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[Hogwarts] Ch 137: The Protego Diabolica
🕑 Added 2025-08-10 16:25:56 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
"Impossible!"
MacDuff blurted out his disbelief without even thinking.
Everyone knew that man was still locked up in Nurmengard.
The International Confederation of Wizards kept the place on high alert. Sure, it looked like just one Squib was delivering food and guarding the place, but in truth, the entire tower was layered with trigger spells and sealing enchantments, with new ones constantly being added.
And why didn't they post actual wizards there?
Simple—because he was Gellert Grindelwald.
Wherever that man went, he corrupted.
Auror chiefs, low-level clerks, it didn't matter who. Just one conversation with him, and there was a real chance they'd switch sides. No Ministry dared to assign their own people as guards there.
Only rigid, impersonal magical protections gave them any peace of mind.
One of the acolytes finally lost his patience and snapped, "Kid, Lord Grindelwald's locked up in Nurmengard! What, did you fly over there and beg to be his apprentice, or—"
He didn't finish. His throat seemed to seize up as if invisible hands were choking the life out of him.
Everyone else wore a similar expression—their eyes bulging in terror as a strange fire ignited in Tom's hand, flickering and twisting unnaturally. It gave off an unsettling aura—clearly no ordinary flame.
In front of everyone's stunned eyes, the blue fire twisted and morphed into a demonic beast with long horns and massive wings. It let out a piercing shriek.
The air was heavy with the stench of death. Cold sweat broke out across everyone's foreheads.
The Stymphalian Bird.
Its beak was bronze—so were its horns. The razor-sharp metallic feathers could be fired like projectiles, deadlier than any arrow. In legend, its appearance always foretold death. That's why it was feared as a herald of Hades, a messenger from purgatory itself.
What made it more interesting was the bird's unique connection to both Gellert Grindelwald and Andros the Invincible.
The creature had existed once. Andros supposedly killed the last one centuries ago, driving the species into extinction and myth. That event was recorded as Heracles' sixth labor in some magical circles.
And yet—Grindelwald's Protego Diabolica took the form of a Stymphalian Bird. Naturally, Grindelwald modified its appearance, especially the head, to make it look far more intimidating.
"..." xN
Now, seeing this boy casually summon that same Protego Diabolica—gracefully and effortlessly, and in such a distinct form—MacDuff and the others couldn't help but falter.
There's no way this guy wasn't connected to Lord Grindelwald.
Tom closed his hand, and the fire vanished without a trace.
His eyes swept past the nervous crowd and landed on the café's entrance.
"Aren't the real players coming in? I've already proved who I am. Talking to this group of kids is a waste of time. Bring out someone that actually matters."
The room fell silent.
Then more figures appeared at the entrance. MacDuff and the others quickly stepped aside.
Three men and one woman entered, each with stark white hair.
"Mr. Riddle," said the man in front, giving a respectful nod. "Please forgive our caution. These aren't kind times for us. The Acolytes can't afford to take any more hits."
Aside from the dozen or so inside, there were more people stationed outside. In total—twenty of them. A full assembly.
Part of it was because of the hand signal Tom had used before; they wanted to know exactly who he was, so the higher-ups had to come.
The other part was fear—what if this was a sting by one or more Ministries looking for an excuse to crack down? Better to bring more people than not enough. If it was a trap, at least they wouldn't be outnumbered.
But after what Tom just showed them…
All their suspicions vanished in an instant.
It wasn't just the shape of the fire. The way he wielded it—the dominance, the sheer presence—it echoed the same awe they'd once felt watching Grindelwald himself cast spells.
Only he could've trained someone like this.
That's why the old man in front softened his stance.
"What should we call you?" Tom asked quietly.
"Anton Vogel," the man replied.
Tom's sharp gaze locked onto him, as if piercing straight through his mind. Instinctively, Vogel wanted to raise his Occlumency shields, but forced himself not to.
Tom must've found the answer he was looking for, because his expression eased.
"My apologies, Mr. Vogel. I misunderstood."
Vogel quickly shook his head. "Not your fault. I should've explained earlier—my father and I share the same name."
Tom gave a slight nod.
Anton Vogel had once been a powerful ally of Grindelwald—maybe even more of a partner than a subordinate.
Back then, he served as both Germany's Minister for Magic and the President of the International Confederation of Wizards. It was Vogel who lobbied and maneuvered behind the scenes to help Grindelwald rise.
Germany was basically Grindelwald's main base of operations at the time, and his ideology had gained widespread support there.
Even after Grindelwald lost, Vogel stayed loyal. He was essentially the No. 3—or maybe even No. 2—within the Acolytes.
Meanwhile, deep within his own magical space, the real Grindelwald chuckled in realization. "So it was that kid."
"Does he know about that thing?" Tom asked silently.
"He should," Grindelwald responded. "Vogel probably told him. Give it a shot—if not, the man behind him, Sanders, definitely knows."
Tom still had one final card to play—his ace in the hole.
It was proof of his identity that only the old Acolytes would recognize. That's why he used the Protego Diabolica first—to test the waters.
"Mr. Riddle, if I may… How exactly did you become his student?" Vogel asked cautiously.
"So I've passed your first test," Tom said instead, ignoring the question. "But you haven't passed mine. This place is too cramped. Follow me—and no one stays behind."
With that, he Apparated on the spot, disappearing from the café.
The Acolytes looked at one another—then followed his magical trace one by one, not daring to hesitate.
They reappeared in a quiet quarry outside Paris, where Tom stood waiting in an open clearing.
All twenty of them had arrived. No one was missing.
As they landed and waited for an explanation, Tom finally spoke:
"Grindelwald once told me… the Acolytes weren't his subordinates. They were his companions. His kindred spirits. Friends who shared his vision for a better world."
At those words, the faces of the gathered Acolytes lit up with emotion. The older ones, especially, had tears in their eyes.
Some even began softly chanting that old phrase they hadn't dared say aloud in years: "For the Greater Good."
Watching them, Tom couldn't help but feel a flicker of admiration for Grindelwald's charisma and influence. Even in failure, even after all his dreams had crumbled, so many still remembered him with reverence.
Was this the magical world's version of Aura farming? Tom felt like he should take notes from Grindelwald later…
"...Ahem."
Tom waited a moment longer, letting the group settle. When the atmosphere had calmed just a little, he spoke again—his tone colder now:
"There's no connection between us. If I hadn't told him about what happened in the Arizona Sanctuary, and if he hadn't personally asked me to help you… I wouldn't have bothered coming to Paris at all."
"Grindelwald trusted you. That was his belief in himself—and his belief in you. But me…"
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I believe one thing above all: the only constant in life is change—especially when it comes to the human heart."
Vogel's expression darkened. The old woman beside him flushed with anger.
Their eyes were like: 'You dare question my loyalty to the Alliance? Even if you're Grindelwald's student, that's too far!'
"Don't look at me like that," Tom said flatly, unmoved by their outrage. "You remember what he did in Paris back then, don't you?"
His aura shifted. In his right eye, a strange glint of iridescent light flickered to life.
He turned gracefully, drawing a circle in the air with his wand. A ring of blue flames sprang to life, rising in a perfect arc.
Tom spread his arms wide. "Acolytes," he declared, "just like sixty-five years ago—walk through the fire, and swear your eternal loyalty to me."
For a moment, it was as if time had turned back. The older Acolytes stood frozen, eyes wide, almost seeing not Tom… but him—the young, determined revolutionary who once vowed to end the Statute of Secrecy and bring Magic back into the light of day.
They weren't hallucinating.
Tom had indeed mastered the Protego Diabolica—the protective dark charm. What he hadn't yet mastered, though, was the part that let it judge loyalty—something that required integrating Legilimency, a far more advanced and delicate art.
So, just now, he'd chosen the "Jinchūriki" method… and let Grindelwald cast it through him directly.
And almost instantly—before anyone else could move—the same elderly witch who had been most outraged earlier charged into the flames without hesitation.
She emerged unscathed, and with great reverence, walked over to stand silently behind Tom.
"Tom Riddle," she said, bowing her head, "my loyalty to you is unchanged. Eternal and unwavering."
The rest of the old Acolytes followed, only a beat behind. Their expressions were solemn, resolute.
The younger generation hesitated at first—but under the sharp gaze of their elders, they finally closed their eyes and ran through the flames. When they passed through unharmed, all of them let out a breath of relief. Their expressions when they looked at Tom now were filled with awe and respect.
This kind of flame… the kind that didn't burn the loyal… it was something they'd only ever heard about in stories. And now, Tom had done it.
There wasn't a shred of doubt left in their minds about who he was.
Except for one person.
Tom looked at him with quiet amusement as the last man stood frozen outside the fire ring.
"Étienne, what are you waiting for?" Vogel barked. "Get over here and prove your loyalty to the acolytes!"
Étienne forced himself to stay calm. "Vogel… there's no way this kid is really Grindelwald's student. It's just a trick. He's a Ministry pawn—don't fall for it!"
But it was already too late. The moment Étienne opened his mouth, the others knew something was off. His face said more than his words ever could.
Tom tossed a small crystal vial toward Vogel, who caught it instinctively.
"Catch him. Give him Veritaserum."
Étienne's eyes went wide. He tried to Disapparate, but the once-steady ring of flame lashed out like a living whip, forcing him back.
It took only seconds for several acolytes to disarm Étienne and force him to his knees before Tom.
Vogel uncorked the vial and forced a few drops down his throat. Within moments, the Veritaserum took hold. Vogel fired off a handful of questions, and with each answer, his face darkened—shame joining the anger.
Étienne—and his entire family—had already betrayed the acolytes. They were French Ministry plants, there to monitor the group's every move.
The irony was bitter—they'd been questioning Tom's motives just minutes ago. Now the betrayal was exposed for all to see.
"Crucio!"
The old woman who had stepped through the fire first vented her rage with the Cruciatus Curse, making Étienne's screams pierce the quarry until Tom frowned and, with a flick of his wand, tied the man's tongue in a knot.
"How do the acolytes deal with traitors?" Tom asked idly, twirling his wand.
Vogel's bloodshot eyes burned. "We root them out—every last one."
"Mr. Riddle," he added in a low growl, "the Étienne family will not live to see tomorrow's sun."
"Make it clean," Tom said.
"Yes."
The interrogation had revealed that the Étienne family still held major influence in France—more than the Malfoys did in Britain, with members spanning three generations.
And with just a single sentence from Tom, that old, storied family was doomed to extinction.
So this is the allure of power? Tom thought, a brief rush of satisfaction flaring in his chest—before it cooled.
"No," he murmured to himself. "This is power, but it isn't mine."
"This is Grindelwald's power."
In the Study space, the old man smiled.
"Tom, from now on… it's yours."
.
.
.
