Chapter 608: The Nature of the Dark Arts
"In my classroom, Green, you must forget everything. Forget the labels of 'Light
Wizard' and 'Dark Wizard.' Forget the distinctions between 'White Magic' and
'Dark Arts.'"
Gellert Grindelwald pinched a vibrant red rose between his fingers. A second
later, the petals dissolved into a brilliant plume of blue fire. A few flakes of
ash drifted onto Sean's face; they weren't hot, but rather carried a strange,
tickling sensation.
"Since the dawn of time, magic has saturated every corner of this world. The
innate power of magical beasts and sentient plants has been recorded in every
ancient folklore and legend," Grindelwald's low, resonant voice seemed to pull
Sean back into a primal, prehistoric era.
"Yet, through all the long annals of history, only the wizard has truly mastered
the essence of magic. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that only the wizard
commands it, while other creatures merely... utilize it. Tell me, Green, do you
know why?"
Why?
Sean's mind raced. He had never heard a theory so bold. No scholar he'd read had
ever dared to claim wizards were the sole masters of magic. But the more he
considered it, the more it aligned with his own observations.
Firstly, a wizard's magical "ceiling" was virtually non-existent. A single,
sufficiently powerful wizard could stand above entire species of magical
creatures. Secondly, wizarding magic was the most comprehensive system in
existence—not even the shrewdness of the Goblins could match the sheer variety
of human spells.
It meant that the depth and breadth of a wizard's reach were infinite.
"Why, sir?" Sean asked. His voice carried a hint of the frantic hunger for
knowledge that defined him.
"Because on this earth," Grindelwald said, his lips curling into a wide,
shark-like grin, "the wizard is God."
The statement hit Sean like a physical blow.
He had spent years studying the heavy architecture of magical theory. He had
learned that mastering a spell meant gathering a vast library of incantations.
He had learned that proficiency came from tireless repetition. He had learned
that to reach the peak, one required a titanic mental fortitude.
From Professor Flitwick, he had learned that the source of magic was the Power
of Belief. From Dumbledore, he had learned the tiers of Blindness, Order, and
Wisdom. He had mapped the paths of "Blind Faith" and "Calculated Mastery."
But in this moment, he felt like he had been returned to his very first day of
study—confronted once more with the simple, raw power of the believing heart.
"Magic is so enamored with the wizard that it grants us the most versatile power
in the universe. Magic is so devoted to us that our every stray thought can
strengthen or wither a spell's effect..."
Grindelwald's voice vibrated with a dark, intoxicating passion. "And yet,
wizards choose to divide this gift into ranks and classes. They label
Transfiguration as 'High' or 'Low.' They segment magic itself into 'Dark' and
'Light'..."
Grindelwald let out a sharp, derisive scoff. "The caution of the weak."
Sean felt the threshold of a new realm beneath his feet. He had guessed the name
of this territory before.
Legendary.
"Magic and the wizard are one. Only a coward fears the unknown parts of his own
nature. And the Dark Arts? They are simply the extreme, unmapped territories of
a wizard's character."
Grindelwald's body seemed to hum with a subtle, electric tension. "A wizard who
cannot command his own will is a failure in any discipline. Categorizing such
failures as 'Dark Wizards' is merely a way for the incompetent to feel
superior."
"Are you saying, sir, that 'losing control' to the Dark Arts is actually just a
failure of the caster's will?" Sean asked softly.
"What else could it be?" Grindelwald looked at Sean as if he were a particularly
slow student. "Green, you have mastered more Dark Magic than most. You have a
professor at your school—a former Death Eater who can summon a corporeal
Patronus. Has he not taught you this lesson yet?"
Sean paused. He thought of Snape.
"Genius may exist, but the world is mostly populated by dunderheads,"
Grindelwald said, his words sharp as a blade. "And yet you are the first wizard
I've met who is actually afraid of his own talent. How very dull."
Sean wasn't immediately won over, but he remained silent, his face a mask of
focus.
"The fools claim that the Dark Arts and the 'Light' are fundamentally different
magics..." Grindelwald noticed Sean's lack of reaction and his smile turned
enigmatic. "But that is the delusion of the timid. Every wizard destined for
greatness eventually realizes a singular truth: Magic is one. It is a miracle of
Will. It is the world's response to the wizard's desire."
"The world responding... to the wizard's will..." Sean whispered the words,
feeling the pieces of Dumbledore's "Blind Confidence" lesson finally clicking
into place.
"In the realm of magic, Will is the primary force. Matter is merely its shadow."
Grindelwald laughed, a wild, echoing sound.
In the days that followed, Sean visited the strange manor every morning.
Sometimes Grindelwald would be found with a cigar clamped between his teeth,
blue flames dancing across his fingertips. Other times, he would stand by the
window, staring at the mountains with a look of predatory arrogance. More often
than not, he would pepper Sean with bizarre questions.
"Wizards rule the world, yet Muggles have achieved much in their ignorance. Tell
me... do you know what a Lion King does to the young males who might one day
challenge his pride?"
Sean pretended not to hear the metaphor. Grindelwald didn't seem to care; he was
a creature of pure impulse and whim.
"What has Albus been teaching you?" the Dark Lord asked one afternoon, his cigar
finally burning down to ash.
"Basic Dark Arts," Sean replied. He had mentioned before that his primary
training came from Snape, but Grindelwald seemed to have a mental filter that
replaced every other name with Dumbledore's.
"Basic?" Grindelwald arched an eyebrow. "What a boring school."
Sean privately thought that Durmstrang was likely more "exciting" in the way a
minefield was exciting. In Durmstrang, a student never knew when they might
become a classmate's target for a Dark Arts experiment.
Looking at the man before him, Sean could easily see why the "progressive"
school had eventually expelled him. He wondered exactly how many students
Grindelwald had "experimented" on before they finally showed him the door.
Time became a slippery thing in the manor. It flowed through the tip of Sean's
wand and through the silver strands of Grindelwald's beard, vanishing into the
archives of a new, legendary education.
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