"…"
The proud witch, nearing a century old and still spirited enough to rally her old allies, seemed to age in an instant at the young professor's words. Her straight posture slumped, more bowed than a Magyar cavalryman's bow.
A flicker of pity crossed Abernathy and Christine's eyes.
"But I can get him out of that cage," Melvin said softly.
His words cut through the stifling silence of the enclosed space like a thunderclap on a rainy summer night, leaving the three remnants of the wizarding purists stunned. Old Vinda lifted her head sharply, staring at him with suspicion and uncertainty. The other two were equally shocked, Abernathy's face hardening with wariness.
Vinda scrutinized him cautiously. "What do you mean?"
"I want to make a deal with you," Melvin said with a smile. "Three years. For the next three years, you remnants of the wizarding purists work for me. In return, three years from now, I'll ensure Grindelwald walks out of that prison of his own accord."
"…"
The three wizards hesitated, unsure of what to say, standing frozen in silence.
Melvin, like a vendor at a wizarding market, pitched his offer with fervor, addressing their every concern:
"Powerful wizards tend to live long lives. With Mr. Grindelwald's magical prowess, plus the regular routine at Nurmengard—no stress, no work—he could easily live another two or three hundred years. He's just over a hundred now. Three years is nothing he can't wait out.
"Your comrades don't want to take risks or return to a life of hiding. Instead of cobbling together a group that might fall apart at any moment or launching some doomed raid, my plan is the better choice.
"We can sign a contract. I won't ask you to do anything illegal or disrupt your current peaceful lives—just some business and work-related cooperation…"
As it turned out, Melvin had a real knack for business.
…
That same early morning.
Melvin sat by the window of his hotel room, gazing at the moonlight spilling across the street.
It was the 1990s, and Budapest's nights were far from brightly lit. The city's sparse lights couldn't outshine the stars and moon above. The Danube's surface shimmered quietly in the distance, showing no trace of the magic lurking in the shadows.
On the table before him sat the communication book from the market, which had somehow found its way back into his hands.
The first three pages already bore enchanted portraits. The first two were of old wizards—nothing particularly interesting.
The third page featured a young witch. Her dark brown hair was loosely tied up in the portrait, a few strands falling messily around her face, likely from hastily removing her hood. Her eyebrows were bold, her features sharp with a hint of valor, and her lips were slightly pursed, as if reluctant. Her light-colored eyes gazed off to the side, unfocused, giving her an ethereal, detached air—though in truth, she was probably just annoyed about handing over the book and having her portrait etched into it.
Below the portraits were their signatures:
Abernathy Guthrie, Vinda Rosier, Christine Rosier
Melvin's lips curved into an intrigued smile. The Rosier surname was no stranger to him. This sprawling pure-blood wizarding family had branches across the globe, primarily in England and France.
Draco's grandmother was a Rosier—Cygnella Rosier, perhaps less familiar by name, but mention Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa's mother, and it clicks.
The Rosier family had produced a Minister for Magic, wizarding purist saints, Death Eaters, and even Aurors who died heroically. They'd ventured to the New World in the 17th century, fought in the Goblin Rebellions… Every major event in wizarding history bore their mark. They remained a steadfast presence among the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Though Vinda was a wanted dark witch, the Rosier family hadn't abandoned her over the years. Instead, they'd quietly supported her, helping her establish a foothold in Budapest and amass considerable wealth and influence.
Among the wizarding purist remnants, Vinda wasn't the only one with such remarkable sway. With their help, the Mirror Club could soon expand its enchanted mirrors here.
As for freeing Grindelwald? That task, naturally, fell to the Headmaster.
A strange glint flickered in Melvin's eyes. The idea of using the Floo Network to expand the enchanted mirror business could take root here, especially without Umbridge's interference or a meddling Minister.
"With Abernathy and the others' help, as long as the Romanian Ministry gives the green light…"
Melvin glanced down at the communication book and sent a message to the two Rosier witches: "Put out your eyes and ears—gather information. I want to help the Romanian Ministry solve this case."
"…"
Vinda Rosier didn't reply. At her age, especially after the intense encounter earlier, she likely couldn't keep up with the stamina of younger witches.
The portrait of the younger witch, however, responded quickly:
"?"
…
The next morning, the weather was clear.
Melvin, having slept in, strolled into the courtyard. Thestrals lazily paced the garden, their reddish-brown coats gleaming, a faint scent of wine lingering around their snouts.
Kettleburn was teaching the half-giant how to identify different types of goblins and Bowtruckles. Hagrid, who usually had little interest in these common Forbidden Forest creatures, was motivated by the professor's promise: memorize their traits, and he'd take him to see a Thunderbird.
With a 5X-level dangerous creature as incentive, Hagrid suddenly found the drive to learn, reciting word-for-word after the professor.
"The term 'Bowtruckle' comes from an old Scottish dialect meaning 'dwelling,' related to a Latin root for tree branches, implying dependence and attachment."
"They're mainly found in western England, southern Germany, and certain Scandinavian forests. Their wood is often ideal for wand-making."
"Long, slender fingers for digging up woodlice, gentle temperament…"
Melvin listened for a moment, finding the lesson duller than History of Magic. If it weren't for the live specimens, Hagrid would probably be dozing off by now.
Clearing his throat, Melvin decided to demonstrate a teaching approach: "Spring has arrived, and it's mating season for magical creatures…"
"It's summer now!"
Kettleburn, expecting a serious contribution, realized Melvin was just stirring trouble. With his one remaining arm, he pushed him toward the lobby. "Don't disrupt my class. Abernathy's looking for you—go to the front desk as soon as you're up."
Laughing, Melvin was shooed out of the lesson by the professor and his student. At the front desk, he didn't find Abernathy but instead saw the young witch.
Christine's expression was cool, her eyes half-lowered, radiating reluctance and defiance, yet tinged with resignation.
"Aunt Vinda found some leads. They might be smuggling the dragon egg out of the country themselves. Abernathy and the others are already investigating the details. They told me to wait here for you."
"Aren't you an Auror?"
"I was cleared of any involvement in the theft. All staff from the day of the dragon egg incident have been suspended."