The world outside my castle walls felt different after the ambush. The triumphant exhaustion from the Wizengamot session had been violently replaced by a cold, simmering fury and a stark realization: Grindelwald was no longer just a distant threat. He was here, his shadow stretching over to my doorstep. The Floo hijacking had been a chillingly effective message, a retaliation of my actions.
I spent the immediate hours after waking up from my restless sleep trying to piece together every detail of the ambush. My body ached, a protest from yesterday's fight, the brutal ejection from the floo network and the sustained magical exertion. I brewed a powerful Invigoration Draught from my private stores, downing it to restore my magic and mend the residual strain on my muscles. The warmth spread through me, easing the physical discomfort, but doing little to calm the tempest in my mind.
I meticulously reviewed the memories of the attack, replaying each moment with Legilimency-like precision. The exact timing of the hijack, the specific sequence of wards, the number of acolytes, their magical signatures – every detail was analyzed, dissected, filed away. They had clearly planned it meticulously, likely tracking my movements from the Ministry itself. This meant Grindelwald already has agents deep within British magical society, perhaps even within the Ministry building. The thought of that possibility was sickening.
My immediate priority was security. Castle Starborn's wards were ancient and incredibly powerful, designed to repel armies, not just individuals. But the Floo network was a different beast. Its inherent nature, connecting every authorized wizarding household, made it a potential vulnerability. I spent the next day and night reinforcing my castle's defenses, not against external assault, but against any subtle, insidious probes. I wove new layers of anti-scrying charms and anti-tracking enchantments directly into the core of my Floo connection, linking them to the castle's central ley-line network. I ensured that any future attempt to hijack my connection would trigger immediate, violent magical feedback, alerting me instantly, I even wove new ones in draconian on the castle's wardstone. My magical resonance sensing extended outwards, like invisible tendrils, constantly monitoring the magical pulse of the surrounding land, searching for any anomalies. I was like a caged beast, for now, but a heavily armed and incredibly watchful one.
The owl from Dumbledore arrived early this morning, a swift, majestic barn owl, landing silently on my study window sill. His reply was concise, almost cryptic, as usual.
Marcus,
Your report confirms my gravest fears regarding Grindelwald's infiltration. I applaud your decisive handling of the ambush. You acted with admirable precision and control.
Do not inform the Ministry directly of the Floo hijacking or the details of the ambush. Their internal security is, regrettably, compromised, and widespread panic would be counterproductive. Your discretion is paramount.
I will handle the Ministry. I shall send a discreet, 'non-attributable' report regarding a generic "isolated incident of dark magic in the Floo network," prompting a general security review without revealing specifics. This will allow the Ministry to strengthen their defenses without exposing the depths of Grindelwald's reach.
For now, lay low as planned. Don't skim on your training. Your unique abilities will be invaluable in the fights to come, both overt and unseen.
Albus.
Dumbledore's instructions were exactly what I expected, and exactly what I needed. His acknowledgment of the compromised Ministry confirmed my own suspicions. It was unsettling to know that Grindelwald's tendrils reached so deep, but also a relief to have Dumbledore's strategic mind guiding me. I would continue to operate largely independently, a silent shadow upon my and magical kinds enemies.
The forced period of 'laying low' was, surprisingly, productive. It allowed me to fully immerse myself in my personal studies and training without the constant demands of public appearances or overt Ministry engagement. I spent hours in my dueling chambers, refining my wandless combat spells and my Draconic set of skills. The ambush had revealed a crucial insight: while my magic was powerful, my close-quarters combat against multiple, determined opponents needed to be even more fluid, more devastatingly efficient. I integrated my legilimency-like speed reading into my combat training, allowing me to predict opponents' movements and intentions a fraction of a second faster, giving me a decisive edge.
I also deepened my research into ancient wards and counter-detection enchantments. My magical resonance sensing became even more acute, capable of distinguishing between faint, ambient magical echoes and deliberate, concealed magical signatures. I learned to 'listen' to the wards of the castle, to understand their subtle language, to perceive the ebb and flow of magical energy with unprecedented clarity. I also tried something bold, I tried training my magic to delve into streams of time in a magical signature to sniff out future events through them. It was an highly advanced piece of magic falling under divination, which to my embarrassment wasn't on such a level, so of course, I failed spectacularly in this venture but I don't plan to give up on this idea, it's just shelved as a side project
The solitude of Castle Starborn couldn't stop my mind kept returning to Tom Marvolo Riddle. The ambush, the stark reality of Grindelwald's brutality, only underscored the urgency of my self-imposed mission. If Grindelwald represented the current catastrophe, Tom was the potential future apocalypse. And the fight for his future was a battle I could not afford to lose, even if it had to be waged with a highly manipulative touch.
For success in this endeavour I began by discreetly placing specific books within the Hogwarts library, leaving them subtly enchanted to draw Tom's attention. These weren't just any books. They were carefully chosen texts on the history of magical societies that had collapsed due to internal strife, due to the abuse of power, due to leaders who had prioritized absolute control over the well-being of their people. They contained philosophical treatises on the interconnectedness of magical life, the dangers of unchecked ambition, and the true nature of leadership – a concept Tom clearly warped in his young mind. I subtly imbued these books with a faint resonance of genuine empathy, hoping that even if he dismissed the words consciously, the underlying emotional current might, over time, subtly permeate his guarded aura.
I also began to write anonymous, philosophical essays and observations, under various innocuous pseudonyms, which I would leave in key locations where Tom was likely to encounter them – on common room tables, in the Great Hall after meals, even tucked into the pages of widely read textbooks. These essays weren't overtly political or moralistic. Instead, they posed nuanced questions about the nature of power, the fragility of grand designs, the often-unforeseen consequences of wielding magic without wisdom. They highlighted the value of collaboration, the strength found in shared purpose, and the emptiness of isolation, all without directly lecturing. My magical resonance sensing would confirm if Tom picked them up, if his aura briefly shifted with curiosity or contemplation. It was a subtle, long-term seeding of ideas, a hope that these tiny, almost imperceptible nudges might, over years, accumulate and subtly alter his perspective.
My apprenticeships continued, though Dumbledore's visits to Castle Starborn were now more frequent and discreet, often conducted under heavy disillusionment charms. He continued to push my understanding of mind arts and counter-propaganda. We delved into the intricacies of memory modification and false flag operations, not for their use, but for their defense. He revealed even more about Grindelwald's methods of psychological warfare, describing how he would exploit existing prejudices, twist historical narratives, and prey on societal anxieties to build his following. This knowledge was invaluable, not only for my direct fight against Grindelwald but also for understanding the vulnerabilities and potential influences on a mind like Tom's. Dumbledore, ever the master chess player, was subtly preparing me for both battles.
Slughorn, meanwhile, continued to send owls with urgent requests for specific potions. The Ministry's demands for combat-ready elixirs and anti-dark-magic counter-agents were escalating, a clear sign of the deteriorating situation on the continent. I continued to brew with relentless efficiency, my lab a constant hive of activity, knowing that every vial I produced might save lives, might turn the tide of a minor skirmish. It was a tangible contribution, even while I remained out of the public eye.
The period of 'laying low' was, in many ways, an intense period of self-improvement, of deeper understanding. I felt my capabilities expanding, my magical and mental faculties sharpening under the relentless pressure. The ambush had been a terrifying confirmation of Grindelwald's reach, but it had also been a crucible, forging me into a more formidable, more cunning opponent.
My thoughts often returned to the image of Tom Riddle, sitting quietly in Slughorn's office, his dark eyes unnervingly intelligent. He was still a child, but a seed of vast, terrible power. My efforts now were like planting tiny, resistant saplings in parched, rocky ground, hoping they would one day grow into a forest that could withstand the coming storm. It was a delicate, long-term gambit, one that required patience, subtlety, and an unwavering belief that even the darkest heart could be swayed, however incrementally.
The whispers of war grew louder with each passing day. The Daily Prophet continued its grim reports, though Dumbledore's discreet intervention seemed to have prompted a slight tightening of the Floo security protocols, at least temporarily. I sensed the Ministry's heightened state of alert, their frantic attempts to organize a response. But I also felt the pervasive underlying fear, the uncertainty that Grindelwald exploited so expertly.
I knew my time of 'laying low' would eventually come to a close. Dumbledore, no doubt, would have another mission soon, another task that required my unique blend of discretion and raw power. The ambush had been a warning, a challenge. But it had also been a testament to my capabilities. I was ready. My unseen hand, having reinforced my defenses, was now preparing to strike back, not just at the physical manifestations of darkness, but at its very roots. The quiet war for Tom Riddle's future continued, a silent, relentless pressure, even as the storm of Grindelwald's ambitions gathered on the horizon. My path was clear: fight the present darkness, and forever try to prevent the future one.