Count. We were on our way down a narrow cobblestone path toward a village tucked into a valley below when I saw a few visions on the Force, causing me to frown ever so slightly.
"We're nearly at the inn," Nicolas noted, glancing up from the map he was holding to look at the fading sun just as we entered the town. It had been decades since he'd been around these parts apparently, and he wanted a refresher, so the hospital hustled to get him one. "Should still be a meal waiting, but honestly, I think I'll just stick with what we have in the briefcase, or even ask a House Elf to bring us something."
"You sound so spoiled, not wanting to eat the food of the locals and having servants bring you yours from a country away," I snarked as my pace slowed before coming to a stop altogether, turning toward a narrow, magically-cloaked alley that split off from the main road. Perenelle turned to speak, but seemed to stop herself as I slowly stepped away from them.
"Problem?" Nicolas asked, tilting his head as he discreetly palmed his wand, with his wife following suit right behind him.
"Something like that," I murmured absentmindedly as I walked into the alley. A moment later, my eager wand was in my hand and I was acting like an amateur, saying the spell out loud as my magic moved. "Lumos Solem."
A bright sphere of artificial sunlight burst forth from the tip of my wand, filling the alley with harsh, golden light and powering through the magical cloak they had placed on the alley. But nothing happened.
"Huh," I muttered, not even shifting my expression in the slightest, save for a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. There were so many fictional Vampires that would have loved to get their hands on the spell they were using, and it was much better than the area of effect spell the Littletree Vampires used.
"Unlike the less intelligent of their friends in a rather backwards Magical society known as Britain, the vampires in most of the rest of the world have improved." Nicolas snarked, smirking at my deadpan as he continued. "They've long since developed a shielding spell. Ingenious, really. It filters out the sun's lethal frequency range while allowing warmth to pass through, just doesn't shield against anything else and requires a constant drain on the magic, like any old levitation charm, but with a higher magic cost."
I already knew that, thanks to my studies with the [Resurrection Stone], but I let him talk, like I always did, nodding along. My eyes were fixed on the three vampires who stood with blood staining their lips and hands, gathered around an unconscious Muggle man slumped against the wall. Their expressions turned from surprise at my spell to barely-contained fury as their eyes met ours.
"I could feel the spell on their skin," I told the Alchemist cosplaying as my butler. "I just wanted to test it. I gave them enough time to empower it further by keeping my footsteps loud and clear, even went as far as saying the spell out loud."
Nicolas nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied that I wasn't being reckless and just blindly following after a vision. Not that I needed one in the first place. Anakin showed how far a person can go in a war of all situations without a plan, several times in fact.
Perenelle stepped up beside her husband, peering with fascination at the vampires like she was reminiscing an old, solved equation. "I studied that spell once," she offered brightly, ignoring the growing growls from the alley. "It's really quite remarkable. It doesn't protect them from heat, or flame, just sunlight's energy. Less magical consumption that way. From what I could tell, the charm absorbs and blocks specifically solar energy, when it interacts with vampiric tissue."
"It was repurposed as a sunscreen spell," Nicolas added. "Used all over the world now. Who knew Vampires would help so many people just by trying to save their own hides?" He shrugged. "Maybe they were just being economical about it, trying to keep as many people safe and healthy so they have more blood to drink."
"Honestly, it's pretty good in regard to the long game," I admitted before shaking my head. "But something tells me they didn't get the credit for creating the spell, most likely some rich Lord who only got richer once he 'made the discovery'."
I went to continue, but the vampires had heard enough. Snarling, almost hissing, they rushed forward at speeds normal people would struggle with, fangs bared and claws extended. If it wasn't for the fact that they were a genuine threat to normal people, I'd literally take a few minutes to make fun of how dumb they looked right now, running up to a Force user and hissing like cats as if they had a chance.
Neither of us even blinked as we gave the approaching trio deadpan looks.
With a casual flick of his wand, Nicolas transfigured the cobblestone beneath their feet, warping the somewhat liquefied stones into a dark, sticky tar that rose up in tendrils, binding their ankles and dragging them down. The first vampire stumbled mid-lunge while the others screeched in surprise as the stone turned against them. At this point, I was starting to feel embarrassed for the vampires of this verse, and myself for technically being from the same verse they are.
"Really?" Nicolas said dryly, relishing in his chance to show off as he brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder. "Interrupting a scholarly discussion? That's just rude."
Perenelle raised an eyebrow, sighing with theatrical disappointment as she joined her husband in the act. "Children these days have no manners at all."
I looked down at the snarling vampires now tangled and hissing in the transfigured mess, like they were ensnared cats about to get a shot at the vet. "Why?" I asked. "From what we were told, you're supposed to be living in harmony with the villagers here. That was the unwritten agreement. So why are you killing people?"
One of the gaunt-faced vampires snarled through the binding tar. "We didn't kill him, we paid for his blood. We're sticking to the agreement, now release us!"
My eyes shifted to the pale-skinned, unconscious Muggle slumped against the wall, sensing for vitals. His breathing was shallow and he had lost a lot of blood, but he was still alive. Then my gaze moved slightly to the left, locking onto another body that seemed to be their first victim, if the even paler skin was anything to go by. No rise in his chest. No heartbeat. Skin already beginning to decay. He was clearly dead.
I let out a sigh as I shook my head. "I'm pretty sure you pay for blood. I doubt that you paid him enough to cover his life."
One of the other vampires bared their fangs. "It wasn't us. It was the drugs! They died from the drugs they buy with the money we give them – not from the feeding."
While both the dead man and the unconscious one did look like they were the type to take drugs, I wouldn't need the Force to tell me he was lying to save his ass. Ignoring the man's poor attempt at deception, I approached the unconscious man and placed a hand lightly on his chest, and started using [Healing Hands].
As the faint shimmer of golden light pulsed around his body as I started using [Healing hands] along with [Force Psychometry], letting a wave of memory wash through me as I healed him. I could see the feeding, the pain, the struggle. The moment when one of the vampires tore too deeply into his friend, draining just a bit too long. The panic, the others watching and laughing as the one responsible made the decision to continue regardless of the consequences.
"Psychometry," I muttered, just loud enough that he and the Flamels could hear. "It doesn't show possibilities like future sight, but it shows the truth without needing to jump into a criminal's mind."
The vampires looked at one another in alarm. "What are you talking about?" the one who had spoken earlier demanded, still struggling against the enchanted tar. "We didn't do anything?"
I didn't answer, but the grave look on my face said everything. So, taking the hint, Nicolas stepped forward, levelling his wand at the trio. "It means goodbye."
With a flick of his wand, he cast a counter-spell on the magic coating their skin, keeping them safe from sunlight. The sunscreen spell flickered out of existence almost instantaneously. Panic overtook any thoughts of elaborate lies immediately afterwards. "Wait—no, please—!"
"Let's try that one again, shall we?" I easily interrupted, raised my wand, ignoring their pleas for mercy. "Lumos Solem."
My wand's desire to increase its effect amplified the beam of sunlight that burst forth. The vampires shrieked as their skin cracked and blackened in barely a second, leaving the smell of burning flesh to fill the alley, accompanied by silence once the spell ended. A part of me wanted to hold some clothing to my nose when their remains, ash and scorched fabric, started blowing softly across the cobblestones, but then I remembered I had magic and just used a [Bubble Head] charm.
"Ew," I muttered, looking at the ground where Nicolas had confined them.
"Didn't you kill a bunch of them in Little tree?" Nicolas asked. "I would have thought you were used to the sight and smell of their departure of the living plane."
"Nah, it's not that. I was really disgusted by their behaviour and demeanour," I shot back without missing a beat as I turned my attention back to the unconscious man, just in time to see him starting to stir, groaning faintly as colour returned to his cheeks.
"He'll live," I mumbled quietly, rising to my feet while Perenelle conjured a soft blanket and placed it over the man. Aside from Nicolas using a [Patronus] to contact the Aurors, none of us said another word as we turned and walked away, leaving the healed man and his recently deceased companion to their own devices.
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" Magic blooms... only in rare souls. "
— Gellert Grindelwald.
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Hello There
I'll admit, I had the urge to watch Sinners the entire time when writing this chapter. I've heard good things.
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