— — — — — —
Before anyone noticed, an hour and a half had passed.
Grindelwald was, without question, an exceptional teacher. Even after all that time, the students were still fully focused, hanging on every word, their emotions rising and falling with the rhythm of his voice.
"Wizards aren't good with numbers. Most people can't even remember the exchange rate between Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. But the numbers I'm about to give you are ones you must remember."
"In 1830, the world's population surpassed one billion. One hundred years later, in 1930, that number became two billion."
"And just last year, according to Muggle statistics, the global population reached 5.5 billion."
When Grindelwald finished, the hall remained oddly quiet. Many students looked confused. Aside from a handful, no one reacted the way he expected. Grindelwald's train of thought faltered for a moment.
Tom sighed and raised his hand to help him along.
"Mr. Riddle?"
"Mr. Grindelwald, before you tell them those numbers, you need to explain what a billion actually means. In the wizarding world, people almost never use numbers larger than a thousand, much less ten thousand."
Grindelwald slapped his forehead, finally realizing the problem. So he switched roles into a math teacher for a few minutes, breaking down what a billion meant. Only then did he get the reaction he wanted.
Everyone knew Muggles were numerous, but they had no idea it was to this extent.
Billions. Even if you replaced humans with ants, the idea alone could make your scalp tingle.
"Now the question is... what's the total population of wizards?" Grindelwald asked. But he didn't expect anyone to answer, so he continued.
"Since the establishment of Ministries of Magic, wizard populations have been recorded. Yet from then until now, our total numbers have barely changed. We fluctuate between three and four million."
"That's impossible!" someone blurted. "If Muggles increased more than ten times over, how could wizards stay the same?"
The student froze the moment the words escaped, then quickly lowered their head, praying he hadn't just offended a Dark Lord.
Grindelwald didn't take offense. He simply replied calmly, "When I first learned this, I reacted just like you. But facts are facts. They don't change because someone dislikes them."
"After my people investigated, we found two possible explanations."
"First. Wizards generally have lower fertility than Muggles. Many Muggles expand their families once they have stable lives. Wizards don't. Only a tiny number of families have more than one child. A family like the Weasleys, with seven children, is practically legendary across the wizarding world."
At that, several Weasleys turned red, unsure whether to feel proud or deeply embarrassed.
Across the Slytherin section, many pure-blooded students glanced at them with envy. Having siblings was a luxury they couldn't afford. Malfoy was among them. He might mock Ron's home life daily, but that didn't change the fact that plenty of people secretly envied the Weasleys.
Tom nodded repeatedly. He'd noticed the same thing himself. Otherwise, ahem, why would he bother dating so many women? If not to expand the Riddle bloodline, then for what?
Yup, that's right. I'm sacrificing myself for the sake of the world.
Tom kept quietly cheering for Old G; finally, he got a legitimate excuse.
"Second." Grindelwald's voice cut through the whispers, pulling attention back. "The true wizard population is much larger than our statistics suggest, but most of that unseen population are Squibs."
"So many Squibs?" Filch muttered under his breath. He didn't believe it, though his voice was barely audible.
"Of course. You're Argus Filch, correct?"
Filch nodded quickly, startled to be acknowledged.
Grindelwald went on. "The term Squib usually means someone born to wizarding families who cannot use magic. I expanded the definition. I classify as Squibs anyone who has magic but cannot use it. There are far more of these people than you think."
"When a wizard is young, they always go through uncontrolled magic outbursts. For some, the outbursts are extremely weak. If those children grow up immersed entirely in Muggle society, drilled with the belief that the supernatural doesn't exist, their magic gradually settles. Eventually it goes still and dies."
"They should have been part of the wizarding world. Yet for all kinds of reasons, they're shut out instead."
"As Muggles become more convinced of their so-called truths, fewer wizards will be born among them."
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly as he watched Grindelwald's serious expression.
His old friend had changed in many ways, yet the core of his worldview — that sense of looming danger — hadn't shifted at all. He still viewed the world with caution.
No one could really say whether that was right or wrong. How could one claim that having a sense of crisis was a mistake?
But Grindelwald expected everyone to share that same level of caution. And if everyone lived with the same alarm he did, it wouldn't be "awareness" anymore, it would become open hostility.
Caution was a burden meant for the few. Ordinary people who knew too much would only find their lives disrupted.
"Gellert, the things you're talking about aren't problems for students to worry about."
Dumbledore's voice was low. "The Ministry of Magic was founded to uphold the Statute of Secrecy and help wizards live safely among Muggles. And for the most part, they've done quite well. There are people working tirelessly for that goal."
"As for the wizard children who slip through the cracks, yes, they exist. But Hogwarts still has its founders' safeguards, and at least in Britain I can guarantee that most children with the right talent to attend Hogwarts are sitting here today."
"Quite well?" Grindelwald suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed for a long time, then snapped his gaze back to Dumbledore. "Are you sure about that, Albus? Are you sure the Muggles don't know about us?"
A prickle of dread climbed through Dumbledore's chest, but Grindelwald didn't give him time to respond.
The next moment, Grindelwald pulled out several photographs, enlarged them, and pinned them to the blackboard.
With each photograph, Grindelwald explained what was happening, until finally he dropped the bomb—the last two photos.
That did it.
Screams erupted through the Great Hall.
The open lecture ended in chaos. Prefects hurried students back to their common rooms, but the fallout was only beginning.
...
"Damn it! Those Muggles should all die! Once I graduate, I swear I'll kill them!"
The Slytherin common room was packed. Everett was roaring, face flushed with rage. Just thinking about those photos made him wish he were already a powerful Dark wizard so he could slaughter Muggles on the spot.
He wasn't the only one. Most of the students looked just as shaken and furious. Clearly, the shock had hit hard.
Daphne was curled up in Tom's arms, face pale. Astoria wasn't doing much better beside her. Tom held them both, trying to steady their breathing and ease their trembling.
All the fear and anger came from those final two photographs.
The fear was simple: they showed children around their age—some even younger—cut open on an operating table. No censoring. Nothing blurred. Just raw, unfiltered brutality and blood.
The anger came from who those children were.
They were wizards. More precisely, they were young witches and wizards whose accidental magic had alarmed their parents, who were then taken to hospitals and reported to the authorities.
Slytherins might be pure-blood supremacists, but they still saw Muggle-borns and half-bloods as their own kind. Seeing those images triggered a cold, visceral sense of "that could be us."
There's no such thing as a perfect secret. A hidden society of three million people living among Muggles without a single leak was impossible.
At least the people stationed at places like the pyramids knew about wizards. Sirius Black's wanted posters had made Muggle news, and after Voldemort's return, Scrimgeour had met with the Muggle Prime Minister.
Anything extraordinary breeds curiosity and greed. The students couldn't grasp that, but what baffled Tom was that most adults in the wizarding world didn't seem to grasp it either.
Dumbledore's reaction earlier—the terror and fury when he saw the photos and heard Grindelwald explain—was genuine. He had truly been shocked to his core.
Watching the Slytherins seethe with rage, looking ready to storm the Muggle world for revenge, Tom finally spoke up.
"Quiet."
His voice was laced with magic. Instantly the noise died and dozens of eyes turned toward him.
Tom scanned the room. "If Grindelwald showed those photos, then I guarantee those people's fate is already sealed. Even if you want revenge, you won't find anyone left to avenge against."
Considering Grindelwald's methods and beliefs, no one questioned that. The tension eased a little.
"Tragedies have always existed. Danger has always been close. This isn't much different from the Witch Hunts we learn about in History of Magic, only now it's hidden and handled by fewer people."
"You don't need to overthink it. I stand with wizards in this. But I don't support retaliation."
"Why not! Riddle, didn't you see the damn pictures?" someone burst out.
"..."
"Because you don't know who your enemy is."
Tom answered patiently. "Randomly attacking Muggles would only increase the risk of exposing the wizarding world. Then you'd be criminals against your own kind. Can you bear that?"
"And besides… Dumbledore was right about one thing."
Tom's voice dropped. "This is the Ministry's responsibility."
"So, if they can't handle it, then we replace them with people who can."
.
.
.