France, Paris, Place Fürstenberg.
After many years, Grindelwald set foot on this land once more, and compared with the past, it was far more prosperous now.
Standing on the lively street amid the flow of people and cars, he looked at everything before him with a gaze full of deep remembrance.
"In the past, there were only ugly steel boxes and crude houses. Now they've turned into refined steel boxes and dazzling high-rises."
He muttered it softly. No one around him could possibly imagine that this elegant old gentleman leaning on a cane had once wanted to destroy this very place.
Unfortunately, not only Muggles, but even Aurors, would have no way of realizing that this was the first Dark Lord who had once thrown Europe, and even the entire world, into chaos.
"And in the future, what will it become?"
Suddenly, an old man appeared behind him at the appointed time. Unlike Grindelwald, who stood alone, this man had a young, expressionless man by his side.
"Francis, this is exactly what we need to be wary of," Grindelwald said with a faint smile.
Back then, he, this old man, and his other followers had discussed countless times the threat Muggle technological progress might one day pose to wizards.
But even among his own followers, many had failed to grasp it. In truth, even he himself had never fully believed in it.
And yet now, fifty years later, every part of the Muggle world was clearly proving that his concern had been correct.
Francis, however, did not dwell on the subject. Instead, he looked deeply at the man he had once followed, and still willingly followed now... his king.
"My lord... after all these years... have you been well?" he asked, his voice trembling.
Perhaps it was because he had heard Tver mock the Death Eaters' way of addressing Voldemort too many times, or perhaps because he was moved by his old subordinate, but Grindelwald's eyes narrowed slightly, and his expression softened.
"I've been quite well. As for all of you, Dumbledore didn't make things difficult for you back then, did he?"
Seeing that gentle smile on his face, gradually overlapping with the elegant, confident figure in his memory, Francis was instantly flooded with recollections of the past.
"Thanks to you, no." He sniffed, and his aged voice came out a little hoarse.
"They all thought we had simply been led astray. Aside from a few... everyone followed your orders and returned to ordinary life."
Grindelwald patted him on the shoulder with some emotion.
Back when he had been imprisoned in Nurmengard, quite a few Saints had indeed tried to rescue him.
But without his command, how could any of them possibly have broken through the defenses Dumbledore had set up?
That was also why, the moment he realized his defeat was inevitable, he had decisively ordered his followers to go into hiding.
Those whose identities had been exposed received lighter punishment. Those whose identities had not been exposed were not only spared a reckoning, but could even secure quite decent positions in the magical world as it rebuilt itself from the ruins.
Looking at it now, that bit of planning he had arranged almost casually back then had actually become his greatest source of support today.
"What about the others? I'm already getting impatient."
"Forgive me. I was so happy to see you that I nearly forgot the important matter."
Prompted by Grindelwald, Francis hurriedly bent forward.
"To avoid drawing too much attention, they're waiting for you in a shop nearby."
As he spoke, he quickly tugged at his grandson. The boy had been staring at his lord rather rudely.
Then, with great respect, he led Grindelwald toward a café tucked away in a corner.
"I secretly put a Muggle under control to run this place. It was meant to leave people like us somewhere to gather from time to time."
"As you instructed, I found an excuse to gather all our companions in France together. They still have no idea you're about to arrive." His face was full of eager anticipation.
"Opened right across from the Ministry of Magic?" Grindelwald smiled oddly.
This square was the entrance to the French Ministry of Magic, and yet one of his former subordinates was openly carrying out illegal activities here?
Francis immediately put on a smug, self-satisfied smile. As he walked ahead to open the café door, he tilted his mouth toward the Ministry entrance.
"The Aurors these days are idiots. Ever since the Ministry set up an Apparition zone inside, they mostly come and go by Apparition and never pay attention to what's happening in this square."
"And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is firmly under the control of Rose's father, who is also my son."
"To put it bluntly, even if I had a hundred Muggles dancing up there, they still wouldn't notice a thing!"
"Notice what, old Francis?" A man who looked just as old, but much rougher in appearance, suddenly appeared in the doorway and casually slung an arm around Francis's shoulder.
That movement also made him vaguely aware of the tall figure behind him.
"M... my lord?!"
That shout immediately drew the attention of the old bones chatting away inside the café.
"You can't just shout that, Claudi... my lord?!" An elderly witch with a gloomy expression widened her eyes, which at once confirmed that no one present had been mistaken.
Their king had returned.
"Good morning, Claudius."
As if he had not noticed their shock at all, Grindelwald patted the stunned Claudius and strode with practiced ease straight toward the center of the group.
From the past until now, that was where he belonged, and where he had always been meant to stand.
"And Lisette, of course. You're still just as fond of making a fuss."
"Oh, Luc. I almost forgot you studied at Beauxbatons. I thought you would have gone back to Italy."
"How have these past decades treated you, Vincent? Still smoking Muggle tobacco?"
"Since... no longer, Your Excellency."
A wizard whose fingers twitched involuntarily quickly bent in respect, yet in the magical world, he was the longtime former head of the French Department of Mysteries.
Unlike Voldemort, Grindelwald had never required his followers to address him with a single fixed title. So being called my lord did not mean greater closeness than being called Your Excellency. It was more a matter of personal habit.
Most Saints preferred to call him my lord, to show their respect.
Only a small number who admired the elegance in his very bones preferred to call him Your Excellency.
So hearing that form of address again all at once brought a reflective smile to Grindelwald's face.
Wearing that smile, he slowly turned in a circle, his gaze sweeping across every face.
Some looked shocked, some sorrowful, some dazed, but all of them carried the same sense of longing for the past.
"My... my lord." The old witch Lisette hesitated for a moment, but still could not help speaking first.
"You... you've returned?"
"Yes, I have returned!"
Grindelwald bared his teeth in a smile and declared it loudly, with overwhelming force.