Hogwarts: Dyroth Grindelwald Rise From Nurmengard

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...


They say nothing good happens after three in the morning.


Dyroth wholeheartedly agreed, especially as his blood pressure soared and his body tensed up. He didn't need to look back to know who it was.


Quirrell.


The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, and more importantly, the host of the Dark Lord himself—Voldemort.


Dyroth was painfully aware that his surname, Grindelwald, would not go unnoticed. How could it?


Stay calm, Dyroth , he reminded himself, silently repeating the words. With Dumbledore around, as long as I don't act suspicious, Voldemort can't make a move. At least not yet.


Forcing a smile, Dyroth turned around.


"Professor Quirrell, good evening."


"Go-good evening, Mr. Grindelwald! What brings you out here instead of sleeping in the common room?" Quirrell stammered, his nervous gaze flicking across Dyroth.


"My apologies, Professor. I was up late studying and went to the kitchen for a quick snack."


"A snack?"


"Yes, I got a bit carried away with my reading. By the time I noticed, it was already past midnight."


Quirrell blinked, his expression twisting slightly. His rosy complexion suddenly paled, and he looked at Dyroth with an odd mix of hesitation and unease.


Something's wrong, Dyroth thought, sensing the change. Slowly, he began to retreat.


"Well, Professor, if there's nothing else, I'll head back now. Don't want to get caught by Filch, after all." He smiled and moved backward cautiously.


"Wait...wait a moment!" Quirrell's voice quivered, and cold sweat began to dot his forehead as if he were enduring great pain. Yet, he forced a smile.


"Mr. Grindelwald, why not bring your book to my office? I could help you review it."


Dyroth stiffened. Voldemort's taking over.


"I'm afraid it's quite late, Professor. Another time perhaps," Dyroth replied, inching further away.


"Mr. Grindelwald, surely you wouldn't refuse a teacher's invitation?" Quirrell's demeanor shifted abruptly. His voice grew deeper, and an air of confidence suddenly surrounded him.


For a split second, Dyroth lost his composure. Then, instinctively, he activated Occlumency. Legilimency? Damn it, Voldemort's trying to probe me!


He cursed himself inwardly. I shouldn't have agreed to the Weasley twins' midnight snack run. I've been too relaxed lately. Time to sharpen my senses again.


"Professor," Dyroth said with a steady smile, "it's not that I want to refuse, but I have class tomorrow, and Professor McGonagall won't be happy if I'm tired."


Quirrell's expression shifted, clearly surprised by Dyroth's ability to resist the mental invasion. His interest piqued as he observed the young Grindelwald.


"Are you afraid of the professors, Mr. Grindelwald?" Quirrell asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.


"I'm a student, after all. Isn't it normal to respect authority?"


Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.


Finally! Dyroth's heart leapt as the sound grew closer.


"Professor Quirrell, I'm really sorry, but I must be going. Thank you for your kind offer. I'll visit your office another time," Dyroth said hurriedly, turning to leave.


"Mr. Grindelwald," a cold, familiar voice rang out, "shouldn't you be in bed instead of sneaking around like a reckless Gryffindor?"


Dyroth's eyes lit up. For the first time, he was genuinely glad to hear Professor Snape's voice.


Quirrell, visibly frustrated, glanced toward the approaching Potions Master, before turning back to Dyroth, his interest undiminished.


"Until we meet again, Mr. Grindelwald," Quirrell said with a thin smile. "I trust you won't refuse my invitation next time."


"Of course, Professor," Dyroth replied smoothly, his confidence restored with Snape's arrival.


Facing Snape, Dyroth adopted a neutral expression. "Professor Snape, I was just heading back to the Slytherin common room."


"Out for a late-night snack, were we?" Snape sneered, his dark eyes narrowing. "Perhaps Madam Pomfrey's calming draught would suit you better."


"Congratulations, Mr. Grindelwald. Thanks to your 'brave' behavior, you've earned yourself a week's detention. Five points from Slytherin."


Dyroth bowed his head, giving nothing away. "Understood, Professor. I'll report to Mr. Filch tomorrow night."


"Now, back to bed!" Snape barked.


"Yes, Professor," Dyroth replied, his expression composed as he walked away. Behind him, Snape and Quirrell exchanged tense words.


...


In the Headmaster's Office:


Dumbledore sat on a couch, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. His face was creased with worry.


He had been troubled ever since hearing about Ron Weasley's behavior earlier that day. Ron was meant to be Harry Potter's loyal companion, someone to guide and support him in the coming trials against Voldemort. Yet, so far, Ron had proven to be far from dependable.


Mistakes in Potions class could be overlooked, but the events in Flying class were concerning. If Ron's jealousy and impulsiveness rubbed off on Harry, how could he be expected to grow into the hero the wizarding world needed?


As Dumbledore mused over his concerns, the stone gargoyle at the entrance opened, and Snape swept in.


"Severus, you're here," Dumbledore greeted, his voice weary.


Snape's dark cloak billowed behind him as he crossed the room. "Quirrell had a run-in with Mr. Grindelwald tonight."


Dumbledore's eyes sharpened, and he straightened in his chair. "What happened?"


"I believe it was a coincidence," Snape replied. "Dyroth seemed rather disinterested in the encounter, perhaps even repelled."


Dumbledore frowned. "Could he have sensed something?"


"It's possible," Snape admitted. "Dyroth's skill in Occlumency is impressive, even at his age. It's not unthinkable that he could resist Voldemort's Legilimency in his current state."


Dumbledore rubbed his temples. "Severus, I need you to keep an eye on him."


Snape's face twisted into a sneer. "Our esteemed Headmaster, requesting surveillance on an eleven-year-old boy?"


"It's not surveillance," Dumbledore corrected softly. "Just pay more attention to him. He's remarkably close to Harry, and I don't want any… complications."


Snape's expression hardened. "Mr. Grindelwald is far from the reckless fool Harry or Weasley are."


Dumbledore met his gaze evenly. "I trust him, Severus. But we cannot afford any mistakes in Harry's development. He is Lily's only child, and like her, he has those same emerald green eyes."


Snape's jaw tightened, and his body stiffened slightly.


"Severus, you know what's at stake. We must ensure Harry has a perfect environment to grow."


Snape remained silent for a long moment before turning sharply and leaving the office.


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Chapter.50 had been published on patreon already

 

[false_truth]

...


In a professor's dormitory...


"Master, I don't understand why you are so interested in Grindelwald," Quirrell muttered nervously. "His father—"


"It's not your place to question me!" A cold, venomous voice interrupted him, reverberating through Quirrell's mind.


Immediately, excruciating pain surged through his body, sending him crashing to the ground. He writhed in agony, scraping his fingers raw against the cold stone floor.


"Master, I beg your forgiveness! I was wrong, please—"


"Let today be the last time you question my orders," Voldemort's raspy voice hissed from the back of Quirrell's head, full of malice.


Quirrell's body quivered as he fought to stand, clutching the wall for support, his robes drenched in sweat. "When is the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class with him?" Voldemort asked sharply.


"Who?" Quirrell asked before realizing his mistake. His breath caught as pain once again gripped him.


"I... I understand, Master! Grindelwald's next class is the day after tomorrow!"


"The day after tomorrow... Prepare the potion. I will test his abilities myself. Do not fail me." Voldemort's voice was low and dangerous.


"Yes, Master! I will make the preparations," Quirrell said, trembling. His mind raced with plans to carry out Voldemort's orders, desperate to please his dark master.


...


Back in the Slytherin dormitory...


Dyroth was lying in bed, the sound of the system's prompt ringing in his mind.


[Ding! Achievement unlocked: "Night Walker.]


[Reward: 50 achievement points.]


"At least the achievement points make this trouble worthwhile," Dyroth muttered to himself. The memory of his near encounter with Voldemort sent a chill through him. The fact that Voldemort had used Legilimency was alarming. It showed how much stronger he was.


"I need to be more careful," Dyroth thought. "The days of easy-going Hogwarts life are over."


The encounter with Quirrell had put him on high alert. He knew now that Voldemort had taken an interest in him. His own magic power wasn't enough to handle such threats—not yet. He needed to grow stronger, fast. "I can't afford to be careless anymore."


With these thoughts swirling in his head, Dyroth formulated a plan to accelerate his growth before finally drifting off to sleep.


...


The next day...


Still feeling tired from last night, Dyroth dragged himself into the Great Hall. As soon as he sat down, he overheard students talking about the upcoming joint Herbology class. Due to the injuries from the previous day's Potions class, all four houses were scheduled to attend Herbology together.


Hermione practically skipped over to him, her excitement bubbling over. "Come on, Dyroth! It's our first class together!" she exclaimed, pulling him toward the greenhouses.


Inside the Herbology classroom, the earthy scent of soil and fertilizer hung thick in the air. Professor Sprout stood at the front, wearing her signature khaki robes and patched hat, smiling warmly at the students.


"Quiet down, everyone!" Professor Sprout called out. "I know you're excited about your first lesson together, but let's focus. Today, we will start with a special plant."


She wheeled out a large box from the corner of the classroom, and the students craned their necks to see. Inside, dark green vines writhed and swayed like living tendrils.


"Now, can anyone tell me what plant this is?" she asked.


Hermione's hand shot up instantly. "Miss Granger?" Professor Sprout nodded.


"It's a crab claw plant, Professor!"


"A crab claw, yes..." Professor Sprout smiled. "But can anyone else offer a different answer?" Her gaze fell on Dyroth, her eyes glinting with expectation. "Mr. Grindelwald?"


Dyroth studied the vines carefully, noting their long, dark tendrils and the way they seemed to recoil slightly from the sunlight streaming in through the window. "It looks like a crab claw plant, but..."


He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting in more sunlight. Immediately, the tendrils recoiled, shrinking away from the light and curling tightly in the corner of the box. "No," Dyroth said confidently. "This is a devil's snare, disguised as a crab claw plant."


Professor Sprout beamed. "Excellent observation, Mr. Grindelwald! Five points to Slytherin!"


Hermione, standing beside him, looked momentarily deflated but quickly regained her composure. "Humph! You may have gotten this one, but I won't lose next time!" she huffed playfully, nudging him.


The class continued, with Professor Sprout explaining the dangers of devil's snare and how to deal with it. She praised Dyroth for his quick thinking and careful observation, using him as an example for the rest of the class.


Later, she moved on to the next plant. Hermione was quick to raise her hand before anyone else had the chance. "It's a bubotuber, Professor! The pus is useful for curing acne!"


"Excellent answer, Miss Granger! Five points to Ravenclaw!"


And so the lesson went on, with Hermione and Dyroth taking turns answering every question. By the end of the class, Professor Sprout couldn't help but chuckle. "If this were a test, both Miss Granger and Mr. Grindelwald would receive an Outstanding!" she said with admiration.


(Outstanding was one of the three passing grades, out of six grades overall, in the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, and Wizards' Ordinary Magic and Basic Aptitude Tests. It was the highest mark possible, immediately above 'Exceeds Expectations')


As the students packed up their things, Dyroth noticed Harry had barely paid attention throughout the lesson. He sighed quietly. "You could feed him everything, and he'd still refuse to chew,"


Dyroth thought. Without Hermione's help, Harry's future seemed more uncertain than ever.





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...


Hermione beamed with satisfaction after Professor Sprout's compliment. All the books she had memorized in the past few days were finally paying off. She looked at Dyroth with a proud glint in her eye.


Professor Sprout, having covered the basic knowledge, clapped her hands to regain the class's attention. "Now, I'm going to teach you how to handle its roots. Be careful! If the juice from these roots gets on your hands, it'll make you itch for days. Make sure you wear your gloves!"


After everyone followed her instructions, Professor Sprout handed each student a jumping root. "Well done, everyone. Now, gently pick up the base of the root. Be cautious—they're very sensitive and can spring out of your hand with the slightest pressure."


Dyroth, having dealt with many magical plants while grinding for achievements in the past, handled the root with ease. For Hermione, however, it was a different story. Despite her extensive reading, she had never had any practical experience handling such plants.


As soon as Hermione grasped the root, it started to jump violently in her hands. "Ah!" she shrieked, nearly tossing it away.


"Don't panic, Hermione. Relax," came Dyroth's calm voice from behind her. His words carried a certain calmness, helping her to regain composure.


"Yes, gently—like you're handling a small animal. Now, place it in the flowerpot and cover it with soil."


With trembling hands, Hermione managed to place the root in the pot and cover it with earth. She let out a relieved sigh.


"Thank you, Dyroth!" she said, her voice filled with gratitude.


"You're welcome," Dyroth replied casually.


Hermione gazed at him, her eyes sparkling with admiration. She snapped out of her daze after a moment, her expression turning somber.


"Dyroth, am I... am I stupid?" she asked, looking down.


"Because of what happened just now?" Dyroth asked. Hermione didn't deny it, simply lowering her head further.


Dyroth chuckled and met her eyes. "Hermione, everyone has something they're not good at. You can't let one small shortcoming overshadow all your strengths. Remember, you're a brilliant, wise Ravenclaw. When you face a problem, think about how to solve it, rather than worrying about it. Besides, this is your first time handling plants in a practical lesson—it's perfectly normal to struggle at first."


Dyroth's words clearly worked, as Hermione's disappointment faded and she smiled again.


"I understand, Dyroth!" she said brightly.


"Good, wise Ravenclaw witch," Dyroth grinned.


...


After Herbology, Hermione and the Patil twins invited Dyroth to the library, but he politely declined. He had other plans for the evening—namely, preparing for his meeting with Hagrid. Dyroth thought it best to speak with him ahead of time, especially with all the dangerous magical creatures lurking in the Forbidden Forest. Werewolves, hippogriffs, and Hagrid's secret pet, Aragog—the danger level of that acromantula was on par with a dragon!


Dyroth didn't trust Hagrid's easygoing nature to keep him safe with just a word, so he made his way to the half-giant's hut. Outside, Hagrid was mixing something in a giant barrel. To Dyroth, the barrel looked no different from a washbasin in Hagrid's massive hands.


Seeing Dyroth approach, Hagrid set his tools down and greeted him cheerfully. "Dyroth, there yeh are! Come in, come in. Don't worry about tonight's detention, I'll take good care of yeh."


"Thanks, Hagrid. That's a relief to hear," Dyroth replied, following him inside.


The interior of Hagrid's hut surprised Dyroth. A blanket made from unicorn fur, holly wood chairs, and a collection of rare materials—unicorn horns, broken Bowtruckle branches, and various magical creature parts—were piled up haphazardly like rubbish. It was like Hagrid was guarding a treasure trove!


Noticing Dyroth's stare, Hagrid misinterpreted it. "I'm sorry 'bout the mess," he said, scratching his head sheepishly. "Not many people visit me here, so it's a bit chaotic."


Dyroth shook his head. "You misunderstood, Hagrid. I'm just amazed by all the magical materials you've gathered."


"Oh, these?" Hagrid shrugged. "I pick 'em up when I patrol the Forbidden Forest. Been collectin' 'em for years. If yeh want any of 'em, just say the word!"


To Hagrid, these materials were common, but Dyroth knew their real value. "Thanks, Hagrid. That's generous of you," Dyroth said as he took a seat.


Hagrid happily offered his signature rock cakes, placing them on the table. "Here, have a rock cake! I made 'em meself. Bet you'll love 'em!"


Dyroth attempted to pick one up, but it slipped from his hand and hit the plate. With a loud crack, the plate shattered, but the rock cake remained intact, making a metallic clang. Dyroth couldn't help but wonder if the issue was liking the cakes—or being able to bite into them at all!


Quickly shifting the conversation, Dyroth eyed the magical animal materials scattered around the hut and asked, "By the way, Hagrid, what do you usually do with the materials you bring back from the Forbidden Forest?"


Hagrid's face grew sour. "Sometimes I keep 'em, but mostly I sell 'em in Diagon Alley. Trouble is, those pureblood merchants are all a bunch o' vampires. They offer me nothin' but lowball prices."


Dyroth's eyes brightened with an idea. "Hagrid, how about this? From now on, I'll buy any materials you don't need—at market price."


Hagrid's reaction was immediate. He hugged Dyroth tightly. "Dyroth, you're a lifesaver! Yeh don't know how much they've been rippin' me off! Not even offerin' me half the value."


"Don't worry, Hagrid. I'll give you fair prices, and I promise not to lower them on purpose. We're friends, after all," Dyroth assured him with a smile, all the while knowing just how valuable Hagrid's materials were. Even at market price, the items were worth a fortune.


After sorting out the details, Hagrid insisted on Dyroth staying for lunch, and later in the afternoon, Dyroth spent time studying in the library with Hermione. As night fell, Dyroth had a quick bite in the Great Hall before heading to Filch's office for detention.


Upon arriving, he found the office unlocked, with no one there except Mrs. Norris, Filch's infamous cat, lounging on the desk.


"Filch really doesn't know how to care for a cat," Dyroth muttered to himself. "She's all skin and bones, and her fur's a mess."


Taking out a piece of fried fish he had brought from the hall, Dyroth placed it in front of Mrs. Norris. "Hello again, Mrs. Norris."


Mrs. Norris eyed the fish warily before cautiously picking it up. Meanwhile, Dyroth used a bit of magic to clean the dirt from her fur, gently stroking her back.


Just as Mrs. Norris began to relax and enjoy her meal, an angry voice echoed from down the hall.


"Get away from my Mrs. Norris! What've you done to her?!" came Filch's furious shout.


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...


Filch roared and rushed toward Dyroth the moment he saw Mrs. Norris.


He was Stunned!


"My Mrs. Norris has turned out to be so beautiful!"


He could hardly believe that the cat, which had been with him for years, seemed to have completely transformed in just a few minutes. If it weren't for Mrs. Norris's familiar dark green pupils, Filch might have thought that Dyroth had brought a different pet from outside.


"Mr. Filch, Mrs. Norris is indeed a beautiful cat," Dyroth said.


"You... what did you call me?" Filch asked, suspecting his ears were deceiving him.


He had been at Hogwarts for so long, and apart from the endless stream of unpleasant nicknames, no student had ever called him anything else. Even the professors only addressed him out of formality, not from genuine respect.


But Dyroth was different. There was no disdain or contempt in his eyes. He looked at Filch with the same respect he showed to other wizards. For the first time, Filch felt the respect he'd always yearned for but never experienced.


"Mr. Filch, if you're uncomfortable with this title, I can change it to something else," Dyroth offered.


"No, no, no! This is perfect!" Filch quickly shook his head, terrified that Dyroth might start calling him the same ridiculous nicknames the other students did.


"Good," Dyroth smiled. "As for Mrs. Norris, I suggest you pay more attention to her hygiene. If you can, try giving her more fish."


Dyroth had raised cats before in his previous life, so he knew a thing or two about their care. He had originally considered suggesting that Mrs. Norris be vaccinated and fed nutritious cat food, but remembering that this was the wizarding world, he decided to stick with more practical advice.


Filch was silent for a moment before nodding. "I'll pay attention."


He retrieved an oil lamp from his office, scooped up Mrs. Norris, and said, "Let's go, I'll take you to the Forbidden Forest."


Seeing the thin wizard robe Dyroth wore, Filch hesitated for a moment and spoke stiffly. "The Forbidden Forest is not the castle. You'd better go back and wear more clothes. Hagrid's an experienced guard, but there are no guarantees."


"Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Filch, but I've already dressed warmly under my robe," Dyroth replied with a smile, acknowledging the man's concern.


Filch escorted Dyroth all the way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid was already waiting.


Seeing them approach, Hagrid waved the lamp in his hand. "Hey Dyroth, over here!"


"Go on," Filch said. Only after Dyroth reached Hagrid did he return to the castle with Mrs. Norris.


The Forbidden Forest was thick with fog that night. The twisted trees seemed to move of their own accord, and strange noises echoed from deep within. The occasional roar from the forest's depths was even more unsettling.


"Woof, woof!"


Dyroth turned to see a large dog sniffing around him.


"Don't worry, that's Fang! He may be small, but he's a great helper!" Hagrid reassured him. "We'll just be patrolling the perimeter. The creatures inside don't like to be disturbed."


Dyroth looked at Hagrid and understood why he saw Fang as small.


Hagrid led the way, his large frame completely blocking Dyroth's view of the path ahead. Dyroth was content to follow along in silence, reassured that there had been no signs of unicorn injuries in the forest—proof that Voldemort was still fixated on the Philosopher's Stone.


Without Voldemort's presence, this trip seemed far safer.


"Be careful, Dyroth," Hagrid warned. "The path here's a bit tricky."


Just as he finished speaking, a strange noise came from a tree on the left. Fang, who had been trotting ahead, whimpered and scurried behind Hagrid. The atmosphere grew tense.


Hagrid, who had just praised Fang's bravery, awkwardly cleared his throat. "Fang's just a bit timid."


He approached the tree that had made the noise, while Dyroth drew his wand, alert.


"Dyroth, come look at this!" Hagrid called excitedly. "It's a Mooncalf!"


Mooncalves! What a lucky find! Dyroth quickly joined him.


Several pairs of large, light-green eyes blinked at them from the shadows.


"Look at those beautiful little creatures!" Hagrid marveled. "Too bad I didn't bring any tools—if you collect their droppings before sunrise, they make plants grow taller and stronger."


When it came to magical creatures, Hagrid's passion was evident, and he patiently explained everything to Dyroth. "They're very shy and only come out during a full moon."


"Let's not disturb them. We'll finish our patrol and head back."


Hagrid dusted himself off, and they continued their patrol through the foggy forest. The rest of the journey was peaceful, with Hagrid in the lead and Fang clearing the way.


"Hagrid, don't you get bored patrolling the Forbidden Forest alone?" Dyroth asked, trying to break the silence.


"I did at first," Hagrid admitted. "But over time, I got used to it. The forest's full of cute little creatures to keep me company."


Dyroth sometimes felt a pang of sympathy for Hagrid. As a half-giant, he didn't fit in with giants, and wizards were often unwilling to accept him. After finally finding a place at Hogwarts, he had been framed by Voldemort and expelled. With his parents gone and his only brother, Grawp, still unable to communicate, Hagrid's life seemed lonely. No wonder he was so pleased when Dyroth visited.


Time passed quickly, and soon their patrol was over. As they headed back to the castle, Hagrid sighed, "I wish you could come with me every day."


Dyroth smiled. "If I were in detention every day, Professor Snape would have a fit."


"That's not what I meant!" Hagrid chuckled.


"I know. I'll try to spend more time with you when I can."


Just as they were about to leave the forest, the sound of rapid footsteps came from behind them. It didn't sound like any ordinary creature.


Hagrid instinctively moved to shield Dyroth, while Dyroth drew his wand, ready for action.


The figure approaching slowly came into view—a centaur, with the upper body of a man and the lower body of a horse.


"It's you, Firenze," Hagrid sighed with relief, patting Dyroth on the shoulder. "No need to worry."


Firenze, one of the few centaurs who didn't hold a grudge against wizards, lowered his bow and greeted them. "Hello, little wizard," he said kindly.


Hagrid introduced them. "This is Dyroth Grindelwald, a friend of mine."


"Hello," Dyroth said politely.


Firenze's sapphire eyes locked onto Dyroth. "I'm here because of him."


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"Dyroth?"


Hagrid looked puzzled. "This is his first time in the Forbidden Forest. Why are you looking for him?"


"The guidance of the stars," Firenze replied, his eyes never leaving Dyroth.


Dyroth looked confused.


"The stars tell me that a distinguished guest will come to the Forbidden Forest tonight. I've been waiting here for a long time."


Astrology?


Dyroth became intrigued. His left eye, inherited from Grindelwald, granted him the prophetic ability to glimpse the future. However, unlike his ancestor, he couldn't foresee events decades ahead. His power was limited to a few seconds, at great physical cost. Comparing this to astrology, he realized that the centaur's method of prophecy, while less precise, might hold wisdom worth exploring.


"Did the stars only see me coming?" Dyroth asked.


"Of course not," Firenze said, stepping closer, his long platinum hair flowing. If not for his lower half being a horse, he could have easily passed as a strikingly handsome man.


"Through the stars, I saw that the fate of the centaurs is about to change. If Mr. Grindelwald is willing, please allow me to take you to the place where centaurs and unicorns live. There, I will tell you the full prophecy."


"A place where centaurs and unicorns live?" Hagrid gasped, rubbing his palms with excitement. "Unicorn gathering place! Oh my! Can you take me too, Firenze? You know how much I love unicorns."


"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Firenze shook his head. "Centaurs do not welcome other intelligent races, including giants. But if the opportunity arises, I will introduce you to some unicorns."


"Mr. Grindelwald, please follow me," Firenze gestured, but before he could finish, an arrow shot through the air, landing between Firenze and Dyroth.


"Firenze, you traitor!" a red-haired centaur appeared, bow in hand, his eyes blazing with fury. "Centaurs do not welcome wizards! Not only do you share prophecies with him, but you also lead him to our sacred grounds? I will report this to the tribe, and you will be exiled from the Forbidden Forest!"


"Mr. Centaur, I suggest you lower your bow," Dyroth said, his voice calm but laced with warning.


"Get out, little wizard!" the red-bearded centaur snarled, stomping the ground and raising a cloud of dust.


Without hesitation, Dyroth raised his wand. "Expelliarmus!"


The force of the spell was immense, far beyond the standard level. The red-bearded centaur flew back as if struck by a missile, slamming into a tree and dropping his bow. Blood trickled from his mouth, a visible dent forming on his chest.


"Mr. Grindelwald, wait!" Firenze exclaimed. "Ronan didn't mean to attack you!"


Dyroth's face remained expressionless. "I didn't intend to kill him, just teaching


him a lesson," he explained to Hagrid, who had been watching in stunned silence.


Hagrid quickly grabbed Dyroth by the shoulders. "Calm down, Dyroth! He just wanted to scare you."


Dyroth sighed. "I suppose our visit to the centaur settlement will have to wait, Firenze. Once your tribe has settled its differences, you may invite me again."


With that, Dyroth turned to leave, Hagrid hesitating before following him. "I'll take Dyroth back to the dormitory. Let me know if anything happens."


As the pair disappeared into the trees, Ronan groaned in Firenze's arms. "Don't touch me, traitor."


Firenze applied some medicine to Ronan's wounds. "He is the one from the prophecy, Ronan."


"But he's a wizard! How can we trust him?" Ronan coughed, nearly spitting more blood.


"This is destiny's path, regardless of race."


"I'll never follow a wizard," Ronan muttered defiantly.


Back at Hogwarts, Dyroth found himself regretting not staying for a late-night snack with Hagrid. He was hungry but considering the trouble he got into the previous night, he decided to let it go.


As he walked through the castle, a notification rang in his mind.


[Congratulations! You've completed your first Forbidden Forest patrol. Achievement unlocked: Forbidden Forest Guard. Reward: 50 points.]


"Better than nothing," Dyroth muttered, making his way back to the Slytherin common room.


Inside, Draco stood on a platform, boasting to a crowd of Slytherins about his "heroic" confrontation with Ron Weasley during flying lessons. Seeing Dyroth enter, Draco flashed a smug grin, continuing to embellish his tale.


Dyroth shook his head with a small smile. "Alright, Draco, you can stop. Falling into the grass toughens the skin, ha" he teased lightly before heading to his dormitory.


The last two days had been exhausting, and without bothering to change, Dyroth fell into a deep sleep.


The next morning, Dyroth dragged himself to breakfast, still feeling the weight of the previous night.


"Dyroth, didn't sleep well?" Draco asked, flanked by Goyle and Crabbe.


"I had a rough night," Dyroth mumbled, not in the mood for small talk.


"Well, good news! First class today is Defense Against the Dark Arts," Draco said, grinning. "Professor Quirrell's lessons are so boring, you can practically sleep through them."


"What did you say?" Dyroth suddenly sat up straight. "The first class is... Defense Against the Dark Arts?"


Quirrell? The same Quirrell who had Voldemort on the back of his head?


Panic set in as Dyroth remembered his recent encounter with Voldemort. "Draco, if I told professor Snape I caught a cold last night in the Forbidden Forest, do you think he would let me skip class?"


Before Draco could answer, a dark, cold voice interrupted.


"Or maybe... I should twist your head off for even thinking of such an idea."


Dyroth turned slowly to find Snape standing right behind him.


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...


"Dyroth?, why is he sitting in the back row?"


"It goes without saying, Professor Quirrell only knows how to read from textbooks, and he can't even do that well. Who wants to listen?"


"I really don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, hiring a loser like him as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."


Dyroth stayed silent, listening to the conversations around him but not offering an explanation. Seated quietly in the back row, he picked up a book and placed it in front of himself, knowing that Quirrell wasn't as simple as he appeared.


Once an exceptional student from Ravenclaw, Quirrell had a strong desire to explore magic, even daring to venture into the Dark Forest alone. If he were truly incompetent, Voldemort wouldn't have chosen him as a host. His timid persona at Hogwarts was merely a method to cover for Voldemort.


The classroom filled quickly, but with students avoiding the front rows as if they were public university classes. Quirrell's reputation wasn't great, so most students squeezed toward the back, leaving the front empty. Latecomers had no choice but to settle in the middle, grumbling under their breath.


The strong smell of garlic preceded Quirrell's entrance, instantly sparking coughs throughout the room. Quirrell smiled awkwardly as he approached the podium.


"Take out...our textbook, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection," he stammered. "Turn...turn to the first page."


His words dragged, wasting several seconds of class time. He began lecturing on Puffskeins, harmless magical creatures rated XX by the Ministry of Magic, far from dangerous. Despite their harmlessness, Quirrell fumbled through the lesson, reading from the textbook with little structure. Even something as simple as Puffskeins, which some wizards kept as pets, became confusing under his disjointed lecture.


At first, Dyroth wondered why no one bothered listening to Quirrell. Now, it became clear—no one could follow his lesson.


As Quirrell droned on, he attempted to engage the students with a few questions, but no one paid him any mind, leaving him visibly uncomfortable.


Suddenly, a voice rasped in Quirrell's mind. "Give me your body!"


An overwhelming force overtook him. His eyes shifted, and his demeanor changed instantly. No longer aimlessly reading from the textbook, Quirrell—or rather, Voldemort—began to stroll around the classroom with interest.


Dyroth, who had been watching Quirrell closely, was alarmed. He lowered his head, hoping to avoid attention.


Voldemort snapped his book shut with a soft click. The sound wasn't loud, but it drew the attention of everyone in the room.


"If textbooks bore you, let's try something different." Voldemort casually took out his wand, enjoying the wide-eyed attention of the students. He had always longed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts but had been denied by Dumbledore.


"Put down your textbooks and take out your wands," Voldemort instructed.


With a wave of his wand, all the textbooks in the room closed and slid off the desks in unison, leaving the students in awe. Voldemort reveled in their reaction, moving around the room as though delivering a grand speech.


"To learn Defense Against the Dark Arts, you must first understand what dark magic is!"


Several students, captivated by his earlier display of magic, eagerly raised their hands. Voldemort smiled. "There's no need to raise hands in my class. Just speak your mind."


"Dark magic is any magic that harms people!" one student ventured.


"Magic without counter-curses is dark magic!" added another.


"Dark wizards use dark magic!" chimed a third.


The answers flowed, but they were all oversimplified. Voldemort listened patiently before turning his gaze to Dyroth.


"Mr. Grindelwald, what do you think?"


Dyroth narrowed his eyes slightly, preparing a generic response. But then, Voldemort spoke again.


"With your vast knowledge, surely you can give us a more insightful answer. I'm certain you wouldn't refuse an opportunity to earn points for your house, right?"


Dyroth mentally cursed. The old fox had set him up! Using house points to pressure him, Voldemort had skillfully cornered him. In previous classes, Dyroth had consistently shown his intellectual prowess. If he answered casually now, the other Slytherins would see it as him not caring about the house's reputation—a blow to his image.


Reluctantly, Dyroth stood up, considering his answer.


"The nature of dark magic depends on the caster's intent—whether it is used with malice. For example..."


He pointed his wand at the podium. "Aguamenti!"


Several streams of water gushed forth, pooling at Voldemort's feet.


"Aguamenti is a simple water spell, commonly seen as harmless. But if the water continues to flow unchecked, it could drown a person. In that sense, any spell cast with ill intent could be considered dark magic."


"A unique perspective," Voldemort remarked, clearly impressed.


Voldemort had expected Dyroth to recite textbook knowledge or summarize the other students' answers. Instead, Dyroth had offered something original, which surprised even him.


"Mr. Grindelwald, please sit down. Five points to Slytherin for your perfect answer!" Voldemort flicked his wrist, and the water vanished, showcasing his impressive wandless and silent spellcasting, which once again stirred excitement among the students.


"As Mr. Grindelwald said, magic used with malicious intent can become dark magic. However, to most, dark magic is typically divided into three categories. Mr. Grindelwald?"


"The three main types of dark magic are jinxes, hexes, and curses," Dyroth replied. "Curses are the most dangerous, jinxes are the least harmful, and hexes fall somewhere in between."


"Excellent!" Voldemort said approvingly, his tone growing colder. "But you've forgotten one category... the Unforgivable Curses."


He turned sharply to face Harry.


"Mr. Potter!" Voldemort's voice echoed in the silent room. "Can you tell us what the Unforgivable Curses are?"


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...


Years of planning and struggle, all falling to the whims of a mere child — how could the proud Voldemort accept such a fate? It was only through immense restraint that he hadn't acted already.


Harry stood awkwardly, clueless as to why he was being singled out with all these questions, unaware that he was teetering on the edge of danger. As he glanced at the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who now had a cold, calculating look, he couldn't shake the strange feeling that this was eerily similar to how Snape would behave.


After a brief moment of mental gymnastics, Harry finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "I-I'm sorry, Professor. I don't know."


"Don't know?" Voldemort, hidden behind Quirrell's identity, was momentarily taken aback. How could this boy not even know the basics? Did he not even understand how his own parents died? His suspicions grew.


"What's the definition of dark magic?" Voldemort pressed, his patience running thin.


"I... I don't know, Professor."


"How many types of curses are there?"


"...I don't know."


"What are the conditions necessary to cast a spell?"


Again, Harry could only shake his head, "No... don't know!"


Each response was like a slap to Voldemort's face, and it left him dumbfounded. Was this truly the child destined to defeat him? The boy who had caused his downfall? The boy who didn't even know the basics of magic?


The shame of being defeated by someone so profoundly ignorant struck Voldemort deeply. He could accept losing to someone powerful like Dumbledore, or even to Grindelwald in his prime. But Harry Potter? A child who knew nothing of magic?


At this point, Dyroth, seated nearby, struggled to stifle his laughter, burying his head to avoid Voldemort's suspicious gaze. Harry had been raised by Muggles, after all — what knowledge could he possibly possess of the magical world?


Voldemort, who had been away from the wizarding world for so long, had never taken the time to learn about Harry's upbringing. He had been too consumed with his own survival, first existing as little more than a wretched spirit, parasitizing on rats and other creatures, before finding Quirrell. In his mind, Harry, as a famous wizarding figure, should have been protected and trained by Dumbledore.


"Mr. Potter," Voldemort finally spoke through gritted teeth, "five points from Gryffindor for your ignorance. Now, sit down."


Harry returned to his seat, feeling confused and unjustly punished, as though ever since arriving at Hogwarts, someone had always been out to get him.


With Voldemort's temper rising, the rest of the class passed in a tense, awkward atmosphere. Once the lesson concluded, Voldemort stopped Dyroth as he prepared to leave.


"Mr. Grindelwald, please wait a moment."


Dyroth shot a wary look at Voldemort, quickly motioning for Draco and the others not to wait for him. He couldn't afford to have them caught up in whatever Voldemort had planned.


"Professor Quirrell, what can I do for you?" Dyroth asked, his voice polite but cautious.


"I remember mentioning that we would meet again soon," Voldemort said, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "So, will you refuse my invitation this time as well?"


Before Dyroth could respond, Voldemort's eyes darted to Draco and his friends standing not too far away. "Perhaps you'd like to bring Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Nott with you? After all, I'm sure their curiosity about magic would make them eager to join."


The message was clear: come with me, or I'll involve your friends, and they won't have the mental defenses to protect themselves like you do.


Dyroth, his mind filled with irritation at the blatant threat, forced a smile and bowed slightly. "It would be an honor, Professor."


...


Voldemort led Dyroth to Quirrell's office, a place devoid of the usual pretense of the timid professor. As the door closed behind them, Voldemort dropped any façade.


"Mr. Grindelwald, with your intellect, I'm sure you've already guessed who I really am."


Dyroth played along, unwilling to reveal his foreknowledge. "You're not Professor Quirrell. Who are you?"


"My name is Tom Riddle, but you may call me by my other name… Voldemort."


Dyroth's face remained composed, showing none of the shock that Voldemort might have expected. He simply met the Dark Lord's gaze with calm indifference.


"I see now," Voldemort remarked, impressed. "You're one of the few who hear my name without trembling in fear."


Of course, Voldemort reasoned, as the son of Grindelwald, the last Dark Lord, Dyroth wouldn't be intimidated by him.


"Is that all you wanted, Professor?" Dyroth asked coolly. "Just to tell me who you are?"


"Of course not." Voldemort leaned back in his chair, a predatory smile creeping onto his face. "You carry the blood of a Dark Lord. Are you really content to spend your time here, playing schoolboy games with Mudbloods and half-breeds?"


"Join me," Voldemort continued, his voice dripping with temptation. "Swear your loyalty, and I'll take you to heights you can only dream of."


Dyroth said nothing, simply watching him with calm eyes. He had anticipated this moment ever since Voldemort revealed his identity. Voldemort coveted his talent and influence over the saints, just as Dyroth expected.


"I'm afraid my loyalty isn't so easily bought," Dyroth finally replied, his voice even. "Compared to your Death Eaters, my situation with the saints seems far more favorable, don't you think?"


Voldemort's expression darkened, but he didn't lose his composure. "Everything your saints have is built on your father's legacy. But how long do you think that will last? Three years? Five?"


Dyroth's gaze turned cold, a faint blue light flashing in his eyes. In an instant, he drew his wand, a red light bursting forth.


"Expelliarmus!"


"As easily as I knew you would attack me but__!" Dyroth smirked, already prepared for Voldemort's treachery.


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...


Dyroth found himself in a duel with Voldemort, but the famous scene, reminiscent of Harry Potter or even Dragon Ball battles, did not occur. Instead, as Dyroth initiated a spell, Voldemort easily countered it with a disarming spell, showing his superiority.


Dyroth, however, did not give up and rapidly launched several spells:


"Petrificus Totalus"
"Diffindo"
"Accio!"
"Lumos!"


Although Dyroth was only a first-year student, his experience with various assassins during his time in Austria had sharpened his skills. While most of those attackers were handled by Vinda and others, he had learned a lot from these life-and-death situations. The spells he cast flew at Voldemort relentlessly, showing no hesitation to strike back.


Despite Dyroth's impressive efforts, Voldemort seemed unbothered, lightly dodging or blocking the attacks. His gaze was full of admiration for Dyroth, acknowledging that this boy's control over magic and the timing of his spells far surpassed that of an average first-year student.


Even more remarkable was the way Dyroth absorbed and implemented new knowledge in real-time. The black magic theory Voldemort had just taught during class was gradually being understood and applied during their duel.


But as time passed, Dyroth's magic started to weaken. Voldemort seized the opportunity and knocked the wand from Dyroth's hand with a disarming spell.


"Mr. Grindelwald," Voldemort said calmly, "I must admit, you are the most talented young wizard I've ever encountered. Your skill in magic is extraordinary, and your manipulation of people's hearts is impressive. Are you so certain that I won't kill you?"


Dyroth, picking up his wand slowly, showed no sign of panic. He replied with confidence:


"This is Hogwarts, and you won't risk your resurrection for the sake of killing me. Moreover, only a living Grindelwald can be of greater use to you."


Voldemort chuckled, genuinely amused by Dyroth's response.


"You are even smarter than I anticipated, Mr. Grindelwald. Your wisdom has earned you another choice—be my disciple!"


With an offer that many would find too tempting to resist, Voldemort continued:


"With the legacy of two Dark Lords behind you, you are destined to rule the magical world. Submit to me, and I will teach you the true meaning of power."


Dyroth, however, was not as eager as Voldemort had hoped. Instead of excitement, Dyroth glanced at him indifferently.


"Mr. Voldemort," he replied coolly, "a wolf with nothing has no bargaining power. If you want me as your disciple, at least provide a worthy gift."


Voldemort, never one to be outdone, waved his wand. The office, which had been damaged during their duel, was quickly restored to its original state. A thick notebook flew from a drawer and landed on the desk before Dyroth.


Curious, Dyroth picked it up and scanned its contents. His eyes widened with astonishment—this notebook was full of mysterious ideas and dark magic theories that even he, with his extensive training under Grindelwald, found impressive.


"These are my personal notes," Voldemort said. "Consider this your gift."


Dyroth bowed slightly in acknowledgment, a gesture of respect.


"Thank you for the gift, teacher," he said showing humility.


Voldemort smiled warmly, perhaps for the first time in a long time.


"From today onward, you are a Death Eater, the second master of the organization. Join me every Saturday afternoon in Quirrell's office, and I will personally teach you the true art of dark magic."


"Yes, teacher," Dyroth replied, hiding the calculated opportunism behind his composed expression.


Dyroth wasn't entirely opposed to becoming Voldemort's disciple. The dark knowledge that Voldemort possessed was genuine, and Dyroth could use it to strengthen himself while keeping his true intentions hidden. As long as Voldemort was useful to him, there was no harm in playing along.


After agreeing to exchange knowledge and parting ways, Voldemort left Dyroth with one final request:


"The next time we meet, I expect you to bring me information about Harry Potter and the third floor of Hogwarts."


"You'll have it, teacher," Dyroth promised, before finally leaving the office.


...


Back in the dormitory, Dyroth heard the familiar voice of the system in his head:


[Congratulations to the host for becoming Voldemort's disciple and earning the achievement: Legacy of the Death Eaters.]
[Achievement points: 100.]


[Congratulations for receiving teachings from both Voldemort and Grindelwald. Achievement: Future Dark Lord.]
[Achievement points: 200.]


[Congratulations on becoming a Death Eater and the heir of the Saints. Achievement: Fear Sweeps the Wizarding World.]
[Achievement points: 200.]


[Remaining achievement points: 600.]


"600 points! It's time for a lottery draw!" Dyroth said, a grin spreading across his face.


He immediately initiated the draw, and within moments, the results appeared before him:


[Congratulations! You have received:


Reparo (Level 2), Engorgio (Level 3),


Levicorpus (Level 2), Finite Incantatem (Level 3).]


[Congratulations! You have received: Transfiguration (Level 5).]


"Wow! These are some powerful spells," Dyroth marveled, particularly excited about the level 5 Transfiguration spell. He remembered reading about how Nicolas Flamel had used this spell in the past to save Paris from destruction, and now, it was his turn to master it.


With newfound magic coursing through him, Dyroth tested his transfiguration skills on a table in the dormitory, transforming it into an iron basin.


He smiled, knowing that this was just the beginning of his Transfiguration journey.


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---


Dyroth transformed the iron basin back into a wooden table with a wave of his wand. He then pulled out the notes Voldemort had given him. Just skimming through them earlier had made his heart race.


"It's unfortunate that your intentions are so clear," Dyroth muttered to himself, activating his Occlumency.


While Voldemort's notes contained genuine and powerful magical knowledge, the dark arts within were far too advanced for an eleven-year-old wizard. Focusing too much on them would only invite the risk of being consumed by evil thoughts. However, Dyroth's mastery of Occlumency far exceeded Voldemort's expectations. By not delving too deeply, he could easily absorb the knowledge without falling prey to its dangers.


Even if Dyroth couldn't study it all by himself, he had Grindelwald, Vinda, and others who could make good use of it.


Time flew by, and Dyroth was so engrossed in Voldemort's notes that the sky was already dark when he snapped back to reality. He couldn't help but marvel at what he had just read.


No one becomes the Dark Lord easily.


Although Dyroth hadn't learned everything from the notes, he had gained invaluable insights in just one afternoon. Voldemort had explained the origins of dark magic with astonishing clarity, giving Dyroth new perspectives.


Dyroth had always believed that jinxes, hexes, and curses were completely separate branches of dark magic. But Voldemort's notes presented a different theory—no matter the type of magic, they all stemmed from a wizard's evil intentions. The only difference was the intensity of these dark desires.


Spells like the *Engorgio* curse and the *Densaugeo* hex, seemingly harmless, were actually simplified versions of far more dangerous curses. Many unrelated spells, when explained by Voldemort, shared a foundational core that led to much more complex dark magic.


"It's getting late. I should eat before heading to the Forbidden Forest for detention," Dyroth muttered, closing his eyes briefly to purge any lingering evil thoughts.


Reflecting on his earlier conversation with Voldemort, Dyroth realized that Voldemort had likely figured out the location of the Philosopher's Stone but hadn't made a move yet, wary of the consequences of failure. Dyroth, already familiar with the plot, had no intention of taking any risks. He planned to subtly leak information about the three-headed dog, Fluffy, to Voldemort at their next meeting.


He could sell the information about Fluffy's existence, its role, and maybe even how to bypass it. One piece of knowledge sold three times—this was a lucrative deal. As for Voldemort's resurrection? That was Dumbledore's problem. After all, Dumbledore was already aware of Voldemort's plans. Speeding up the process by sharing information would only ensure that a mere remnant of a soul couldn't cause too much trouble.


After dinner, Dyroth met Hagrid and joined him for the night's patrol in the Forbidden Forest.


The following days were uneventful, allowing Dyroth a moment of relaxation. On the last night of his detention, he received a letter from Vinda Rosier, informing him that she had acquired several shops in prime locations in Diagon Alley. Everything was ready, and they could open the stores anytime.


However, Vinda didn't include much more detail. She was well aware of the dangers of using owls for sensitive information. Some things were too important to risk revealing in a letter.


Dyroth, satisfied that the shop locations were settled, decided to discuss obtaining magical creature materials from Hagrid that night.


---


Late at that night


After the patrol, as they stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Dyroth turned to Hagrid.


"Hagrid, if you have time over the next couple of days, could you gather the materials you want to sell? I can take them with me using a traceless extension charm. It'll save you a trip."


Hagrid, looking surprised, replied, "You're really serious about this? I thought…"


"You thought I was joking?" Dyroth chuckled. "I haven't brought it up recently because I've been busy with some things for the shop. But rather than making you go through the hassle of transporting everything, it's easier if you leave the magical creatures' materials in your care. After all, you're the expert!"


Dyroth's flattery had its intended effect, and Hagrid's face flushed under his beard. Scratching his head, Hagrid said, "Sorry, Dyroth. I shouldn't have doubted you…"


"No need to apologize. I'm only eleven years old, after all. It's perfectly understandable to be cautious when dealing with someone so young."


"I always forget you're only eleven," Hagrid sighed. "Sometimes, you seem more like a fully-grown wizard. But remember Dyroth, it's important to stay close to people your age. It's easy to lose the joys of youth if you grow up too fast."


"I'll keep that in mind," Dyroth replied.


---


The next morning


Despite staying up late the night before, Dyroth's internal clock woke him early. Back in Austria, Vinda had insisted on morning exercises, something Dyroth hadn't taken seriously at first. He'd thought wizards only needed to focus on magic, but Vinda had proven him wrong during their training. Even without magic, her physical skills had rendered him helpless. That was when Dyroth realized that a wizard's body was just as important as their magic. Even Dumbledore wasn't immune to the limitations of his physical form.


Since then, Dyroth had almost never missed his daily exercises.


After another day of classes, Dyroth encountered a problem—his dormitory was too small for practicing advanced magic. Practicing there could cause too much commotion.


"It seems like the Room of Requirement would be the perfect place for this."


Dyroth recalled the legendary room hidden in Hogwarts. Known as the Room of Requirement, it would only appear when someone truly needed it and would provide whatever the person required.


"If I practice there, I won't have to worry about anyone finding out."


Determined, Dyroth tucked Voldemort's notes into his robe and headed for the eighth floor. He searched for the tapestry of "Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls" and, after confirming no one was around, he thought to himself, *I need a place to practice my magic.*


Immediately, a smooth, doorless entrance appeared on the opposite wall.


"Hogwarts really is full of secrets," Dyroth murmured. "With this place, I can finally practice freely without worrying about being discovered."


With a smile, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.


---

 

[false_truth]

...


Looking around, Dyroth found himself in a room with a strong wizarding vibe. The Room of Requirement was filled with magical practice dummies and strange objects he had never seen before. It piqued his curiosity, and he started touching the items scattered throughout the room.


Dyroth had been with Grindelwald for many years and had seen countless magical artifacts. But in this room, all he could perceive was the ultimate application of the Extension Charm, far more advanced than what modern wizards typically used.


"Interesting!" he murmured.


Previously, Dyroth didn't think much of ancient magic. In his view, if it were truly powerful, it wouldn't have been replaced by modern ones. But now, it seemed like ancient magic wasn't as simple as he thought. Still, he wasn't too troubled by this realization.


Dyroth understood his limitations. For wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort, he was merely an apprentice. They could manipulate him like a pawn, to be used however they wished.


What Dumbledore hadn't figured out after decades of working at Hogwarts, could Dyroth possibly unravel it in a single glance? That would be too arrogant.


He didn't know how long he had spent in the Room of Requirement, but by the time he left, the castle was dimly lit by torches.


Back in the Slytherin common room, Draco was in deep conversation with Crabbe and Goyle. As soon as Draco saw Dyroth return, his face brightened.


"Dyroth! Where have you been all day? I looked for you in the library and the dormitory but couldn't find you."


Dyroth's routine had become predictable in recent days—classroom, hall, and library. Draco had found his absence unusual.


"I found a place outside to practice some magic," Dyroth replied, then added, "I forgot to congratulate you on becoming the youngest Seeker in Slytherin."


Draco beamed proudly at the praise. "Just you wait, I'm going to lead Slytherin to victory in the Quidditch championship this year!"


Dyroth smiled, "What are you doing here with Crabbe and Goyle so late at night?"


Draco's expression shifted to one of frustration. "It's Weasley!" he spat.


"Weasley? You mean Ron?" Dyroth had almost forgotten about him with all the peaceful days he had been experiencing.


"Yes, that Weasley!" Draco continued, anger simmering in his voice. "At noon today, my father gifted me a Nimbus 2000 to celebrate my place on the team. Weasley saw it as he was leaving the hospital and started saying the Slytherin team only wanted me because of my broom!"


Dyroth's curiosity was piqued. "So, what happened? Did you two fight?"


If he remembered correctly, Harry was supposed to receive the Nimbus 2000 in the original timeline, a gift from Professor McGonagall for joining the Gryffindor team. But because of the changes with Neville missing from the flying lesson, Ron had caused trouble instead, limiting Harry's opportunity to stand out.


Now, Draco had secured the youngest Seeker spot in Slytherin, and Harry had been relegated to a backup position on Gryffindor's team. A little change from the original story's outcome.


"No, I wasn't stupid enough to start a fight in public," Draco said with a smirk. "I challenged Weasley to a duel tonight! I wanted you as my second, but when I couldn't find you, I asked Goyle instead. But now that you're here, we can finally teach Weasley a lesson."


With Dyroth by his side, Draco felt invincible. He believed that Ron and even Harry combined couldn't lay a finger on Dyroth.


"What time is the duel?" Dyroth asked, though he wasn't particularly interested in Draco's plans. He didn't want to refuse outright, but after all Draco had done to support him during the flying lessons, he felt obligated to help him out this time.


"Half past eleven, in the Trophy Room," Draco replied, excitement lighting up his face.


Dyroth sighed, "It's late. Let's get this over quickly."


Time passed quickly, and soon it was nearing the agreed time.


For pure-blood wizards like Draco, dueling was seen as an honorable activity. But Draco, in his excitement, had made the duel known to almost everyone in Slytherin.


By the time Dyroth and Draco were heading out, a crowd of young Slytherins were cheering for them.


"Draco, if your head wasn't full of puffskeins, you'd realize the consequences of getting caught sneaking out at night!" Dyroth snapped, clearly annoyed.


Draco shrank back, realizing his mistake, but said nothing more.


...


"I bet Malfoy will just chicken out," Ron taunted as he and Harry waited in the Trophy Room. "Malfoy and Grindelwald, a Death Eater and a Saint, they're both dark wizards!"


"Don't worry, Ron, I'll back you up," Harry reassured his friend.


Ron's words had been filling Harry's head with Gryffindor's boldness over the past few days.


Dyroth and Draco entered the room just as Ron finished his trash talk.


"It's not good to speak ill of others behind their backs, Weasley," Dyroth said coldly. "I see you've forgotten that Mrs. Hooch made you apologize in front of Slytherin last week."


As Dyroth's icy gaze met Harry's, he was met with a pang of disgust. Harry, rather than trying to reconcile his friends, was standing in Ron's corner.


"Mr. Potter, your actions speak for themselves. By being here, you've made your choice," Dyroth's voice was cold, and Harry shrank back under his intense gaze.


Ron, fueled by his jealousy of Dyroth, lost his patience. Without warning, he pointed his wand and shouted, "Densaugeo!" aiming a jinx at Dyroth.


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[false_truth]

...


Dyroth was unwilling to dodge the twisted curse aimed at him.


"Well done, Mr. Weasley, for sneaking an attack before the duel even started. No wonder you always need your brothers to clean up your messes afterward!"


"Shut up, you disgusting dark wizard!" Ron spat, as if someone had stepped on his tail. He waved his wand furiously at Dyroth.


Unfortunately for Ron, he knew very little magic. At home, he spent most of his time goofing off, and at school, without Hermione to push him, he and Harry barely attended their lessons. The spells he knew were few and poorly practiced, and sometimes he was so clumsy he nearly hexed himself.


"Dangling Jinx!"


(The Dangling Jinx (Levicorpus) was a jinx, which was intended to be cast nonverbally but the incantation could also be spoken aloud, caused the victim to be hoisted into the air by their ankle; the counter-jinx for this jinx was Liberacorpus.)


Dyroth, growing tired of this childish game, used a spell to hang Ron in the air. Watching Ron flail like a writhing worm, Harry couldn't help but step in.


"Dyroth..." Harry began, his voice pleading.


"Harry, are you really going to plead for Weasley this time?" Draco couldn't hold back his frustration anymore.


"You don't even know what he said about Dyroth earlier, do you? You weren't there when he insulted Dyroth in the Great Hall, either, right? And when Ron attacked just now, I didn't see you rushing to his defense! Is Ron your only friend, Harry? What about me and Dyroth?"


It was in moments like these that Dyroth found it easy to understand why Draco and Harry had been rivals for so many years in another life. Draco's questions, filled with a mix of hurt and anger, sounded like the pained accusations of someone breaking up with a close friend.


Ever since Harry had begged for mercy during that hospital room encounter, Dyroth had given up on the Boy Who Lived. His constant pleading and overwhelming empathy for others, even when it wasn't warranted, had worn thin. Now, as Harry tried once again to intercede, Dyroth felt nothing.


"You... you're all my friends," Harry stammered. "Ron just... he just..."


"Shut up, Potter!" Draco snapped, pulling out his wand and pointing it at Harry.


"When you walked into this room with Weasley, you made your choice! Duel me, Potter! Or are you too much of a coward?"


Harry tried to respond, but the words failed him. He thought it best to let Draco cool off and then find time later to explain.


"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried, casting a spell.


Draco retaliated quickly, using spells with a speed and precision Harry couldn't match.


"Tarantallegra!"


"Rictusempra!"


Harry's few hastily cast spells were no match for Draco's practiced attacks. Trained under Dyroth's guidance, Draco had far surpassed his original abilities. He easily overwhelmed Harry, who was soon dodging frantically, unable to even mount a defense.


"Fight back, Potter!" Draco shouted. "Don't just run away like a coward!"


As Draco vented his frustration, a sudden meow startled the group.


"Mrs. Norris!" Harry gasped.


Draco froze in panic and turned to Dyroth. "What do we do?"


To these young wizards, Filch and his cat were the closest thing to a living nightmare, ever watchful and ready to dole out punishment.


Just then, Mrs. Norris pranced into the room, purring softly and curling up at Dyroth's feet.


Draco gawked. "What... how?"


Dyroth shrugged. "I've seen her a few times before. Gave her some food, that's all."


Draco was speechless, as were the others. But the surprises weren't over.


Filch stormed into the room, his heavy footsteps echoing like doom. Ron, desperate to take Dyroth down with him, yelled, "They're out of bed! They're breaking school rules! Get them!"


But to everyone's shock, Filch's face softened as soon as he saw Dyroth.


"Mr. Grindelwald," Filch greeted with unexpected politeness, "long time no see."


"Good evening, Mr. Filch," Dyroth replied smoothly. "I appreciate the hard work you do patrolling every night."


"This is my job," Filch said, a smile creeping onto his usually sour face.


"No, really. Without your dedication, Hogwarts would be chaos at night," Dyroth complimented.


Filch's smile widened, creating deep creases on his face.


"Oh, by the way, Mr. Filch," Dyroth added, "Draco and I managed to catch a couple of students sneaking around at night. We've tied them up for you."


"Tied them up?" Filch's eyes gleamed with delight. He had long kept shackles in his office, but had never been allowed to use them. To have someone understand his need for discipline—it was almost too good to be true!


"Leave them to me, Mr. Grindelwald," Filch said, almost glowing with appreciation. "You and your friends head back to your dorm. These rule-breakers will be punished."


Harry and Ron stood dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what had just happened.


Ron, livid and incredulous, shouted, "This is abuse of power! Why are you only punishing us? Squib!"


Filch's smile vanished at the insult, but Ron, oblivious, continued to rant. Dyroth let the boy hang in the air for a few more moments before casually ending the spell, letting Ron crash to the floor.


"Mr. Filch, I'll leave them in your capable hands," Dyroth said as he turned to leave with Draco.


The next day, Gryffindor's house point hourglasses had reached zero. Harry and Ron were treated like pariahs, shunned by the rest of their house.


Ron, unwilling to accept the situation, tried explaining his side of the story to his classmates. His efforts were met with nothing but ridicule.


Why only punish you and not the others? Maybe the problem lies with you.


"If you're bad at something, practice more," one Gryffindor snarked. "But if you can't handle the consequences, don't do it."


The final blow came when news of the incident reached Ron's parents. Soon, a letter would arrive to them.


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Read up to ch.70 at: patreon.com/false_truth