You can read ahead up to 100 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
”Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor’s Office”
After Ian was apprehended by Gilderoy Grindelwald outside the headmaster’s office, he was briskly escorted to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s quarters to await further instructions.
Grindelwald, for his part, had muttered something about needing to consult with Dumbledore regarding a recent discovery before disappearing down the corridor.
The tête-à-tête between the headmaster and his confidant was evidently not going to be brief. Ian had briefly entertained the idea of slipping back to his dormitory, but the thought of Grindelwald storming in to haul him back in the dead of night was enough to dissuade him.
Ian was a wizard who valued his reputation, and the day’s incident— where Snape had whisked him away in full view of the class— had already set the Hogwarts rumor mill ablaze. The last thing he needed was to be dragged out of bed by Grindelwald, sparking even wilder speculations about his connection to the enigmatic professor.
“What a blasted night,” Ian muttered under his breath.
He stared at the cup of tea Grindelwald had prepared for him. It was served in a porcelain cup of exquisite craftsmanship, its surface smooth and delicate, with a glaze that shimmered like polished jade. Such a piece, with its flawless form and texture, was unmistakably a relic from the ancient East.
While the wizarding world of Britain held a certain fascination for Eastern tea and its accouterments, such items were rare in Hogwarts or most wizarding households. Most witches and wizards tended to be insular in their tastes, but Grindelwald, it seemed, was a man of decidedly different inclinations.
The office, which appeared to have been recently redecorated, was a veritable trove of cultural artifacts from across the globe. Russian pine furniture, Persian rugs, Japanese wind chimes, African drums, and intricate wooden carvings— each piece bore the mark of its origin.
On the wall hung an ancient Eastern broadsword and a wand from an unfamiliar culture, crossed in an X shape, as if symbolizing the convergence of worlds.
These items, though imbued with a magical aura, were mostly enchanted objects— Alchemical Artifacts, much like the Weasleys’ enchanted car. It was unclear how Grindelwald dared to flaunt them so openly in his office, especially given his reputation as a wizard supremacist.
“What an enigma,” Ian mused. He had always heard that Grindelwald’s ideology was only slightly less extreme than Voldemort’s pureblood fanaticism. Yet, here in this room, he found himself surrounded by items that seemed to contradict that notion.
Muggle artifacts.
Yes, there they were— a refrigerator, an oven, a television, a washing machine, and even a dismantled computer, all relatively expensive Muggle contraptions for the time.
Grindelwald might have been wealthy in his own right, or perhaps he had pilfered Gilderoy Lockhart’s assets, but Ian suspected the professor had simply helped himself to a Muggle millionaire’s home for a spot of “shopping.” What puzzled Ian was why a wizard supremacist would bother with such items.
“To understand Muggle society?” Ian wondered. With the collection in this office, even Quirinus Quirrell, Voldemort’s lackey, might struggle to secure the Muggle Studies professorship upon his return.
Grindelwald had even gone so far as to enchant a box of kimchi to keep it perpetually fresh, a nod to South Korean culture that surpassed even Muggle’s understanding in the early 1990s.
Curiously, the label beneath the kimchi box bore no analysis or insights from Grindelwald— just a row of five question marks: “?????”. The professor had penned lengthy notes on the ancient East but seemed utterly baffled by the culture of the kimchi country.
“Understandable,” Ian thought wryly. “Who wouldn’t be confounded by their situation?”
As he waited for Grindelwald’s return, Ian idly examined the professor’s eclectic collection. Among the Muggle artifacts, only the enchanted radio seemed to function within Hogwarts’ magical confines.
Ian, who prided himself on his knowledge of both magic and Muggle technology, had once tried to power a tape recorder with a sustained magical current, only to find it stubbornly unresponsive. Even his recording of Daphne Greengrass’s voice had refused to play.
“Blasted magic,” Ian muttered, sipping his tea and resigning himself to the long wait.
Ian hadn’t forgotten to lodge a complaint; he simply found himself without the evidence to do so. Of course, the fact that Miss Daphne Greengrass had been on her best behavior recently also played a part in his decision not to stir the cauldron.
Otherwise, a well-timed question like, “Professor, what does ‘mudblood’ mean?” would have been enough to make Daphne squirm for weeks.
Ian had initially planned to bring up Daphne’s past behavior with every professor at Hogwarts, but her apparent repentance had spared her— according to Aurora, she no longer dared to discriminate against Muggle-born wizards.
In fact, she seemed more terrified of Ian than of the professors themselves. Ever since the Marcus incident, Daphne would take a detour the moment she spotted Ian in the distance. Even if it was pouring rain, she’d pretend to be out for a sunbath, determined to avoid him at all costs.
In shared classes between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, she made herself as inconspicuous as a Disillusionment Charm. If Ian so much as glanced in her direction, she’d tremble like a first-year facing a Boggart and duck under the table.
Ian didn’t consider himself particularly vindictive— only slightly so— and thus he didn’t dwell on Daphne, though he did occasionally use his “stare” to give Miss Greengrass a harmless fright for his own amusement.
This was but a minor episode in his daily life. What truly caught his attention was the realization that Hogwarts not only lacked electricity but also actively prevented the use of electrical devices.
It was as if some form of magical interference or restriction was at play. Even though Ian could generate a stable electric current through alchemy, he still couldn’t power any Muggle electronic devices within the castle’s walls.
“Only magically modified items can function here…” Ian mused.
He didn’t fully understand the reason behind this. When he asked the portraits, they cryptically replied, “Every school rule has a story behind it.” Perhaps something had happened at Hogwarts in the past, or maybe the entire wizarding world operated under similar constraints. Ian’s limited experience didn’t allow him to guess the answer.
“Regardless, combining magic and technology definitely has potential. It’s surely more promising than focusing on a single skill tree,” Ian thought, holding firm to his alchemical philosophy.
For instance, the range of a spaceship is limited by fuel, but a magically powered spaceship would be an entirely different beast. Expensive and bulky space fuel is no match for wizards, who only need three pumpkin pasties a day… perhaps with a bit of pickled gurdyroot on the side?
Ian glanced at the enchanted jar of pickled gurdyroot on the shelf. Just then, footsteps echoed from the direction of the door, and Gilderoy Grindelwald, who had been engaged in a lengthy conversation with Dumbledore, finally returned.
“Apologies for keeping you waiting,” Grindelwald said, his tone as inconsistent as ever when it came to courtesy. He seemed to be in high spirits. “Our headmaster was just too enthusiastic. Even though I tried to leave quickly, he kept me reminiscing about the past for what felt like an eternity.”
Whether this was true or not, Ian couldn’t tell. He couldn’t read Grindelwald’s thoughts, but the man’s smile suggested that his conversation with Dumbledore had been a pleasant one.
“You’d never guess what I saw,” Grindelwald continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “He received a letter from someone— treasured it so much he wouldn’t even let me touch it. Aurora must have told you about our family’s talent. Our stingy headmaster was clearly worried I might ‘see’ something from that letter. Little did he know, I’d already glimpsed something he’d rather not happen the moment I walked in.”
Grindelwald’s expression turned gleeful. “Whatever is in that letter, in the near future, someone will steal a photo from it. If he’d let me see the letter, I might have warned him. But now… well, let the stingy man worry about it himself.”
Perhaps old men shared the same mischievous tendencies as children.
Ian lowered his head, choosing not to respond. He trusted Dumbledore, but Grindelwald was another matter entirely. There were things he could confide in the headmaster, but he certainly didn’t want Grindelwald prying into his thoughts.
Of course, if Grindelwald decided to cheat, there was little Ian could do about it. The only thing a cheater can’t counter is another cheater— even a minor one. It was a nearly unsolvable situation, and Ian knew better than to test his luck.
“Perhaps it’s a letter from Aberforth?” Ian’s habit of playing the fool had become second nature. Whether it was useful or not, feigning ignorance was always safer than revealing too much. To be honest, it was a bit exhausting. There were too many ancient, cunning minds to navigate, and since arriving at Hogwarts, he’d developed a new skill: [Acting].
Perhaps because Ian had already mentioned to Grindelwald that he was planning to complain to Dumbledore, the professor didn’t seem to connect him with the letter— at least not on the surface.
“He and his brother haven’t been in contact for years. Even though I’ve been… confined to a certain place, I’ve kept up with the goings-on outside,” Gilderoy Grindelwald remarked, raising an eyebrow. “This involves a past event… From your expression, it seems you already know the story.”
It could only be said that Ian’s [Acting] was passable, but it wasn’t exactly masterful.
“Only a little,” Ian admitted quickly, taking a tactical sip of tea. The tea had a clear, light green hue, as fresh as spring leaves, but it tasted as bitter as chewing on a piece of Wolfsbane.
It was truly foul… Ian, skeptical, took another sip, and the taste remained just as bitter and peculiar. He began to suspect this was Gilderoy Grindelwald’s idea of a Halloween prank.
“Slurp Slurp~”
Ian took another sip, still grimacing, like someone tasting their first sip of cold, unsweetened pumpkin juice.
Grindelwald didn’t seem to mind Ian’s curious, cat-like reaction. His expression carried a hint of regret, and his tone held a trace of remorse. “That tragedy changed everything, and it also showed that some prophecies can indeed cost the prophet.”
“Our kind of talent allows us to glimpse fragments of the future, but if we fail to interpret them correctly, the prophet suffers the backlash of the prophecy. I’m cautious enough now, but I still feel it’s not sufficient… I hope you’ll remember this too,” Grindelwald added, giving Ian a meaningful look.
“I’ll remind Aurora,” Ian replied, blinking before returning to his tea in silence.
“I’m not worried about that child. She always has some… unique interpretations of the future she sees, which might be a talent that protects her from punishment,” Grindelwald said, his expression tinged with awkwardness and his tone laced with a hint of helplessness.
“Is the future revealed by prophecy inevitable?” Ian hadn’t yet reached the age to take Divination, and he was curious about one of the most mysterious branches of magic in the wizarding world.
“It depends on how many wizards believe it… I usually don’t reveal this little-known answer to others, as it almost represents the common weakness of prophets,” Grindelwald explained, placing a hand on Ian’s head and ruffling his still-thick hair. “Of course, for a little wizard as likable as you, I’m willing to answer all your questions.”
Grindelwald stood behind Ian, one of his eyes briefly turning milky white.
The scene reflected in his gaze shifted, though it didn’t differ from what he’d seen over the years. “Oh, by the way, if the events of a prophecy are sufficiently disruptive, even the most outstanding seer may struggle to truly see the future. I think this is also significantly related to the influence of history,” he added softly, his voice patient and instructive.
His eyes returned to normal, and the corners of his mouth curled slightly, showing no disappointment at not seeing a new scene. For him, just seeing the flags raised in the vision was enough.
“Suppose I’m a seer, and I make a prophecy that I didn’t actually see, but due to my high reputation, everyone believes it. What then?” Ian asked, watching as Grindelwald moved to face him. Since there was no escaping the conversation, he might as well absorb knowledge from a seer who had left his mark on history.
“That’s a great question. Almost no one would make such an assumption. Wizards can indeed guide the course of the future because the future possesses uncertainty until it becomes the present,” Grindelwald explained, sitting down across from Ian and pouring himself a cup of the same bitter tea that Ian found overwhelming. “Different seers may see different futures and can choose to direct the present toward the future they desire. However, in the case of your assumption about a future that hasn’t been prophesied, even renowned seers might not be able to provide you with an accurate answer.”
“Alright,” Ian replied, continuing to drink his tea with some regret.
“What flavor do you taste?” Grindelwald suddenly asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Bitter. Purely bitter,” Ian answered honestly.
“Good, that proves you’re living a happy life,” Gilderoy Grindelwald remarked, his words intriguing enough to make Ian pause and glance at the cup in his hand.
“For me, this is a sweet tea, though it’s changed a bit recently,” Grindelwald added with a chuckle, taking a sip. He then continued, addressing Ian’s earlier question, “In fact, as far as I know, Merlin once attempted something similar, and in the end, he warned future generations in his legacy not to be curious about it…”
His response was somewhat vague, yet it clearly concealed specific details.
“Is that even possible?” Ian’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Wizards are wonderfully magical, Ian, but I still can’t give you a definite answer,” Grindelwald replied, his smile bright beneath Lockhart’s face. “Because some things require time to verify.”
His words were laden with meaning, causing Ian’s already wide eyes to grow even wider.
“What did you do?” Ian couldn’t help but ask.
“Just a little misdirection, as for the purpose…” Grindelwald’s eyes sparkled, though Ian, sitting across from him, didn’t have the keen sight to notice that each flicker of light in Grindelwald’s gaze represented a different future he had witnessed.
The scenes varied greatly, but almost everyone was steeped in the coldness of death— hundreds of prophecies over decades, without exception.
The greater good requires a price. Grindelwald’s prophecies never contained the future Dumbledore hoped to see; they always involved a smaller price for a more magnificent prospect.
“It’s time to prevent our headmaster from making foolish mistakes. After all, some things still require his participation as a great man for us to obtain the answer to your earlier question,” Grindelwald said, standing up and adjusting his clothing. His single eye finally focused on a misty scene.
The mist began to dissipate, but the things within it remained unclear. Recently, Grindelwald hadn’t completely deceived Dumbledore; he was also immersed in challenging the highest achievements of the seers.
“Of course, your involvement is essential,” Grindelwald added, his smile growing even brighter, his tone heavy with implication.
“Professor, where do you want to take me? Hogsmeade Village?” Ian asked. Although he wouldn’t have a small class tonight due to the holiday, he still didn’t want to waste the time he usually dedicated to learning new knowledge.
Time is proficiency, professor! Of course, if Grindelwald only took him to Hogsmeade, he might find an opportunity to retrieve Secrets of Advanced Dark Magic from Snape’s cabin.
“Even further,” Grindelwald replied, walking to the front of the desk and pulling out a golden box. He tossed it disdainfully to Ian, who was sitting across from him.
“What is this?” Ian asked, examining the seamless cube in his hand. It felt heavy, like solid gold. He considered verifying it by tasting it but hesitated with Grindelwald watching.
“A container. Inside is something Dumbledore doesn’t want me to handle,” Grindelwald explained, changing his scarf and admiring himself in the mirror for a moment. “It will be useful soon.”
After adjusting his attire, Grindelwald walked to the cabinet displaying various collectibles and turned to Ian, silently extending his hand.
“Horcrux?” Ian guessed.
In the next moment, Ian understood the purpose of the enchanted jar of pickled gurdyroot— Grindelwald pinched it with his other hand, and an invisible force seemed to envelop them in the air. Ian and Grindelwald disappeared directly from the office. Clearly, the jar had been turned into a Portkey.
The surrounding scenery twisted and stretched under a powerful magical force until it completely vanished. The howling wind and swirling colors surrounded Ian and Grindelwald.
Spinning, flying… and perhaps a bit of jumping. It felt like riding an invisible train, heading toward some distant destination. It was much more bearable than Apparition. As the power of the Portkey gradually weakened, Ian’s vision cleared, and he found himself in a remote wilderness.
“Gaunt’s House once stood here. Do you know where this is?” Grindelwald asked, still maintaining Lockhart’s appearance. Since he was technically still a prisoner, he couldn’t use his real face, or else the “Grindelwald” locked up in Nurmengard would be hard to explain.
“Professor, are we here to catch a mountain village corpse?” Ian asked, having been tricked by Dumbledore once before. He wasn’t going to fall for it a second time. He simply looked around curiously.
On Halloween night, the sky was pitch black, as if soaked in thick ink. The stars were hidden, and even the moonlight seemed to avoid this place, with only a few faint rays managing to pierce through the heavy clouds.
”In the Distance”
A dilapidated wooden shack stood in the wilderness, a sliver of moonlight casting an eerie glow over the mottled old house. The surrounding trees were twisted and dense, as if nature itself bore witness to the curse that plagued this land.
Their branches hung low, resembling countless ghostly hands silently reaching out into the night, trying to grasp any living being that dared to wander too close. The wind whistled through the treetops, sounding like the whispers of the dead.
“You’re not entirely wrong. There’s a Horcrux here. We need to keep it from our headmaster, so he doesn’t get a chance to come into contact with it,” Gilderoy Grindelwald said, leading Ian forward.
His voice carried a hint of teasing. “Of course, I might also take revenge on you. After all, Aurora said you think I’m not as good as Dumbledore. Maybe I’ll just bury you here.”
Perhaps because there was no one around, Grindelwald deliberately shifted from his Gilderoy persona to his original form. The handsome old man wore a sinister expression as if he were about to ask Ian if he was Dumbledore’s favorite child.
“Gulp~”
Ian swallowed hard. How could he not be nervous? At Hogwarts, he really was Dumbledore’s favorite!
His hand instinctively reached for his wand. The small movement didn’t escape Grindelwald’s notice, but it only made him laugh even more.
“Aurora was right. You really do have a lot of guts.” With that, Grindelwald walked ahead of Ian, their destination clearly the dilapidated shack looming in the distance.
“We all know how bad Aurora’s reading comprehension is!” Ian quickly defended himself as he followed.
“Tsk tsk, you’re complaining about my blood relative in front of me. I might just leave you here and make you walk back to Hogwarts,” Grindelwald replied, his expression shifting from jest to seriousness in an instant. This was clearly more threatening than being buried alive.
“Aurora and I are good friends. She definitely wouldn’t think I’m complaining about her. I promised to get her a Christmas gift. If she doesn’t receive it, she’ll definitely cry,” Ian insisted, trying to lighten the mood.
“Besides, I’ve prepared Christmas gifts for you and Dumbledore too. You might not care for Christmas gifts, but you wouldn’t want Dumbledore to miss out on a proper one this year, would you?” Ian added, his tone dripping with charm, clearly banking on the fact that Grindelwald and Dumbledore were indeed good friends.
“Hahaha~” Grindelwald laughed heartily, startling the creatures sleeping in the forest. Dark figures fluttered in the trees, likely birds disturbed from their rest.
“People,” Ian said, spotting several men in suits before they even reached the shack. Instead of sleeping at night, they were following a nun in circles in this wilderness. It resembled a game of “Eagle and Chicks,” with the nun leading and the suited men blindfolded, their hands resting on the shoulders of the person in front.
The nun seemed to be guiding them in search of something— when Ian noticed them, Grindelwald’s laughter had clearly disturbed their game.
“Wizards!” the nun exclaimed upon seeing Ian and Grindelwald’s attire, causing the suited men to immediately pull off their blindfolds.
They reached for something at their waists, but in the darkness, it was hard to see what. A chill ran down Ian’s spine, and his wand ignited with blue flames.
But Grindelwald was much faster.
“Obliviate!” he shouted.
This was perhaps the best interpretation of the character he was cosplaying. Gilderoy Grindelwald used Lockhart’s signature spell, and in one swift motion, all the Muggles collapsed to the ground, their eyes rolling back as they succumbed to the charm.
“Some say I’m a dark wizard trained at Durmstrang, but I think Durmstrang is far behind Hogwarts when it comes to training dark wizards,” Grindelwald remarked, his tone laced with dry amusement. “First Tom Riddle, and now Ian Prince? Tsk tsk, you lot are really something.” He turned to look at Ian, who was slowly putting away his wand after extinguishing the Fiendfyre.
“That was a gun!” Ian exclaimed, still shaken. He had actually been ready to cast the Killing Curse.
“I know what they were trying to grab. In fact, these people who use Squibs to hunt us have existed for many, many years,” Grindelwald said, giving Ian a meaningful look. “You kids today can hardly imagine what happened to the wizards caught by these people back then… When I was in Japan, I saw them completely dissect a wizard. Every organ was studied to figure out why we can use magic.”
“Many say my ideas were extreme, but clearly, some Muggles are even more extreme than I was. The strong prey on the weak—this is an unavoidable conflict between different species,” Grindelwald continued, his voice calm but firm.
It was unclear whether he had deliberately waited for this moment to bring Ian here and “accidentally” encounter these wizard hunters. Whatever the case, he was indeed using these people to lecture Ian. “Look at them. Their immediate reaction upon discovering we’re wizards says a lot.”
“Look at them. Their immediate reaction upon discovering we’re wizards says a lot.”
“I never wanted to exterminate Muggles. I just didn’t want Muggles to exterminate us… Maybe there are friendly Muggles, but if the initiative is in our hands, the number of friendly ones would only increase, not decrease. Tolerance and peace? Only when we are the victors can it be guaranteed that by 100%.” It had to be said that even after being locked up for so many years, Grindelwald’s oratory skills were still as sharp as Ian had seen in Dumbledore’s memories.
“Dumbledore told me not to learn this from you,” Ian quickly interjected, bringing up the old headmaster. He felt like he was being fed dangerous ideas and didn’t want to end up brainwashed like one of Grindelwald’s Acolytes.
“He also told me not to kill people,” Grindelwald replied with a shrug, glancing somewhat regretfully at the unconscious Muggles. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t help others regain their youth.”
Well, the old man was indeed more ruthless. This was probably resetting someone’s memories to their factory settings.
“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m just telling you some realities,” Grindelwald added, and true to his word, he didn’t bring up the conflict between Muggles and wizards again.
They made their way to the seemingly ordinary old shack. The walls of the house were covered in moss, and the roof tiles were scattered, revealing the rafters inside. The surroundings were overgrown with weeds, interspersed with some withered nettles, their leaves glowing faintly green under the weak moonlight.
This was clearly an ominous place. A few nocturnal creatures scurried through the desolate area, their cries sharp and piercing, adding to the terrifying atmosphere.
“Hmph, those people could search for a lifetime and never find this place. Not only is there a gap between Squibs and wizards, but there’s also a huge gap between wizards themselves,” Grindelwald remarked, examining the legendary house in front of him. It was nestled between two steep hills, half-hidden in the tangled trees.
Ian also observed curiously. The house was surrounded by dense nettles, reaching up to the windows, which were very small and covered in thick, years-old grime.
The door was nailed with a dead snake in the shape of an “S,” symbolizing the pure-blood house of Salazar Slytherin, where Voldemort’s mother Merope Gaunt, her brother Morfin Gaunt, and their father Marvolo Gaunt had lived.
Perhaps the Muggles Ian and Grindelwald had encountered had heard about the existence of wizards in this area from Voldemort’s runaway father.
“There’s magic here,” Ian said, waving his wand. Hidden protective spells became visible. Grindelwald nodded approvingly beside him and also raised his wand, revealing even more protective spells that Ian hadn’t detected.
“Hiss~” Ian could already feel how much Tom Riddle valued the protection of this place. If those Squibs and Muggles had actually found this house, they would have met a very, very tragic end. He examined the protective measures on the house. Compared to them, Grindelwald’s earlier punishment was indeed a stroke of luck for those people.
“Honestly, he might as well have turned a stone into a Horcrux and tossed it into the sea,” Grindelwald sneered, using his wand to dismantle the layers of protective spells. There were so many of them that even someone of his skill took a considerable amount of time to remove them, a testament to Tom Riddle’s paranoia.
“I think he might as well have turned the entire planet into his Horcrux,” Ian quipped, blinking as the two of them began to casually critique the infamous You-Know-Who, Voldemort.
“If he had that kind of power, would he even need Horcruxes?” Grindelwald retorted, pushing open the door, which was nailed with a decaying snake skeleton.
A cloud of dust billowed out, forcing Ian to cover his nose in disgust. After casting Scourgify, the room’s layout became visible— it was incredibly shabby, with broken chairs and a rickety table scattered about.
The oil lamp on the wall was also covered in grime, and even Scourgify couldn’t restore it. Even by Muggle standards, this would be considered a poor living environment. It was hard to imagine that this was where the descendants of Slytherin had lived.
The Gaunt family had once been wealthy and prominent, but their fortune had long been squandered. By the last generation, they were indeed living in such a humble house. The final members of the family included the father, Marvolo, his son Morfin, and his daughter Merope. Merope was the mother of Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle.
“It’s here,” Grindelwald said, his eyes immediately locking onto a broken cabinet as soon as they entered. This was the skill of a seer.
“Take out the box I gave you and open it,” he instructed, walking to the cabinet and pulling open a drawer. Inside was a beautifully crafted ring with a black gemstone on top. He didn’t touch the legendary treasure but instead turned to Ian, who was studying the golden box.
“Click~”
It took Ian a moment to figure out the mechanism, but when he triggered it, the golden box opened like petals unfurling. Inside was a locket—the Slytherin locket.
Seeing the locket that should belong to a certain house appears here, Ian’s expression turned bewildered. He looked up and saw Grindelwald watching him with a smirk.
“This thing…” Ian’s composure faltered, mainly because the situation felt absurd. Harry Potter hadn’t even started school yet, and here they were, already finding Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
“This ring should be placed together with the item in your box,” Grindelwald said, gesturing for Ian to approach. He watched as Ian picked up the Resurrection Stone from the drawer, clearly unwilling to touch the Horcrux himself.
“Although I feel you probably won’t be foolish, I still think I should remind you not to think about wearing this ring, at least not before clearing the curse on it,” Grindelwald warned earnestly.
Ian nodded, looking down at the two Horcruxes in the golden box, still feeling somewhat dreamlike.
“Resurrection Stone, Slytherin’s locket,” Grindelwald said, stepping forward to calmly observe the items in the box. There was no hint of the obsession he once had for the Deathly Hallows. “They are closely connected. Our poor Dark Lord didn’t even realize this.” His words made Ian pause.
“What connection?” Ian asked, clearly out of his depth.
“I don’t know either, but you can study it slowly. I just read a lot,” Grindelwald replied with a shrug before walking directly toward the door.
“This thing, do you want to leave it with me?” Ian hurriedly followed Grindelwald out of the shack.
“Dumbledore doesn’t want to destroy it, and I don’t want to keep it here to disgust me. You’re the only one I trust, so you must not let Dumbledore see that Resurrection Stone,” Grindelwald said firmly. “This thing can’t truly bring people back to life, and even the summoned are not the real deceased.”
After this final reminder, Grindelwald reached for the enchanted jar of pickled gurdyroot that served as their Portkey, ready to leave the cursed shack behind.
“Wait for me!” Ian quickly raised his hand to interrupt Grindelwald’s action. Under the curious gaze of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Ian began to scurry around the vicinity of the Gaunt’s old house, like a lost Kneazle searching for something.
“What are you doing?” Grindelwald finally asked after half an hour, his patience wearing thin. He watched as Ian returned, using items from the house to fashion various tools before darting excitedly into the depths of the forest.
“I still need to prepare for tomorrow’s class!” Ian called back, his voice echoing through the trees.
Grindelwald regretted not applying a dose of Insect-Repelling Potion before leaving. He couldn’t help but remind Ian, who was making a racket in the distance, with an annoyed tone. “Hurry up!”
“Coming! Coming!” A sweaty Ian ran back, a large basket strapped to his back.
“What did you do!?” Grindelwald exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock and horror. It turned out that seers were not all-knowing. The sight before him was no less disturbing than when he had seen Ian brewing a love potion with Snape.
There was no helping it. Grindelwald had seen… a lot of well-preserved human bones in Ian’s basket. The quantity was terrifying, with hundreds of detached teeth alone.
“You dug up the entire Gaunt family grave!?” Grindelwald’s voice rose in disbelief. Someone was bound to be horrified. Why couldn’t it be the first generation?
(End of this chapter)
You can read ahead up to 100 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395