Vinda Rosier casually put away her wand as though nothing unusual had happened.
The surviving intruder slowly turned around, trembling from head to toe as he looked at the bodies of his companions scattered across the floor.
Whatever courage he’d possessed vanished instantly, and his legs gave out beneath him as he dropped to his knees.
Alistair Vance, still weak from everything that had happened, barely managed to brace himself with both hands to keep from collapsing completely.
These people had clearly come to rescue him, but watching them use an Unforgivable Curse with such terrifying ease had completely erased most of the excitement he’d initially felt about transmigrating into the Harry Potter universe.
If the memories inside his new body weren’t clearly reminding him that the year was 1990, that Harry Potter wouldn’t enter Hogwarts until the following year, and that the events surrounding Voldemort were still ahead, Alistair might genuinely have suspected that the elderly witches and wizards around him were Death Eaters.
After all, plenty of Voldemort’s future followers had more enthusiasm than actual skill, while the people in this room cast deadly magic with frighteningly smooth movements.
There had been no hesitation, no wasted motion, and no unnecessary theatrics.
They had simply raised their wands and killed.
Compared with that, quite a few Death Eaters suddenly seemed almost amateurish.
Vinda covered her nose as she approached the kneeling man, apparently disgusted by the smell coming from him.
She looked down with a gentle smile that somehow made her appear even more dangerous.
“Which hand did you use to hit this child?” she asked softly.
“Be good and tell me.” The man trembled violently before slowly raising his left hand.
Vinda smiled.
She lifted her wand and lightly tapped his hand.
The man’s scream immediately tore through the room as the flesh on his left hand began to rot away at an unnatural speed.
Skin and muscle disappeared layer by layer until, within moments, only pale bone remained.
The sight of his own skeletal hand proved more than he could endure.
His eyes rolled backward, and he collapsed unconscious onto the floor.
Vinda frowned at his reaction and turned toward one of the elderly wizards beside her.
“Wake him up and find out where he came from.
Take him into another room.” She glanced toward Alistair before adding, “There’s a child here.” Alistair watched silently as a gray-haired wizard grabbed the unconscious attacker and dragged him toward the kitchen.
A few seconds later, a cold voice came from behind the doorway.
“Crucio!” The man’s bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house.
Alistair swallowed hard.
When Vinda began walking back toward him, he quickly forced himself upright despite the weakness still lingering throughout his body.
“Mrs.
Rosier,” he greeted respectfully.
Vinda looked at him with obvious relief and a faint trace of guilt.
“Alistair, I’m so glad you’re all right.” “My God,” someone nearby exclaimed.
“He truly is worthy of carrying the master’s bloodline.
After being struck by the Cruciatus Curse, he’s already recovered enough to stand.
Incredible.” Vinda gently touched Alistair’s cheek, careful to avoid the red handprint left by the intruder’s slap.
Pride appeared in her eyes as she studied him.
“To endure the Cruciatus Curse and recover this quickly requires extraordinary willpower.
You haven’t disgraced your name, my child.” Alistair could only give her an awkward smile.
The truth was that the consciousness currently inside this body hadn’t endured the Cruciatus Curse at all.
The original owner had suffered through the torture, and judging from the circumstances surrounding Alistair’s awakening, that poor boy had probably died because of it.
Alistair had simply inherited the body afterward.
Telling that truth to a room filled with Dark wizards who treated Unforgivable Curses like ordinary spells, however, seemed like an excellent way to create an even bigger problem.
The elderly wizard who had dragged the prisoner into the kitchen soon returned alone.
Vinda glanced toward him and asked, “Abernathy, did you learn anything?” Abernathy shook his head, his expression completely calm.
“I’m afraid not.
He died too quickly.” After a brief pause, he added, “But there was something familiar about him.
His scent, perhaps his magic.
I’ve encountered something similar before.” Vinda nodded thoughtfully but didn’t press the matter.
At that moment, Alistair hesitantly raised one hand, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.
“Excuse me,” he said carefully, “but could someone explain why all of this happened tonight?” His confusion was genuine.
He had searched through as many of this body’s memories as he could, but he still couldn’t understand why a child raised quietly by a house-elf had suddenly attracted a group of murderous Dark wizards.
Vinda seemed to understand his confusion.
She stepped closer and gently straightened his disheveled clothes before asking, “Alistair, how much do you know about the Wizarding World?
What exactly did Libby tell you?” In his previous life, Alistair had been a longtime Harry Potter fan and knew far more about magic than an ordinary eleven-year-old should.
Naturally, he couldn’t admit that, so he relied on the memories belonging to this body instead.
“Libby told me a lot of stories about the Wizarding World,” he replied.
“But there’s one thing she never told me.” Vinda raised an eyebrow.
“My real last name.” That was something the original Alistair had wondered about for years.
He remembered asking Libby repeatedly, only for the house-elf to panic every time the question came up.
On more than one occasion, she’d threatened to punish herself rather than reveal the answer, and eventually he had stopped asking because he couldn’t stand watching her hurt herself.
As a result, he’d grown up simply using the name Alistair Vance, never knowing that another family name had been deliberately hidden from him.
Vinda finished straightening his clothes and stepped back to study him carefully.
Alistair was still young, with short blond hair, a slender frame, and bright eyes that seemed unusually sharp for someone his age.
Vinda stared at him for several seconds as though remembering someone else, then her expression slowly became solemn.
“Alistair, remember this for the rest of your life,” she said.
“Never lose your dignity or your pride.” She paused before revealing the secret Libby had refused to tell him.
“Because your true name is Alistair Vance Grindelwald.” “Alistair Vance Grindelwald…?” Alistair repeated the name softly.
It sounded familiar, almost painfully familiar, but too much had happened that night for his thoughts to connect properly.
He had awakened in another world, discovered Libby dead, been threatened by Dark wizards, watched several people die to Killing Curses, and now learned that his family name had been hidden from him.
For the moment, he could only assume that Grindelwald was some important old wizarding family.
Whatever memory was trying to surface refused to come any closer.
“Hearing that surname, you should understand something about where you come from,” Vinda said slowly.
Alistair looked up and found not only Vinda but every other elderly witch and wizard in the room staring at him with unusual intensity, as though the name itself carried enormous weight.
That immediately made him nervous.
If these people discovered that the real owner of this body was gone and that someone from another world had taken his place, Alistair had no idea what they might do.
This was a magical world, and he had no trouble believing that witches and wizards who had spent decades immersed in Dark magic would know Legilimency.
The only obvious reason none of them had tried to invade his mind was probably because of who they believed him to be.
That meant Alistair couldn’t afford to behave as though the Grindelwald name meant nothing to him.
He straightened his back, raised his chin, and forced as much pride into his expression as he could manage.
“Of course,” he declared.
“I’m Alistair Vance Grindelwald, a member of the Grindelwald family.” Vinda’s expression immediately brightened with satisfaction.
She nodded slowly and said, “Exactly.
Your grandfather was the younger brother of our master, which makes you his grandnephew.
Aside from the master himself, you are the only remaining member of the Grindelwald bloodline.” Pride entered her voice as she looked at Alistair.
“Someone carrying that blood should never bow his head so easily.” Alistair maintained his confident expression, although the explanation only gave him more questions.
Vinda, however, gradually lost her smile.
Her eyes darkened, and she released a heavy sigh before looking at him with unmistakable regret.
“Your willpower and pride haven’t disgraced the Grindelwald name.
You truly possess the spirit expected of our master’s family.” She paused, and the other members of the Alliance became unusually quiet.
“If only you weren’t a Squib.” Alistair’s eyes widened.
His carefully maintained expression shattered instantly.
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