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Hogwarts: King of Fiendfyre
Hogwarts Bloodline Wizards
In the underground levels of the Bastille, inside Vinda Rosier's cell.
Seeing that his sister had no intention of playing host, Laurent was long used to it.
He flicked a small metal cube from his pocket. It hit the floor with a crisp sound and unfolded in an instant into a comfortable chair that caught him as he sat.
Once seated, Laurent continued his persuasion. "Those things, that person… he has no use for them anymore. There's no need for you to keep holding on. Some of the Saints have already been granted the right to leave prison. After all, it's been decades…"
In those days, Grindelwald's followers had been called the Saints, and their numbers had been vast.
After Dumbledore's final duel with Grindelwald, the Saints had either been captured and imprisoned or gone into hiding. Aside from the few who had fought back with fanatical violence, most had not faced bloody retribution.
One of Grindelwald's conditions before walking into Nurmengard had been to do everything possible to protect those Saints.
Wizarding justice had always favored imprisonment over execution. True death sentences were rare—wizarding populations were too small, and every drop of wizard blood was considered precious.
Many of the key Saints came from pure-blood families, so during the final trials, the authorities had shown some consideration for blood ties and family connections.
Vinda's tone was cold. "That was their choice."
She sat on the sofa, an old book in her hands, though she wasn't turning the pages. Her gaze rested on the blank space of the page as if she were looking at something far away.
Vinda had once been the second-in-command among the Saints, her status second only to Grindelwald himself.
She had helped him manage countless affairs. The Saints' supplies—including precious magical artifacts and books—had all been coordinated and stored in hidden locations under her oversight.
The value of those collections was incalculable. If she were willing to hand over even a fraction of them, she could walk out of this prison today and live out her remaining years in comfort.
Even if the cell had been furnished to be as pleasant as possible, it was still a cell.
Laurent had been trying for years to get his sister out, but it all depended on Vinda herself agreeing to leave.
In truth, if she had wanted to go free, she could have done so twenty or thirty years ago.
But she simply refused.
Laurent's head was starting to ache. His voice rose slightly. "The family never should have gotten involved in what happened back then. I was able to stay out of it and focus on my alchemy research, even landed a teaching position at Beauxbatons… If you hadn't followed that man, the family would have been far more glorious under your leadership."
He had a pretty good guess why Vinda refused to leave.
It was because of the man locked away in Nurmengard.
In Laurent's eyes, that man had ruined his sister's entire life.
All the ideals, the talk of greater good—nothing but excuses.
With that man's intelligence, how could he not have seen how Vinda felt about him? Yet the bastard had only ever used her.
Laurent knew better than to say any of that out loud. Vinda would beat him senseless.
Not that he would dare raise a hand against his own sister. More importantly, even if he had his wand and she didn't, he still couldn't beat her in a fight.
Vinda had become the Saints' second-in-command for many reasons, but one of the biggest was simple: she could fight. She was exceptionally good at it.
She had been that way for as long as Laurent could remember.
Vinda answered his words with cool detachment. "If you weren't my brother, if you didn't carry the blood of the Rosiers, do you really think you could have studied your alchemy in peace?"
Laurent fell silent.
It was true. Outside of alchemy, his real talent lay in running—Apparition, escape charms, anything that let him get away. Direct combat had never been his strength.
During the wizarding war that had engulfed the world decades ago, the Saints had left him alone out of respect for Vinda.
After the war, carrying the Rosier name and armed with his skill in alchemy, he had still been able to live a comfortable life. Hedging bets—sometimes on multiple sides at once—was simply how pure-blood families survived.
No matter which side won, as long as the family line continued, that was enough.
Seeing that Laurent had nothing more to say, Vinda spoke again, her voice softening the way it had when they were children after she had finished scolding him. "At least when it comes to continuing the family bloodline, you've done well. I'll never have the chance to have children of my own."
Laurent lowered his head in silence, but in his heart he thought: If you had children, the surname alone would give everyone a headache.
Vinda waved a hand, signaling for him to leave. She said nothing more.
The man she had followed was trapped in a cage. How could she walk out and enjoy her freedom?