The French-Italian border, once a hellish landscape of burnt earth and shattered magic, was now a memory. Grindelwald's retreat had been as swift and silent as his arrival, and after a few months of grim, watchful waiting, with no further sign of his personal presence, the Wizengamot lords who had stood with me were recalled to Britain. The war continued, a brutal, grinding stalemate fought by the brave magical volunteers, but the immediate threat of Grindelwald's direct intervention had, for the moment, been averted.
The journey back was a quiet, somber affair. The air in the group was heavy with the weight of our shared experience. We were a different group of men than the one that had left months before. The fear in our hearts had been replaced by a grim resolve, a fierce, unwavering determination to fight for a world where both magical and Muggle people could live in peace. The men who had been in that battle with me—Lord Longbottom, Charlus Potter, and Lord Black—had all sustained injuries, but they were not broken. They were, in their own way, heroes.
Our arrival back in Britain was a shock to my carefully maintained sense of solitude. The moment our Portkey landed in the Ministry Atrium, we were met with a storm of applause and cheers. The wizards and witches of the Ministry, their faces a mixture of awe and relief, greeted us as heroes. The Daily Prophet had, in its own sensationalist way, reported on our stand against Grindelwald, a desperate, heroic battle against a seemingly invincible foe. The headline, a bold, triumphant banner, had screamed: WIZENGAMOT LORDS HOLD OFF GRINDELWALD.
I was uncomfortable with the fanfare, with the public display of gratitude. I was not a hero. I was a man who had done what was necessary, a man who had fought for a cause that was greater than himself. I was a man who had stared into the abyss, and had, in a single, terrifying moment, survived. But the people of magical Britain needed heroes. They needed a symbol of defiance, a promise that the darkness could be fought. And for the moment, we were that symbol.
After what felt like an eternity of handshakes and hollow speeches, I finally managed to slip away, Apparating back to the quiet, comforting solitude of Castle Starborn. The castle, which had been so alive with the presence of Tom, was now silent. He had, as I knew he would, returned to Hogwarts for the new term. His quarters, which I had prepared with such care, were now empty. The silence was a stark, brutal reminder of the solitude that was my life, a solitude that had been shattered and then, just as quickly, returned.
The castle's wards hummed with their usual comforting strength, a constant, low-level reassurance that for now, I was safe. I walked through the quiet halls of my castle, the scent of old parchment and ancient magic a comforting balm to my weary soul. I was home. But I was also alone. The solitude, which had once been a shield, was now a heavy, oppressive blanket. I felt a deep, profound exhaustion settle into my bones, a weariness that was not just physical, but emotional. I had fought a battle, and I had, in a single, terrifying moment, survived. But the cost had been high, a cost that was now being paid in the silent, echoing halls of my castle.
I spent the next few days in a state of quiet, grim reflection, my mind a whirl of memories of the battle. The raw, brutal energy of Grindelwald's magic, the sheer, terrifying power of the man himself, was a constant, haunting presence in my mind. I had fought him. I had survived. But I had also seen the full extent of his power, a power that was far beyond anything I had ever imagined. I knew, with a certainty that was as cold and hard as a diamond, that I needed to become stronger. I needed to become better. I needed to become more.
My destination was Hogwarts. I needed to seek out the one person who could truly understand what I had been through, the one person who could truly help me prepare for the inevitable. I needed to see Dumbledore.
On a crisp, cool autumn morning, I Apparated to the outskirts of Hogwarts, my Draconic stealth charms at full power. The castle, a majestic, ancient sentinel against the gathering darkness, was alive with the laughter and chatter of students. I slipped through the wards, a ghost in the magical ether, and made my way to the Headmaster's Office. The gargoyle, a silent, ancient sentinel, recognized me, and with a silent, respectful nod, it stepped aside, allowing me to enter.
I found Dumbledore sitting at his desk, his face a mask of profound sorrow, his eyes a sad, weary blue. He did not look up as I entered. He simply gestured to the chair opposite him.
"Marcus," he said, his voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "I have heard the rumors. I have read the reports. But I wish to hear it from you. I wish to hear the truth of what happened on that battlefield. I wish to see what you saw."
I nodded, and with a flick of my wand, I drew a single, silver strand of memory from my mind. The memory of the battle, of the raw, brutal energy of Grindelwald's magic, of the sheer, terrifying power of the man himself, of the desperate, heroic stand of a few brave men against a seemingly invincible foe. I placed the memory into the Pensieve, and watched as Dumbledore, his face a mask of profound sorrow, plunged his head into the swirling, silver depths.
He remained there for what felt like an eternity, his body motionless, his face a mask of profound sorrow. When he finally emerged, his eyes were wide with a profound, almost terrifying, understanding. He had seen what I had seen. He had felt what I had felt. He had, in a single, terrifying moment, understood the full extent of the darkness we were facing.
"His growth is terrifying, he exerts more of his power than I would see a normal wizard doing his lack of hesitation shows he has already forsaken holding back his power to minimise the casualties. The spectacle he put up in Paris years ago already was a proof of that but I was unwilling to think it would be true, it was foolish of me to do so not that I have witnessed it with my own eyes through you Marcus." he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "His control over the dark arts, his mastery of the mind... it is all-consuming. He is a vortex of pure, unadulterated evil. You were a brave man, Marcus. You were a brave man to stand against him. And you were a lucky man to have survived."
"Luck is a poor substitute for power, Professor," I replied, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. "I need to become stronger. I need to become better. I need to become more. I need to be able to face him again, and I need to be able to win. I need your help. I need your guidance."
He looked at me, a flicker of his old, piercing intelligence returning to his eyes. "You have already begun the journey, Marcus. Your unique pieces of magic, your magical resonance sensing... they are all formidable weapons. But you are fighting a battle that is not just of magic, but of the mind. You must learn to fight with cunning, not just with force. You must learn to fight with a deep, profound understanding of the man himself."
He paused, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. "I will help you. We will work on your combat skills. We will work on your magical theory. We will work on your understanding of the mind. But the most important lesson you will ever learn, Marcus, is this: the greatest weapon we have against Grindelwald is not magic. It is determination and a firm belief in one's ideals, And you, Marcus, have a profound, unyielding capacity for all of this. Do not forget that. Do not lose yourself in the darkness. Hold on to the light."
His words, simple and honest, were a powerful balm to my weary soul. I had been so focused on the darkness, on the battle, that I had forgotten the light. I hadn't forgotten the very reason I was fighting, but it was buried in all the stress and minor arrogance, and the arrogance was not unfounded, afterall not everyone has a capacity to stand against Grindelwald and live to tell the tale .
After a long, detailed discussion about my combat shortcomings and potential improvements in my unique magical abilities, I felt a new sense of purpose settle in my heart. The war, which had been a brutal, relentless struggle, was now a battle of wills, a confrontation between two forces that were destined to collide. I was no longer a man who was fighting for his own survival. I was a man who was fighting for a world, for a future, for a boy who had once been a lost, lonely orphan, and who was now a part of my life.
As I walked out of the Headmaster's office, I felt a new sense of peace settle in my heart. The solitude, which had once been a heavy, oppressive blanket, was now a quiet, comforting shield. I was no longer alone. I had a purpose. I had a reason to fight. And I had a reason to live.
I had almost reached the castle entrance when I saw him. Tom. He was walking out of the library, a pile of books in his arms. He was a different boy from the one I had left months ago. His face was calmer, his eyes clearer, his aura a quiet, contained power. He was not a boy who was defined by his loneliness anymore. He was a boy who was, in his own way, a part of a community.
"Lord Starborn," he said, his voice calm and precise, betraying none of the internal turmoil that I knew, with a Legilimency-like certainty, was raging within him. "I did not expect to see you here. I heard you were back from the war front."
"I am, Tom," I replied, a faint, sad smile on my face. "And it is good to see you. How are you? How are your studies?"
He nodded, his gaze returning to the books in his arms. "My studies are... satisfactory. I am learning much. Through personal reading I have learnt much about the House of Starborn. About your family's history. It is... fascinating. The more I read, the more I realize that your family, that your house, is not just a name. It is a legacy. A legacy of power, of knowledge, of a fierce, unwavering commitment to a better world."
My heart ached for him. He was a boy who had been given a lifeline, a boy who was now a part of my life. He was a boy who was, in his own way, a part of a community.
"It is a legacy that you, Tom, are now an honorary part of," I said, my voice a solemn promise. "It is a legacy that you, as a ward of this house, have a responsibility to uphold. You are not a boy who is defined by his loneliness anymore. You are a boy who is a part of a family. A magical family. A family who will protect you. A family who will give you a second chance."
He looked at me, a flicker of an emotion that was so raw, so pure, so unadulterated, that it was almost painful to witness. Gratitude. He was a boy who had just been given a gift he had never dared to dream of. He was a boy who was no longer alone.
"Thank you," he said, his voice a hoarse, almost inaudible whisper. "I... I will not betray your trust."
He turned and walked away, a silent, solitary figure disappearing into the vast, ancient halls of Hogwarts. I watched him go, a faint, sad smile on my face.