[Congratulations, host, for destroying one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—the Selwyn family. Achievement: The Demise of Purebloods (1/28)]
[Achievement Points Reward: 100]
[Congratulations, host, for destroying one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—the Rosier family. Achievement: The Demise of Purebloods (2/28)]
[Achievement Points Reward: 100]
[Current remaining achievement points: 800]
The rewards from this haul included the second-year House Cup and 200 achievement points for topping his grade. Before he knew it, Argus had stockpiled a solid number of points.
"Vinda and Abernathy wrapped it up."
The system chime echoed in his mind as Argus lounged in Rosier Manor. He knew instantly that his allies had handled the Selwyns.
"No word on casualties yet, but with Vinda and Abernathy on it, losses should be minimal."
"Best to draw now while everyone's out—don't want to forget."
Eyeing his points, Argus pulled up the lottery interface. "System, spin the wheel!"
An ornate card pack materialized around him. He cracked open the five nearest ones, and a flash of blue skies streaked by—punctuated by a rare purple glow.
"Not bad at all—a purple rarity."
[Congratulations, host: Patronus Charm (Level 2), Protego (Level 3), Transfiguration Spell (Level 2), Petrificus Totalus! (Level 3)]
[Congratulations, host: Sectumsempra (Level 4)]
[Current remaining achievement points: 300]
[Detected overlap with existing spells. Fuse?]
"Solid pulls this time—useful charms across the board. And Sectumsempra's already got a purple upgrade, hasn't it?" Argus muttered.
"System, fuse them."
A torrent of memories flooded his mind, vivid as if a master tutor had drilled the spells into him firsthand. It left him momentarily dazed.
[Host exhibits superhuman magical aptitude—elevated comprehension unlocked.]
[Upgrades: Sectumsempra (Level 7), Petrificus Totalus! (Level 4), Transfiguration Spell (Level 6)]
"Level seven Sectumsempra? That's on par with my Occlumency!" Argus exclaimed. "First spell to hit gold tier. And Transfiguration at six? Even top Aurors rarely touch that."
He hadn't expected a casual draw to yield such gains. This vaulted his Transfiguration prowess, bolstering his overall power.
"Once we secure the Black family vault, Animagi training can begin."
Argus wasn't the magical greenhorn from his old life anymore. Over a decade of study had drilled home the perils of Animagi transformation—sky-high failure rates, even for experts. His new Level 6 Transfiguration helped, but risks lingered.
Sirius and his Hogwarts crew had pulled it off as teens, a feat about as likely as bumping into your girl's ex at the pub. No way they'd succeed without Black family heirlooms.
The acolytes hoarded similar artifacts—some potentially superior. But Argus aimed higher: shifting into magical creatures.
Impossible? Hardly. Dumbledore's own mastery screamed otherwise. He'd taught Transfiguration before McGonagall, rivaling her skill—as evident in the annotated notes he'd shared. Yet what was the Headmaster's unregistered Animagus form?
Argus suspected something unrevealable, like a phoenix. Public knowledge would ignite chaos; pure-bloods would demand the secrets, pressuring him relentlessly.
That's why plundering ancient pure-blood vaults for references was crucial.
...
Hours later, the Fiendfyre ravaging Selwyn and Rosier Manors showed no signs of waning—it blazed fiercer by the minute.
Both estates had been veiled by Muggle-Repelling Charms, shielding them from the non-magical world. But as the inferno consumed everything, reducing grand halls to smoldering rubble, the charms shattered.
The grasslands lit up like a beacon, drawing Muggle eyes from afar.
"Look there! What's with that massive blaze on the fields?!"
"Fire! Someone call for help—douse it now!"
"No—wait, what's in the flames? A snake? A giant fire serpent?!"
"My God, a flaming snake? That's impossible!"
Fudge, roused from a rare nap, Apparated to the Selwyn ruins. The sight hit him like a Bludger: charred stone and timber, all that remained of a Sacred Twenty-Eight stronghold. Bewilderment twisted his face.
In his tenure, nothing had rocked the wizarding world like this. Two ancient families eradicated overnight.
The pure-blood elite would erupt. Worse, the wizarding world was exposed. Muggles had witnessed—and snapped photos of—the Fiendfyre serpents. Obliviating them en masse would strain the Ministry to breaking.
"Blast it! Barty Crouch's mess isn't even sorted, and now this!" Fudge seethed. "If only it'd waited a fortnight... damn."
He'd savored a shot at toppling Crouch, but this catastrophe could topple him instead if mishandled.
"Allen, any leads? Who struck?"
Alan Mitchell knew the culprits all too well—Argus's handiwork. They'd already scoured and sanitized the site upon arrival. But he feigned frustration.
"Minister, the Fiendfyre scorched everything clean. No traces left."
"No evidence at all?" Fudge's head throbbed. Telling the pure-bloods that? They'd riot, convinced it was an assault on their supremacy. Britain would tear itself apart in the hunt.
Spotting Fudge's anguish, Alan recalled Argus's scheme and leaned in. "Sir, I do have a tip you might like."
"What is it?"
"The werewolves who hit Knockturn Alley? Hired by the Selwyns and Rosiers, sources say. This could be retaliation from the Alley crews."
Fudge pondered, then dismissed it. "Doubtful. Knockturn lot lack the skill—or the spine."
Alan fixed him with a knowing gaze. "If the pure-bloods demand answers, we provide them. Truth? That's flexible."
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