AUSTRIA CONQUERED

The first of January, 1937, dawned cold and grey over Hogwarts. The festive decorations, which just days ago had shimmered with joyous light, now seemed like sad, forgotten remnants, their tinsel tarnished by the collective gloom that had fallen over the castle. The pervasive scent of pine and cinnamon was now laced with an almost palpable anxiety, a chilling aftertaste to the Christmas cheer that had been so brutally extinguished.

In the Great Hall, the usual New Year's Day breakfast, traditionally a lively affair of resolutions and holiday anecdotes, was a subdued gathering. Many students had not yet returned from their Christmas holidays, leaving vast stretches of the house tables empty, amplifying the somber quiet. The remaining students spoke in hushed tones, their eyes darting towards the High Table, where the professors, equally grim-faced, engaged in low, worried conversations.

Marcus Starborn sat with his Ravenclaw housemates, spooning porridge into his bowl. Eleanor Crombwell was meticulously cutting her sausage into precise, geometrical shapes, her face drawn. Edgar Selwyn was not reading, a rare occurrence, but staring blankly at his plate, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Elara Croft picked at a piece of toast, her earlier effervescence entirely absent. The grim reality of Austria's fall on Christmas Day had cast a long, cold shadow over the New Year.

"I still can't quite believe it," Eleanor murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Austria. Conquered. It feels… unreal. Like something out of History of Magic, not happening now."

Edgar stirred, his voice heavy. "It is very real, Eleanor. And deeply concerning. Austria is not merely a territory; it is a nexus of power, strategically crucial for the movement of magic and magical populations across Europe. Its loss is… profound."

Elara sighed, a fragile sound. "Professor Dumbledore looked so… sad yesterday. I've never seen him quite like that. It made it feel even worse."

Marcus nodded, his gaze sweeping over the hushed hall. The fear was a living thing, a cold presence clinging to every student, every professor. They were waiting, holding their breath, for the next shoe to drop. And it dropped, as always, with the arrival of the morning papers.

Instead of the usual few owls, a veritable swarm descended, denser than even on Christmas Day. The Daily Prophet, accompanied by the Le Cri de la Gazelle, Der Magische Bote, and a host of other international magical newspapers, landed on every table with a series of soft, ominous thuds.

There was no initial burst of cheerful chatter this time. Only a collective, dreadful stillness, as if everyone already knew, instinctively, that the news would be worse. Hands reached out, trembling, to unfold the parchments.

The headlines, stark and unyielding, screamed the chilling new reality:

THE DAILY PROPHET:

GRINDELWALD INSTALLS PUPPET REGIME IN VIENNA!

Consolidation of Austrian Conquest Begins - Dark Lord Declares 'New Order'

LE CRI DE LA GAZELLE:

GOLGOTHE INSTALLE LE GOUVERNEMENT FANTÔCHE À VIENNE!

(Grindelwald Installs Puppet Government in Vienna!)

DER MAGISCHE BOTE:

GRINDELWALD ERRICHTET PUPPENREGIERUNG IN WIEN!

(Grindelwald Establishes Puppet Government in Vienna!)

A new wave of murmurs, far more frantic and speculative than the stunned silence of Christmas, swept through the Great Hall. This was not the shock of immediate invasion, but the chilling realization of strategic intent. People were no longer merely horrified; they were discussing, speculating about the next moves of Grindelwald's forces, trying to grasp the meaning of it all.

"A puppet government?" Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide with a new kind of fear. "He's not just conquering… he's taking root."

"Precisely," Edgar affirmed, his voice tight. "This is far more insidious. Military conquest is one thing, but establishing a regime… that means he intends to stay. To control the magical and Muggle populations, to exploit their resources, to convert their citizens to his cause." His analytical mind, despite his distress, was already dissecting the implications.

Elara clutched her paper, her face pale. "Does this mean… he'll send his followers to other countries now? To set up more… puppet governments?"

The discussions erupted across the hall. At the Gryffindor table, Henry Potter was passionately gesticulating to Leo Lionsguard, clearly hypothesizing on Grindelwald's next military targets. Elizabeth Blackwood, at the Hufflepuff table (where she'd temporarily joined some friends), was engaged in a heated debate with a sixth-year, her sharp political mind already dissecting Grindelwald's long-term strategy.

Marcus listened to their distraught speculations, his own mind already light years ahead. This was exactly what he had anticipated. Grindelwald was not merely a warlord; he was a revolutionary, a visionary (albeit a twisted one) who understood the mechanics of power far better than the complacent Ministries of the world. A puppet government was the logical, chilling next step. It meant control over magical infrastructure, communications, and most dangerously, the education and indoctrination of new generations.

Consolidation, Marcus thought grimly. He will take the magical census, identify magical families, seize their assets, force their allegiance. He will silence dissent, recruit the disillusioned, purge the disloyal. He will turn Austria into a staging ground, a bastion from which to launch his next, even more devastating offensives.

His mind then leapt ahead, predicting the predictable, agonizingly slow response from the international magical community. He foresaw the immediate fallout: in the arriving few months, the various magical nations would be engaging in talks about peace among them. There would be emergency sessions of the International Confederation of Wizards, frantic diplomatic overtures, long winded speeches about collective security. He imagined the delegates, pompous and ponderous, debating protocols and sanctions while Grindelwald, with brutal efficiency, solidified his hold.

They will waste precious time, Marcus mused, a bitter taste in his mouth. They will talk of peace, of negotiations, of appeasement, convinced that a show of diplomatic unity can stem the tide of a magical conqueror. They do not understand that Grindelwald cares nothing for their treaties, only for power. He will use their talks, their deliberations, to his advantage. He will strengthen his grip on Austria, exploit its resources, and prepare his forces, while they argue over seating arrangements and parliamentary procedure.

He could almost see the headlines months from now: International Confederation of Wizards Convenes Again – No Agreement Reached. Diplomatic Efforts Stalled. And beneath it, in fine print: Grindelwald's Influence in Central Europe Deepens.

The knowledge gave him a profound sense of frustration, and a renewed, burning urgency for his own training. If the official channels were going to be this painfully slow and ineffectual, then his own hidden path, his Untethered Will and Draconic magic, became even more crucial. He was not waiting for permission or political consensus. He was preparing to act, to be the wild card that Slytherin had spoken of.

The morning passed in a haze of anxious chatter and grim contemplation. Professors at the High Table eventually managed to restore a semblance of order, though the atmosphere remained heavy. Professor Dumbledore, his presence a beacon of quiet gravity, rose to address the Hall briefly after breakfast. He spoke not of specific actions, but of resilience, of the importance of unity within Hogwarts, of the enduring light of knowledge in darkening times. His words were a balm, yet they could not erase the stark fear etched on every face. His gaze, as always, lingered on Marcus for a fraction, a silent communication of shared understanding and immense burden.

After breakfast, Marcus retreated to his single room dorm. The quiet space, usually a sanctuary for his intense private studies, now felt like a strategic command center. He pulled out his journals. This wasn't just about learning spells anymore; it was about anticipating strategy, about developing countermeasures for political subjugation, not just military invasion.

He thought about the concept of control. How would Grindelwald impose his will on a conquered magical population? Through fear, certainly. Through propaganda. But also through subtle magical means. Perhaps new forms of Imperius Curses that affected entire communities, or elaborate Binding Charms that tied allegiance to a leader, or Silencing Charms that prevented dissent.

He began to theorize about Draconic counters: commands that could disrupt mass Imperius Curses at their source (Zii - spirit/mind, Fen - destroy, Nahl - flow, to break mental influence). Spells that could unravel intricate political Binding Charms by targeting their underlying magical matrix (Dov - bind, Fen - destroy, Tiid - time, to unravel in reverse). He considered methods for clandestine information gathering, spells to project his senses across vast distances without detection, to listen in on the strategizing of Grindelwald's inner circle. This required a profound understanding of perceptual manipulation and magical resonance, pushing the boundaries of his Untethered Will.

He spent hours poring over old books on political magic, on historical instances of magical subjugation. He read about how ancient magical civilizations had maintained control over conquered territories, about the role of magic in espionage and psychological warfare. He cross-referenced these with his Draconic notes, seeking ways to weaponize pure intent, to apply the fundamental commands of magic to scenarios of political resistance and counter-insurgency.

While they talk peace, he thought, sketching complex diagrams of overlapping magical influences, I will prepare for war on every front. Political, magical, mental.

He briefly joined his Ravenclaw friends for lunch. The conversations were still dominated by the news, but now with a weary resignation.

"My cousin writes from Switzerland," Eleanor reported softly. "Her family is already discussing taking refuge in South America if things get worse. The sheer number of magical refugees from Austria… it's overwhelming, apparently."

Edgar nodded, grave. "The strain on international magical infrastructure will be immense. And Grindelwald will undoubtedly use the refugee crisis as a means to sow discord, to weaken other nations from within."

"So, what's the Ministry going to do?" Elara asked, her voice tinged with frustration. "Just talk? While Grindelwald sets up his dark empire?"

Marcus chose his words carefully. "The international bodies… they will attempt diplomacy. They will seek consensus. But consensus is a slow, cumbersome beast. Grindelwald, as we have seen, is anything but slow. He will likely view any 'peace talks' as an opportunity to further entrench himself, to gain time, and to project an image of legitimacy through his puppet government, even as he consolidates his power. Real action, decisive action, rarely comes from committees."

His friends looked at him, absorbing his pragmatic, almost cynical assessment. He had a way of cutting through the emotional fog to the logical core of the situation, a trait born of his solitary contemplation of power and strategy.

The afternoon passed much like the morning. Marcus returned to his studies, his thoughts consumed by Grindelwald's long game. He understood that Grindelwald was playing a strategic chess match, not merely a series of duels. Austria was just the first pawn to be moved, establishing a base, controlling a key sector of the board. The magical nations, in their fractured, bureaucratic responses, were simply allowing him to set the terms of engagement.

He considered the psychological impact of such a conquest. Fear. Uncertainty. The erosion of faith in existing institutions. These were potent weapons for Grindelwald, perhaps even more so than Killing Curses. He was building a new order not just with force, but with demoralization and ideological capture. Marcus pondered the magic that could counter such insidious attacks on morale – spells of hope, of defiance, of subtle mental fortification. These were concepts he would need to delve into with his Untethered Will, shaping pure intent into emotional resistance.

As evening approached, the Great Hall filled for dinner. The atmosphere was still subdued, but the discussions were more animated, though still grim. Speculation about Grindelwald's next target dominated. Would it be Germany? Switzerland? Italy? Each country bordering Austria felt suddenly vulnerable, their proximity now a terrifying liability. The New Year had brought not resolutions of hope, but a chilling realization of the inescapable reality of war.

Later, in the Ravenclaw common room, the quiet murmur of conversations continued. Some students were trying to read, but their eyes kept drifting to the windows, as if expecting to see Grindelwald's dark forces marching across the moonlit grounds. The usual competitive spirit of the Ravenclaws was muted, replaced by a shared sense of foreboding.

Marcus spent a short while observing, listening. The fear was deep, pervasive. It underscored everything. He felt a profound sense of loneliness in his unique preparedness, a solitary burden that no one else could truly share. He had seen this coming, had been preparing for years. Now, the world was finally catching up to his grim foresight.

He eventually retired to his private room. The quiet space felt both confining and liberating. Confining, because it was a constant reminder of the secrecy he had to maintain. Liberating, because it was here that he could truly unleash his mind, truly delve into the raw, commanding magic that would be his only true weapon against the rising tide of darkness.

He undressed, his movements deliberate, his mind still working. The image of the headlines, the grim discussions in the Great Hall, the image of Dumbledore's sad eyes – they all solidified his resolve. The new year had begun, not with celebration, but with a stark, brutal truth. And Marcus Starborn, alone in his quiet room, knew he had to be ready for the inevitable. He lay down in bed, pulling the covers up, the chilling reality of Grindelwald's consolidation echoing in the silent night. Sleep would come, but it would be restless, haunted by the grim promise of the year ahead.