The shock of the morning's news had not faded. The Daily Prophet still lay on my study floor, its headline a screaming testament to Grindelwald's audacity. The war, a brutal, grinding stalemate for the past couple of years, was now a lightning-fast conflict that had, in a single night, come crashing to the very heart of the magical world. My immediate, gut-wrenching reaction had been to summon my closest confidants. The time for deliberation was over. The time for decisive action had arrived.
My Patronus, a magnificent, silvery phoenix, had flown out into the world with a single, coded message on its breath: The war has come home. We must meet. Now. Within the hour, the wards of Castle Starborn hummed with the familiar, distinct magical signatures of my council. Lord Arcturus Black Apparated in first, his face a mask of cold, strategic calculation. He was followed by Lady Augusta Longbottom, her expression grim but her resolve unyielding. Finally, Henry Potter arrived, his aura radiating a quiet fury that mirrored my own.
We gathered in my study, the space feeling smaller, more intimate under the crushing weight of the news. I had already projected a magical map of Europe onto the wall, showing the horrifying reality of Grindelwald's advance. The line that had held for so long on the French-Italian border was gone. A massive, pulsating red blotch now covered the heart of France, its center a throbbing nexus over what I knew to be the French Ministry of Magic.
"He's done it," Henry said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "The Muggle press is calling it a 'military breakthrough.' They have no idea it was a magical blitzkrieg."
"He used the cover of night, the complacency of the stalemate, and the general weariness of the war to launch a swift, brutal assault," I stated, my gaze fixed on the map. "He moved his forces under the veil of a powerful disillusionment charm, slipped past our outposts, and struck directly at the heart of French magical governance. The French Ministry is now a fortress under siege, and from the magical energy I'm sensing, it's being used as a command center for his operations in France."
"This is not a siege," Lord Black countered, his voice as cold and precise as ever. "This is a trap. He has cornered the French Ministry, its most powerful political and military minds, in a single, vulnerable location. He is not just conquering a country; he is decapitating its magical leadership. He intends to use their fear, their desperation, to force them into submission. He is a predator, and he has just found his ultimate prey."
Lady Longbottom, ever the moral compass of our group, spoke, her voice thick with sorrow. "And what of the people? The Muggles? The magical families of France? We are hearing whispers of purges, of magical bloodlines being 'cleansed.' He is using this as an excuse to eliminate his enemies and cement his power. We cannot allow this to stand."
"We won't," I vowed, the resolve hardening in my voice. "But a frontal assault is suicide. He has trapped them, and his forces will be entrenched. We cannot fight our way in. We would simply be walking into a massacre. We need a new approach. A different kind of war. One that is not a battle of strength, but a battle of wills."
My mind, which had been racing since I saw the paper, had settled on a single, impossible plan. A plan so audacious, so dangerous, that it made my own blood run cold. But it was the only way.
"I have a proposal," I began, my gaze sweeping over the faces of my companions. "We will not attack from the outside. We will go in. We will infiltrate the French Ministry of Magic."
A stunned silence filled the room. Henry's eyes widened in disbelief. Lord Black's face, a grim mask of calculation, remained impassive, but a flicker of something—interest? madness?—danced in his gaze. Lady Longbottom's eyes narrowed, a mixture of fear and determination battling for control.
"Infiltrate?" Henry finally asked, his voice a low, incredulous whisper. "Marcus, that's not a mission. That's a suicide pact. The Ministry is a fortress. It will be riddled with Grindelwald's best wards, his most cunning traps. We wouldn't last a minute."
"We wouldn't," I conceded. "Not in a conventional sense. But we are not a conventional force. We are a different kind of weapon. My Draconic stealth abilities are formidable, but they are not perfect. Grindelwald knows I'm a threat, but he doesn't know the full extent of my capabilities. He'll be expecting a military response, not a surgical strike. We will use that to our advantage."
I paced the length of the room, my mind a whirl of strategic possibilities. "We will go to the heart of the siege. We will use a combination of advanced disillusionment charms, magical disguises, and my own stealth abilities to slip past their perimeter. Once inside, our mission is threefold: First, to free the French Minister and his staff. They are the legitimate magical authority of France. Their liberation will be a powerful political and psychological blow to Grindelwald. Second, we must gather intelligence. We need to know his next move, his next target. We need to know the full extent of his magical army and his alliance with Hitler. Finally, we will disrupt his operations from within. We will sow chaos and confusion, we will sabotage his communications, we will cripple his command structure. We will show him that a simple military victory does not guarantee him control."
Lord Black, ever the pragmatist, was the first to speak. "The plan is madness, Starborn. Utter, unadulterated madness. But it is also the only viable path. A frontal assault is a fool's errand. A surgical strike, as you call it, offers a small chance of success. It is a calculated risk, a necessary evil."
Lady Longbottom, her face a mask of solemn determination, nodded in agreement. "We have no other choice. We cannot allow him to continue his purges. We cannot allow him to win. If this is the only way, then so be it. But we will fight with honor, with principle. We will not become as ruthless as our enemy."
Henry Potter, a man of courage and principle, was the last to agree. He looked at the magical map, at the pulsating red blotch that covered the heart of France. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a grim, unwavering resolve. "It's a suicide mission, Marcus. But I'll stand with you. We'll show that monster that he may have won the battle, but he has not won the war. Not yet."
With the council's unanimous agreement, our focus shifted to the meticulous preparations. We had no time to waste. I had to focus on the technical details of the infiltration. I began to draw up a list of spells, potions, and enchanted items that we would need. Polyjuice Potion for disguises. Warding reversal charms to bypass Grindelwald's defenses. Specialized concealment talismans that would amplify our cloaking spells. The plan was a high-stakes chess match, a single, decisive move that could either win the war or end us all.
As I worked, the silence of my study was punctuated by the quiet, purposeful movements of my companions. We were a small, unlikely group of wizards and witches, a silent, unseen weapon against Grindelwald's tyranny. We were a promise. A promise that we would not surrender. A promise that we would not be afraid. A promise that we would not allow him to win. The war had come home, and we were ready to meet it. The fight for France, for our very principles, was about to begin. The fate of two worlds now rested on the success of a single, impossible mission.