Wayne had always possessed his own unique understanding of when to stir trouble and when to play the obedient child.
First impressions were paramount. If you were perceived as a troublemaker from the outset, even subsequent good behaviour would be dismissed—perhaps even seen as an act.
But with a strong first impression? Everything changed. Even mischief could be charmingly reinterpreted as spirited cleverness in the eyes of adults.
Take now, for instance. With a few amusing school anecdotes, Wayne had the old lady in stitches.
"Such a rascal! Albus must have headaches over a student like you."
"Now, now—I did win the House Cup for Hufflepuff," Wayne protested.
Perenelle chuckled. "I'm not criticising. A lively spirit is good—it makes you harder to bully. Your senior Newt didn't fare too well at school, you know."
After lunch, the elderly lady retired to rest, leaving Nicolas Flamel finally free to speak with Wayne.
With a hint of sourness, he remarked, "Now I understand why Albus calls you a little fox."
Wayne shrugged. "Compared to the Headmaster, I'm still lacking."
"Don't emulate him," Nicolas said wistfully. "Albus is a good man, but he carries too much. Being his friend is... exhausting.
"You mustn't end up like Albus in the future—life would become far too dull."
Whenever wizards across the world spoke of Dumbledore, regardless of allegiance, none could deny his brilliance and personal charisma.
Even among Grindelwald's supporters in those days, many had willingly defected precisely because of the old man's magnetic personality.
Yet as Nicolas Flamel had observed, precisely because he was a good man, he carried too many burdens.
And because of the myriad crises he faced, he found himself compelled to manipulate other good people. Many who discerned Dumbledore's intentions chose to distance themselves.
Nicolas understood Dumbledore's contradictions, which is why he offered his assistance willingly.
Newt understood, too. Even knowing he was being nudged forward, his Hufflepuff kindness compelled him to follow Dumbledore's plans regardless.
Nicolas Flamel, having lived long enough to become wise, could almost guarantee that Wayne's future achievements would not fall short of Dumbledore's or Grindelwald's.
But he hoped Wayne wouldn't, like those two, expend excessive energy on peripheral matters.
Being true to oneself was enough.
A single thought from those in power could send ripples across the world. The wizarding world needed neither a Dark Lord nor a white one.
After offering words of advice, Nicolas didn't dwell further on the subject, instead steering the conversation back to Alchemy.
He returned the ring to the young man, remarking:
"Your foundations are solid, but your experience and knowledge are still lacking. As a result, much of the magic's potency and materials have been wasted.
"Take this section, for instance—ordinary metal treated with Dragon blood would suffice. Using mithril here is simply extravagant."
"And here..."
Wayne accepted the critique humbly. "I've read too few books. I've gone through every Alchemy text in Hogwarts' library, but even combined, they don't amount to fifty volumes."
"That's to be expected," Nicolas nodded. "Alchemy was never meant to be a mainstream discipline. Most wizards only begin studying it after coming of age, once they've secured financial stability.
"Even Beauxbatons spends a considerable number of Galleons each year, yet they can only offer rudimentary courses."
With that, he clapped his hands.
"Ouch."
Perhaps he'd overdone it—the old man let out a pained yelp.
Wayne's face darkened. If clapping could injure him, perhaps he shouldn't perform such a hazardous action.
Wait, when did clapping become considered dangerous?
"Age brings brittle bones. I ought to take more calcium tablets."
Nicolas shook his head, and the surroundings shifted once more, transporting them to a chamber lined with towering bookshelves.
The room was even larger than Hogwarts' library.
Rows upon rows of shelves were crammed with books, each standing five or six metres tall. For a moment, even Wayne couldn't estimate just how many volumes filled the space.
Rumour had it that when Beauxbatons was first established, Nicolas had donated countless books to the school and even became one of its governors.
Now, Wayne no longer doubted the rumour's validity. Longevity truly was an advantage.
These old men—each was wealthier than the last.
A thick, ancient tome floated down from the shelves, which Nicolas then handed to Wayne.
"This is the index. Just name the book you wish to read, and it will come to you automatically. After reading, simply place it on the table. After a certain time, they'll fly back to their original positions."
Wayne countered, "Any book at all?"
The old man chuckled, "Of course. I'm not Albus. Dark Magic does have its side effects, but the true danger lies in the hearts of men. I trust you won't act recklessly, my boy."
"That's hard to say," Wayne retorted with a grin. "Who knows? One day, I might take a fancy to blowing up the school."
The old man laughed heartily. "If that day ever comes, do be sure to inform me. I'd certainly come to watch. It's been a while since I've seen Albus take action. It would be quite interesting."
After the introductions, Nicolas also went back for his afternoon nap. Before leaving, he suddenly turned around.
"Forgot something important. In a few days, some old friends will be visiting with their younger generations. Newt will be coming too."
"You'll stay here with me these days. It'll be more convenient."
"Understood," Wayne replied, flipping through a catalogue. "I'll be imposing on you then."
"No, no, no," Nicolas shook his head. "There are only Perenelle and I, two decaying old folks at home. Your arrival is just perfect."
...
In the following days, Wayne's life fell into a very regular routine.
Mornings were for reading, afternoons for practice, and evenings spent accompanying the elderly couple to the opera or listening to Nicolas answer his questions.
His skills in Alchemy, Potions, and even Charms saw significant improvement.
Nicolas Flamel's collection wasn't limited to just Alchemy and potion-related books. Whether it was miscellaneous essays, notes, or even some wizard-compiled legendary tales, if Nicolas found them interesting, he'd collect a copy.
Wayne read without any particular aim, picking up whatever came to hand.
After obtaining Nicolas's permission, he took out dozens of Book-Copying Quills and a large amount of parchment to begin his 'stocktaking.'
Apart from some books enchanted with magic that could serve as magical items themselves, Wayne planned to duplicate every book here.
One day, Wayne sat at his desk with a Pensieve placed on the table.
Half an hour later, he finally lifted his head.
He extracted the strange substance inside and returned it to the small vial. These were memories of Nicolas conducting Alchemy experiments. Witnessing the entire process firsthand was undoubtedly far more efficient than reading about it.
What he'd been viewing today was the method for crafting a Pensieve.
If he mastered it, he could make his own Pensieve and no longer have to envy Dumbledore's.
Returning these Memory Vials to their original places, Wayne murmured softly, "Kitchen."
The scene shifted, and he found himself directly in the kitchen, where a sweet, seductive voice greeted him.
"Master Lawrence, what would you like to eat? My body has everything~"
"Please, enjoy me to your heart's content~"
Every time he heard this voice, Wayne's eyelids would twitch involuntarily. It was utterly ridiculous.
Who would have thought that this voice—capable of stirring certain reactions—actually belonged to a refrigerator?
Was the old man having too much fun?
"Master Lawrence..." When Wayne didn't respond for a while, the refrigerator cooed again, almost petulantly.
"Stop, stop, stop," Wayne hastily raised his hand. "Just give me some blackberries and mangoes. And don't speak."
"Whyyy~" The refrigerator sounded aggrieved. "But I—"
"If you say another word, I'll stuff rotten eggs into your body."
This finally silenced the succubus refrigerator.
Who knew what state Nicolas had been in when he created these pieces of furniture? They all turned out to be bizarre contraptions.
The refrigerator was like this.
The TV would add its own commentary during soap operas, often talking more than the actual dialogue.
The air conditioner would occasionally sneeze, causing the room's temperature to drop by four or five degrees abruptly.
Even the robotic vacuum had a strange temper—any passing dog would get a thorough rub-down, leaving behind a few tufts of fur before being allowed to leave.
When he got around to renovating his own home, he definitely wouldn't be as... unrestrained as Nicolas.
After a simple meal of fruit, Wayne called Nabby over. "Where are Nicolas and the others?"
"Master Lawrence, the master and mistress are at the Beach Hall," the House-elf replied respectfully.
The Beach Hall was an artificial beach created by Nicolas through special means, blessed with perpetual sunlight.
When Wayne arrived, the old man was lounging on the sand in full Hawaiian attire, sporting oversized sunglasses.
Perenelle was there too, waving at Wayne with a smile when she saw him.
"Come over quickly. I was just wondering whether to call you—dinner will be ready soon."
"Newt and the others are arriving tomorrow, along with some old friends. Wayne, do you have formal robes?"
"I do." With a thought, Wayne's Supreme Heaven Robe transformed into a dazzling new design.
"Oh?" Nicolas lowered his glasses slightly, eyeing him with interest. "Did you make this garment yourself?"
"No, I came across it by chance," Wayne said. "You're welcome to study it if you're interested—I can't make head or tail of it."
As he spoke, he removed the robe and handed it to Nicolas.
"Don't go breaking the boy's things," Perenelle warned.
Nicolas smiled wryly. Why did his domestic standing always drop whenever Wayne visited?
Had Newt known his thoughts, he would have nodded vigorously in agreement.
After discussing some questions about Pensieve construction, it was time for dinner, and the trio returned to the dining hall.
The greatest joy here was mealtimes. The Flamels' House-elf in charge of cooking was called Pompeii, now over two hundred years old.
His great-grandfather had served the Flamel family as a House-elf.
Since that time, their lineage has specialised exclusively in culinary arts, leaving all other chores aside.
By Pompeii's generation, his skills surpassed all master chefs, particularly in French cuisine—he was quite literally the Nicolas Flamel of the culinary world.
Without hesitation, Wayne summoned his Gardevoir to learn from Pompeii.
When Nicolas first saw Gardevoir, he was astonished. He'd never encountered such a creature before, and it matched no known legend. He scoured countless references but found no clues, eventually concluding she must be a mutation.
Hearing this conclusion, Wayne simply smiled knowingly.
...
The next day, the gathering finally arrived, with Newt making it just in time alongside Tina.
"Grandma Tina!" Wayne was delighted to see her. "What brings you here?"
"I came specifically to hold you accountable," Tina said sternly, putting on a displeased expression. "How many letters did you send me last term?"
"I've been busy," Wayne scratched his head. "You know how tiring school can be."
"Busy causing mischief, more like."
Seeing the boy's flustered expression, Tina's stern facade melted into laughter.
"Enough teasing. If I hadn't come, Newt wouldn't have made it to France at all—he's still on the Ministry of Magic's blacklist here. This time I'm not here as his wife, but as his Ministry-appointed supervisor."
Now it was Newt's turn to be embarrassed, his cheeks reddening as Wayne enjoyed the spectacle. "Tina, there's no need to share such things with the children."
"Senior, you're really something," Wayne chuckled. "And you had the nerve to ask me to travel with you back then."
"I was originally planning to smuggle you in," Newt said sheepishly.
Seeing how happily everyone was chatting, Perenelle was also delighted—the house hadn't been this lively in a long time.
However, she still reminded them, "It's about time. Nicolas has already gone ahead. You should hurry along as well."
"Aren't you coming?" Wayne asked, looking at her curiously.
Perenelle shook her head gently. "A bunch of old men gathering just to discuss academic research holds no interest for me. I'll pass."
...
Nicolas' gathering wasn't held in the main castle but in a villa not far away.
This made sense, as the attendees weren't just his old friends but also their acquaintances and some younger generations.
Nicolas, who valued his privacy highly, wouldn't let them enter his home casually.
Even Wayne's presence here was only possible due to Newt's recommendation and Dumbledore's guarantee.
And even then, he had to pass the initial test to earn their approval.
The three of them let Nabby lead the way, taking an underground passage to their destination. Pushing open the heavy door, they entered a large hall.
Inside, over a dozen people were already present, with two of them engaged in a heated debate.
"The application of the Acceleration Charm must be handled with care. The incantation isn't the limitation—the materials are. Excessive speed reduces a broom's lifespan and increases safety risks. We must prioritise stability."
"That's no excuse for dragging your feet, Craggeorn. At this rate, the Nimbus Company will inevitably fall behind its competitors."
"Impossible. Comet and Cleansweep don't have the technology for it."
"Gentlemen, pause for a moment," Nicolas interjected upon seeing Wayne and the others.
"Let's not give our young guest a spectacle to laugh at."
Only then did the others in the room shift their attention.
Nicolas moved over to Wayne. "Allow me to introduce Wayne Lawrence, the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin."
"Pleasure to see you again, Mr Lawrence," an elderly man said with a smile.
Wayne nodded politely. "Good to see you, Mr Damocles."
A tall woman seated to Nicolas' right looked pleasantly surprised.
"Mr Lawrence, had I known you were here with Nicolas, I would've visited much sooner."
"Madame Maxime, it's been a while. You look radiant—life must be treating you well."
"Hah!" Maxime laughed heartily yet elegantly, her delight growing as she thought of the students she'd brought today.
What a fortunate coincidence—fate smiles upon Beauxbatons!
Nicolas then proceeded to introduce Wayne to the other distinguished figures in the room.
They were either renowned scholars, master alchemists, or individuals of significant influence in the wizarding world.
For instance, the two men who had been arguing earlier were Hassan Mostafa, President of the International Quidditch Association, and Craggeorn Gis, founder of the Nimbus Company.
Reactions to Wayne varied—some were indifferent, while others greeted him warmly, but none displayed hostility.
Merely being allowed into this room meant Nicolas Flamel had already vouched for him.
Given the man's discernment and experience, he wouldn't misjudge someone—Wayne undoubtedly had exceptional qualities.