"Hahahaha…"
Wild laughter echoed through the Headmaster's office. In the Pensieve, silver mist churned and rippled, reflecting the face of Ryan Smith—twisted with frenzy and ecstasy.
Head thrown back, nose bleeding, Ryan laughed madly, as though he already held supreme power in his hands.
Then, his image sank into the Pensieve, merging with the slowly swirling silver fog.
Dumbledore removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. He had the distinct feeling that the scene would linger in his mind for a while.
"I have to ask, Wade—"
He glanced across at the boy opposite him. "Did you cast a Confundus Charm on him to make him arrogant? Or did you feed him an overdose of Felix Felicis?"
"Neither," Wade shook his head.
"If I gave him Felix Felicis, I'd risk cursing my own luck. As for my Confundus Charm, it only made him believe he had gained Rowena Ravenclaw's knowledge. The rest… that was all Ryan Smith's own imagination at work."
"In other words, what we just saw was his true desire—to help Voldemort unify the wizarding world, while at the same time treating Voldemort as a tool to fulfill his own ambition?"
Even with all his experience, Dumbledore found himself at a loss for words. A trace of bewilderment flickered in his eyes.
Even if Ryan Smith had truly gained Rowena Ravenclaw's wisdom and knowledge, how could he be so sure he could turn that knowledge into power?
Magical strength, combat skill, adaptability… in which of these did he believe he surpassed Voldemort?
Even a thousand years ago, Rowena Ravenclaw had not been the most powerful witch of her age.
For someone like Dumbledore, who habitually weighed every angle, Ryan's shallow, almost laughably naïve delusion was difficult to comprehend.
"I was surprised as well," Wade said calmly.
"Someone who appeared so steady, wise, and friendly—yet the moment he thought he had gained power, his true nature turned out uglier than many Death Eaters'."
Dumbledore tapped the edge of the Pensieve lightly. "Then tell me, Wade… what is your plan?"
—How do you intend to use this ambitious young man?
Wade did not avoid Dumbledore's gaze. He leaned forward slightly and his eyes shone.
"Professor, don't you think… if Voldemort discovers Ryan's shallowness and ambition, would he give up using him?"
"No," Dumbledore answered at once. "Tom was more self-assured than anyone. He would never fear the ambitions of a subordinate."
"Exactly. The more superficial Ryan Smith appears, the more Voldemort will believe he can control him."
Wade continued: "Voldemort cannot trust his old Death Eaters anymore. But he might reveal secrets to someone like Ryan—secrets such as his hiding place, which Death Eaters remain at his side… and what his next move will be."
Dumbledore gave a faint nod.
Wade could not keep Ryan forever trapped in the illusion of having Ravenclaw's wisdom. During that brief window, the memory charms he had planted only gave Ryan a fraction of what he imagined he had received.
And there was a subtle twist here—Ryan believed he had gained ancient wisdom, while Voldemort believed Ryan had been ensnared by his soul fragment.
Through the communication bean, Voldemort could not confirm Ryan's condition and could still be fooled by Wade's enchantments. But if the two ever met in secret, the truth would be exposed quickly.
And if Ryan presented the "diadem" to Voldemort, the Dark Lord would immediately recognize it as nothing but a fake.
Only Dumbledore could patch this plan completely and make it truly take the shape Wade desired.
After discussing the plan, Wade returned to his dormitory to catch up on sleep. The Christmas Ball the night before had drained the students of their usual excess energy, and when he came back to the common room, most of them were still in bed.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore had not put the Pensieve away. Instead, he leaned into it, immersing himself to relive the entire process of Ryan's search for the diadem the previous night.
In Wade's memory, he had already cast a Disillusionment Charm. So even Dumbledore, watching now, could not pluck Wade out of the air.
But he knew—Wade had been right there beside him.
As he watched Ryan, dripping with sweat and frantically searching, Dumbledore's expression carried a faint heaviness and concern, which finally melted into a silent sigh.
…
Though many things had already shifted drastically because of Wade's interference, some small events still seemed to play out as if fate itself insisted on them.
For instance, Ron and Hermione had quarreled yet again. Hagrid had angered Madame Maxime by confessing that he was half-giant. Harry had overheard Snape and Karkaroff arguing in the garden.
"Those two are definitely hiding something!" Harry insisted to Wade. "They even called each other by their first names."
"So what?" Wade replied. "Harry, professors have lives outside of teaching us. They have friends, ordinary social ties. Isn't that normal?"
"It's normal for other people, but for Snape it's downright bizarre!" Harry said stubbornly. "I can't even imagine him having friends—"
He thought for a moment, then added, "If he does have friends, they must be potion ingredients lying around in a cauldron."
"Don't waste time worrying about Professor Snape's social circle, Harry," Hermione said, tapping Harry's shoulder with her quill. "You still haven't figured out the golden egg's secret, have you?"
Wade froze.
"No, I'm still working on it…"
Harry muttered evasively, then after a pause reluctantly added, "Last night, Cedric suggested I… take the golden egg to the prefects' bathroom and bathe with it."
Hermione blinked. "…Bathe?"
Then she noticed Wade's expression looked a little odd. "What do you think, Wade?" she asked.
"I…" Wade glanced at Harry and asked, "Did I never tell you that I already know what clue the golden egg gives?"
"What?" Harry grabbed Wade's arm in shock. "You solved it? When? What's with that screaming sound?"
Then, remembering Wade's question, he added, "No, you never told me."
"…Well, I thought I had."
Wade rubbed his nose and repeated the song he had heard, then explained:
"When you put the golden egg underwater, the screaming turns into the song of the merpeople. I suggest you listen to it yourself too, just in case our clues differ."
Harry nodded, quietly committing Wade's clue to memory.
He had no desire to accept Cedric's help—Cedric was, at the moment, the person he hated most—but if the reminder came from Wade, then it was no problem at all.
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