Inside the Hog's Head, three figures sat around a table that had been barely wiped clean. The atmosphere was peculiar.
Wayne rested his chin on one hand, lost in thought.
Dumbledore kept his eyes downcast, focusing on his nose and then his heart, struggling not to burst out laughing.
Aberforth's chest heaved as he glanced between his brother and Wayne, finally breaking the silence with a growl:
"Go ahead and laugh, Albus! This is the fine student you've taught—using the Killing Curse to scare people!"
"Old man, who used the Killing Curse?" Wayne retorted irritably. "It was obviously just a Wand-lighting Charm because your place was too dim."
"You could've used a normal colour!" Aberforth slammed the table, glaring at Wayne. "Don't think you actually beat me just now, boy. That was a sneak attack!"
Aberforth had never dreamed that Hogwarts students these days could be so aggressive. One wrong word, and they'd strike—even resorting to such underhanded tactics, disguising a Wand-lighting Charm as the Killing Curse to intimidate someone.
He hadn't said "thank you" to Albus in decades!
"If you want a fight, fine. But I don't bully the old and weak. Once your injuries are healed, we can have a proper duel."
At Wayne's words, Aberforth's expression darkened, and he roared at Dumbledore:
"Why do you blab about everything?!"
Dumbledore, who had been stifling laughter, hastily waved his hands. "Don't misunderstand, Aberforth. I told Wayne so he could help treat you. I haven't gone around telling others."
"Treat me? Him?" Aberforth eyed Wayne suspiciously, his gaze brimming with distrust.
The root of his ailment stemmed from a vicious strike by Grindelwald years ago. Though he'd been saved at the time, the terrifying Dark Magic had clung to him like a persistent parasite, tormenting him relentlessly. Whenever he cast spells, excruciating pain would shoot through his body.
Even Albus and Nicolas Flamel had been unable to solve the problem—what could this brat possibly do?
Snap!
The young man snapped his fingers, and both Ho-Oh and Fawkes emerged from the flames. White fire, brimming with astonishing vitality, settled onto Aberforth's body, drawing a moan of relief from him.
"Ah~!"
As soon as the sound escaped, Aberforth realised his lapse and clenched his teeth, refusing to make another sound. Yet the overwhelming comfort radiating through his body continued to assault his senses, flushing his face crimson.
It was like patching up a leaky, sinking ship—not only halting its descent but purging all the filth, allowing it to rise steadily.
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed as he observed Ho-Oh and the flames, utterly astounded.
Such miraculous power—no wonder Newt had regained thirty years of youth overnight. With Ho-Oh at his side, Wayne had practically become a deity presiding over lifespan. If he wished, he could make anyone outlive a tortoise.
The boy secretly blinked. Through their mental connection, Ho-Oh sensed its master's mischievous intentions.
The flames she controlled showed a 'slight' mishap - two white embers drifted onto Dumbledore's head and merged into his body. Instantly, the old headmaster's posture straightened noticeably.
Then Ho-Oh returned to normal, making no further mistakes.
Wayne wanted to see whether Dumbledore could maintain his principles when faced with strong temptation.
And indeed he could.
Seeming to guess someone was behind this, Dumbledore pointed at Wayne with a wry expression. "Mr Lawrence, you really..."
After much thought, he could only describe it as playful. Had it been anyone else, there'd only be two possible reactions.
Either cling desperately to Wayne's coattails to curry favour for future benefits.
Or murder and rob, stealing Ho-Oh outright.
That Wayne could joke like this showed how much he trusted his Headmaster. Old Dumbledore felt rather moved.
Soon, Aberforth's life signs stabilised. Ho-Oh ceased its output, affectionately nuzzling Wayne's cheek before flying out of the bar.
Now Aberforth's temples showed black hairs returning, and his wrinkles were significantly reduced.
He felt better than ever, pacing energetically around the bar. The heavy burden on his body had vanished, leaving him incredibly light.
"Thank you, Mr Lawrence." Dumbledore also smiled, expressing sincere gratitude.
"Just don't forget our agreement."
"Of course. I've already told Minerva, though she gave me quite the scolding."
"Professor, that won't do." Wayne shook his head disapprovingly. "You need to stand firm, show Professor McGonagall who's really Headmaster here."
Dumbledore gave him a complicated look. "Is such blatant stirring really appropriate?"
"This isn't stirring." Wayne puffed his chest. "I'm supporting you, upholding the Headmaster's authority."
"I only hope you'd speak up for me in front of Minerva, too."
"You lead the charge, I'll cheer from behind."
Meanwhile, Aberforth reined in his excitement and returned to the table. "Thank you, lad. This time I mean it."
"Call me Wayne or Lawrence, Mr Dumbledore."
"As you wish, Wayne." Aberforth's voice carried new vigour, delighting Dumbledore.
Though he and his brother had their... differences, it didn't diminish his care for his only remaining family.
"Now then, Wayne." Aberforth's tone shifted. "You mentioned earlier that if I recovered, you wouldn't mind a spar. How about now?"
"Feeling competitive?" Wayne arched an eyebrow.
"Naturally." Aberforth challenged him. "What, lost your nerve?"
Wayne ignored him, turning to Dumbledore instead. "Professor, I'll help discipline your brother for you. Don't mention it."
He stood up. "Where to?"
"Follow me." Aberforth led Wayne towards the back door. When Dumbledore moved to follow, both men stopped him simultaneously.
"You (Professor) stay here. This won't take long."
The old and young men locked eyes, sparks flying between them.
...
Ten minutes later.
Aberforth limped into the kitchen to start cooking, his clothes bearing scorch marks from the duel, while Wayne sat unharmed at the bar waiting for food.
Dumbledore entered to help, prompting Aberforth to mutter, "How on earth did you teach such a little monster?"
"Did you lose badly?" Dumbledore countered instead of answering.
"No. In a life-or-death fight, I wouldn't lose," Aberforth stubbornly insisted. But under his brother's amused gaze, he finally deflated. "Fine. The brat wasn't going all out either. It was a draw. Where does he get so much magical power?"
The duel had indeed ended evenly.
Aberforth was no ordinary wizard. In his youth, he'd dared to raise his wand against Grindelwald himself and had participated in the three-way duel without sustaining major injuries. Among the few in the world who came closest to Dumbledore and Grindelwald's calibre, he stood tall.
His initial disarray stemmed from Wayne's aggressive opening strikes, which caught him off guard. Once he steadied himself, he'd merely been forced on the defensive.
"That boy's slippery as an eel. My spells couldn't land," Aberforth grumbled. "If he'd been born in our era, Grindelwald wouldn't have dared breathe a word."
At that name, the brothers' mood soured again, and conversation lapsed.
Soon, the meal was ready.
"Let's eat upstairs," Aberforth called to Wayne, leading the way.
Wayne followed.
The upper floor appeared markedly cleaner than below, its worn but spotless carpet leading to an extinguished fireplace. Above it hung a large portrait veiled by crimson velvet drapes.
Dumbledore stood before it, gently pulling a cord to part the curtains. Revealed was a very young blonde girl who looked scarcely older than Wayne.
"Ariana..." Dumbledore's voice aged decades.
The portrait girl smiled at him. Aberforth approached too, fists clenched. Wayne alone remained unmoved.
"My sister," Dumbledore said mournfully. "She was only fourteen when she died. Such a blossoming age..."
"Enough!" Aberforth snarled. "Spare us the pretence! I'm sparing your dignity in front of your student. Don't make me dredge up the past."
"Actually, do tell," Wayne egged them on. "I don't think the Headmaster would mind."
Both brothers experienced identical exasperation.
This kid... utterly incorrigible.
Not wanting to appear weak before Wayne, Aberforth indeed recounted the tangled history between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, including Ariana's death—though tactfully omitting his brother's relationship with Grindelwald.
"So neither of you knows whose spell actually killed Ariana?"
"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "Assigning blame is meaningless now. We were all responsible."
Aberforth didn't deny it but still accused: "But if you hadn't gotten involved with Grindelwald and neglected Ariana, would any of this have happened?"
"Exactly." Wayne nodded in agreement. "If I had such an adorable little sister, I'd definitely treasure her beyond measure."
Aberforth immediately found him much more agreeable.
Truly a loyal badger from Hufflepuff – so honest he'd even dare to criticise the Headmaster when he's wrong.
Previously, Aberforth had thought Wayne belonged more in Gryffindor, what with the lad's reckless tendencies.
Now he finally understood the Sorting Hat hadn't gone senile after all.
Hearing his words, Ariana in the portrait shyly hid herself. Dumbledore, listening to their reproaches, actually felt somewhat relieved. "Yes, Wayne, there are far more important things than magic itself. You mustn't follow my misguided path."
Dumbledore tried using himself as a cautionary tale, but the two were already eating heartily, paying no attention to his lecture.
"You've got real skill here, Aberforth," Wayne remarked after tasting the stew, genuinely surprised.
The cement-like substance carried surprising flavours – the freshness of seafood, the richness of beef, with subtle spice undertones.
Dipped with bread, it looked revolting but tasted unexpectedly good.
Aberforth allowed a small smile. "Wouldn't have taken over this pub without some culinary talent. Ariana always loved my cooking."
"Then you must teach my butler sometime. Don't worry, we won't steal your customers."
"After all you've done for me? Just send them over whenever." Aberforth waved dismissively, summoning two bottles of rum from the fireplace. "Care for a drink?"
"Got any Butterbeer?" Wayne asked.
"Demanding little brat," Aberforth glared, but went downstairs anyway, returning shortly with a large bottle.
Dumbledore watched them fondly – the place hadn't been this lively in years. Usually, when he visited, the brothers would barely exchange a few words before he got chased out.
Not that Aberforth spoke kindly of Dumbledore now – quite the opposite, he kept airing old grievances.
"Your dear Headmaster had your senior Scamander running in circles back then. New York, Paris, Berlin, Bhutan – wherever was most dangerous, that's where he'd send the lad."
"My brother's speciality is manipulating decent folk with emotional appeals and righteous causes. Look at Minerva – worked to the bone managing his school for him."
"Absolutely right! Cheers to that." Wayne clinked glasses enthusiastically with Aberforth.
"At least I'm safe, though. The Headmaster set his sights on Harry now, the Boy Who Lived. Suppose he'll leave me be?" He winked at a visibly uncomfortable Dumbledore.
"Hah!" Aberforth roared with laughter. "Wayne, I'm starting to like you. You're nothing like that blockheaded senior of yours. But watch yourself. My brother's no villain, yet his methods aren't much better. If he ever takes interest in you, come to me – I'll make sure he behaves."
"Please. You can't even take me in a fight, let alone the Headmaster."
"He'd dare strike me?" Aberforth's eyes bulged. "I'd go straight to Nurmengard and take it out on Grindelwald!"
"Abeforth," Dumbledore coughed twice, "Drink less. You're starting to talk nonsense."
"Who's talking nonsense?" Abeforth sneered. "Back then, he had the Elder Wand and was stronger than me. Now... I could take him down easily."
A rare look of vexation crossed Dumbledore's face.
Wayne smiled but didn't engage with the topic, instead chatting with Abeforth about the strange patrons of the Hog's Head.
The place was practically a gathering spot for Dark Wizards - all sorts of odd characters and hooded figures of dubious origins, discussing things best left in shadows.
Abeforth even mocked Hagrid, saying a single dragon egg had been enough to trick him out of his secrets.
"Only my brother would trust someone that stupid," he scoffed.
"Old chap," Wayne asked mysteriously, dropping formalities, "I heard students from our house have been selling vinegar to you?"
"Correct. Want to sell some too?" Abeforth eyed him sideways. "Don't worry, today's cooking used vinegar I bought elsewhere. Only the customers get your house's brew."
"How's the taste? I haven't tried it yet."
Abeforth's expression turned complicated. "Guaranteed you won't want a second bite after the first."
Wayne wisely abandoned his curiosity.
...
As dinner concluded, the evening approached.
Wayne had already heard the train's whistle nearby - it must have reached the terminus.
Dumbledore prepared to take Wayne back to school for the start of the term feast.
Just then, a silver tabby Patronus materialised. From its mouth came Professor McGonagall's urgent voice:
"Dumbledore, return at once! Potter and Ron Weasley flew a car to school - it's already in the Daily Prophet!"
Dumbledore's faint smile vanished instantly. "Minerva, understood. I'll be there shortly."