HR Chapter 137 A New Prophecy! Grindelwald's Worries! Part 2

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There was only one Squib at Hogwarts. So when Ian needed a test subject, the first name that popped into his mind was that cantankerous caretaker.

"Filch is still in the hospital wing, and Madam Pince has actually stepped out… looks like the old man's lost his fire." Ian double-checked Filch's location on the Marauder's Map.

Sneaking into the hospital wing was no great feat, his Disillusionment Charm had grown particularly sharp, easily fooling Madam Pomfrey's sharp eyes.

Few in the castle could see through Ian's concealment, and Madam Pomfrey, though certainly a capable witch, was simply that, capable.

"This is just the first batch. It's not like I'm giving him a free miracle. The effects won't last long anyway." Ian slipped into Filch's room with practiced ease.

The caretaker, who insisted on reporting even minor injuries to Madam Pince, was now sound asleep.

"Test subjects still have to pay their dues," Ian muttered, eyeing the pitiful jangle of coins in Filch's pocket. The caretaker's monthly pay was modest at best.

Ian tipped a few drops of potion into Filch's mouth, gave his already puffy cheek a light slap, and darted into the shadows, still invisible.

"Filthy little devils! Who dares play tricks on me?! I'll have your heads mounted in my office!" Filch bolted upright with a furious shout, then blinked in confusion, realizing he was still in the hospital wing.

"Was that a dream...? Blasted nightmares… Still, even if it was, I'll make the lot of them pay when I'm back on my feet!"

"Once I'm healed, I'll nab a few of the usual troublemakers and string 'em up by their toes!" he muttered darkly, rubbing his face to locate the source of the pain.

"Hiss!"

The sting made him suck in a breath, then, without warning, a jug of water beside his bed shattered with a loud bang.

"What in Merlin's name, ?! Wait… this feeling… Is this... magic?!" Filch's face froze, slack-jawed with disbelief.

He had no time to waste on rest. Something inside him had changed, something powerful and utterly unfamiliar. He leapt from the bed as though he'd been hit with a stunning spell.

"Dadadada!"

Ian, still cloaked in his Disillusionment Charm, followed as Filch dashed back to his shabby room in the castle.

"Sweet Circe, the heavens have finally heard my pleas!" Filch gasped, crawling under his bed with a look of sheer desperation and wonder.

He pried up a loose floorboard.

From the hollow beneath, he pulled out an old wand, its wood worn, the handle etched with countless thumbprints. Every Squib might lack the spark to cast spells, but nearly every one of them held onto the dream.

Filch had held onto his for decades. Many Squibs did.

They had lived around magic.

But never truly felt it.

That kind of torment was something only those who'd lived it could understand, 

It was cruel. Soul-crushing.

Like harbouring a secret love, only to find the object of your affection demanded a dowry you could never afford.

"Incendio!"

Filch's voice rang with years of secret practice. He had spoken the incantation countless times, to no avail. But this time, 

He believed.

As the incantation left his lips, a jet of flame indeed burst from the tip of Filch's wand, brief, but real, causing the caretaker to tremble with uncontrollable excitement.

"It's magic! I can perform magic now!"

Filch's voice trembled with joy, on the verge of tears; he had dreamt of this very moment countless times over the years, though the miracle that every Squib desperately wished for had never occurred, not until tonight.

And yet, 

For some unknown reason, 

Tonight, that long-impossible dream had flickered to life.

"Truly, Merlin's beard, he must be watching over me!" Filch's eyes shone with unshed tears as he lifted his wand again, eager to cast another spell. But the moment he spoke another incantation, there was no spark, no glow, no reaction.

Not even the magic that had so briefly answered him moments before responded now; Filch's heart pounded in panic as he recited incantation after incantation. But the surge of magic within him was already fading, retreating into stillness like waves drawn back into the sea.

"No!!"

His scream tore through the infirmary, laced with fear. He clung desperately to the magic he had only just begun to feel, but it slipped through his fingers like mist, impossible to catch, impossible to hold.

The hope he had touched, tangible, shining, vanished into the air, leaving behind only silence and despair. The heartbreak was more crushing than death itself.

"Don't do this! Don't give me magic just to snatch it away again!"

He howled in anguish.

It was true, Squibs had always been pitiable, and Filch was no exception. But Ian did not feel sympathy. After all, everyone at Hogwarts knew Filch had long harboured resentment and envy towards young witches and wizards.

Unlike those who yearned for the light while trapped in shadow, Filch was the sort who would rather drag others down with him than reach for the sun himself.

He never showed gratitude to Hogwarts for giving him a home.

He had even tried to aid Voldemort when the school came under attack.

The students' dislike of him was never about his lack of magic, it was his nature that repelled them, his bitterness, his cruelty, and the spite he cloaked himself in like robes.

"My potion appears to work, at least."

Ian, invisible in the corner, watched Filch rise to heaven, then crash back down, only to fall further still. He shook his head, turned silently, and slipped away without making a sound.

He did not bother with unlocking the door; instead, he passed cleanly through the wall, a trick only a handful of Hogwarts students, or even professors, could manage. His command of advanced spells had long surpassed the level of many fully grown wizards.

Of course, 

There were others more skilled than him in the world. Hogwarts itself had more than one. Just as he emerged from Filch's quarters, Ian, who hadn't even reapplied his Disillusionment Charm, was suddenly seized.

"Tsk tsk. Wandering about so late? You'll do."

Grindelwald had returned at some point and now had a firm grip on the back of Ian's neck, having somehow found him even in his invisible state.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's eyes shimmered with a curious gleam, like someone who could not only foresee outcomes but also pierce through all magical illusions.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked, his expression resigned as he shimmered into view once more.

"Moving things."

Grindelwald said simply, dragging Ian off toward his office. Ian let out a weary sigh, already trying to link his mind with the Marauder's Map in case he needed an escape.

"Do you little brats ever sleep at night?"

Ian felt exasperated.

Snape was always assigning him obscure errands, and Grindelwald had recently taken to using him as a personal delivery elf. These tasks were clearly better suited to house-elves, yet here he was.

"The Christmas break has ended," Grindelwald said, an almost impish smile tugging at his lips. "And I've cooked up a few new surprises for the lot of you."

"Dementors? Or something else horrifying?" Ian asked warily, trying to glean what sort of trials his classmates might soon endure.

"Ha. Both. And then some."

Grindelwald opened the door to his office, which was lit brightly despite the late hour, and to Ian's surprise, Aurora, whom he had only recently parted from, was already seated inside.

The German witch was perched quietly on a stool, and Ian had the strong impression she was being disciplined. He immediately noticed the remnants of a late-night snack on the desk, and a teacup tossed into the bin, which still held the faint, bitter scent of Veritaserum.

"Did you fry a dragon egg?!" Ian asked in disbelief, staring at the enormous plate of fried eggs in astonishment.

"You said dragon eggs were top-tier ingredients, didn't you?" Aurora tilted her head slightly, looking confused but calm. It seemed she hadn't been surprised to see Ian arrive, possibly because Grindelwald had intended to fetch him all along.

"I only said that in passing on our way back..." Ian looked at the eggs with sympathy, then flicked his gaze to Grindelwald, who had just released him.

The young wizard was already wondering whether their little outing had been discovered. Grindelwald had intercepted him outside Filch's room with suspicious precision.

(To Be Continued…)