[182] The Scale of Trust

The Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match was fast approaching. Hall was busier than ever — match training, the Ravenclaw Chamber, Memory Reversal Potion research, improving the silver coins. Russell Rosier couldn't find a single opportunity to approach him.

"Is Hall always this busy?" Russell asked Draco across the grade.

"Hall has his own things to do." Draco cut his steak elegantly. "He has a good relationship with the professors, the headmaster, and the principal. It's normal that he's hard to find."

Russell stopped asking. He couldn't let his master's plans be disrupted.

Draco was pleased with himself. Flawless acting.

"How's the Patronus training?" Zabini appeared. "That was one thousand Galleons."

"Eat."

"I only paid two hundred. It doesn't matter."

Draco stabbed his steak. He'd eat Hall's portion too.

In the library, Hall scratched his head. A chill down his spine. He shrugged it off.

Today he wasn't entering the Founder's Chamber. He was searching for a book: The Hundred Little Secrets of Ravenclaw.

Ron had been transported into the Chamber because of this book. It was full of gossip — but considering whose secrets it held, it was clearly written by someone close to Rowena Ravenclaw. It might contain information about that era.

Hall hadn't forgotten his biggest project — the mystery of Slytherin's disappearance. The time-shifting array. Rowena's portrait had faded, but this book might have answers.

He searched everywhere. Nothing.

Why was Ron's luck so much better? He considered Legilimency on Ron, but Ron forgot things he didn't care about almost immediately. Even Legilimency couldn't extract what wasn't there.

"Mr. Weasley. If you don't have a book to read, sit quietly. Don't disturb others."

"Yes, Madam Pince."

Hall's gaze fell on a shelf: 101 Magical Tips for the Kitchen. He picked it up as if possessed.

Maybe Molly would like it. She loved household magic books — spells for cleaning, banishment, recipes costing only ten Knuts. Most were secondhand. Only Gilderoy Lockhart's books were new.

"Hopefully Mum doesn't still like that guy." Wishful thinking. Molly was a loyal reader of Witch Weekly.

Hall paused. A magazine.

If he wanted to be the richest wizard, he needed more than obedient mouthpieces. He needed his own communication channel. A magazine — weekly or monthly. Start by competing with Witch Weekly.

He nodded. Write that down.

"You're constantly busy with things unrelated to magic." Grindelwald looked at Hall with the pained expression of someone watching a child go astray. "You have talent. With enough time, you could surpass me — reaching second only to me would be easy."

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Hall just watched him. Grindelwald showed no guilt.

"Headmaster Dumbledore could, right?"

Grindelwald coughed loudly but didn't deny it.

"I was passing by. Thought I'd chat." Hall stood to leave.

"Not learning any new magic?"

Hall stroked his chin. "My magic power's been increasing too quickly. Learning more of your magic — I'm having trouble controlling it."

He and Grindelwald locked eyes. Grindelwald's grin vanished.

"I thought I'd have to wait longer. Didn't expect you to cross that threshold so soon." His tone was meaningful. His gaze intensified, then subsided.

Hall sat back down. "So, Teacher — what's going on?"

At first, Hall hadn't thought much of it. His killing intent was always aimed at Voldemort. Wanting to kill that guy was natural.

But recently, in the Slytherin common room, some idiots started spouting blood-purist theories. Hall's first instinct wasn't to argue. It was to pull his wand and cast Crucio. Or Avada Kedavra. These guys weren't saints anyway — why not kill them?

His wand was already in his hand. The spell was forming on his lips.

Then Draco returned. Hall snapped out of it. He'd almost earned a trip to Azkaban.

"I was thinking maybe I could ask Dumbledore to lock me up in Nurmengard with you. Keep you company. An old man living alone."

Grindelwald stared at him. He couldn't tell if Hall was being sincere or mocking him.

"Shut up. I'm happy alone. I don't need a roommate."

"Anyway, I'm not Dumbledore's favourite student."

Grindelwald fell silent. This brat was definitely mocking him.

"So what's happening to me?"

"It's normal." Grindelwald clicked his tongue. "You know why it's called dark magic."

"Because learning it changes your mind."

"Exactly. Dark magic has immense power, but it slowly influences the wizard, driving them mad. The person doesn't even realise — they think it's their own thought."

"I can confirm I haven't been influenced. I've been monitoring myself constantly."

"Dark magic influences people in more ways than one." Grindelwald's voice turned cold. "Learning it requires talent. If you're influenced, you become a slave to dark magic — a mindless madman. But if you're not influenced, if you master it..."

He paused.

"Then your magic surges."

Hall's heart skipped.

"Don't think that's a good thing. Magic gained through dark magic always comes at a price. There's no free lunch."

"If it were truly free, every wizard would learn dark magic."

Grindelwald nodded. "Learning, mastering, becoming proficient — it's a struggle with yourself. Dark magic's influence on willpower and spirit is multifaceted. The most common is the erosion of the mind during learning. Most wizards who approach dark magic have strong willpower — they don't falter at the first step. When they feel in control, the magic surge begins."

"Which wizard doubts their own power? They attribute the increase to mastering powerful magic, not to dark magic. So they fall victim — slowly, imperceptibly."

He gave Hall an appraising look. "I didn't expect this until your third or fourth year. A promising talent."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I? You know what dark magic is."

Hall was speechless. Of course he knew dark magic wasn't good. But it was powerful.

"Teacher, aren't you afraid I'll go to Dumbledore?"

Grindelwald's smile vanished. "Are you still a child? All you do is tattle."

"I'm twelve. Second-year. Is there a problem?"

"Don't you dare tell Albus."

Hall pretended not to hear. Grindelwald sulked.

"It won't have much impact on you anyway." Grindelwald waved. "You little monster, worrying about nothing."

"Knowing is one thing. Choosing to study anyway is another. You keeping it from me is separate."

Grindelwald looked surprised.

Hall rolled his eyes. "What kind of image do you have of me?"

"Little rascal. Little fox. Lazy. A bit like Albus. A bit like me."

On the way back to Hogwarts, Hall bumped into Dumbledore — wearing star-patterned robes that looked like pyjamas.

"Hall."

Hall's life flashed before his eyes. He'd just threatened to tell Dumbledore on Grindelwald. And here Dumbledore was. Telepathic connection.

"Headmaster." Hall's expression was docile.

Dumbledore didn't believe it for a second.

"Teacher seems lonely." Hall winked. "I think you should find him something to do. He's too idle. Otherwise he keeps finding ways to torment me."

Dumbledore pricked up his ears.

"Like — let him write an anti-dark magic textbook. How to avoid dark magic attacks. Protective measures. A case of being laid off and finding new employment."

Dumbledore's expression shifted several times.

"I'll seriously consider your suggestion." He quickly interrupted. Enough. He didn't want to know about the Dark Lord's re-employment plans.