Sunday, October 10, 1993
Another Sunday, and once again I found myself standing before Grindelwald's hideout.
The manor no longer looked like the crumbling ruin it had been when I first arrived weeks ago. Ivy had been cut back, shattered windows replaced with pristine glass, and the stone walls looked scrubbed clean of decades of neglect. Even the iron gates no longer groaned when the wind blew through them. The place still felt old, heavy with history and dark intent, but it was no longer dilapidated.
It had style now.
I stepped inside, glancing around with mild amusement. It was impossible not to notice the changes.
'Well,' I thought, 'it seems the vain old man's been busy restoring the place.'
"I heard that!"
Grindelwald's voice echoed through the hall, sharp and amused. He emerged from one of the side corridors, robes immaculate as always, silver hair tied neatly behind his head. He looked far too pleased with himself.
I blinked and turned toward him. "How?" I asked. "I didn't say it aloud."
He sneered. "I told you to keep your Occlumency up at all times. That was far too easy."
I instinctively tightened my mental defenses, erecting the familiar walls around my thoughts.
Grindelwald paused mid-step, then nodded approvingly. "Yes. That's better. I can't hear anything now."
He folded his hands behind his back and began circling me slowly.
"And do keep in mind," he continued, "I have practically no talent for the mind arts. If I can slip past your defenses, imagine what a true Legilimens could do."
His gaze sharpened. "You are talented, Gilderoy. Exceptionally so. That is precisely why you should never allow yourself to slack off."
I inclined my head slightly. "You're right. I've been careless. I suppose rapid progress has a way of making one conceited." I exhaled quietly. "I'll try to keep my ego in check."
He stopped in front of me, studying my expression for a long moment.
"Do not make the same mistakes I did," he said finally. "I was defeated by my own ego long before anyone raised a wand against me."
The words carried no self-pity, only certainty.
After a brief silence, his expression shifted, becoming almost… anticipatory.
"Alright," he said briskly. "Your foundations are solid enough now. You are ready to learn my signature magic."
That caught my full attention.
"I have only taught it to one person before," he continued, turning away and gesturing for me to follow. "He is dead. Which means it will fall to you to pass it down, someday, to someone worthy."
I straightened unconsciously. "I'll do my best to choose the right person."
Grindelwald let out a short laugh. "There's no need to be so solemn. Teach it to whomever you wish. Just do not pass it on to some fool."
We stopped before a pair of reinforced doors etched with protective runes.
He placed a hand against them and continued. "Now. The incantation is Protego Diabolica."
My pulse quickened at the name.
"Various idiots have tried to recreate it," he said with open disdain. "None of them succeeded. Do you know why?"
"Why?" I asked.
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting. "Because it is not a spell."
That made something click in my mind.
"They classify it as Dark Magic," he went on, "but they misunderstand its nature entirely. It is, at its base, a ward."
I frowned slightly, then my eyes widened. "An intent-based ward."
Grindelwald clapped once, sharply. "Exactly."
He pushed the doors open, revealing a vast underground chamber. The training room was circular, its stone floor engraved with complex sigils that radiated old, disciplined magic. The air itself felt heavy, expectant.
"The true brilliance of Protego Diabolica," he said as we stepped inside, "is that once it is set, the fire obeys the caster's will."
He raised a finger. "It can be called the perfect fire magic. It will only harm the caster's enemies. And its power is not inferior to Fiendfyre."
His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "And most importantly, it is vastly more elegant than those vulgar cursed flames."
I couldn't help but smile in return.
"Aesthetic superiority does matter," I agreed.
"Of course it does," he said smugly. "Now then."
He walked toward the center of the chamber and turned to face me.
"Let us begin," Grindelwald said. "If you survive the lesson, you may even thank me later."
I raised my wand, every sense alert.
This was going to be interesting.
…
"Alright," Grindelwald said, his voice lowering slightly, taking on the cadence of a lesson that mattered. "Watch carefully. I will do it slowly. Feel the flow of the magic. Do not rely only on your eyes. Use all your senses."
He took several measured steps away from me, boots clicking softly against the stone floor of the training chamber. Then he began to walk in a wide circle, wand angled toward the ground, movements smooth and unhurried. There was something undeniably theatrical about it. Say what one wished about the old man, but he had an instinctive sense for presentation. Every motion felt deliberate, practiced, and utterly confident.
As his wand traced the circle, blue flames poured from its tip, not exploding into existence but unfurling like silk in water. It clung to the stone floor, spreading evenly, rising higher with each step he took. The air grew warmer, humming faintly with restrained power.
By the time he completed the circle, he stood at its center, surrounded by a wall of shimmering blue fire. The flames danced quietly, contained, elegant. They did not roar or lash out like Fiendfyre. They just watched quietly.
"Now," Grindelwald said calmly, turning toward me, "cross the flames."
I swallowed.
Every instinct I had screamed that stepping into that wall of fire was a terrible idea. My grip tightened on my staff, knuckles whitening. For a brief moment, I wondered if this was another lesson in arrogance, his way of reminding me just how fragile trust could be.
Still, I stepped forward.
The flames parted around me as I crossed the boundary. I braced myself for pain, for heat, for something sharp and punishing.
Nothing happened.
Well, not nothing. There was warmth, like stepping into sunlight after a cold morning. The flames brushed against my robes and skin, but there was no burn, no resistance, no threat. It felt almost welcoming, in a way that made my skin prickle.
I stopped inside the circle and looked back at him.
"Good," Grindelwald said, satisfaction clear in his voice. "It seems I was right to trust you."
Only then did the realization settle in.
He had been testing me.
If I had failed, if my intent had wavered, if my mind had betrayed me, that test could very easily have been fatal.
"Did you feel it?" Grindelwald asked eagerly. "The nature of the flames?"
I closed my eyes, replaying the sensation in my mind. "Yes," I said slowly. "They felt… eager. Like they were waiting. Searching for the slightest sign of betrayal so they could burn me."
His grin widened. "Exactly."
He stepped closer to the flames, studying them like an artist admiring his work.
"They carry a trace of sentience," he explained. "Just like the Patronus Charm. Just like Fiendfyre. Even when the intent is loyalty, the nature of fire remains unchanged. It wants to burn. That is why the ignorant classify this as Dark Magic."
He waved his wand, and the flames drew inward, collapsing neatly until they formed a dense blue sphere hovering at the tip of his wand. Then, with an almost casual breath, he snuffed it out like a candle.
I had an immediate, powerful urge to do that in front of an audience. It looked absurdly impressive.
"Now," he said, turning to me, "it is your turn."
I took a slow breath and gathered myself. Incantations and exaggerated wand movements were long behind me. They were crutches, useful for learning, but meaningless when working with a staff. Intent mattered far more.
I closed my eyes.
I focused not on the fire itself, but on what I wanted it to be. A boundary. A judgment. A promise.
I stepped away and began to walk in a circle, much slower than Gellert had. Holding my staff upside down, the diamond on top pointing at the stone floor as thin blue flames spilled from it, hesitant but present.
The circle closed.
And then the flames sputtered.
They flickered once, twice, and vanished entirely, leaving only faint scorch marks on the floor.
Grindelwald did not laugh.
"Focus on the intent," he said calmly. "You want a fire that does not burn your allies. But if you focus only on that, the flames will extinguish themselves."
He turned to face me fully.
"You must also hold the intent to burn your enemies. But if you focus too strongly on that, the fire will escape your control."
His eyes bored into mine. "Balance. Judgment without hesitation. Mercy without weakness."
I nodded slowly. "Alright. I understand."
I closed my eyes again.
This time, I held both truths at once.
The fire was protection.
The fire was punishment.
I walked the circle again, steady and deliberate. Blue flames rose, stronger now, smoother. When I completed the loop, the wall held firm, steady, alive with restrained power.
Grindelwald began circling the flames, examining them from every angle.
"It took you too long," he said critically. Then he nodded. "But it is acceptable for your first attempt."
Without warning, he stepped forward, straight into the fire.
My eyes widened.
He passed through the flames unharmed and stopped directly in front of me, now standing inside my circle. His robes were untouched, and there wasn't a single strand of hair out of place.
"Well," he said, glancing around, "it seems you succeeded."
"What if I'd made a mistake?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
He smiled, a sharp, knowing expression. "Then you would have failed."
He met my gaze. "You must trust your magic. Doubt poisons intent. And poisoned intent causes wards like this to collapse."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "You're mad. Has anyone ever told you that?"
Grindelwald nodded serenely. "More times than I can count."
And somehow, I suspected that was exactly why his magic was so terrifying.
…