Austria, Nurmengard.
In one of the tower's rooms, a dozen or so gray-haired elders were discussing something in low voices.
Every one of them was impeccably dressed, elegant and distinguished.
"Nagel, how many people have you contacted?"
"A dozen or so. A lot of the old fellows are dead, but their descendants have ideals of their own and are more than willing to join us."
"Mm, not bad. Many of our comrades were persecuted by the various Ministries of Magic back then, but they've still done well for themselves. The most successful has even become Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"So when will our master announce his return? Miss Vita hasn't come either. Our master has regained his fighting spirit, you know."
"Miss Vita said she wanted to give our master a surprise, so she can't come for now."
The elder at their head had a stern bearing. He remained deep in thought, considering how to persuade his master to leave the prison.
His name was Abernathy. He had been Grindelwald's most capable assistant back then, rising into the upper ranks of the Magical Congress of the United States of America and nearly helping Grindelwald become its president.
On the tower's top floor, the shabby cell that had once contained nothing but a decrepit wooden bed had undergone a complete transformation.
It was not only filled with exquisite, luxurious furniture, but also furnished with an extravagant Persian cashmere carpet and a circular bookcase packed with books.
Behind a large desk sat an old man of extraordinary bearing. His blue eyes, rimmed with silver, seemed almost divine.
The old man was Grindelwald, the Dark Lord who had launched the First Wizarding War, the leader of Grindelwald's Army!
Ever since the future prophesied to end in certain failure had changed, this legendary wizard had naturally abandoned his despondency. Though his oath to Dumbledore still kept him imprisoned by his own choice in Nurmengard, he no longer denied himself comfort.
He had yet to summon his former followers, but the devoted acolytes who had always stayed nearby to watch over him were ecstatic to learn that their leader's fighting spirit had rekindled. They had sent him all manner of fine things.
Grindelwald was now carefully reading a letter.
[Dear Mr. Pailier, hello.
I am deeply honored by your admiration.
As for your question about why I chose to perform magic tricks in the Muggle world, that involves my childhood experiences, which I will not go into here. To sum up my original reason in one sentence: I needed to fill my stomach.
But after learning to perform magic tricks, I discovered a different sort of pleasure.
I enjoy being cheered on by thousands. When I perform grand, dazzling tricks beyond ordinary people's understanding, I enjoy even more the way the audience looks at me as though I were a god.
Yes, to be frank, I am a vain, worldly person. I enjoy the pleasures of power and money, and I have no particularly noble sentiments.
But I know that human progress stems from desire, so I am not ashamed of it.
As for your second question, Mr. Pailier, regarding my views on Muggles, I look at it from two perspectives.
From a ruler's perspective, the people under one's rule are not divided into wizards and non-wizards, only into the useful and the useless. A wise leader can put everyone where they belong; even a lump of mud has its uses.
From the perspective of a wizard who grew up in the Muggle world, Muggles are no longer ignorant or backward. Many of their advanced ideas are worth learning from.
Their so-called technology is already highly advanced. They can accomplish many things that once required magic, and have even created conventional weapons capable of destroying a city.
In fact, I believe the wizarding world is the ignorant side. It has stood still for centuries. The wonders of magic have made wizards complacent, yet they arrogantly look down on Muggles, who are advancing at an accelerating pace.
It is easy to imagine that, if things remain as they are, Muggle technology will surpass wizarding magic within a century. When that happens, wizards will be in a worrying position.
I have digressed. As a student, my current priority is still to study hard. Recently, one question has been troubling me greatly.
My magic naturally possesses a lightning attribute, and every spell I cast delivers an electric shock. How can I learn to control it freely?
Yours sincerely, your pen pal, Shawn Black]
Grindelwald put down the letter and pondered for a long while. A smile gradually curved his lips.
"Quite candid, with keen insight and a broad outlook. A one-in-ten-thousand elemental wielder, too, and a born leader. No wonder he can influence the shape of the future."
Grindelwald took out some stationery and began writing a reply.
Before long, he sealed the letter and rang the bell on his desk.
A dozen seconds later, a stern, white-haired man entered the cell and bowed respectfully.
"Master."
Grindelwald gave his instructions.
"Abernathy, send this letter to that little fellow. Oh, and find a way to get a phoenix to send him as a gift before Christmas. Always using owls to deliver letters is getting in the way of my correspondence."
"As you command."
Abernathy accepted the letter with both hands, without questioning how difficult obtaining a phoenix might be.
Though Grindelwald's Army, which had swept across the world fifty years ago, was now much diminished and operating entirely in hiding, its influence remained formidable.
Grindelwald's Army consisted of wizards with ideals. However many years passed, as long as they lived, they could rise again at their leader's call.
Besides, phoenixes did not belong exclusively to the Dumbledore family. Otherwise, with so many wands using phoenix tail feathers, Fawkes's tail would have been plucked bald.
And the mascot of New Zealand's Macaw team was a phoenix, so there was surely a way to obtain one.
After a brief moment of thought, Grindelwald continued.
"Collect ancient texts on lightning element spells, information on Muggle technology and culture, and intelligence on the British wizarding world. Hmm, bring in more people to gather it. As quickly as possible. Go."
Abernathy was ecstatic. His leader's unspoken meaning was that they could begin recalling all their former followers and stage a comeback.
"As you command!"
He bowed and withdrew excitedly, making plans in his mind.
It seems I'll have to investigate that Hogwarts student named Shawn properly. Just how did he restore our master's fighting spirit?
The Hogwarts dungeons had no windows facing the sun, so there was nothing romantic about opening one's eyes to the dawn here.
Thanks to his regular sleeping habits, Shawn woke at six.
He got up, put on his well-fitted green-and-silver uniform, and washed. Seeing the other three still snoring in their beds, he had no choice but to shout.
"Get up!"
But the three merely rolled over and continued sleeping soundly.
Shawn sighed. Why did they always force him to "win them over with virtue"?
He snapped his fingers, and three fist-sized balls of water appeared out of thin air before dropping onto their heads.
Splash!
Drenched from head to face, the three were instantly jolted awake by the icy water and its faint electric current. Trembling all over, they tumbled onto the floor with startled shrieks, looking as though their whole world had been turned upside down.
Shawn walked past them and said calmly.
"You have half an hour to wash and get ready. Then meet me in the common room."
He arrived in the dim common room. Naturally, no one was there at this hour, and even the troublemakers who had been hanging from the wall lamps last night were nowhere to be seen.
Unsurprised, he drew his wand and cast Incendio, lighting the fireplace and wall lamps.
He found a sofa and sat down, then took a tea set and a small red-clay stove out of his ring and began lighting a fire to brew tea.
As time passed, Draco and the other two entered the common room, rubbing their sleepy eyes.
Draco had intended to complain. He had barely slept last night, and now he had been made to get up so early.
But when he saw Shawn sipping tea in serene contentment, his gaze deep and unfathomable, Draco swallowed his words and followed his example, lifting the teacup Shawn handed him.
As seven approached, more and more people entered the common room. The first- and second-years were the most fully represented, gathering around Shawn. More than half the third-, fourth-, and fifth-years had come, but only a handful of sixth- and seventh-years were present.
Once they arrived, they gathered in groups of three or five, whispering about what Shawn was going to spring on them today.
Alice approached. She had clearly taken care with her appearance today. A light touch of makeup on her delicate features made her look even more distinguished, while a few accessories gave her fitted school uniform the elegance of formal attire.
Draco knowingly vacated his seat.
Alice slowly sat down and spoke with some concern.
"Shawn, there's no way everyone will turn up. What are you going to do?"
Shawn replied unconcernedly.
"It's fine. My magic has recovered."
His words were mild, but hearing them made everyone's bones ache.
For the last five minutes, the common room was so quiet that a pin drop would have been audible. No one spoke. It was like the calm before a storm.