The news about Anne Sallow festered in Alex's mind like a strategic puzzle. Why Feldcroft? It was a tiny, insignificant hamlet. Ranrok's operations, from what he'd observed, were focused on specific, magically potent digging sites. Feldcroft had no such reputation. There had to be a reason. A relic? A forgotten vault? A person of interest? The "why" was a nagging inconsistency in his otherwise clear picture of the board.
He stood on the snowy roof of a shop in Daigon, the wind whipping at his school robes. The location wasn't random. This was the home and workshop of Mykew Gregorovitch, the renowned wandmaker. And according to those same books, a teenage Gellert Grindelwald would steal the Elder Wand from him in 1899.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Alex's face. Grindelwald was sixteen then. It was 1885 now. That meant the most powerful wand in existence was currently sitting, unrecognized, in the workshop below. Grindelwald's greatest advantage, just waiting for someone more ambitious to take it first.
Why wait for a teenager to bungle a theft and spend decades losing a war with it, he thought, when I can put it to proper use now?
With the grace of a cat, he dropped silently through an open upstairs window. The workshop was dark, filled with the smell of wood shavings and peculiar magical resins. An older man with a kind, preoccupied face—Mykew himself—was hunched over a workbench, meticulously carving a wand.
Alex didn't hesitate. He didn't announce himself. This wasn't a duel; it was acquisition.
"Stupefy!"
A jet of blue light hit Gregorovitch square in the back. He slumped over his workbench, out cold.
Alex, his featureless black mask still on, began a systematic search. He ignored galleons and finished wands, his focus absolute. He finally found it in a simple, long box at the back of a shelf. It was unassuming. He pulled it out. It was long, knotted, and felt… alive in his grasp.
He looked at the stunned wandmaker. Grindelwald had simply stunned and taken it, never truly mastering it because he never won it. That's why Dumbledore beat him even though he tricked him, Alex realized. A technicality. The wand's loyalty was never truly won.
He wouldn't make that mistake.
He pointed hes Wand at the unconscious man. "Expelliarmus."
A faint shimmer of light, almost dismissive, flew from the wand and struck Gregorovitch. The wand in Alex's hand thrummed with satisfaction. Ownership had been established. It was his. Properly.
He then cast a complex series of spells he'd practiced in secret for this very purpose. "Legilimens," he whispered, diving into Gregorovitch's memories. He saw the wand's history: how a drunken wizard had attacked Gregorovitch years ago, Gregorovitch disarmed him in a scuffle, felt a shocking surge of power, and fled, leaving the man behind. Gregorovitch, never understanding its true nature, had simply stored it away. Alex carefully altered the memory, weaving a new narrative where the wand had been sold to a foreign collector years ago. It was simply gone, a forgotten footnote.
Satisfied, he cast a final "Obliviate" for good measure, erasing any fleeting sensation of the recent magical surge. He left the way he came, the most powerful object in the wizarding world now tucked safely inside his robes, its immense power masked by his own formidable control.
He walked around Hogsmeade, now in his standard Hogwarts attire, a serene smile on his face. The world looked the same, but he knew he now held the ultimate cheat code.
He entered the Three Broomsticks, spotting Dahlia at a corner table. She raised a perfect eyebrow as he sat down.
"You're late. And you look insufferably pleased with yourself. Do I want to know?"
"Probably not," he said, his smile not fading. He ordered two butterbeers.
They talked for twenty minutes—about classes, the dreadful new Potions textbook, and the latest Quidditch gossip. But Alex's sharp eyes caught movement at a table behind Dahlia. Two goblins, not from Gringotts by their rougher attire, were huddled together, speaking in low, urgent tones.
He subtly pulled a napkin and a self-inking quill from his pocket. He scribbled on the napkin and slid it across to Dahlia without looking at her.
Don't react. Read this. I'm about to say something completely random. Nod and smile. I need to listen to the goblins behind you.
Dahlia's eyes flicked down to the napkin. Her expression didn't change. She was a Black; composure was her birthright. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod and took a sip of her butterbeer.
Alex leaned forward, adopting a thoughtful, academic tone, his ears straining to catch the goblins' conversation.
"You know, I love big numbers," he began, his voice a casual drone. "But 52 factorial is hard to visualize. Numbers like a 100 and 10k are easy to visualize as rice, but the number 52 factorial is larger than the amount of atoms in that pile of rice. In fact, it's larger than the amount of atoms in the entire world…"
As he spoke, his mind isolated the goblins' hushed words, translating them effortlessly.
"…ranrok is mad" one muttered.
"…Ranrok went too far. Attacking a student and a professor? Killing a loyal goblin? Gringotts have exiled him for it…"
"…they were at the old vault… number 12…"
Alex's heart beat faster, but his monologue didn't falter. "…so a better way of visualizing this is time. Imagine you set a timer for 52 factorial seconds. You stand on the western coast of Ecuador, on the equator. You wait one billion years. Then you take one step forward. You wait another billion years before your next step…"
Vault number 12. An old one. A professor was there? Which one? he thought, his face a mask of intellectual curiosity.
He made a deck of cards appear in his hand, shuffling them with a fluid snap. "…once you've walked all the way around the world, you take a single drop of water from the Pacific Ocean and set it aside. You continue this…."
Dahlia listened, her grey eyes fixed on his, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips. She was brilliantly playing her part, even though she must have thought he'd finally lost his mind.
Dahlia's POV
He's utterly mad, Dahlia thought, utterly captivated. He's talking about atoms and Pacific Oceans while his eyes have that specific glint they get when he's dissecting a complex dueling strategy. Whatever he's hearing, it's important. And he's using this ridiculous monologue about… cards?… as cover. How deliciously devious. I do love him so.
End's POV
Alex finished his absurdly long analogy just as the goblins fell silent. "…and once your stack of paper reaches the sun, your timer won't even be 1% complete. That is the amount of ways you can shuffle a standard deck of cards." He fanned the deck out on the table with a flourish.
Before Dahlia could ask what that was all about, the pub door burst open. Sebastian Sallow rushed in, looking panicked and disheveled. He was dragging another boy with him—a boy Alex had never seen before. He had a determined look but seemed completely bewildered by his surroundings.
"Sebastian?" Alex said, his voice cutting through the pub's noise. "What's going on?"
"No time!" Sebastian panted, pulling the new boy towards the bar. " There was Troll attack On Hogsmeade!"
Alex and Dahlia exchanged a glance. A troll?. Alex shook his head. He hadn't heard.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the pub turned icy. Victor Rookwood emerged from doors with hes right hand man, his face a mask of cold anger. He'd clearly been waiting.
"Well, well," Rookwood drawled, his eyes fixed on the new boy. "If it isn't the troublesome new fifth-year. Making a habit of interrupting my business?"
Sallow immediately stepped in front of the new boy, his wand hand twitching. "Leave him alone, Rookwood!"
Alex stood up smoothly, Dahlia rising beside him. "Is there a problem, Rookwood?" Alex asked, his voice dangerously calm. "This is a place for students to drink butterbeer. Not for grown men to threaten children. I'm sure Headmaster Black would be fascinated to hear you're harassing his pupils." He didn't draw his wand. He didn't need to. His presence alone was a threat.
Rookwood's eyes flickered to Alex, then to Dahlia Black. He scowled. A well-connected Slytherin prefect and a Black were a complication he didn't need. "This doesn't concern you, Hunter."
"It does now," Alex said simply.
With a final, venomous look, Rookwood turned and Disapparated with a sharp crack.
The pub let out a collective sigh of relief. Sebastian slumped against the bar. "Blimey. Thanks, Alex."
"Don't mention it," Alex said, his eyes now fixed on the new boy. Something was off about him. He looked… lost. Alex's curiosity was piqued. Legilimens, he thought, casting the spell with the subtlety of a master to know what happend in hogsmeade.
The surface thoughts were a jumbled, screaming mess.
Hogwarts Legacy… the game… I was playing… a loading screen… then pain… then I was here… in a carriage… with Professor Fig… my name… it's… it's the name I typed in… oh god no the name i did it as a joke, oh god, this is real…
Alex broke the connection, his mind reeling. This wasn't just a new student. This was someone from his world. Someone who had knowledge of this world as a game. The potential for disaster—or opportunity—was staggering.
Sebastian clapped the new boy on the back, breaking Alex's concentration. "This is Alexender Hunter and Dahlia Black. Alex, Dahlia, this is… er… what was your name again?"
The boy blinked. "Jon," he said, his voice shaky. "Jon Longstaff."
Sebastian barreled on. "He's the new fifth-year! Showed up with Professor Fig today. Got attacked by a dragon on the way in! Can you believe it? And then a troll! And he took it down! You didn't hear about the troll attack an hour ago?"
"No, we were… occupied," Alex said, his eyes still on Jon. He turned to Dahlia. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was about to," she said smoothly, "when Sebastian decided to make his dramatic entrance, followed by a villainous one."
"Right," Alex said, his mind already five steps ahead. He looked at Jon, who was staring at him with a mix of awe and terror. The boy was terrible at hiding his thoughts. "Sebastian, you don't have any… tasks… do you?" Jon said, the word 'quest' almost slipping out. "I mean, do you need any help with anything? I'd like to help."
Alex almost laughed. He's terrible at this.
As they all began to leave the pub, Dahlia pulled Alex aside, whispering in his ear. "Anne returned to Feldcroft yesterday. Her family thought the familiar setting would be better for her. She's getting worse, Alex."
Alex's plans snapped into sharp, crystal-clear focus. Feldcroft. Ranrok was interested in Feldcroft. This 'Jon' had a connection to whatever was happening, a connection that apparently involved dragons, trolls, and Victor Rookwood. And Sebastian was emotionally compromised and desperate.
He looked at the back of Jon Longstaff's head as they walked towards the carriages,what a ridiculous name.
I need to go to Feldcroft, he thought. And it seems I have a new guide.