The silence that followed Sebastian's outstretched hand was not empty; it was a deafening, geopolitical vacuum.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald, the two most powerful minds in modern magical history, remained perfectly still, their expressions identical in their intensity. They were not pondering Sebastian's request—they were processing the monstrous moral and logistical implications of accepting a living weapon as a political partner.
Sebastian's tone had been soft, yet his determined charm, the conviction in his voice, suggested that every word he spoke was already etched into the fabric of the future. His attractive confidence was hard to resist, but these two elderly wizards were not impulsive young enthusiasts.
They were architects of revolution and guardians of history, men who fundamentally understood the horrific costs of ideology.
Sebastian, thick-skinned and pragmatic, simply chuckled and slowly drew back his hand. He had expected this. Truly intelligent people are not swayed by rhetoric alone; they trust only what they see, think, and believe to be irrefutably true. His recruitment attempt was merely a sophisticated opening gambit, designed to plant a seed of radical, technological fear in their minds.
Sebastian utilized the protracted silence to move. He produced his seamless, magically enlarged pouch—a discreet, bottomless wonder of extension charms—and began silently furnishing the cell.
One by one, he conjured objects into the gloomy space: a set of self-warming, brand-new bedding that practically glowed with comfort; a sleek, modern Charm-Lamp that cast a steady, glare-free light; a small, magically refrigerated chest stocked with fresh fruit; and, finally, a multi-functional massage chair that unfolded with an almost comic whir of gears and padded leather. The sterile, oppressive tomb was instantly transformed into a peculiar, luxurious den.
I don't care if they agree with my politics, Sebastian thought, his movements methodical and precise. I will leave this mountain with the knowledge of Fiendfyre. Therefore, I must ensure that Mr. Grindelwald is comfortable, placated, and not inclined to be difficult when teaching me complex magic.
Grindelwald watched the transformation with an amused, thin-lipped grin.
"A lovely waste of fine silk and enchantment, young Professor," Grindelwald drawled, the sound of his voice cutting through the mechanical hum of the massage chair. "You truly do not understand me. These material comforts mean precisely nothing. If you believe such trinkets can buy my allegiance, you are mistaken."
He then looked pointedly at Dumbledore. "And I will not simply walk out with you, Albus. I am, after all, a prisoner in this tower."
Sebastian, internally, nearly rolled his eyes. A prisoner? The protective charms around Nurmengard were formidable, yes, but they were barely a distraction for a wizard of Grindelwald's unique power.
The truth, well-known in the deepest political circles, was that Grindelwald had self-incarcerated—he had retreated here, defeated, and used his magic to ensure he stayed. He wasn't waiting for escape; he was waiting for an invitation from Dumbledore—a validation of his life's mission. That pointed look at the Headmaster was proof enough.
Just as Sebastian was about to address the thinly veiled plea, Grindelwald changed the subject completely.
"However," he conceded, fixing his eyes on the young man, "your audacity is compelling, and your foresight concerning the Muggles is undeniably superior to my own obsolete vision. I can, and will, teach you the basic principles of the Fire Shield."
He shifted slightly, leaning forward, an eager, predatory light entering his eyes.
"Show me your Fiendfyre, Sebastian."
Sebastian immediately drew his wand. He placed a small piece of parchment on the floor, and with a focused burst of non-verbal intent, conjured a gout of orange flame. The fire, which should have immediately begun to consume its surroundings with violent appetite, instead remained constrained, licking around the edges of the parchment with a surprisingly docile, controlled ferocity.
Grindelwald watched the controlled conflagration with genuine wonder. "Your raw power and control over base Transfiguration are indeed excellent, Professor. The flame itself is more obedient than an ordinary Incendio in the hands of a lesser wizard."
"But understand my caveat: I will only teach you the rudimentary principles required to transform the destructive Fiendfyre into a self-aware, defensive spell—a Fire Shield. Whether you can master the profound integration required to succeed is entirely dependent on your own will and understanding."
Grindelwald adjusted his skeletal frame against the newly delivered cushion, adopting the familiar posture of a weary professor.
"The principle is simple, Sebastian: you must not seek to control the flame with your conscious will, but rather transform your innermost will into the will of the Fiendfyre itself. You must infuse your singular, driving purpose into the essence of the chaotic element."
"In this way, the magic becomes autonomously conscious. It gains the innate ability to distinguish between friend and foe, protecting those who willingly accept your purpose from its searing destruction."
Grindelwald stopped abruptly, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction at the complexity of the seemingly simple instruction.
Is that all? Sebastian thought, his jaw tightening slightly. He gives me the most profound, most critical clue—'integrate your purpose'—and then stops before explaining the actual method of integration!
This old revolutionary knows how to write a cliffhanger.
Sebastian realized the essence of the lesson was not in the words, but in the analogy. Willpower... purpose... integration. The concept felt eerily familiar. It wasn't about raw power; it was about the nature of the caster's intent being permanently imprinted onto the magic itself.
Sebastian thought back to the one magical protection Dumbledore valued above all else: Lily Potter's protective charm over Harry. That was not a simple spell; it was an ancient magic infused by the purest form of love and self-sacrifice. A permanent, intentional imprint.
The old man still keeps his most vital secrets close, but I see the connection now! Sebastian concluded, a powerful surge of intellectual excitement rushing through him. I have the core concept. I can reverse-engineer the methodology.
The massive, ominous Tower of Nurmengard now cast a brutally long shadow across the mountain as the sun bled out over the horizon. Sebastian closed the cell door, the heavy iron rasping against the stone, and glanced back.
Grindelwald remained inside his newly furnished cell, a stubborn oracle who refused to leave his self-imposed sanctuary, regardless of Sebastian's persuasive entreaties.
Grindelwald is waiting for a certain kind of invitation from Dumbledore, Sebastian mused. But what exactly is Dumbledore waiting for? The hatred, the shame, and the unresolved love between these two figures formed a powerful, incomprehensible barrier.
Sebastian turned away and found Dumbledore already walking toward the apparition point, his figure silhouetted against the dying light.
"Sebastian," Dumbledore's voice was hollow, devoid of its usual cheerful lilt, "I need to hear your answer to my earlier question—and I need the truth, now that you have his attention."
Dumbledore stopped, looking Sebastian directly in the eye.
"Do you truly intend to deploy Gellert—or someone like him—as a Humanoid Nuke in the wizarding world? To use the threat of unparalleled, indiscriminate destruction to force compliance from the Muggle world?"
Sebastian quickly closed the distance between them, meeting the Headmaster's grave gaze with unwavering certitude.
"I am a businessman, Headmaster, and a peace-loving one at that," Sebastian confirmed, a charming, disarming smile touching his lips. "Swan Alchemy is focused on creating high-quality magical goods for the everyday wizard. War is terrible for quarterly profits."
"But," he continued, the light-hearted tone vanishing, replaced by a granite determination, "as a wizard, and as the future steward of the next generation, I am utterly without fear of battle. I am guided by a Muggle maxim that speaks directly to the reality of power."
Sebastian's voice grew firm and strong, his words echoing the revolutionary spirit of the very place they stood.
"If peace is sought through struggle and strength, it will be maintained. If it is sought through weakness and perpetual compromise, it will ultimately disappear."
"The Statute of Secrecy is a perpetual compromise born of fear, and it is failing," Sebastian declared. "If the day comes when the Muggle governments threaten our existence, then yes, Headmaster, I will become a nuclear weapon in their eyes, a deterrent of last resort. I will utilize every form of power necessary—including the ultimate power represented by Mr. Grindelwald's knowledge—For The Greater Good of the wizarding species."
He delivered the final phrase with a subtle, pointed reference to the inscription above the gate. He was confirming the strategy while simultaneously appealing to Dumbledore's deepest, most tragic youthful pact.
Sebastian gave the Headmaster a final, brisk wave as the last sliver of the sun vanished.
"Headmaster, I won't be returning with you tonight. I still have a domestic errand to run."
He smiled, a final flicker of human kindness contrasting sharply with the ruthlessness of his ambition.
"Harry is still waiting with Severus. I need to pick him up and take him home. Farewell, Headmaster Dumbledore. We will discuss the moral dimensions of deterrence later."
With that, Sebastian turned on his heel and disappeared into the lengthening, purple shadows of the mountain, leaving the Headmaster alone with the weight of his legacy, his failure, and the chilling promise of the young man's future.