Boom!
Without warning, a pale green, lightning-shaped beam streaked toward Argus. He smirked, drawing his wand in a fluid motion.
"Expelliarmus!" he snapped, flicking his wrist.
Vinda stood a short distance away, wand at the ready, ensuring their duel wouldn't damage the castle. Nurmengard's anti-Apparition wards kept the fight contained, but the peril was no less intense.
Argus staggered back several steps from the curse's force. The rug beneath him twisted into jagged iron spikes, thrusting upward. His face remained calm as he cast a swift Transfiguration behind him. The recoil steadied his footing, letting him dodge the spikes' lethal reach.
With a summoning charm, he hurled the spikes at Gellert Grindelwald. Mid-flight, they morphed into a flock of birds, accelerating with a silencing charm to muffle their approach.
A flicker of approval crossed Grindelwald's features. What seemed like a straightforward exchange hid layers of complexity—Transfiguration layered on spells, tactical footwork, raw experience. Even at Argus's age, Grindelwald hadn't commanded such finesse.
Blue flames erupted from Grindelwald's wand, incinerating the birds on contact. Argus countered with a mirroring incantation, azure fire blooming around him. The infernos clashed and twisted, filling the air with crackling heat.
Yet while Grindelwald appeared unruffled, sweat beaded on Argus's brow. Time blurred in the standoff until the eerie flames finally guttered out.
"You've learned well in Britain," Grindelwald said, lowering his wand. The room's distortions faded under his subtle influence—everything but the scorched rug, reduced to ash. His mismatched eyes, one blue like Argus's, lent him an otherworldly air. Over a century old, he moved with vigor that outshone Dumbledore's current frailty.
"Is this visit to Austria about settling old scores?" Grindelwald pressed.
Argus didn't deny it, which Grindelwald took as assent. Hiding secrets from the man who'd nearly conquered Europe would be futile—he'd see through it like glass.
"The Austrian Ministry's meddling reeks of German backing," Argus replied. "They wouldn't dare otherwise."
Vinda poured tea as Argus sank onto the sofa, taking a measured sip. "The question is whether other Ministries are involved."
Grindelwald waved it off. "They lack the spine." His gaze sharpened on Argus. "But you didn't buy that shop closure story, did you? Covert international pressure? You knew, yet spared my pride."
He rose, staring out the window. "Hearts shift like sand. I learned that decades ago. Go ahead—don't hold back on my account."
Argus exhaled slowly. "Understood, Gellert." He glanced at Vinda. "Let's go, Vinda. Time to tie up these loose ends."
A few steps in, Argus paused. "Gellert, I brought you something. You'll appreciate it."
Grindelwald arched a brow. "When did you pick up gift-giving?"
Argus tossed him a worn Transfiguration notebook. Grindelwald flipped it open, eyes widening at the familiar script. His expression soured into something bittersweet—regret, perhaps, or unresolved longing.
"Let's leave him," Argus murmured to Vinda. "He needs the solitude."
Argus had committed the notes—Dumbledore's gift to him—to memory long ago. They held little new for him now. But for Grindelwald, unanswered by his old rival, they were a treasure beyond gold.
"Vinda, have they secured the prisoner?"
"As ordered—under watch. I can seize full control anytime."
"Bring him in. Let the elder acolytes join if they wish; no need to bar them."
...
Back in their old castle quarters, a cluster of acolytes awaited. In the center, an elderly man with graying hair stood bound, facing judgment.
"McDuff," Argus began, voice steady, "if memory serves, you joined the Parisian front with the original crew. Fought in the Wizarding Wars."
McDuff nodded faintly. "Nearly sixty years at your father's side, sir."
Argus's tone held a note of quiet reflection. "In 1932, you marched with him into France. 1941, you took a grave wound shielding him from a curse—nearly died. 1943..."
Each detail landed like a stone. McDuff's shoulders slumped, tears carving paths down his weathered cheeks.
"You remember," he whispered. "All of it..."
Argus turned to the assembled elders, his recounting precise and unflinching. "Najel, who carried messages for Credence and barely survived an Obscurus rampage. Kraft, who blocked that ambush in '41—the scars still ache. Carlo, who spied in the German Ministry for the acolytes' cause, endured three years in their cells until our rise freed him. Grimms..."
The room thickened with emotion. Before long, the veterans wept openly—not from fear of death or hardship, but from the dread that their sacrifices, their fire, might fade into obscurity.
Argus met their eyes. "It's not just me. My father, Vinda, Uncle Abernathy—we all remember. The acolytes never forgot you. Not then, not now, not ever."
McDuff, shrunken like a chastised boy, bowed his head in sobs. The defiance from their first encounter had vanished. "I've betrayed you all—the cause, Mr. Grindelwald. Forgive me!"
Resolve hardened in his gaze as he scanned his old comrades, lingering on Argus. "The acolytes... have an heir. Our dreams... they'll live on..."
The elders stirred as McDuff slumped lifeless to the floor, a faint smile of peace on his lips.
"Vinda," Argus said softly, "handle McDuff's remains. Give him a proper burial. In his final breath, at least, he died true to the acolytes."
...
As the group dispersed, Vinda approached. "Body disposed of?"
"All arranged." Argus's eyes iced over. "And McDuff's family?"
Her expression mirrored his chill. "No loose ends. We cut the weeds at the root—for the acolytes' sake."
---
Enjoying the story? You can read 3-5 chapters ahead right now on Patreon!
New chapters drop there much earlier than Web Novel.
Join P@treon & Read Ahead → https://[email protected]/c/Ren_Saga
Thank you for your support! ❤️