The months following my return from the war front had been a time of grim, purposeful preparation. Dumbledore's counsel had been invaluable, his wisdom a guiding light in the gathering darkness. The raw, brutal energy of Grindelwald's magic still lingered in my memory, a constant reminder of the power I was fighting against. My training, under Dumbledore's watchful eye, was relentless. I was working to hone my combat skills, to deepen my understanding of magical theory, to master the subtle art of the mind. I was a man who was fighting a war on two fronts: the open war against Grindelwald, and the war of my own taking for the better future for Tom.
My solitude was a quiet, comforting shield. The silence of Castle Starborn, which had once been a source of profound loneliness, was now a sanctuary of quiet reflection. Tom's presence at Hogwarts, a steady, contained power that I could feel with my magical resonance sensing, was a constant, living reminder of the dual nature of my mission. I was someone plucked out of my normal life and placed in a magical world which previously was just a work of fiction now my reality and here I was fighting a war on two fronts, but I was, in my own way, finally at peace.
The date was a crisp, cold day in late November. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the promise of a long, harsh winter. I was in my private laboratory, a secluded, quiet corner in my castle, working on a new kind of magical countermeasure, a highly precise, highly effective shield against dark magic. My work was meticulous, demanding, and all-consuming, a way to lift the ever-present burden I felt, turning my stormy thoughts into something productive.
A sudden, sharp ping in my magical awareness snapped me out of my concentration. It was a signal, a coded, highly specialized distress signal that I had created and shared with only a few trusted individuals. It was Charlus. My magical resonance sensing flared, registering the faint, almost imperceptible signature of his magic. The signal was weak, distorted, a desperate cry for help from a distant, unknown location.
My heart ached with a profound, terrifying dread. Charlus, a man who had stood with me against Grindelwald. He was in trouble and in all likelihood, alone.
I did not hesitate. I grabbed my wand, my mind a whirl of frantic, terrifying thoughts. I had to go to him. I had to save him. He was a friend, and he was in danger. My Draconic stealth charms at full power, I Apparated to the location from where the signal had been sent.
I arrived in a small, abandoned alleyway, a forgotten corner of the Muggle world. The air was thick with the scent of garbage and decay. My magical resonance sensing flared, registering a thick, oppressive magical aura. It was dark magic, the tell-tale signature of Grindelwald's acolytes. The air was heavy with a low-level, oppressive dread, a tangible, living thing that seemed to cling to my skin.
I moved forward, my footsteps silent on the cold, damp pavement. The alleyway opened up into a small, abandoned street. A single, small, dilapidated house stood at the end of the street, its windows dark, its door ajar. The house, I realized with a cold dread, was surrounded by a restrictive magical ward. The acolytes had him trapped. They were not attacking. They were simply waiting. They were a pack of wolves, a silent threat, waiting for their prey to make a single, fatal mistake.
I moved forward, my Draconic stealth charms at full power, a ghost in the magical ether. I was not a hero, I was a predator. And I was about to hunt.
I found them. A group of Grindelwald's acolytes, their faces a grim, fanatical mask of devotion, were standing outside the house, their wands raised, a constant, low-level magical assault on the restrictive ward. They were trying to break in, to get to Charlus, to get to the man who had dared to stand against their master. I did not hesitate.
I moved like a ghost, a silent, unseen force of nature. My Draconic stealth charms were a masterpiece of magical subtlety. I was a shadow in the moonlight, a whisper in the wind. I was a force that was utterly, completely invisible. I was a hunter, and my prey was a group of unsuspecting acolytes, a group of men who were about to learn the true meaning of fear.
I picked them apart, person by person. My wandless magic was a silent, lethal weapon. I moved from one to the next, a flash of white-hot light, a silent, crushing curse, a quick, lethal strike. They did not even have time to scream. They did not even have time to fight back. They were simply gone, a collection of broken bodies, a group of men who had just learned the true meaning of fear, with my blessings.
I moved into the house, my Draconic stealth charms at full power, a silent, unseen force of nature. Charlus was in the living room, a grim, determined look on his face, his wand raised, his back to the wall. He was a man who had faced a monster, and he was a man who was ready to fight.
"Charlus," I said, my voice a soft, gentle whisper.
He flinched, his wand pointed at me, his face a mask of shock and surprise. "Marcus? How... how did you get in here? The wards... they're still in place."
"The wards are still in place, Charlus," I replied, a faint, sad smile on my face. "But the acolytes who placed them are no longer a threat. You are safe now."
He stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. "You... you did this? You took them all down? By yourself?"
"I did what was necessary, Charlus," I replied, my voice steady, my gaze unwavering. "I did what I had to do. You are safe now. That is all that matters."
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 man who had been given a second chance and had been saved by a friend.
"Thank you, Marcus," he said, his voice a hoarse, almost inaudible whisper. "Thank you. You saved my life. You saved my life, and I will not forget it. I... I owe you a debt that I can never repay."
"You do not owe me anything, Charlus," I replied, a faint, sad smile on my face. "You are my friend. You are my brother in arms. I did what any friend would do. I did what any brother would do. I did what I had to do."
I stepped outside, the restrictive wards now gone. The bodies of the acolytes were scattered on the ground, a grim, brutal reminder of the price of their hatred. I did not hesitate. With a flick of my wand, I summoned the Aurors, a coded message that spoke of a battle, of a confrontation, of a victory. They would be here in minutes, They would take the bodies, They would take the evidence and They would take the credit. I was a man who worked in the shadows. I did not seek glory. I was someone who did what was necessary, and then, just as quickly, disappeared.
Charlus, his face a grim mask of determination, walked out of the house, his wand in his hand. He had just survived a battle. It was not a surprise he was shaken.
"Marcus," he said, his voice steady. "I... I need to get home. I need to get to Potter Manor. I need to see my family. Can you... can you escort me? I do not want to risk another ambush."
"I will, Charlus," I replied, my voice a solemn promise. "I will get you home."
We quickly apparated to the potter manor. The air was heavy with the weight of our shared experience. We were a small, unlikely group of wizards and witches, a weapon against Grindelwald's tyranny. We were a promise. A promise to a secure future. A promise that we would not allow him to win.
The Potter Manor, a grand, ancient sentinel against the enemies of house potter throughout the known history. Charlus' wife, Dorea, a woman of grace and profound courage, ran to him, her face a mask of relief and fear. The reunion was a powerful, emotional display of love and gratitude, a silent, living reminder of the very things Grindelwald sought to destroy. I watched, a silent, unseen figure in the shadows, my heart aching with a profound, terrifying sadness. I had saved a friend, and in doing so, I had reminded myself of the very thing I was fighting for.
After a few minutes, I slipped away, a ghost in the magical ether, Apparating back to the quiet, comforting solitude of Castle Starborn. The castle, which had been so silent, now felt more peaceful than ever. I was home. But I was not alone. I had a purpose. I had a reason to fight. And I had a reason to live.
My first order of business, as always, was to write a detailed report of the incident to Dumbledore. The report was concise, factual, and devoid of emotion. I simply wrote about the acolytes, about their numbers, about their tactics, about their defeat. I wrote about Charlus, about his bravery, about his survival. I wrote a report that was not just a historical record, but a warning. A warning that Grindelwald's forces were not just a distant threat. They were here. They were in our world. They were in our backyard.
I sent the report to Dumbledore, a coded message that spoke of a battle, of a confrontation, of a victory. I had done my duty. I just relaxed at my home thinking about the life I had till now.