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[Hogwarts] Ch 192: Ariana’s Dark Magic Talent
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 19:07:13 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
So what level was Grindelwald at in his fourth year?
Let's put it in perspective.
Snape had already mastered a fair number of spells before even starting school. By his fourth or fifth year he was inventing curses of his own, and silent casting was barely a challenge.
Voldemort, by fifth year, was already capable of creating a Horcrux—without question the most powerful student Hogwarts had ever seen.
When Ariana died, Grindelwald had just been expelled from Durmstrang. At that stage, the spells he and Dumbledore were flinging at each other could cause devastating, lethal damage.
Roll back two or three years and, sure, he wouldn't have been quite as overwhelming. But even then, he was still the kind of genius ordinary wizards couldn't begin to comprehend.
Take Ariana's silent Blasting Curse. She'd poured weeks into learning it. Grindelwald flicked it aside with a casual wave of his wand.
Light sparked and flashed between them; shields absorbed spells with bursts of glow; Ariana's voice rang out as she cast.
Grindelwald, for the most part, simply deflected her magic, strolling across the dueling ground as if on a leisurely walk. Watching him, Andros could only shake his head.
It was obvious. Ariana had been studying magic for just over a month. Victory wasn't even on the table.
The only mercy was that Grindelwald wasn't cruel enough to end the duel instantly.
Or so Andros thought.
Because once Ariana had run through her entire little repertoire—every charm, curse, and hex she'd managed to scrape together—she froze, lost and uncertain. And that was the moment Grindelwald got serious.
"Avada Kedavra!"
His voice was ice. A flash of green ripped across the space, cold and merciless.
Ariana froze like a deer in headlights, her breath caught in her throat, her body locked as though the curse had already taken hold of her soul. She watched, rigid, as the killing curse shredded through her spell and hissed past her hair.
"You lost, Ariana," Grindelwald's voice echoed, flat and final.
The girl stood trembling, speechless.
"Hey," Tom snapped, frowning. "Grindelwald, that's going too far. Forget whether you even knew the Killing Curse in fourth year—even if you did, using it to scare Ariana? That's just cruel."
"You spoil her too much," Grindelwald shot back, eyes narrowing. "The Killing Curse? I had it down by second year. And don't play innocent—you mastered it in first year, didn't you?"
Tom quickly shook his head. "That was different. You forced me to learn it."
"And if I forced you, you had to learn?" Grindelwald snorted. Then he leaned closer, tone clipped. "I made it clear before the duel: I wasn't going to hold back, even against Ariana. That's respect."
"What she needs isn't some false victory. Right, Ariana?" Grindelwald turned to her.
Tom stepped up, gently squeezing Ariana's small hand, and the color began to return to her face. She inhaled deeply and nodded.
"It's just the Killing Curse," she said with forced bravado. "I'm already dead once. I'm not scared anymore."
"Grindelwald—one day, I'll beat you."
That earned the tiniest smile from Tom. She'd finally shaken off the old shadows. She was even bold enough to throw down another challenge.
But Grindelwald shook his head.
"Ariana, I've seen your level now. To be honest, I don't think you can beat me any time soon. At your current pace… maybe in two or three years. But don't forget, I won't stay stuck at fourteen. I'll be improving too."
Panic flickered across Ariana's face. She looked desperately to Tom and Andros.
"Well…" Andros cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Grindelwald's specialty is dark magic. The advantage of the dark arts is how quickly they escalate—deadly power early on, far stronger than ordinary spells. But you've got something he didn't have at that time: the Study Space, the Meditation Room. You'll catch up."
Tom gave a reluctant nod. He wouldn't lie to her. He remembered his own Twelve Trials—back then, even a dragon had been a nightmare. Yet once he'd picked up a few dark spells, he'd wiped out a Hungarian Horntail with ease.
Ariana's lip wobbled. She was on the verge of tears.
She'd known there was a gap. She hadn't realized it was so enormous. Even if she caught up to Grindelwald's fourteen-year-old self in two or three years, Tom would already be far, far ahead.
Would she ever be anything but useless?
"I can help you."
Grindelwald's words cut through her despair. Ariana blinked at him, startled.
"You… want to help me?"
"That's right." He nodded calmly. "Andros can be your teacher. Why can't I?"
"No one knows my strengths and weaknesses better than I do—except maybe Albus. I can teach you how to fight me, how to exploit the cracks in my style."
"And honestly, Andros isn't the best fit for you. A lot of his magic doesn't suit you at all."
He tilted his head. "So, Ariana… want me as your teacher?"
The girl hesitated, brow furrowing.
"You'd teach me… dark magic?" she asked quietly.
"Exactly," Grindelwald said with a sharp nod. "If you want to be strong, you can't hobble yourself by avoiding half the path."
Andros bristled. Grindelwald shot him a glare. "Don't start. Does Ariana have your freakish talent? No. She can't walk your path. The only route for her is the one Dumbledore and I took—the true wizard's path."
"There is no white and black in magic. It's something deeper..."
"Ariana," Tom ruffled her hair gently. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you."
Grindelwald didn't press, just stood waiting.
He didn't need to say the rest aloud. Tom and Andros knew it too: dark magic was, in truth, Ariana's best path.
The Obscurus born inside her had filled her with raw, volatile darkness. With the right guidance, that energy could be honed into terrifying strength. She could rise faster than most dark wizards ever dreamed, into something that could truly frighten the world.
It was the same reason Grindelwald had once fixated on Credence. A weapon like that, once shaped, could even threaten Dumbledore's life.
At last, Ariana nodded.
"Alright," she whispered. "I'll learn dark magic from you."
After making her decision, Ariana returned to her villa to rest for the day.
"Teach her dark magic if you like, but don't bring up the Obscurial. She needs more time," Tom reminded Grindelwald after she left.
"I know," Grindelwald said carelessly, as if it hardly mattered. "The Obscurial… that's better left to you to explain. I'll just handle my part."
Andros planted his hands on her hips with an exasperated sigh. "You're all in such a rush. Step by step, white magic grows no weaker than black once you've mastered it."
Tom chuckled. "I'm not the one rushing. But Ariana's different—she's got a big bad villain waiting for her to kick his ass. Being a little impatient makes sense."
Grindelwald rolled his eyes and let it drop.
---
The Next Day
Ariana started her lessons in dark magic under Grindelwald.
To everyone's surprise—hers most of all—her talent in this branch far outstripped what she'd shown before. For weeks she was nervous, even a little terrified, convinced that excelling in dark magic made her a bad person.
It took Tom's quiet comfort to untangle the knot in her chest.
"Being a bad person isn't the worst thing in the world. It just means you do what you want without worrying what others think. Good people get pushed around. Bad people have the power to push back. But in the end, whether you use that power or not is still up to you."
He smiled at her. "Don't overthink whether magic is good or bad. Everyone has their strengths. I'm good at dark magic too—does that make me evil?"
"No. You're a good person, Tom." Ariana's answer came firm and without hesitation.
"Then that's all that matters. As long as I'm good to you, who cares what anyone else thinks?"
With that, she finally dropped her burdens. You could even say she shed a mask—her temper grew sharper, more open, less afraid to show her fire.
Grindelwald taught not just spells but also stories from his past, giving Ariana a clearer, more brutal understanding of the world.
By December, heavy snow had transformed Hogwarts into an icebound fortress. Hagrid trudged about in mole-hide boots and a thick coat, carting frost-shy vegetables into the castle to keep them from freezing.
And in the first week of December, Tom's second article was published:
{A History of the Wizarding World: The Lestrange Line.}
The Lestrange name carried weight in Britain. Even if there were no direct heirs in Hogwarts at present, half the pure-blood families still claimed some tie to them. In fact, their status was often considered even higher than the Rosiers'.
So when Tom's classification ranked Lestrange a level below a true "noble house," everyone was curious enough to grab the paper and see why.
{The Lestrange family traces its origins to the thirteenth century, founded by the infamous dark wizard Corvinus Lestrange. His wand was unique, with a Raven feather for its core and yew wood for its body—the dark wizard's favorite. The family totem was a raven, a symbol bearing more resemblance to Ravenclaw's crest than to any other.}
{Compared with the Rosiers, whose history spans a full millennium, the Lestranges fall short by several centuries. That is the first mark against them.}
{As for contributions to the magical world, Lestrange has little to show. From the start, their legacy was steeped in darkness. They produced black wizards generation after generation, amassing wealth through cruelty and force. Their tenth family head, lusting after the Philosopher's Stone, was slain by Nicolas Flamel himself. The family never recovered, splintering into separate branches, some fleeing abroad. That is how the British Lestrange line began.}
{Among them, Radolphus Lestrange became the most prominent name, serving briefly as Minister of Magic. He tried to close the Department of Mysteries on the excuse of 'cutting unnecessary costs.' No one supported him. He resigned, citing poor health, and went down as the shortest-serving minister in wizarding history.}
{Lestrange always sought pure-blood marriages to bolster its status, but the truth is their bloodline is riddled with Muggle ancestors. The reason is simple: close-blood unions cripple fertility and produce deformities. More than once, the family nearly went extinct, saved only by marrying Muggles. Of course, they worked hard to bury that part of their history.}
{...}
By the time readers finished, the common room was quiet. Tom's article had shredded Lestrange's dignity from top to bottom. The only reason they were rated as high as they were was because of the sheer negative influence they'd had on history.
Nearly every dark wizard of note had a Lestrange at their side.
Not a single line of praise, just unrelenting criticism—ending with their "proud" bloodline stripped bare. More than a few readers shivered at the thought.
And there was no one left who could retaliate. The French main branch was extinct, the British heirs rotting in Azkaban, and the branch across the ocean had even changed their name.
Easy prey. No chance of striking back.
"...."
Back in the dormitory, everyone else was out, leaving Tom alone to spar with the shade of Voldemort.
"Hmm… so you haven't given me anything useful these last few days," Tom wrote in the diary.
The weakened Voldy's reply appeared faint on the page: "I've told you everything I can. Unless you hand over ten liters of dragon blood to fully restore me, there's nothing more I can remember."
Tom's eyes narrowed.
So Voldemort was just… giving up? Or was he already useless?
"Maybe it's time I seriously boost my credits and points."
"Which means… my articles will skip the minor families and focus only on the ones that actually matter."
.
.
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