THE PRICE OF AMBITION
CHAPTER 29: THE PRICE OF AMBITION
As the summer sun climbed higher, signaling a season of opportunity, I knew it was time to capitalize on the events of the past year. My books, a carefully crafted critique of the wizarding world’s shortcomings, had gained notoriety in ways I hadn’t entirely anticipated. The reaction they provoked was polarizing—some readers empathized with my words, seeing reflections of their own frustrations, while others sought to discredit or silence me. Both types intrigued me, and I wanted to understand them better.
To that end, I made use of the goblin nation’s extensive information network. With their skill in collecting intelligence, they compiled a list of those actively searching for me. My goal was to separate those who genuinely connected with my ideals from those who saw me as a threat to their status quo. The difference was subtle but vital, and the goblins excelled at uncovering motivations hidden beneath the surface.
As the reports arrived, I began my search for an assistant. Someone to act on my behalf when I couldn’t, particularly while I was at Hogwarts. I wasn’t willing to disrupt the stability of my life with Aunt Amelia, and I certainly didn’t want to strain our relationship by insisting on more independence than she was comfortable giving. She had already done so much for me. An aide seemed like the perfect solution—a bridge between my world and the movements I hoped to inspire.
The ideal candidate had to meet specific criteria. They needed to resonate with the ideals embedded in my books and possess firsthand experience of the injustices I aimed to challenge. Most importantly, they had to be capable and willing to operate under my vision while maintaining discretion.
After combing through the names on the goblins’ list, a few stood out as potential allies, but only one truly captured my attention: Scott Cross.
Scott was 37, a muggle-born wizard with a compelling story that mirrored the struggles my books had highlighted. He had graduated from Hogwarts two decades ago as a Gryffindor, leaving with solid N.E.W.T. results and aspirations for a meaningful career in the Ministry of Magic. Initially, he joined the Hit Wizards and quickly proved himself effective. However, success often comes with a cost in the wizarding world, especially when it challenges the interests of the powerful. One of his missions inadvertently disrupted the plans of a Most Ancient and Noble House. Their retaliation was swift and ruthless, relegating Scott to a desk job.
His career spiraled from there. Each time he tried to rebuild, he was obstructed. Attempts to transfer into other departments were met with resistance, and he eventually found himself forced out of the Ministry altogether. With his reputation tarnished, Scott turned to the muggle world to earn a living, taking jobs far below his skill level just to survive.
Reading his file, I felt a surge of admiration mixed with anger on his behalf. Here was a man who had been chewed up and spat out by the very system I sought to challenge. He had endured, but at great personal cost. I decided to meet him.
The meeting was arranged discreetly through one of my goblin contacts. A quiet café in muggle London provided the perfect setting—neutral, unassuming, and away from prying magical eyes.
Scott arrived promptly, his appearance neat but understated. His auburn hair was streaked with gray, and there was a weariness in his expression that spoke of years spent fighting battles, both external and internal.
“Mr. Cross?” I extended my hand as he approached.
He nodded, shaking my hand firmly. “Ares Bones, I presume. Though I admit, I wasn’t expecting someone so...young.”
I smiled faintly. “Appearances can be deceiving. Please, sit. There’s a lot I’d like to discuss.”
As he took his seat, his sharp eyes studied me. “You’ve caused quite a stir with those books of yours. Some are calling you a revolutionary. Others…well, let’s just say they’re less kind.”
I nodded. “I’m aware. That’s part of why I wanted to meet you. I believe you understand the challenges I’m trying to address better than most. Your history speaks volumes about the kind of person you are—resilient, resourceful, and unafraid to stand up to the injustices of our world.”
His expression softened slightly, though he remained guarded. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bones. What exactly are you looking for?”
“An ally,” I replied. “Someone who believes in what I’m trying to achieve and is willing to help me do it. You’ve seen the worst of the system. I need someone with your experience to act on my behalf when I can’t be directly involved. In return, I can offer you resources, support, and, most importantly, a chance to be part of something that could make a difference.”
Scott leaned back, considering my words. “You’re awfully ambitious for someone still in school. What makes you think this isn’t just a pipe dream?”
“Because change starts somewhere,” I said firmly. “And because people like you and me can’t afford to wait for someone else to do it. The wizarding world is broken, Mr. Cross. If we don’t try to fix it, who will?”
For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on me as if weighing my sincerity. Finally, he nodded. “All right, kid. I’m in. But don’t think for a second that this will be easy. The people who want to keep things as they are—they’re not going to let you waltz in and upset the apple cart.”
I smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And so, our partnership began. Scott Cross would be my bridge to the outside world, a voice for my ideals, and a shield against those who sought to silence me. It wasn’t just about enacting change; it was about proving that even the most entrenched systems could be challenged—and, ultimately, transformed.
To solidify our agreement, I arranged a formal meeting. To maintain a degree of anonymity and protect my identity, I used a disguise crafted with meticulous care. Borrowing the features of my previous life, I enhanced them to appear older, settling on a look that suggested someone in their mid-twenties. My brown hair was neatly combed, my green eyes sharp and inviting, and my strong jawline lent an air of quiet confidence. I’d chosen my attire carefully, striking a balance between approachable and professional.
For the setting, I rented out an entire restaurant in the heart of muggle London. Money was a tool, after all, and there was little point in accumulating it without making strategic use of it. The place was cleared of staff and patrons after the meal had been set, ensuring our privacy. The ambient lighting, paired with soft classical music playing in the background, created an atmosphere of quiet sophistication.
I was seated at the head of a table elegantly set with fine silverware and a spread of exquisite dishes when Mr. Cross arrived. As he stepped inside, I rose to greet him.
Scott Cross had a rugged, worn appearance, a testament to the struggles life had thrown his way. His dark brown hair was disheveled, despite what appeared to be an effort to tame it, and his beard was unevenly shaved, hinting at a man who had grown weary of caring for such trivialities. His blue eyes, though striking, were bloodshot, betraying signs of sleepless nights and lingering stress. His clothes, while clean, were visibly aged and slightly frayed at the edges, speaking to his practical but financially strained lifestyle.
Yet there was something about him—a quiet determination in his posture, a faint but steady flicker of resilience that hadn’t yet been extinguished.
“Mr. Cross,” I said warmly, extending a hand as I smiled. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Scott looked taken aback, his surprise evident in the way his brows lifted. He hesitated a moment before taking my hand, his grip firm but uncertain. “Eh, yeah, it’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Folster,” he replied, his voice gruff but polite. “I, uh, apologize for my appearance. I’m not exactly used to places like this.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” I reassured him, keeping my tone light. “As you can see, it’s just the two of us here. No audience, no expectations—feel free to relax and be yourself.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still seemed out of his depth. “You went through all this trouble just for a meeting? Renting out a whole restaurant?”
I chuckled softly, gesturing for him to sit. “Sometimes, the value of privacy outweighs the cost. This conversation is important, and I wanted to make sure we could speak openly without interruptions. Please, have a seat. The food’s already prepared, so you can enjoy it at your own pace.”
Scott lowered himself into the chair cautiously, glancing at the luxurious spread before him. “This…is a lot,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
“It’s just a meal,” I said, taking my own seat and pouring a glass of water. “Consider it a small gesture of goodwill. I know the last few years haven’t been kind to you, and I’d like this to be the start of something better.”
He studied me, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected. Most people who’ve read my file are either looking to exploit me or pity me. You don’t seem to be doing either.”
“I’m not here to offer charity or manipulation,” I assured him, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m here because I see potential in you, Mr. Cross. The system may have tried to bury you, but it failed. You’re still here, and you’re still fighting, even if the fight looks different now. That’s exactly the kind of strength I need.”
Scott leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly as he processed my words. “You’ve got a silver tongue, I’ll give you that. But what’s in it for you? Why go through all this trouble for someone like me?”
I smiled faintly. “Because I believe in the power of alliances. This isn’t just about me—it’s about building something greater than any one person. Your experience, your insight, and your perspective are invaluable. Together, we can make a real impact.”
For a long moment, he was silent, his gaze flicking between me and the untouched food on the table. Finally, he nodded, a hint of a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, Mr. Folster, you’ve certainly got my attention. Let’s see where this goes.”
As we began to eat and converse, I felt a rising surge of optimism. Scott Cross was precisely the kind of ally I needed—someone who had faced life’s harshest blows yet remained resilient. His experiences and struggles mirrored the kind of defiance I wanted to channel into my plans. Our partnership wasn’t just a step toward enacting change; it was proof that even the most rigid systems could be shaken, one careful move at a time.
Scott, however, was not the type to take things at face value. As he sampled the food, he leaned back slightly in his chair and studied me. “If I’m being honest,” he said, his tone straightforward but not unkind, “it’s strange that someone like you would want to meet me. You clearly don’t lack resources, you don’t know me personally, and from what I can tell, you’re probably the kind of person everyone wants to know right now. So why me?”
His bluntness made me smile even more. It was a good sign—he questioned things and thought critically, traits I valued immensely. “Fair points,” I replied. “I’ll explain everything soon enough, but for now, let’s enjoy the meal. The wizarding world has its charms, but let’s admit it—the food isn’t one of them.”
Scott raised an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “You’re not wrong about that,” he muttered, reaching for a fork.
The meal passed mostly in silence. I could tell Scott wanted to devour the dishes in front of him but was holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. Meanwhile, I subtly used a restrained form of Legilimency, just enough to catch faint impressions of his thoughts. His pride stood out—sharp and deeply ingrained. It would be interesting to see if he could temper it enough to work alongside me.
When we had both set down our utensils, Scott wasted no time diving into the matter at hand. “So,” he began, his tone direct, “what is it you want from me? You don’t bring someone like me to a place like this just for a nice dinner. Especially not if you’ve got money to burn.”
I leaned back in my chair, letting his words hang in the air for a moment before responding with a broad, genuine smile. “I’m looking for a man to do a job.”
“A job?” he repeated, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Precisely,” I said, keeping my tone even and calm. “Due to my personal circumstances, I can’t involve myself directly in certain matters. I need someone who can step into that role for me—someone capable, trustworthy, and resilient.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly. “If you just need someone to run errands, why not use house-elves? They’d be more than happy to help.”
“True,” I conceded with a slight nod. “But I’m not looking for a servant. I’m looking for an aide—a partner of sorts. Someone who can act as my arm when mine are tied. Someone I can trust not just to follow instructions, but to understand my vision and ensure it’s executed properly.”
His frown deepened as he studied me, trying to gauge the sincerity behind my words. “That’s a lot of trust to place in someone you just met.”
“Indeed it is,” I agreed, meeting his gaze evenly. “But trust isn’t given lightly. It’s earned. And I’m confident that you, Mr. Cross, have what it takes to earn mine. Your history speaks volumes—you’ve seen the best and worst of the wizarding world, and despite everything, you’ve held onto your integrity. That’s rare, and it’s precisely why I reached out to you.”
Scott’s expression softened slightly, though he still looked skeptical. “And what exactly would this job entail? I’m not agreeing to anything until I know the details.”
“Fair enough,” I said, clasping my hands together on the table. “The job is multifaceted. On the surface, it will involve representing me in various dealings—business, social, and otherwise. But at its core, it’s about being a voice for change. The wizarding world is flawed, stagnant, and riddled with inequality. I intend to challenge that, but I can’t do it alone.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms as he considered my words. “You’re talking about shaking up a system that doesn’t want to be shaken. That’s dangerous.”
“Progress always is,” I said quietly. “But the alternative—standing by and doing nothing while people suffer—is far worse. I need someone who understands that and is willing to take calculated risks to make a difference. Someone like you.”
Scott was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the table as he weighed his options. Finally, he looked up, a faint glimmer of determination in his eyes. “I’m not saying yes yet,” he said gruffly. “But I’m listening. Keep talking.”
Scott stared at my outstretched hand, his expression a mix of disbelief, suspicion, and a faint glimmer of something I could only hope was hope itself. The file I’d handed him lay open on the table, the details of his life exposed in a way that few could truly understand. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, clearly wrestling with the weight of what I’d just offered him.
“You’ve got to know how crazy this sounds,” he finally said, his voice low but steady. “A stranger shows up, says they’ve been watching my life, offers me a fortune and a house, and asks me to join some kind of crusade to fix the wizarding world.” He leaned back, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all. “It sounds like something out of a novel.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it does. But tell me, Scott—how has playing by the world’s rules worked out for you so far? Has it rewarded your hard work and integrity? Or has it punished you for daring to do the right thing?”
He didn’t answer immediately, but the tightening of his jaw told me enough. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed pity, but he couldn’t deny the truth in my words.
“You’ve been cast aside by a system that should have celebrated you,” I continued. “And yet here you are—still standing, still fighting, even when the odds are stacked against you. That’s the kind of person I need by my side. Not a lackey, not a pawn. An equal. Someone who understands the world’s brokenness because they’ve lived it.”
Scott exhaled deeply, glancing down at the file again before meeting my gaze. “Two thousand Galleons a month and a house,” he said, as if testing the words to see if they made sense aloud. “That’s more than I’ve ever made, even at my peak. What’s the catch?”
“The catch,” I said evenly, “is that this isn’t a simple job. It will demand discretion, resilience, and a willingness to take risks. You’ll face opposition—sometimes from powerful people who don’t want the status quo disrupted. And, as I mentioned, absolute secrecy is non-negotiable.”
Scott looked at me for a long moment, his blue eyes searching mine for any hint of deception. Finding none, he let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I must be mad to even consider this.”
“Madness and brilliance often go hand in hand,” I said with a small grin. “But madness alone doesn’t build a better world. That takes courage, vision, and action. You have those qualities, Scott. Whether you accept this offer or not, I need you to know that.”
He was silent again, his gaze drifting toward the window as if searching for an answer in the quiet night beyond. Finally, he turned back to me, his expression resolute. “I’ll give it a shot,” he said, his voice firm. “But don’t mistake this for blind loyalty. I’ll do the job, but I’ll also call you out if I think you’re wrong.”
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I couldn’t help but smile at his response. “That’s exactly what I want,” I said, extending my hand further. “A partner, not a puppet.”
Scott hesitated only a moment longer before clasping my hand firmly. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Folster.”
Scott listened intently, nodding as I outlined his tasks. His earlier shock had faded, replaced by a quiet focus. "Got it," he said, his voice steady. "Clean myself up, head to Gringotts, and start setting up the Folster house. That’s a lot to juggle, but if you’re putting your trust in me, I’ll make sure everything gets done."
I could see the determination in his eyes. That was the kind of resolve I needed. “Exactly. You’ll be the face of Micheal Folster, but you’ll also be my right hand, handling things I can’t be seen doing.”
He chuckled softly. "You really know how to make a guy feel important. Not exactly what I imagined when I walked in here, but if I'm being honest, this... this feels like it could be the beginning of something huge."
“It will be,” I said confidently. “Now, once the house is set up, we’ll begin the real work—gaining influence, making allies, and building the network that will help us dismantle the old systems. Change doesn’t happen overnight, but with the right foundation, it can.”
Scott stood up, straightening his jacket. "Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got some work to do tonight, but don’t worry, I’ll be ready to hit the ground running."
“Good,” I replied with a smile. “I’ll make sure everything is in place for tomorrow. Meet me at Gringotts at noon. I’ll be expecting you.”
He gave a nod, then headed for the door. Before leaving, he turned back to me. “Ares, I don’t know what’s ahead, but I’m in this for the long haul. You’ve got a hell of a vision. Let’s make it happen.”
As the door closed behind him, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the moment settle in. This was just the beginning. With Scott Cross by my side, I knew we could challenge the very fabric of the wizarding world. It was no longer just about survival—it was about reshaping the future.
he night air felt crisp against my skin as I made my way toward Knockturn Alley. The winding, shadowed streets were a stark contrast to the well-lit, bustling avenues of Diagon Alley, but this was the world I had chosen to walk through. A world where secrets festered and deals were made in the dark. The White Wyzern Pub wasn’t far from the main alley, a place where witches and wizards with more unsavory inclinations tended to gather. I knew I had to remain vigilant. It was one thing to be feared; it was another to be cornered in a place like this.
I adjusted the hidden pouch where SAL rested, the magical falcon I had come to trust like a second pair of eyes. Should anything go wrong, it would be my quickest escape route—faster than any Apparition or Portkey, especially in a situation where time mattered most. Still, I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I didn’t know exactly what to expect from the message or the people behind it, but I had no intention of walking into a trap unprepared.
As I neared the pub, the atmosphere grew heavier. The flickering light of an old lantern cast an eerie glow on the cobbled street, and the scent of stale smoke and damp wood permeated the air. I saw a few figures lingering near the entrance, watching the street with wary eyes. No one seemed to notice me, which was exactly how I wanted it. I wasn't here for attention.
The door of the White Wyzern Pub creaked as I pushed it open. Inside, the pub was dimly lit, with tables scattered haphazardly, each occupied by a mix of wizards, witches, and a few less-than-human figures lurking in the shadows. The conversations were low and hushed, but the tension was palpable. They all seemed to know this wasn’t a place for casual visitors.
I scanned the room, looking for anyone who might give me a clue as to who I was supposed to meet. The note had been clear: ask for Geri. But the room didn’t have much in the way of clear identifiers, and the patrons were too busy minding their own business to pay much attention to the newcomer.
I approached the bar, where a grizzled bartender with a patch over one eye watched me closely. I leaned in slightly, keeping my voice low.
“I’m looking for Geri,” I said, not giving away much in case the name was a signal of something more secretive.
The bartender’s one good eye narrowed, scanning my face. I felt the weight of his gaze, but he didn’t seem hostile—just calculating.
"Don’t know any Geri," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. “But you might want to check the back room. Second door on the left. If you're who I think you are, you’ve already been expected.”
I gave a slight nod, not pausing to argue. There was no point. If this was a trap, I’d know soon enough. As I walked toward the back room, the sounds of the pub faded behind me, leaving only the low murmur of voices and my own footsteps echoing in the narrow hall.
Reaching the door, I knocked twice, a signal I hoped would be understood. A pause followed, and then the door opened slowly, revealing a tall, gaunt man with graying hair and sharp, hollow eyes. He gave me a brief glance before stepping aside.
“You’re late,” he said quietly, though his tone held no judgment—only a faint trace of urgency. “Come in.”
I stepped inside, the door closing behind me with a soft thud. The room was small, dim, and smelled faintly of damp earth. A fire burned in the corner, its orange light casting long shadows on the walls. The man led me to a chair, and I sat down without hesitation.
“So, you received the letter?” he asked, settling across from me.
“I did,” I replied, keeping my expression neutral. “You said you need help. What kind of help are we talking about?”
The man’s eyes flickered with a mix of anxiety and resolve. “We’re desperate,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been speaking out against the way things are—about how the world treats creatures like us. We need someone who understands what we’re up against, someone who’s not afraid to challenge the system. We’re not asking for charity, just a chance.”
A low growl interrupted him from the shadows, and I could see the outline of a figure shift in the corner. A werewolf—his eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, a sharp reminder of the true nature of the people I was speaking with.
“I’m listening,” I said carefully, watching the room's occupants. A few others shifted, though none seemed hostile—yet.
The gaunt man leaned forward, his eyes intense. “We need help organizing. We’re being hunted, isolated, treated like monsters. But we’re people, Ares. We have families, communities, and rights. We want to fight back—not just survive.”
I could feel the weight of the decision settling in. This wasn’t just about a simple contract or personal gain—it was about standing up for those who had no voice. The werewolves, the creatures who had been marginalized and feared for centuries. They needed a leader, someone who could rise above the prejudices and give them hope.
“I can help,” I said, my voice steady. “But it’s not going to be easy. And it’s not going to be safe.”
The gaunt man nodded. “We know. But we’re ready.”
I paused for a moment, considering the road ahead. This was bigger than I’d imagined, but I wasn’t about to back down now. My plan was expanding, and with it, the risks—but also the potential for real change.
I stood up slowly, my resolve firming. "Then let’s begin."