From that day onward, Wayne stopped visiting Cho for several days.
This tactic came from Grindelwald.
When someone's angry, divert their attention - introduce something more distressing, and the original anger gets forgotten.
Once resolved, their mood improves.
Later, recalling the initial grievance, their perspective shifts.
Not necessarily complete forgiveness, but certainly softened attitudes.
Wayne suspected Grindelwald had frequently used this on Dumbledore, given how convincingly he explained it.
He'd adapted the approach for Cho's personality.
Those daily desserts had secretly contained potions to slightly enhance her physique... with the side effect of temporary weight retention.
After about a week, her slender figure would naturally return without effort.
Believing her 'diet' was successful, a delighted Cho would be far more receptive to reconciliation.
Perfect plan!
...
On the third day, Newt returned. He successfully captured the Horned Serpent in a marsh near Edinburgh, where Newt had lain in wait for three full days before seizing the opportunity.
This visit was solely to deliver the gemstone to Wayne.
Before arriving, he'd already handed the Horned Serpent over to officials from MACUSA. By now, it was probably already home, precisely to prevent Wayne from getting any ideas.
Like a mouse catching a scent, Jerry scurried over from nowhere the moment Newt produced the gemstone, staring at it with desperate longing.
"This isn't for you," Wayne chuckled, tucking it into his pocket.
Instead of accepting the gemstone, he handed Newt a wooden strip. "Since you're helping anyway, could you deliver both the gemstone and this snakewood to Nicolas? Ask him to craft a wand for Nagini."
Nicolas's craftsmanship wouldn't match Ollivander's excellence, of course – it wasn't his profession.
But with such premium materials, the resulting wand wouldn't fall far short.
Newt nodded. "I was planning to visit Nicolas anyway. Anything else you need?"
"Nothing more. Thank you."
...
With Newt gone, Wayne retreated into his laboratory again.
Term time approached, yet his money-making scheme remained unprepared. These final days demanded intense work to complete the game's development.
A week passed in the blink of an eye. Another dawn arrived.
At Lawrence's doorstep, urgent knocking sounded.
"Gardevoir!"
The Gardevoir opened the door, offering a slight bow as she admitted the young woman outside.
"Good morning, Gardevoir," Cho greeted. "Where's Wayne? Still asleep?"
Gardevoir nodded slightly.
Cho stamped her foot in frustration. She'd been dieting and exercising rigorously to lose weight over the past few days, while Wayne had been lazing about sleeping.
Her irritation mounting, Cho stormed upstairs and barged into the bedroom, shaking the snoring Wayne awake.
"Wayne, look at me! Where's this double chin you accused me of having? You liar... Ah!"
Cho tumbled onto the bed as her body tilted, immediately finding herself in a firm embrace. As she began struggling, a sleep-mumbled whisper came from behind:
"Even if you had one, I'd still fancy you all the same."
Her rigid form gradually softened. After a silent moment, Cho shifted slightly to let the boy hold her more comfortably, slowly closing her eyes.
"You impossible man..."
What Cho didn't see was the sudden slight upturn of Wayne's lips.
...
With all immediate troubles resolved, Wayne returned to ordinary life.
Cho ended her cold war with Wayne, though she now consumed copious amounts of sweets daily, before making him accompany her on exercise sessions.
Hermione's complexion had restored – even surpassed – its original fairness with the ointment's help, finally letting her venture outside again.
Seeing Hermione's radiant skin, Cho burned with envy until Wayne mass-produced batches of the beauty cream, distributing plentiful amounts to every girl.
With under three days until term began, a letter arrived at Wayne's home, abruptly reminding him of unfinished business.
After informing Hermione, who was currently using the Virtual Brain Machine to revise next term's coursework, he left the house.
...
Barty Crouch Sr., the current head of the pure-blooded Crouch Family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, fluent in over a hundred different species' languages.
Once, he had been the most prestigious official in the Ministry of Magic, highly revered by wizards for advocating that Aurors be permitted to use Unforgivable Curses against Death Eaters and Voldemort.
At that time, he was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the most promising candidate to become the next Minister for Magic.
But then he had a son who was a Death Eater. Because of this, Barty Crouch Sr.'s reputation plummeted, costing him the Minister's seat and relegating him to the powerless Department of International Magical Cooperation, effectively ending his political career.
Yet even in this insignificant department, Crouch's work ethic remained unchanged. He handled matters with meticulous care, gradually reclaiming some of his lost standing—though Fudge remained wary of him.
...
Late at night.
In a small community in Hackney, East London.
Wayne stood on an empty patch of land, eyes closed as he focused his senses. After a moment, he opened them and exhaled in relief.
"Good, no Fidelius Charm. Otherwise, this trip would've been wasted."
The young man drew his wand, and dazzling starlight gathered at its tip, shimmering brilliantly in the darkness.
He wielded the wand like a blade, slashing twice through the air. The space before him split open, revealing an ancient house.
Once the gap widened enough, Wayne stepped inside.
Down in the basement, Crouch's expression darkened at the sudden blaring of urgent alarms.
He Apparated instantly to the front yard, where he spotted a handsome young man surveying his surroundings.
Whoosh!
Not one to underestimate someone just because they were young, Crouch pointed his wand at Wayne and demanded sharply:
"Who are you? Why have you broken into my home?"
"My apologies for meeting you this way, Mr Crouch," Wayne said politely, removing his hat and giving a slight bow. "But I truly had no more suitable alternative."
"You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?" Crouch remained unmoved, the tip of his wand now glowing faintly.
Ignoring him, Wayne pushed open the door and strode into the front hall, casually taking a seat.
Crouch had countless opportunities to strike at the boy's back—yet he forced himself to hold back.
He didn't know why, but an instinct gnawed at him.
If he attacked... the consequences would be dire.
Crouch had always trusted his instincts. The last time he'd felt this uneasy was over a decade ago.
Back then, his son had been sentenced to Azkaban—by his own hand.
Choosing the seat farthest from Wayne, Crouch sat opposite him.
"Winky!" Crouch called abruptly, and a house-elf appeared before him.
"Master."
"Prepare tea for our guest. The finest blend."
"Yes!"
Wayne maintained a gentle smile, thanking Winky when she served the tea and taking a small sip.
"Excellent tea, though a bit strong. I shan't sleep tonight."
Crouch ignored the remark, his voice low and firm. "I've fulfilled my duties as a host. Now, will you state your identity and purpose?"
"Ah, that." Wayne set down his cup and murmured, "My name is Wayne Lawrence..."
"Wayne Lawrence?" Crouch's sharp memory instantly retrieved the relevant information.
"Two-time recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, inventor of the improved Wolfsbane Potion and the Flying Potion, Hufflepuff second-year—no, soon to be third-year."
Wayne grew puzzled. "Aren't you from the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Why are you recording my details?"
"Recently, the entire Ministry of Magic has been working overtime because of you." Crouch's expression was far from friendly. "You must have relatives in high Muggle government positions. They've been pressuring the Ministry to capture Black as quickly as possible."
"Staff from every department have been mobilised, taking shifts and even accompanying Aurors on missions."
"Is that so?" Wayne rubbed his hands together. He genuinely hadn't known about this.
"Perfectly understandable." The young man smiled. "This is a prisoner who managed to escape from Azkaban. No amount of caution is excessive."
"The Ministry will undoubtedly capture this first prisoner in history to break out of Azkaban," Crouch said calmly.
"The first?" Wayne smirked meaningfully. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
Crouch's heart skipped a beat. "What are you implying? Such a serious incident is absolutely unprecedented. If your History of Magic is lacking, you might consult Professor Binns."
"Let me tell you a story." Wayne toyed with his fingers, ignoring Crouch's sarcasm, and continued as if speaking to himself:
"Once, there was a highly influential Ministry official, deeply respected by all. Yet his own son was a wicked Dark Wizard, whom he personally sent to Azkaban..."
Crouch's heart pounded violently as he clenched his fists tightly.
Wayne continued, "After a few years, the official couldn't withstand his gravely ill wife's desperate pleas. He took her to Azkaban, used Polyjuice Potion to swap his son's identity with hers, and successfully smuggled his son out."
"Not long after, the official's wife died of illness in Azkaban..."
"Winky!" Crouch roared, springing to his feet and pointing his wand at Wayne. Simultaneously, the house-elf Apparated before him with a snap of her fingers.
Ripples of magic shimmered in the air before Wayne. Undeterred, Crouch and Winky continued casting spells—especially Crouch, whose eyes became bloodshot as he finally shouted:
"Avada Kedavra!"
The killing curse, brimming with murderous intent, reached its target in an instant. Yet to Crouch's astonishment, the barrier intercepted even this.
"Had enough?" Wayne extended a finger, and both Winky and Crouch found themselves uncontrollably drawn together by a powerful force.
The dining table transformed into sturdy ropes, binding them tightly.
Winky attempted to Apparate, but the surrounding space had warped—even a house-elf's mastery of teleportation couldn't overcome such conditions.
Wayne approached the bound pair, snatched Crouch's wand, and shook his head ruefully.
"Just listening to a story warrants this reaction?"
"Wayne Lawrence, what exactly do you want?" Even restrained, Crouch remained composed.
He knew Wayne wanted something—otherwise, why visit and deliver this monologue? Why spare him after a Killing Curse?
"Excellent question, Mr Crouch. I appreciate dealing with intelligent men like yourself." Wayne gave an approving thumbs-up.
"The East has an ancient saying: 'A wise man submits to circumstances...'" Wayne paused, realising his tone had become oddly militaristic, and corrected himself:
"I'm here to sincerely invite you to join a grand endeavour."
"Sincerely?" Crouch glanced pointedly at his bonds.
"Naturally." Wayne pretended not to notice his sceptical look. "Your connections and abilities are precisely what I require."
Crouch's mouth twisted. "You want to be Minister for Magic? Isn't it premature to consider that now?"
"Of course not." Wayne shook his head. "Who sits in the Minister's chair matters less than who truly controls the ministry's machinery."
"Hence my need for seasoned operators like you."
"As a puppet, temporarily?"
Crouch fell silent.
Regardless of circumstances, Crouch always strove to maintain decorum.
Right now, he desperately wanted to swear.
"I'm a marginal figure at the Ministry. Fudge has been wary of me. If you know about my son, you must realise this."
"If you intend to threaten me with Barty's existence, you may as well kill me now."
"Mr Crouch." Wayne crouched to meet Crouch's gaze and asked softly, "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"
Crouch possessed an exceptional memory—and pureblood heritage.
He remembered immediately what a Horcrux was.
"What are you implying?" he asked warily.
"Some rather interesting events occurred at Hogwarts last year..." Wayne revealed Tom's existence and the news that Voldemort possessed more than one Horcrux.
Crouch's expression gradually darkened.
It looked even fouler than when Wayne had subdued him with a single move earlier.
When it came to hatred towards Voldemort, Crouch could cast the Unforgivable Curses on him ten times consecutively without catching his breath.
The root of all his family's misfortunes was Voldemort. Without him, Barty Jr. wouldn't have gone astray, and his wife wouldn't have contracted a serious illness, ultimately dying in prison.
Now, hearing his enemy still lived, the veins on Mr Crouch's forehead pulsed abnormally, clearly enraged to the extreme.
"I understand you, sir," Wayne said sympathetically, patting his shoulder. "Lost your wife, your child disowns you, didn't become Minister for Magic either."
"Love, family, career – you've got nothing. Few could match your level of misery."
Crouch: "..."
When did young wizards start conversing like this?
"I can help you," Wayne said with a gentle smile. "Though your son's beyond saving, don't you want revenge?"
"According to the so-called prophecy, Voldemort will definitely return. After all he's done to you, wouldn't you want to destroy one of his Horcruxes personally... or more?"
"You?" Crouch's gaze at Wayne brimmed with distrust. "Even Dumbledore couldn't kill him permanently. What makes you think you can?"
Wayne met his eyes steadily. "Could Dumbledore at my age have beaten you into a bloody pulp?"
"I..."
Crouch was left speechless.
"You can refuse, of course," the young man patted his shoulder again. "I won't kill you – just erase your memories of today... Then kill your son."
"At most, your wife's dying wish goes unfulfilled. Her life traded for a few extra years of Barty Crouch Jr.'s miserable existence."
"Hardly the end of the world."
Crouch's composure was shattered completely.
'You might as well just kill me, damn it!'