Chapter 607: Grindelwald's Countryside Retreat
"Sarah is a cat—!"
A few moments later, several "cats" went dashing out of the room. They wore
pendants around their necks that emitted chattering human voices, and two owls
flapped their wings frantically as they trailed behind the feline parade.
Sean watched as the three Little McGonagalls sprinted faster and faster.
Suddenly, with a sharp zip of displaced air, Sarah vanished from the grass. Sean
sat up, scanning the area, and spotted her perched high in the branches of a
nearby oak.
"Accidental magic," Sean mused.
Sarah was officially a witch. In an era where darkness was beginning to stir,
Sean hadn't expected such a pure, joyous moment of discovery to unfold before
him.
"SARAH!"
From across the fields, Sean heard Grandpa Marcus let out a booming, delighted
roar. Even Sean, whose face was usually a mask of calm, couldn't help but let
the corners of his mouth turn upward.
This is why we fight, he thought. So that moments like these can still exist.
He closed his door and tightened his grip on his wand once more.
Following Sarah's breakthrough, the other two McGonagall children followed suit,
both manifesting their own magical sparks within days. It was an extraordinary
development; after all, their parents were Muggles. But magic had a way of
defying probability, and this "McGonagall Miracle" had turned the household
upside down.
Now, the three children were constantly hovering around Sean, begging the
"Wizarding Gentleman" to teach them something exciting. Sean patiently taught
them the Wand-Lighting Charm, and for a few days, he enjoyed a rare peace as the
children spent their hours trying to see who could make their sticks glow the
brightest.
On a clear, sun-drenched morning, as the light bathed the windows of the manor,
a knock sounded on Sean's door.
"Mr. Green!" "Mr. Green!"
The pounding was frantic. The door swung open on its hinges, and the three
little wizards performed their signature "rolling entry," tumbling over one
another into the room.
"Someone's looking for you!" Sarah said, being the first to scramble up. The
massive bow on her back quivered as she spoke.
"A wizard living out in the country," Zoe added, her eyes wide with excitement.
"He said you're invited for tea," Bard finished in a muffled voice.
Sean rose from the window seat. He watched as Zoe stepped forward with a look of
solemn importance, holding out a dusty, leather-bound book.
The moment Sean saw the title, he froze.
Secrets of the Darkest Art.
It was common knowledge in certain circles that this was the definitive text for
those aspiring to the title of Dark Lord. Zoe could only have received this book
from one person currently in the country.
"Oh... a wizard named Grindelwald gave it to us," Zoe whispered. "He said..."
"He is a... very significant wizard," Sean said, his voice flat after a moment
of hesitation.
"He said he's waiting for you in that house on the edge of the valley. Do you
know the one? By the mountains and the river... the one with the two massive,
ancient trees at the gate!"
Pinning down a specific location based on a child's description was never easy,
but Sean found the place without much trouble. It was less of a "house" and more
of a sprawling estate.
Mountains rose to the left, a crystalline stream bubbled behind the property,
and two towering ancient oaks stood like sentinels before the iron gates. As
Sean approached the entrance, the doors swung open before he could even raise a
hand to knock.
The heart of the estate was a three-story stone manor with sharp, aggressive
lines. Surrounding the house was a garden that defied the laws of the seasons;
thousands of red roses bloomed in a riot of color, looking like a field of
frozen fire. The hedges were trimmed with surgical precision, and the geometric
lawn was as smooth as velvet.
"Do you like it?"
A bold, commanding voice drifted across the garden. Sean saw Gellert Grindelwald
standing in the center of the rosebeds, watching him with a predatory intensity.
"Good morning, Professor Grindelwald," Sean said, his tone respectful but
unwavering. Despite his confusion as to why the man was here, he maintained his
composure.
"Look at this place," Grindelwald said, his stride powerful and certain as he
approached. "No dull lectures from Hogwarts. No redundant, suffocating rules
from the dunderheads at the Ministry. Here, power is respected. Talent is
released, not suppressed by fear."
He stopped inches from Sean, close enough for the boy to catch the scent of
cedar and an exotic, unknown spice. He reached out a finger, his touch
ghost-light as he brushed a silver button on Sean's cloak.
"I've been watching you," he whispered. "I have never seen talent like yours. It
shouldn't be buried under a mountain of archaic dogmas. They will tell you the
path is dangerous—that the power is 'forbidden.' But tell me..."
He leaned down, bringing his face level with Sean's. His eyes, one dark and one
pale, reflected Sean's silhouette.
"...Do you hunger for it? For the absolute power?"
Sean remained silent. He didn't hunger for "power" in the abstract; he hungered
for mastery. He knew that with enough time, he could command every force the
wizarding world had to offer.
"Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape taught me that one must approach the
Dark Arts with extreme caution," Sean replied, refusing to give a direct answer.
"Useless chains..." Grindelwald sneered, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Only a weak wizard fears his own magic. Only the fragile allow themselves to be
corrupted by the tools they wield. Tell me, Green... are you a weakling?"
Sean didn't reply. His understanding of the Dark Arts was still in its infancy
compared to the man before him. He didn't think he could win a philosophical
debate with a wizard who had reached the absolute peak of the craft. He decided
to listen—whether he chose to believe was another matter entirely.
"Heh..."
Seeing the boy's resolve, Grindelwald's smile turned playful. "You will hunger
for it eventually," he said, a note of amusement in his voice. "Starting now,
you will study under me. Do I make myself clear?"
Sean gave a sharp, invigorated nod. This was exactly what he had come for.
"Open the book, then. And listen."
Grindelwald sank into a seat that manifested out of thin air—a chair woven from
tongues of harmless, flickering fire. Sean watched the flames curiously. The
temperature in the immediate area was skyrocketing, yet Grindelwald seemed
entirely unbothered. Sean tried to sense the magical circuit behind the
conjuration, but he found nothing. It was a form of magic that operated outside
the standard Dark Arts he had studied.
"The Dark Arts," Grindelwald began, "are commonly defined as magic driven by
malice, used solely for harm. They are said to rot the soul." He let out a sharp
scoff. "I don't necessarily disagree. But for most, that rot is born of
ignorance. They are narrow-minded and sensitive."
Sean's quill began to fly across his parchment.
"They forget that magic is an inherent part of the wizard. Yet they treat the
Dark Arts as a sin?" Grindelwald's gaze turned lethal. "What a tragic waste of a
birthright."
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