Sebastian nearly performed a non-verbal, high-velocity Sputtering Charm.
Childish?
The insult, delivered with such casual, airy disdain by the gaunt man on the cot, struck Sebastian with the unexpected force of a poorly aimed Bludger. Please, know yourself a little, Mr. Grindelwald. Was this truly the legendary first Dark Lord?
The epitome of charismatic, terrifying genius? Where was the compelling magnetism, the hypnotic power, the famed, aristocratic handsomeness? If not for the placidly smiling Albus Dumbledore sitting right beside him—a living, breathing witness to history—Sebastian would have sworn this was just a slightly unhinged Austrian squatter.
He had rehearsed countless scenarios for this meeting: intense philosophical debate, a silent duel of wills, a grueling test of arcane knowledge. He had prepared for everything except for being instantly dismissed with a single, scornful, childish epithet.
Yet, despite his internal sputtering, a chilling admiration arrested his anger. There had been no probing Legilimency, no sign of soul-stealing or subtle mind possession. Grindelwald's insight was pure, terrifying, and immediate. It was his signature gift: the uncanny, near-absolute prophetic art of divination. He hadn't just seen a plan; he had seen its inevitable consequence.
Sebastian forced a calm smile back onto his face. "You are truly remarkable, Mr. Grindelwald. You have seen only a fragment, yet you have correctly deduced the underlying purpose."
"Some of your plans in the Muggle world, yes," Grindelwald confirmed, his cold eyes gleaming. "You intend to shatter the Statute of Secrecy, do you not?"
Sebastian couldn't help but frown slightly. Grindelwald had earned his reputation. To glean the objective from a scattered handful of actions—to understand that the very purpose of Sebastian's Muggle ventures was the catastrophic collapse of the magical world's foundation—was genius.
But the situation instantly deteriorated. Sebastian's clandestine goal was now exposed, not only to the former revolutionary but, more importantly, to the reigning defender of the Statute, Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore's face, which had been softened by the joy of reunion, immediately darkened with alarm.
Grindelwald, meanwhile, looked perfectly content, settling back against the stone wall as if expecting a particularly good theatrical performance.
Sebastian took a deep breath. There was no point in deceit now. Grindelwald had seen the destination, and Dumbledore was too shrewd to be fooled. If he could convince them both—the protector and the rebel—to agree on the necessity of the breach, the path ahead would be immeasurably simpler. Sebastian dragged a low, rickety stool from the corner, set it across from the two old wizards, and sat down.
"I confess, I expected you to support my intention to break the Statute, Mr. Grindelwald," Sebastian challenged, leaning into the heart of the conflict.
Grindelwald sniffed, a flicker of pure disdain crossing his sharp features. "I support the idea of ending the self-imposed isolation, yes. I have dedicated my life to that truth. But your execution?
Filming in the Muggle world, using mere pictures and clumsy motion to reveal wonders? It is a childish tactic, utterly lacking in the necessary scope and force." He curled his lip in a sneer. "Are you naive enough to think a few flickering images can undo seventy years of powerful concealment? Your methods lack ambition and subtlety."
"And I," Sebastian retorted smoothly, refusing to be drawn into a shouting match, "believe your method—the proposal that wizards should assume direct, violent, and unapologetic rule over Muggles—was truly naive, and demonstrably failed."
Grindelwald's smile widened slightly, finally showing a spark of intellectual engagement. "Is that so? Young man, I invite you to illuminate me. Tell me precisely what makes your methods so uniquely clever, so perfectly tailored to success where mine stumbled. If you can genuinely convince me, I will consider teaching you my secret magic."
Sebastian knew the only way to deal with an isolated zealot who had been marinating in his own genius for half a century was to shock him into silence with irrefutable, undeniable evidence, forcing him to discard his own outdated worldview.
But before Sebastian could begin, Dumbledore interjected, his voice tight with genuine fear and moral uncertainty.
"Sebastian, hold a moment. Tell me plainly: are you truly committed to breaking the Statute of Secrecy? You must understand: the magical world is fragile. It survived two wars by retreating into the shadows. It cannot withstand much more turmoil."
Sebastian raised a calming hand to the Headmaster, his expression suddenly intensely serious. He reached into his robe and pulled out a simple, rectangular object made of dull plastic and metal.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Grindelwald," Sebastian said, holding the object between two fingers. "I want to ask you both: Have you truly studied Muggles recently?"
He placed the square object on the hard ground between them.
"What lies before you is a revolutionary product of Muggle ingenuity: the computer."Shutterstock
"Unfortunately, there is no electrical current or internet connectivity in this mountain tomb, so I cannot properly demonstrate its powerful effects. But understand this: due to devices like this, coupled with a network called the Internet, Muggles in London can communicate seamlessly with Muggles in New York in mere seconds."
Sebastian then pulled a smaller, black brick—a mock-up of an early mobile phone—from his pocket, showing it to the older wizards.
"This form of communication is achieved instantly—through text, pictures, or even by looking directly at the face of the person thousands of miles away. Headmaster, you may not know this, but Harry's relatives already possess a lesser version of this technology in their very home. It is penetrating countless ordinary households globally."
Grindelwald, who had initially maintained a look of bored superiority, now leaned forward, his skeletal frame rigid. His prophetic ability—his internal sight—was clicking into overdrive. He saw the potential, the terrifying immediacy of global, unrestricted communication.
He saw the power of these machines not just as communication tools, but as unparalleled instruments for collective learning and mass mobilization.
When Sebastian held up the small black brick, Grindelwald's pupils visibly contracted. This device, this small, unassuming slab, had appeared in his most recent, troubling visions—a tool that would allow billions of Muggles to broadcast information instantly, circumventing all traditional means of control.
A deep sense of unease settled over Grindelwald. He compared this lightning-fast, global Muggle network to the archaic, vulnerable system of the magical world, still reliant on slow-flying owls to ferry sensitive, often-intercepted parchment.
Where is the refuge? Where is the sanctuary for a world that still relies on quill and parchment against a world of instant photons?
Grindelwald slowly calmed himself, recognizing the brilliance of the young man's strategic analysis. Sebastian wasn't just talking about a tactic; he was revealing a tectonic shift in global power dynamics.
Sebastian, sensing the shift from disdain to concentrated attention, pressed his advantage. He pulled out a stack of Muggle photographs, magically enlarged for easier viewing, and began explaining them one by one.
"Aren't these truly wonderful? Doesn't the sheer speed and reach of these devices feel more magical than magic itself?" Sebastian chuckled self-deprecatingly. "To be brutally honest, after a few recent visits to the streets of London, I feel the Muggle world has not merely caught up to the wizarding world; they are now sprinting ahead of us."
He paused, his voice dropping to a solemn, conspiratorial whisper, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore.
"Director, I am deeply concerned. Based on the rate of Muggle technological evolution, I estimate that in less than twenty years, the skies will be filled with a veritable cloud of Muggle satellites—eyes looking down at the earth."
"And on the ground, every street corner, every building entrance, and eventually, every Muggle, will carry devices equipped with billions of tiny cameras. The world will soon be under constant, unblinking surveillance. Our existing defensive charms—Disillusionment, Memory Charms, even simple Invisibility Cloaks—will become unreliable, if not completely obsolete, against this massive, industrialized scale of observation."
Sebastian's voice suddenly surged with passionate conviction, leaning the entire conversation toward a fierce call to action.
"By the time that happens, the magical world will no longer be able to hide. The Statute of Secrecy will not be broken; it will simply collapse under the weight of sheer, undeniable Muggle evidence. They will find us, not through magic, but through mathematics and observation."
"For this very reason, we must act now. It is vastly preferable to seize the initiative, to dictate the terms of our reveal—to break the Statute on our terms, under our control, when we are prepared—rather than passively waiting for the situation to decay into an inevitable, chaotic, and uncontrollable discovery orchestrated by the sheer power of Muggle technology."
Sebastian looked from Dumbledore's horrified face to Grindelwald's intensely thoughtful one.
"We must take the initiative into our own hands. Both of you fought to end the secrecy when the Muggles were using horses and steam engines. Now, they possess devices that communicate instantly across oceans. The necessity has never been greater."