Erwin caught the implication in Grindelwald's words without missing a beat. He continued slicing his steak with deliberate care, then replied casually, "I've always believed the steak's flavor is locked in the moment it's cooked. How quickly you cut it doesn't change that. Eating's just about fueling up—no need for all this fuss over 'taste.' We've already wasted enough time on the cooking; why drag it out further? The steak might get impatient."
Grindelwald's brow furrowed. "Are you so certain this steak was even cooked properly before it reached the table?"
Erwin speared a piece of beef with his fork and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "I'm not known for my patience. If this place can't manage a decent steak, I could always take over the kitchen. Though at that point, the restaurant would be mine—Erwin's."
Grindelwald's hand froze mid-motion. "Strength alone doesn't ensure a legacy."
Erwin nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, Your Majesty. But true strength demands real power. The wizarding world's been rotting for too long; it needs a firm hand to purge the decay. People chafe under pressure, yet they crave it to keep order. It's a paradox, but that's life."
Grindelwald studied him, surprise flickering in his eyes. The young man's vision mirrored the one he and Dumbledore had once shared almost perfectly—yet Erwin's approach was sharper, more refined.
From the start, Grindelwald and Dumbledore had seen the wizarding world's fatal flaw: its path led straight to ruin. Muggle technology marched onward, growing ever more lethal, until wizards would have nowhere left to hide. That's why Grindelwald had launched his war against the Muggles, seeking a way out for their kind. Dumbledore, ever the idealist, had pushed for peace, arguing that force bred only resentment. Even if Grindelwald could bend the world to his will, rebellion would inevitably follow—stronger than before.
But Erwin's path intrigued him. It wasn't brute force or gentle persuasion; it was something calculated, adaptive. High pressure, yes, but targeted, blended with subtler strategies. Grindelwald couldn't yet grasp the full plan, but a spark of hope ignited. If Erwin succeeded, the wizarding world might emerge transformed.
He set down his utensils. "So, what is your ultimate goal?"
Erwin shrugged. "Haven't nailed it down yet. For now, I want the Cavendish family at the pinnacle—untouchable. Truth be told, Your Majesty, I can't stand much of Dumbledore's approach, but he's right on one count: wizards and Muggles weren't meant to share the same world forever. Muggle tech advances by leaps while we stagnate. Governments hide us now because they can, but in a decade? Who knows what weapons they'll wield? Could the wizarding world still vanish into the shadows? Or will another like you rise to fight them? Forgive my candor, but the era of your grand war has passed. Muggle arms can already match our spells. Give it a few more years..."
Grindelwald fell silent, his face darkening as he pondered. Was he a villain? In Erwin's view, no. The man had a foresight few possessed, glimpsing the Muggle threat through his prophetic gifts. No one understood their destructive potential better—except perhaps Erwin himself. Grindelwald's only crime had been desperation to save their world, only to be undone by the lover who'd turned against him. Dumbledore had it coming, in Erwin's book.
At last, Grindelwald rose, clasping his hands behind his back as sunlight slanted through the iron bars. "I've strayed from the true path. You might yet find it. I'm... eager to see that day."
Erwin watched him position himself dramatically in the light beam, lost in thought. If this wasn't a calculated show of gravitas, what was? "Er, Your Majesty," he said dryly, "you could make that speech from your chair."
Grindelwald stiffened, caught out. Erwin smirked inwardly. So the great man shared Dumbledore's flair for theatrics. Like minds, indeed.
Clearing his throat, Grindelwald sat back down. "Anything else bringing you to Germany?"
"Two things," Erwin replied. "First, I'd like a shot at inheriting your Acolytes."
Grindelwald blinked. "Direct, aren't you?"
"Obviously. You must've suspected as much when I showed up here."
The older wizard nodded. "Ambitious and able—you wouldn't pass up such a prize. But let's hear the second matter. Why seek counsel from a relic like me on anything else?"
Erwin leaned forward. "The Acolytes aren't my top priority. What I really need is information. Rumor has it you once had a close Muggle friend—a Squib, even—and somehow granted him magic. Not just a spark, but real talent. How?"
Grindelwald's gaze sharpened. "That's accurate. Why seek it out?"
"The Cavendish family started as Muggles," Erwin explained. "Many of our most loyal retainers still are. Arming them with magic would strengthen us immeasurably. Devoted allies are worth more than gold."
...
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