Chapter 28: The Obsession of a Fanatic

As Ian departed, the once-disrupted bookstore returned to its quiet solitude.

The setting sun cast a gentle orange glow over the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues as the earth slowly donned the veil of night. Aurora Grindelwald switched on the lamp, immersing herself once more in the handwritten notes titled Analysis and Research of Runes.

Shadows danced between the bookshelves.

The only sound breaking the silence was the occasional rustle of turning pages.

Though the German girl had assured Ian that the bookstore's owner, Kraft, would return soon, it wasn't until deep into the night—when the stars had long since begun their silent vigil—that his figure finally appeared.

Click—

With nightfall, the bookstore's doors had already been locked. Aurora had secured them earlier. But as the elderly man pushed open the door, he stepped in with practiced ease, gently removing his worn hat. A thin layer of dust and the faint imprints of wind-swept creases adorned its brim.

"You're still awake, Miss?"

Kraft's voice carried an air of reverence—unusual, given his age. He spoke like a subordinate addressing a superior, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him.

"It's still early," Aurora replied without looking up, her focus remaining on the open notebook resting on her lap. Her tone was calm, but curiosity laced her words.

"And besides, I'd like to know what message my grandfather sent you that made you rush out in such a hurry, only to return in the middle of the night looking completely drained."

Kraft merely pressed his lips together and shook his head. He did not offer the answer Aurora sought.

"There are some things you are not yet meant to know," he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Aurora had expected this response.

Her expression remained unchanged, her attention unwavering as she continued reading.

"Fatigue is inevitable. The rest of the Saints and I… we're all getting old. We no longer have the vigor of our youth." Kraft let out a long sigh, unfastening his heavy outer cloak and hanging it near the door. Even such a simple motion made his breath hitch slightly, as though it took more effort than it should have.

"I lack my grandfather's brilliance, and I certainly don't share his grand ambitions," Aurora remarked, finally lifting her gaze. "If you're all pinning your hopes on me, I fear you will meet your end filled with regret and disappointment."

Her mismatched eyes locked onto Kraft's.

For a fleeting moment, he felt disoriented.

It was as if he had been pulled back in time—back to an era when passion and ideals still burned bright in their hearts. Back to a time of dreams.

But Aurora's words quickly shattered the illusion, grounding him once more in reality.

Those days were long gone.

Their great leader was imprisoned.

The once-glorious Saints had become little more than dying embers.

"No," Kraft said, undeterred. His voice remained resolute.

"Your grandfather believes in you. He sees in you the potential to fulfill what he could not. You will surpass him. He has already paved the way, and under our protection, you will succeed."

His eyes gleamed with fervent conviction.

Aurora fell silent.

She wanted to refute his words.

But she knew the truth.

To the Saints, her grandfather was more than just a leader—he was a belief.

Arguing against their faith was meaningless.

Even the slightest dissent would be met with resistance.

"To place such a burden on a child… don't you think that's cruel?" Aurora sighed softly, sorrow flickering in her eyes.

"The fact that you can ask that question proves you are no longer a child." Kraft's voice dropped, but his tone remained respectful.

Yet, his reverence was not directed at Aurora herself.

It was directed at the man she was meant to succeed.

"From the moment you were born into the Grindelwald name, your fate was sealed. Your path was never meant to be ordinary."

The weight of his words was inescapable.

Aurora understood this truth all too well.

"I don't think I can lead you to victory."

Her voice was steady, devoid of arrogance or false bravado—just quiet honesty.

Kraft, however, merely chuckled.

"Grindelwald foresaw your future," he said, his gaze unwavering. "For us, that is enough."

There was a fire in his aged eyes.

A burning belief.

"Perhaps… his current imprisonment, all the suffering he has endured, is merely part of a grander plan. Perhaps he is allowing himself to be caged to deceive Dumbledore—for the sake of something far greater."

This was the mind of a fanatic.

Always finding a way to justify the unacceptable, shaping reality into whatever best suited their faith.

Aurora knew she would never be able to change Kraft's mind.

Just as she had failed to change the minds of the other Saints who had raised her.

She often marveled at her grandfather's influence.

What kind of person commanded such unwavering loyalty? What kind of presence could make people remain devoted, despite his years of absence?

Even now, they still believed he was an all-powerful being.

"Let's talk about something else."

Aurora had no interest in debating her grandfather's imprisonment.

She had only met him three or four times in her life.

Strong. Elegant. Composed.

That was the impression Gellert Grindelwald had left on her.

As for familial warmth…

"Has Dumbledore responded to my admission request?"

She changed the subject.

Kraft's expression darkened slightly at the name.

"Dumbledore is an infuriating man," he muttered. "But we are on his territory now, so you should at least maintain some superficial respect toward your future headmaster."

His tone turned more certain.

"Rest assured, you will have no trouble enrolling at Hogwarts."

"Though none of us believe that school is worthy of educating you, your grandfather has deemed it necessary, and that means Dumbledore will not stand in your way."

Kraft's lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"The old fool will have no choice but to accept you."

Hatred colored his voice.

It was something common among the Saints.

Aurora had grown used to it.

"That's good to hear."

She returned her focus to her reading, allowing the silence to settle once more.

Kraft lifted his wand, using a quick charm to dust off his coat. As he moved toward the back of the shop, his gaze fell upon three rune textbooks stacked on the counter.

"That boy was here?"

Picking up the books, he flipped through them briefly. There were few signs of wear—proof they had barely been used before being sold back.

"He came to sell them," Aurora replied simply.

Kraft scoffed.

"A cunning little brat. Sharper than most his age. You didn't let him swindle you, did you?" He tossed the books toward a shelf with little care.

Thud.

Without the aid of magic, his aim was off.

The books tumbled to the floor.

He made no move to fix it.

Aurora watched, thoughtful.

"I gave him a Galleon."

Her voice was as smooth and steady as ever.

Kraft blinked.

Then, to Aurora's surprise, he grinned.

"You actually got the better of that sly little rat? Ha! Well done, Miss!" He raised a bony thumb in approval.

Aurora remained expressionless.

"He seems… interesting," she murmured. "He wants to be my friend."

For once, she didn't read with the notebook resting on her knees. Instead, she held it up, covering her face slightly.

Kraft's smile faded.

"Does he know who you are?" His voice turned sharp.

Aurora nodded, her tone indifferent.

"We exchanged names. His is Ian Prince."

Kraft's brows furrowed.

"A pureblood, then," he muttered. "Or at least, not a Muggle-born."

His eyes flickered toward Aurora's heterochromatic gaze.

"Did you see this, Miss?"

There was a hunger in his voice now.

Aurora's lips parted slightly.

"He knows what the name 'Grindelwald' means," she said quietly.

Then she recalled Ian's parting words.

Holding the notebook just a little higher, she spoke in a tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

"He said he wants to become a Dark Lord."