Up close, the abyssal blackness of Professor Drake's pupils was genuinely startling. Yet somehow, his expression held none of the menace one might reasonably expect from such an unsettling gaze. Instead, his entire face softened into a warm, crinkling smile that seemed to reach out and embrace the entire room like a comfortable blanket.
It was deeply unsettling in how not unsettling it managed to be.
"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," Drake said, his voice a rich, soothing baritone that carried effortlessly without any need for magical amplification. "And hello, everyone. I know that a sudden change in staff—especially in a subject as vital as Defense Against the Dark Arts—can be rather unsettling. But please, let me assure you all: my classroom will always be a sanctuary for students of all Houses."
He paused deliberately, making gentle eye contact with a terrified-looking first-year Hufflepuff boy in the front row who looked like he might cry.
"Fear is a perfectly natural response to the unknown," Drake continued, his tone radiating compassion. "My goal this year is not merely to teach you how to fight dark creatures and dangerous wizards, but how to understand that fear, and how to master it with wisdom and kindness as much as with hexes and shields. My door will always be open to any student, of any House, for any reason—academic or otherwise."
He bowed his head slightly and took his seat next to a deeply skeptical-looking Snape, who regarded him with the expression of a man who'd just been served suspicious soup.
The applause that followed was tentative at first, scattered and uncertain. Then it grew increasingly enthusiastic, led almost entirely by charmed witches in the upper years whose eyes had taken on a distinctly glazed quality.
A sixth-year Ravenclaw girl actually sighed audibly.
Dumbledore beamed, clearly pleased with the reception. "A lovely sentiment indeed, Professor Drake! Now, before we finally surrender to our well-deserved appetites, I have one final achievement to acknowledge. The results of Aerial Gauntlet record list is in!"
A murmur of excitement rippled through the dedicated Quidditch enthusiasts scattered across the tables.
"For his exceptional maneuvering and record-breaking performance," Dumbledore announced cheerfully, holding up a small, shimmering silver trophy that caught the candlelight, "top honors go to Mr. Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff!"
(A/N: After Alister got his Transfiguration level up objective completed. He wasn't seen anywhere near the gauntlet ^_^.)
The Hufflepuff table erupted into absolutely raucous cheers. Students pounded the table so hard the plates rattled. Cedric stood up, looking flushed and genuinely happy, shaking hands enthusiastically with his housemates while trying unsuccessfully to appear modest.
Alister, however, heard none of it.
His entire focus had narrowed to a singular, laser-sharp point at the High Table: Professor Lucid Drake.
Scan target, Alister mentally commanded his System.
In his vision, a familiar blue interface flickered to life.
[Scanning...]
[Target: Lucid Drake]
[Analyzing Bio-Signature...]
[ERR...ER..ERROR]
[Data Unreadable.]
Alister frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. He tried again, pushing considerably more intent and processing power into the command.
[WARNING: Target nonexistent in database.]
Alister felt a cold thread of unease curl through his chest.
This was the second time since unlocking the System that he'd encountered a complete blank wall. Even Dumbledore gave off clear readings. His magical signature was so bright it practically screamed.
But Drake? Drake was nothing. He was like a hole in reality.
The first void had been that strange area he'd discovered some time ago.
And now there was a second one. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in Hogwarts.
"You're staring too hard," a cool, melodic voice murmured, cutting cleanly through his focus. "He'll feel it."
Alister blinked rapidly, the blue scanning interface vanishing as he turned his head to face Artoria. She was calmly buttering a bread roll with precise, elegant movements, but her mismatched eyes were fixed intently on the High Table.
More specifically, on Professor Drake.
"Be wary of that man, Alister," she said softly. "There is something profoundly... wrong about him."
Alister leaned back casually in his seat, recovering his composure with practiced ease. He swirled the pumpkin juice in his goblet thoughtfully, watching the liquid catch the light. A playful, teasing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Wrong?" he drawled, raising one eyebrow in exaggerated skepticism. "Are you quite sure you aren't simply charmed like everyone else, Artoria? Look around."
He gestured vaguely with his goblet toward the other tables, where the effect was impossible to miss.
"Half the female population of Hogwarts is already mentally writing their wedding vows. He's kind, compassionate, devastatingly handsome, has a voice like honey..." Alister's smirk widened. "Surely even a Grindelwald can appreciate such overwhelming charm?"
It was true. At the Ravenclaw table, girls were whispering furiously behind their hands, giggling and blushing as Drake politely passed the potatoes to Professor Sprout with a warm smile. Even Pansy Parkinson looked unusually flushed from her position a few seats down the Slytherin table.
The man could probably start a fan club before dessert.
Artoria didn't even glance at the swooning masses. She stopped buttering her bread entirely and looked up at Alister with an expression of absolute, crystalline certainty.
The candlelight caught the gold in her left eye, making it flare with sudden, sharp luminosity.
"Charm is often merely a veil for the hollow," she said softly, a small, enigmatic smile touching her lips. She tapped the corner of her golden eye deliberately with one pale finger. "And I have learned to trust these eyes above all else."
Alister opened his mouth to retort a witty comment about teenage hormones and the psychology of attractive authority figures ready on his tongue, but the words died completely in his throat.
The world around him seemed to dim slightly, sounds fading to background static, as a high-priority notification window materialized in the air directly between him and Artoria. It glowed with an urgent, golden hue rather than the standard blue.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ANOMALY DETECTED]
Alister froze completely, his eyes scanning the floating text with increasing intensity.
[Subject: Artoria Grindelwald] [Status: Deep Scan Complete]
[Hidden Trait Discovered: The Mystic Eyes of Analysis and Precognition]
Active Effect 1 (Analysis - Left Eye/Gold): Grants the possessor the ability to perceive and deconstruct the structural weave of all magical operations within direct line of sight. Penetrates all standard forms of magical concealment. (Currently Restricted)
Active Effect 2 (Precognition - Right Eye/Blue): Grants the possessor glimpses of probable future timelines branching from present decisions. Accuracy increases with emotional proximity to subject. (Currently Restricted)
[WARNING: The current World Tier is insufficient to sustain full manifestation of this ability. The fundamental laws of physics and mana density ceiling in this dimension are actively suppressing the eyes' true potential.]
Alister stared at the notification screen, his mind racing
Mystic Eyes.
It explained everything. Why she'd walked directly to him out of all the empty spaces in the Great Hall and why she was warning him about Drake.
And the note about suppression... that was a terrifying implication he'd need to consider very carefully later. What would happen when the World Tier increased? When the dimensional restrictions lifted?
The notification dissolved into motes of golden light.
Alister blinked several times, the Great Hall rushing back into sharp focus.
Artoria was still looking at him patiently, her mismatched eyes waiting for his response. To her, there had been no pause in the conversation.
Alister slowly closed his mouth, the teasing smirk vanishing completely. His expression became serious.
"I see," Alister said quietly, leaning forward to match her intensity. "Then I suppose I owe you an apology. If your eyes tell you he is hollow beneath the charm... then he is hollow."
He swirled the juice in his goblet again, watching the golden liquid create a small vortex. "Remind me never to play cards against you, Artoria. I have a distinct feeling I would lose everything before I even finished picking up my hand."
Artoria's smile widened fractionally.
"A wise assessment," she said lightly. "Though I suspect you would prove a more challenging opponent than you give yourself credit for."
_________________________________________
The Slytherin dormitories were submerged in their usual subterranean gloom—greenish light from the Black Lake filtering through the high, narrow windows and casting rippling, hypnotic shadows across the cold stone floor and ancient tapestries.
The feast had ended hours ago. The castle had long since settled into its nighttime rhythms.
While his roommate was already deep in peaceful, rhythmic slumber complete with occasional snoring, Alister lay wide awake.
He stared up at the emerald velvet canopy of his four-poster bed, hands folded behind his head, his mind still processing the evening's revelations about Artoria's eyes and the concerning void that was Professor Drake.
His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a soft, insistent chime.
[Apex Chat - Private Message] [Sender: Gellert Grindelwald]
Alister sighed deeply. He sat up, leaning against his headboard, and flicked his finger through the air. The interface expanded into a translucent blue window floating in the darkness of the dormitory.
Gellert: Alister. Are you awake?
Alister: I am now. What do you want, old man? It's past midnight. Some of us require sleep to function.
Gellert: Sleep is overrated. This is about Artoria.
Alister's attention sharpened immediately.
Gellert: The wolves will be circling her. Students, professors, Ministry officials—all trying to get close to her because of her connection to me. They'll be trying to use her. She is powerful, yes, exceptionally so. But she is also... sheltered. Naive in certain ways. Bathilda has kept her in a gilded cage her entire life.
Gellert: I need you to watch over her. Ensure she isn't crushed by the weight of her own name before she learns to carry it properly.
Alister sat up straighter against his headboard, his eyes narrowing.
This was it. This was the opening. A request from Gellert Grindelwald—one of the most brilliant and dangerous wizards in history. The man had a personal library of forbidden magical knowledge in his head that made Hogwarts' Restricted Section look like a children's picture book collection.
Alister: I'm not a babysitter, Gellert. My time is extremely valuable and increasingly limited.
Alister: However, I am certainly open to negotiation. I assume you have appropriate compensation in mind? Something of equivalent value to providing personal protection services?
He waited, watching the typing indicator bob up and down hypnotically, practically salivating at the prospect of the forgotten dark arts, the lost spells, the theoretical magic he was about to expertly extort from a cornered Dark Lord.
This was going to be good.
Gellert: You are pragmatic and transactional. I appreciate that quality in young people. It's refreshing.
Gellert: She is the last true heir of my bloodline. You are the rising star of yours—the brightest Potter in generations. The symmetry is... aesthetically pleasing. Poetic, even.
Gellert: If you protect her, watch over her, ensure her safety and success... I can ensure she looks favorably upon a potential union when you both come of age. Think of it, Alister. A Potter and a Grindelwald. We could reshape the very foundations of magical society. The political implications alone—
Alister stared at the text.
His expression went completely, utterly blank—like someone had wiped his face clean of all emotion with a spell.
The delicious anticipation of forbidden magical knowledge evaporated instantly, replaced by a profound, bone-deep, deadpan annoyance.
Without a single flicker of emotion on his face, he reached out and tapped a specific icon in the top right corner of the chat window.
[User 'Gellert Grindelwald' has been blocked.]
The window vanished with a soft pop.
Alister lay back down, pulled the duvet up to his chin with perhaps more force than strictly necessary, and stared at the ceiling again.
He counted slowly in his head, trying to calm down.
One minute passed. Two minutes. Four minutes.
His eye twitched.
Alister sighed heavily. He couldn't afford to burn a bridge with one of the most knowledgeable wizards in recorded history, even if said wizard was being an insufferable, meddlesome matchmaker with apparently zero social awareness.
He sat up again and opened the interface.
[Unblock User?] [> Yes / No]
Tap.
Alister: You have exactly ONE chance to offer me actual, usable magic before I mute this chat for the remainder of the academic year and possibly forever.
The reply was instantaneous—like Grindelwald had been hovering over the send button.
Gellert: Ruthless! You really are wasted on Dumbledore's philosophy of endless patience and forgiveness.
Gellert: Very well. I will teach you the spell I became famous for—the spell that nearly consumed all of Paris. It is a heavily modified variant of Fiendfyre, but one that obeys the master's will rather than consuming everything including the caster. It judges loyalty. It incinerates enemies and shields allies based on the caster's intent.
Alister's eyes widened despite himself.
Grindelwald's Protego Diabolica.
One of the most destructive and simultaneously controlled forms of dark magic in existence. The spell that had held off dozens of Aurors while protecting his followers. The spell that Dumbledore himself had struggled to counter.
Alister:Now you're speaking my language. Send it immediately.
[System Notification: Incoming Data Transfer] [Source: Gellert Grindelwald]
Alister grinned—a genuine, triumphant expression crossing his face in the darkness. He accepted the transfer without hesitation.
[Download Complete.] [Processing...]
He eagerly opened the file, ready to dive into the complex runic arithmancy and theoretical frameworks that made the spell function.
But as the document title scrolled across the top of his vision in cheerful, mocking letters, his grin froze completely.
His entire face went blank again.
[File Name: Dowry]
Alister stared at the filename for a long, long time.
His roommate's snoring continued peacefully in the background, completely unaware of the psychological warfare occurring three feet away.
Alister: ... I genuinely, truly, deeply hate you.
Gellert: Use it well, son-in-law. ;)
Gellert: Oh, and the spell works best if you're protecting someone you care about. Just a thought. Sweet dreams! :)
[User 'Gellert Grindelwald' is now offline]
Alister closed the interface.
He lay back down.
He pulled his pillow over his face.
And from beneath the pillow, barely audible, came a muffled scream of pure frustration.
"DAMN THIS SLY OLD BASTARD."
His roommate snorted in his sleep and rolled over, completely undisturbed.
Somewhere in Nurmengard Prison, Gellert Grindelwald was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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