In the dormitory, Wayne was video calling Nagini.
After some time apart, the serpent-woman's complexion had improved noticeably. Even through the page, one could sense her mature allure.
Though aware Wayne didn't particularly care, the ever-dutiful Nagini still reported the shop's affairs.
"Due to the start of term, sales of prank items have been poor recently, but household products and the quill series are doing quite well."
"With Madam Greengrass and Mr Crouch's assistance, I've secured an order from the Ministry of Magic—they'll be purchasing large quantities of quills every month."
At this, Nagini smiled. "Having connections really makes business much easier."
Wayne nodded with a chuckle. "I know exactly what you mean."
Having influence in high places worked wonders. Both Crouch and Madam Greengrass held considerable power within the Ministry. For minor matters like quill procurement, a slight nudge was all it took to designate Nagini as the preferred supplier.
Same quality, same price—why would they buy from her?
It all came down to favours and connections.
However, when it came to the Aurors, things weren't so straightforward.
Samples of protective gear had long been delivered to the Auror Office, yet there had been no response.
Exactly which stage had hit a snag? Neither Nagini nor even Wayne could figure it out. They'd have to ask Crouch for clarification.
Once business matters were settled, their conversation turned to daily life.
Nagini now lived in Wayne's home, commuting to Diagon Alley via Muggle buses each morning. Since the shop closed late, she simply Apparated back in the evenings.
Speaking of such mundane routines, Nagini wore an expression of pure contentment—this peaceful, ordinary life was something she'd only ever dreamed of before.
"Isn't it too much work for you alone?" Wayne's focus, however, was different. "How about I get you a House-elf to help?"
"Absolutely not," Nagini said hurriedly. "Let's not have anyone else in our home."
"Not even a house-elf."
"As you wish."
Wayne chuckled.
...
In the blink of an eye, Saturday arrived.
Just yesterday, Wayne had placated the other girls and rescheduled Harry and Malfoy's lessons to Sunday, clearing his entire Saturday.
All because today was Hermione's birthday.
Technically, it should have been yesterday, but with classes in the way, they'd decided to celebrate today instead.
Incidentally, though Hermione and Cho were a year apart, their birthdays fell just over a month apart.
Hogwarts' cut-off was September, meaning even a September 1st birthday would place a student in the following year's intake.
Whenever Hermione mentioned this to Wayne, she'd tease that had she been born twenty days earlier, he'd have to call her 'senior' now.
Naturally, Wayne never let her gloat, always retaliating with verbal reprimands.
Early that morning, he'd entered the suitcase world to prepare the venue.
He hadn't been at it long when he sensed Crouch activating the Mark.
Frowning, Wayne still responded.
...
Crouch Manor.
White smoke coalesced once more, forming a human silhouette.
"What is it?" Wayne asked.
"Several matters, actually." Even at home, Crouch wore his usual stern expression.
"Make it quick. I'm busy here too."
"Is this truly the legendary Holy Grail?" Crouch pointed at the cup before him.
"In a fashion," Wayne gave an ambiguous reply.
"What do you mean by that?" The meticulous Crouch was dissatisfied with this answer.
"The prototype is indeed the Holy Grail from Christian legend, but it's not the same as what you understand."
Crouch frowned. "Why would you bring out such a precious treasure?"
"Don't tell me you didn't understand the runes on it." Wayne chuckled. "Isn't the reason written quite clearly?"
"My knowledge hasn't been returned to my teachers yet." Crouch raised his head slightly. "It's precisely because I saw it clearly that I'm confused."
"The Holy Grail belongs to the ultimate victor."
"Exactly, but in this game, there's only one victor—me," Wayne explained patiently. "When the ritual is complete, I'll gain the real benefit. What remains is just an empty cup—whoever wants it can take it."
"What benefit?" Crouch grew even more curious.
"A wish."
Wayne's voice turned eerie. "Any wish, within certain limits, the Holy Grail will grant it for you."
Crouch's breathing suddenly became rapid, his eyes bloodshot as he stared fixedly at the white smoke.
As if knowing what he was thinking, Wayne, far away at Hogwarts, wore a mischievous smirk:
"Perhaps even resurrection is possible?"
"Give me the wish!" Crouch slammed the table and stood up, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"If you're willing to give me this opportunity, I'll give you anything you want. The Crouch family's millennia-old treasures, accumulated connections—I can help you ascend to the Minister for Magic's seat, become the youngest Minister for Magic, just give me the wish!"
As he spoke, Crouch even gripped his wand.
"Hmm?"
With a bang, the smoky figure exploded into chains that lunged at Crouch.
Crouch instinctively tried to resist, but after shattering a few chains, even more surrounded him, coiling around his limbs.
"Master!"
The house-elf Winky heard the commotion and rushed over, only to be blasted away by a burst of smoke.
"Come to your senses, Mr. Crouch."
The remaining smoke formed a human face, floating before Crouch.
Wayne felt little reaction to Crouch's frenzy.
He could guarantee that if Snape learned of this, his reaction would be even more exaggerated—he might even agree to serve as Wayne's lackey for life.
Dumbledore would be no different.
Faced with a chance to resurrect Ariana, Dumbledore would never let it go.
Just think of how he'd behaved after discovering the Resurrection Stone—wise for a lifetime, yet ultimately felled by familial love, outmanoeuvred by Voldemort.
If Wayne refused, Dumbledore might even resort to force. In a worst-case scenario, Wayne might face a joint assault from both the Dark and White Lords?
"You're a Ravenclaw. Don't act as recklessly as a lion. Be honest—do the conditions you just listed truly qualify you for this opportunity?"
With Wayne's help, Crouch was forcibly calmed.
Yes... a chance to return from death—why would it ever fall to him?
Minister for Magic? Wayne had already said he had no interest.
Wealth? The Greengrass family was richer than the Crouches.
His connections?
Even without the Holy Grail, wouldn't he still obediently work for Wayne?
Were there so few in the wizarding world with regrets?
He had no more capital left.
"You shouldn't have told me!" Crouch gritted his teeth.
He'd already glimpsed hope, seen it right before his eyes, yet it remained as intangible as flowers reflected in a mirror or the moon's reflection in water.
How much better it would have been to remain ignorant!
"As an honest Hufflepuff, I naturally had to tell you the truth when you asked for reasons."
Wayne spoke earnestly, but Crouch was furious enough to kill.
"Thank you so much!"
"Don't mention it. We're allies after all."
Crouch closed his eyes. "If we're allies, could you let me down now?"
He was entirely bound by chains, suspended mid-air.
Snap!
The smoke dispersed before reforming into a human shape, and Crouch fell to the ground.
He gazed pleadingly at the figure before him. "Mr Lawrence, is the Holy Grail truly a single-use item?"
"I'm afraid so. I'd love to reuse it – it'd be more environmentally friendly – but alas... It's disposable." Wayne shook his head regretfully. "After use, it's just an ordinary metal cup with no special properties."
"However... since I found one Holy Grail, who's to say I can't find another?"
Like a drowning man clutching at straws, hope reignited in Crouch's eyes.
"Then you—"
"I said it depends on value," Wayne spoke coolly. "If you demonstrate worth and capability deserving of a wish, why wouldn't I grant it?"
"Yes, sir." Crouch lowered his proud head.
The rebellious thoughts he might have harboured before were gone now... All he desired was for Wayne to find a second Grail, the sooner the better.
If it could truly resurrect his wife, he'd willingly surrender everything.
"Enough. If there's anything else, out with it." Wayne checked the time – he still needed to attend Hermione's birthday and couldn't waste hours on some old man.
"We've encountered significant difficulties expanding the Triwizard Tournament."
Moments later, Crouch had regained his composure, at least superficially.
"Fudge shows little interest. The Ministry lacks sufficient funds for a student competition."
"He's more focused on the World Cup. Its success would elevate his prestige – there's no need to pursue similar projects."
"Fudge?" Wayne frowned. "What if others provided funding?"
"He'd never refuse free political capital."
"The Greengrass family alone wouldn't suffice." Crouch shook his head slowly. "It would only deepen Fudge's suspicions."
"He's inherently distrustful. He'd suspect Madame Greengrass of ulterior motives."
"Other nations then?" Wayne suggested. "I could have the other schools contribute to cover the shortfall."
"That..." Crouch hesitated briefly. "Should work."
Fudge wouldn't refuse free publicity.
"I'll contact the other schools. You continue advancing the matter."
"Understood."
Wayne calculated – Lafferty at Ilvermorny had always been keen on the Tournament. He'd surely agree to participate for a reasonable cost.
The same logic applied to Mahoutokoro – their lead professor had practically grovelled before Madame Maxime last time.
As for Uagadou...
"Forget this one, the school's a bit poor."
As for Castelobruxo, Wayne truly had no connection whatsoever.
Still, having two colleges willing to contribute should be sufficient.
"With Fudge dealt with, only one major obstacle remains," Crouch continued. "Dumbledore - his stance is crucial."
"I ran into him the other day and mentioned it in passing. Though he didn't say it outright, I could tell he's opposed."
"You saw Dumbledore? Where?" Wayne asked in surprise.
Dumbledore had been missing for nearly half a month. How had they encountered him?
"At the Ministry of Magic," said Crouch. "He came to obtain permission to visit a prisoner in Azkaban."
"Azkaban..." Wayne pondered, roughly understanding how far Dumbledore's investigation had progressed, and nodded. "You can deliver the Holy Grail directly to the Headmaster. I think he'll be interested."
"I understand," Crouch replied solemnly.
"Right, keep up the good work. I won't treat you unfairly. Off to cook now." With that, Wayne severed the connection.
As the smoke dissipated, Crouch stood frozen in place.
Wayne had seemed so urgent that he'd assumed it was genuinely important.
And yet... he'd gone off to cook?
...
In the kitchen, Wayne was preparing ingredients when Hermione arrived.
The young witch leaned on the dining table, chin in hand, watching him bustle about with an unconscious smile.
It was her birthday today, and Wayne had promised to personally cook a feast to celebrate. To prevent him from cheating with Gardevoir's help, she'd come early to 'supervise.'
Seeing the boy's methodical approach, at least she needn't worry about encountering any culinary disasters.
This was also Wayne's birthday gift to Hermione.
Truthfully, he could have presented something far more valuable as a gift, but after consideration, he chose not to.
Preparing gifts for every occasion was rather exhausting. If this gift were exceptionally lavish, wouldn't the next one need to be at least equally impressive?
Once or twice was manageable, but where would one find enough treasures in the world for endless gifts?
Thus, Wayne decided to stop giving material presents altogether. From now on, equality for all—whoever's birthday it was, he'd spend the day with them, cooking personally to express his sincerity.
After considerable effort, all dishes were ready: lasagne, fish and chips, roast chicken, vegetable salad, cream of mushroom soup, and the most time-consuming item—the birthday cake.
Adorning the cake was a chibi cartoon character Hermione instantly recognised as herself, prompting her to pout.
"You made me so adorable, I can't bear to eat it."
"What's the issue?" Wayne grinned, raising the knife—slicing the chibi Hermione cleanly in two.
Hermione: "..."
"Ahhh! It's my birthday and you're still annoying me!"
Hermione lunged at him, claws out. Wayne dodged, his hands now smeared with cream, which he promptly smeared on Hermione's cheeks.
This escalated uncontrollably, the once-pristine birthday cake becoming a weapon as they smeared cream on each other's faces.
Only when exhausted did Hermione raise her hands in surrender—yet Wayne didn't relent until he'd transformed her into a little cream-covered kitten.
Admiring his handiwork, Wayne nodded approvingly. "Now you're even cuter."
"Let's eat!"
The young witch huffed, kicking Wayne's shin before rushing to wash up in the kitchen.
She'd even put on lovely makeup today with Lavender Brown's help—now utterly ruined by Wayne.
Taking a bite of lasagne, Hermione's expression brightened with surprise.
"It's even better than I imagined."
"Of course. I followed Gardevoir's recipe precisely," Wayne said, sampling a piece himself.
The flavour still fell short compared to what Gardevoir could make, but it was far better than the House-elves at school.
To complement the atmosphere, Wayne had prepared a bottle of wine.
His original intention was for Hermione to just take a symbolic sip, nothing more.
Yet the underage drinking laws were completely forgotten by the excited young witch, who kept demanding Wayne pour her more until her glass was half-full—at which point he firmly refused to give her another drop.
By the end of the meal, Hermione's pretty face had flushed scarlet, her gaze growing hazy as she pouted in a coquettish tone:
"Wayne, is this really all you prepared for my birthday? Just a meal?"
"Of course not." Wayne wrapped an arm around the slender girl's waist and flew out of the wooden cabin, landing on the grassy lawn.
He drew his wand and pointed it skyward, unleashing a surge of formidable magical power.
In an instant, the heavens shifted—the clear daytime sky darkened, transforming into night within moments.
Countless stars twinkled overhead.
Rose-shaped candles suddenly bloomed across the ground, forming a large heart that encircled them both.
Melodious singing echoed around them as Ho-Oh streaked across the firmament, scattering a rainbow of light in its wake.
Wayne extended his hand and asked softly:
"Fair lady, might I have the honour of this dance?"
Tears glistened in Hermione's eyes. "Of course."
...
Meanwhile, outside...
The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students were frantically searching for the pair.