The train rattled along, carrying its passengers deeper into unknown adventures. Seated amongst them, Gellert Grindelwald was holding court, regaling his audience with tales from his checkered past. Harry, Hermione Granger, and the others were particularly spellbound by the story of Grindelwald and the mustachioed man—the very figure whose distinctive facial hair had, inadvertently, inspired a catchphrase amongst them all.
...
Grindelwald, his throat parched from all the storytelling, paused to take a swig of his less-than-appetizing "mineral water." Then he resumed his narrative.
"The truth is, I was the one who sold him that mountain of bread back then." A wistful expression crossed Grindelwald's face. "That man was undeniably talented. A pity he wasn't a wizard, but he possessed a remarkable gift for oratory."
"I recall our first encounter vividly. I was immersed in Muggle society, striving to comprehend my adversaries, and he appeared to be struggling to gain entry into a Muggle institution of higher learning."
"I saw some of his artwork from that period. Not masterpieces by any stretch, but far from atrocious."
"And it was through our many conversations that I discovered we… rather got along."
"He confided in me his aspirations of becoming a painter, but I sensed that path would be a waste of his true potential. He was born to be a leader." Grindelwald's tone grew grave. He knew exactly where the mustachioed man's talents truly lay. If only he were a wizard, Grindelwald would have poached him without a second thought.
"Perhaps there was a degree of ulterior motive involved, but I nonetheless encouraged him to seek public office, or something of that nature."
"But he insisted he merely wished to paint, declaring he would rather return home to sell his own paintings than engage in politics."
"I was somewhat disappointed, and later events proved my misgivings accurate. His paintings simply failed to sell, to the point that he could scarcely afford to feed himself."
"I offered to buy his paintings again, but again, he refused."
"…"
Tom Riddle chuckled softly, a faint smile gracing his lips. "And that's when you sold him the five hundred thousand loaves of bread?"
"Ahem…"
Grindelwald grinned, a knowing glint in his eyes. "One has to give destiny a little nudge, wouldn't you agree?"
"He later enlisted in the army. For a green recruit whose only skills were painting and giving speeches, death on the battlefield seemed a near certainty."
"I merely extended him a helping hand, saving his life on a few occasions."
Cassandra Volle couldn't resist interjecting, "Didn't you say you only wanted to use him?"
Grindelwald tilted his head, casting a helpless look at her. "The two are not mutually exclusive, are they?"
"Then came the moment when he truly exploded onto the scene…" Grindelwald's eyes seemed to reflect a distant memory. "As it happens, I was in the very tavern that day."
"After a few drinks, the Muggles began lamenting the myriad problems plaguing their lives."
"The mustachioed man recognized his opportunity and launched into an impassioned speech."
"He performed admirably. I dare say I was the first to egg him on."
"Those Muggles, weary of oppression, resonated with his words."
"Frankly, I flatter myself on my ability to stir emotions. Without my encouragement, his speech would not have had such a profound effect." The old man boasted to Tom Riddle and the others, brimming with pride.
"He was indeed quite skilled," Tom Riddle conceded.
Hearing Tom Riddle's words, Grindelwald grinned even more broadly, his eyes twinkling with self-satisfaction.
"He did not disappoint me in the times to come."
"He possessed a profound understanding of human nature, and knew precisely how to tailor his rhetoric to suit each occasion. He rose through the ranks with astonishing speed."
"Naturally, this exposed him to considerable danger, but he managed to survive thanks to certain… provisions I supplied."
"…"
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, as wizards raised in Muggle society, listened to Grindelwald's unusual perspective on the well-known story of the mustachioed man with a sense of profound unease. Draco Malfoy and Cassandra Volle, on the other hand, listened with rapt attention, fascinated by every word. Nagini, being from that era, was familiar with the broad strokes of the story, but not with the details Grindelwald provided.
"Once events had reached a certain inflection point, he decided to initiate a war."
"When he solicited my opinion, I voiced my full support."
"For that had been my original objective—to sow discord among the Muggles, to plunge them into chaos."
"But he did not know my true motives, seeing me merely as a friend. Overjoyed by my support, he enthusiastically declared he would restore Europe to its former glory for me."
Grindelwald suddenly heard a snort of amusement, looked up, and saw Tom Riddle wearing a wry smile.
"...As for my motivation for doing so…"
"Though I loathe to admit it, Muggles are hardly less powerful than wizards. The mustachioed man showed me what they were researching—a nuclear bomb."
"Even though I had anticipated it, I still felt a pang of helplessness. They were no longer incompetent fools who could be easily vanquished. Even though wizards can leverage the wonders of magic to gain some advantage, Muggles possess an overwhelming numerical superiority."
"Perhaps a decapitation strike would work, controlling the Muggle leaders, and thus controlling the Muggles."
"But that is not what I desire. My ambition is for wizards to rise above the Muggles, to become the true masters of this world. And even if we were to control their leaders, it would be futile; the Muggles would inevitably rise up in rebellion, regardless."
Grindelwald idly swirled the mineral water in his plastic bottle, his gaze as placid as an ancient well, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.
"Therefore, I allowed the Muggles to wage war upon themselves, while I led the wizards to attack from the outside. Beset by internal and external strife, the Muggles were bound to be defeated."
Such was Grindelwald's reasoning at the time.
"And then you were soundly defeated by Albus Dumbledore before you even officially launched your war?"
"…"
Grindelwald couldn't help but offer a wry smile. "I almost succeeded, I assure you."
During the mustachioed man's World War II, he had repeatedly assisted him. The man's power was built on magic.
And Grindelwald, too, used the opportunity of World War II to accumulate power and recruit like-minded wizards.
Just when his strength had reached its zenith, and he was contemplating seizing complete control of wizarding society to unify the front and amass even greater power… he was defeated by Dumbledore.
Of course, this was partly because he no longer wished to fight in front of his wife; otherwise, how could Albus Dumbledore have ever stood a chance?
He possessed the Elder Wand in those days. Dumbledore was no prodigy like Tom Riddle.
"So, in that fateful year, you were defeated, captured, and imprisoned, and the mustachioed man, deprived of your magical support, was besieged by the Allied nations, defeated, and ultimately took his own life."
Tom Riddle quipped, "Nobody had a future anymore."
"…"
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