In the office.
Professor McGonagall sat behind the desk, a cold smile playing on her lips as she scrutinised Dumbledore standing before her.
"Apologies, Albus. It's been so long, I almost didn't recognise you."
Dumbledore gave an awkward chuckle, though inwardly he winced.
After all these years, Minerva's talent for sarcasm remained as sharp as ever.
The scene resembled a headmistress reprimanding a student.
Instinctively, Dumbledore lowered his head, his tone almost placating.
"Minerva, I've already spoken to Fudge at the Ministry. They'll send a team of Aurors to manage the Dementors. Nothing like this will happen again."
"Isn't this what you should be doing?" Professor McGonagall's expression remained unchanged. "Must you always act only after things happen? Did you expect me to praise you?"
"Of course not," Dumbledore said hastily. "I merely meant to say that fortunately, no problems arose this time, thanks to you and Wayne."
"If you'd been at school, you could have resolved it just as easily."
Professor McGonagall stated firmly, her words conveying both trust in Dumbledore and disappointment towards him.
"Albus, what exactly have you been doing? Why have you been absent from school since the term began!" Professor McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with an expression of 'frustration at his lack of effort'.
"Minerva..."
Dumbledore still didn't reveal the matters concerning Horcruxes and Tom. This secret was too crucial.
The more people who knew, the greater the risk of the information leaking.
At present, he hadn't even determined how many Horcruxes Voldemort had created. If more people found out and word reached Voldemort's ears, prompting him to relocate the other Horcruxes...
They would become even harder to find.
Worse still... Voldemort might even create more Horcruxes. That would be an absolute nightmare.
Thus far, only Wayne, Grindelwald, and Nicolas Flamel were privy to this information.
The consequence of choosing to conceal the truth was enduring a full half-hour of scolding from Professor McGonagall.
By the end, Dumbledore felt he was on the verge of losing his mind.
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall eventually remembered she was merely the Deputy Headmaster and finally let him off the hook.
But she made Dumbledore promise not to disappear without reason for the remainder of the term.
Stepping out of the office, Dumbledore sighed.
He'd finally survived that ordeal.
Fawkes had flown off to play the moment he returned, so Dumbledore had to walk back to his office alone, intending to rest briefly before summoning Wayne to discuss Crouch and the Holy Grail matter.
Along the way, young wizards greeted him with delighted surprise, bringing a smile to Dumbledore's face.
Reaching the eighth floor, the stone gargoyle suddenly came to life.
"Merlin's beard, Dumbledore, you're actually back?"
"I'd nearly forgotten you were the master here."
The gargoyle's expression was so lifelike it made Dumbledore's eyelid twitch.
Had... McGonagall taught it to say that?
"I've no immediate plans to resign," Dumbledore forced a smile. "Surely that's not so shocking?"
"Well, it hasn't been that long, but your sudden reappearance feels rather unfamiliar."
The gargoyle twisted its body and asked, "So, what's the password?"
Thinking the gargoyle was joking, Dumbledore chuckled. "Rainbow sherbet. My memory isn't that poor yet."
"Wrong," the gargoyle shook its head, showing no intention of moving aside.
Dumbledore: "???"
"Stop joking. I'm exhausted. I changed this password after term began—how could I possibly misremember?"
The gargoyle remained unmoved. "That was the previous password, not the current one. You can't enter without the correct answer~"
"I don't recall changing the password." Dumbledore began questioning his sanity—was his memory truly this bad?
"You didn't change it. Young Lawrence did," the gargoyle said matter-of-factly.
Dumbledore's breath caught, remaining speechless for a long moment.
The words Lucius Malfoy had spoken yesterday suddenly flashed through his mind.
"You think this is your Headmaster's Office, that you can just waltz in whenever you please?"
Dumbledore dearly wanted to drag Lucius Malfoy here to show him that entering Fudge's office was indeed far simpler than returning to his own.
Just then, the gargoyle gave a surprised grunt and suddenly leapt aside, revealing the passageway behind it.
"Lawrence says you may enter. Do remember the password next time, Dumbledore."
Dumbledore: "..."
Dumbledore walked into the passage with darkened eyes. Even with his century of composure, he now felt the urge to swear.
Despite all precautions, he still hadn't managed to guard against this boy.
If he could even change the password to the Headmaster's Office, would he become the former Headmaster in another month?
The irritated old man pulled open the bronze door knocker and strode into the office.
"You're back! Please have a seat and wait just a moment."
Wayne was sitting in what should have been his chair, hunched over and writing furiously, seemingly composing a letter to someone.
Seeing the boy's earnest expression, Dumbledore nearly blurted out, "Headmaster Lawrence."
What a dizzy spell.
Five minutes later, Wayne finally put away his quill and parchment, smiling at Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, you've finally returned."
Dumbledore gave a strained smile. "If I hadn't returned, I feared I might never enter this office again."
"What nonsense."
Wayne vacated the seat, allowing Dumbledore to reclaim his throne while he moved to the opposite side.
With utmost sincerity, the boy said, "Your office is spacious and quiet, so I've borrowed it a few times. You wouldn't be angry about that, would you?"
"How many is 'a few'?"
"Well... every day, perhaps."
Very good.
Dumbledore actually laughed in frustration.
You might as well move in here permanently – there's even a bedroom upstairs.
But when it came to directing his anger at the boy before him, Dumbledore found he couldn't.
Wayne had performed his assigned tasks exceptionally well, nearly flawlessly.
He'd defused the reckless behaviour of Dean Thomas and others, reducing major issues to minor ones settled within the school.
When Sirius Black infiltrated the castle, it was Wayne who kept the Dementors at bay.
Most importantly, without Wayne's intervention yesterday, Harry's injuries could have been severe – being reduced to pulp wasn't beyond possibility.
Remembering this, much of Dumbledore's irritation dissipated.
Boys will be boys, after all, and Wayne hadn't done anything truly wrong.
He'd just nearly made it impossible for the Headmaster to return to his own office.
Perhaps this arrangement wasn't so bad – it saved having to summon the boy specially.
"Mr Lawrence, I've already met with Barty." Dumbledore produced the Holy Grail that Crouch had given him.
"Let's set aside the Grail for now. He mentioned you're supporting his campaign for Minister for Magic?"
"Correct," Wayne answered without hesitation. "I believe Crouch is more suitable for the position than Fudge – at least from my perspective."
"Headmaster, you wouldn't start viewing me as an adversary over this, would you? Like how you guard against Voldemort."
One lie requires countless others to conceal it.
And the more lies there are, the easier they are to expose.
If you speak only the truth, you'll have no weaknesses, never needing to weigh each word for inconsistencies or revealing flaws.
You'll feel completely at ease, free from psychological burdens.
While Wayne couldn't claim every word he spoke was heartfelt, whenever possible, he chose truth over deception.
Like now – he'd never considered hiding his connection with Crouch, hence his instruction for the man to deliver the Grail to Dumbledore.
His directness even gave Dumbledore pause; he hadn't expected such candour from the boy.
After a brief moment of astonishment came a profound sense of relief.
He liked this manner of communication.
Dumbledore said gently, "Of course not. I believe I've mentioned many times that the only similarity between you and Tom is your exceptional talent."
"Beyond that, I can't think of a single trait that connects you two."
"I don't oppose your ambition for power, nor will I stand in your way."
Many people misunderstood Dumbledore as someone with an overwhelming need for control.
They believed every witch and wizard in the magical world was his chess piece, that he meticulously orchestrated every move Harry made after entering Hogwarts, and that any ambitious wizard would either become his enemy or a pawn in his schemes.
But if Dumbledore had truly been that omnipotent, he wouldn't have fallen for Voldemort's trap with the Resurrection Stone, clinging to life for just a year before passing away.
The reason Dumbledore schemed so much was simply because the magical world lacked capable successors – there was no one else to carry the torch.
After his death, no one could stop Voldemort. Combined with the prophecy's influence, this was why he chose to let Harry die first.
What Dumbledore opposed were Dark Lords like Voldemort and Grindelwald, who threatened the safety of both wizarding and Muggle worlds – not ordinary ambitious individuals.
It was precisely because Wayne understood Dumbledore's true nature that he made this choice.
"It's not about ambition for power. I simply need an environment undisturbed by power struggles," Wayne said, shaking his head at Dumbledore. "I'm rather delicate by nature – I couldn't remain unbothered like you, constantly restricted and harassed by the Ministry of Magic without losing my temper."
"So having someone compatible with me in power would save everyone considerable trouble."
"A remarkably carefree perspective," Dumbledore remarked with admiration, tinged with envy.
He envied Wayne's clear objectives and the ability to act upon them.
Even knowing this would be the easiest path for himself, he couldn't permit such indulgence – it felt too self-serving.
"Then how did you convince Barty?" Dumbledore inquired curiously.
"After his failed ministerial campaign, all of Barty's ambitions seemed to vanish. When I met him this time, I saw glimpses of that formidable Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement from over a decade ago."
"I've studied Mr Crouch's past," Wayne tapped the armrest thoughtfully.
"He had a son, imprisoned in Azkaban by his own hand. Upon deeper investigation, I discovered..."
"The Crouch family line appears to have ended?"
Dumbledore's expression immediately turned peculiar.
Wayne continued, "Mr Crouch is past his prime now, but with Ho-Oh's assistance, the Crouch family's legacy could continue."
This wasn't entirely deception – apart from omitting Barty Junior's existence, everything Wayne said was true.
With his heir proving a failure, Crouch had to consider family continuity. Learning of Ho-Oh's miraculous abilities had understandably swayed him.
Dumbledore nodded in comprehension – this was indeed an irresistible temptation.
With his first question answered, his gaze turned to the chalice on the table.
"Could you tell me about this cup?"
"I obtained it by accident, too," Wayne said, playing with the Holy Grail. "You must have noticed—it bears a powerful seal. What wondrous changes might occur once unsealed, even I can't say for certain."
"Indeed. I studied it all night and couldn't make a dent in its immense magical power."
"So... have you agreed?" Wayne asked curiously.
"Still considering," Dumbledore replied, his eyes fixed on the grail.
Had he detected even a trace of Dark Magic from it, he wouldn't have hesitated to refuse Crouch outright. But in the wizarding world, the unknown often meant danger—hence his lingering hesitation.
"Give it a try," Wayne urged. "I'll have Ho-Oh standing by. Short of death, it can heal anything."
Dumbledore's expression darkened.
What kind of talk was that?
The Triwizard Tournament had been discontinued precisely because it was too dangerous—students had died during the competition. After so many people's efforts, if the first revived tournament ended in disaster, there'd be no chance of it ever being reinstated.
"I'll study it further," Dumbledore decided. Only after thorough examination and absolute certainty would he consent.
"Then do let me know soon," Wayne said, rising. "If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave. Hermione's waiting for lunch."
"Wait." Dumbledore sighed at the young man. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Am I?" Wayne scratched his head in confusion.
"The password!" Dumbledore's beard bristled.
"Oh, right—'Spicy Pot'," Wayne said with an embarrassed chuckle.
He'd set that password but never used it himself. Other professors, knowing the Headmaster was away, wouldn't visit his office. So... the first person it barred was Dumbledore himself?
"It's quite a tasty dish. You should try it sometime—Coren makes it rather well."
With that, Wayne bolted before the old wizard's rising temper could challenge him to a duel.
"..."
"That boy..."
Dumbledore felt utterly drained.
Occupying his office, changing his passwords, even commandeering his house-elf! The only person who might sympathise was Snape—both knew the frustration of being infuriated yet powerless against the lad.
After stewing awhile, Dumbledore finally calmed himself to ponder Wayne's earlier words.
Not about the Grail—that could wait; he had ample time to study it. But about Crouch.
One of Wayne's remarks had struck him: The Crouch family... now had no heir.
And wasn't the same true for the Dumbledores?
Their line had once continued through a sole descendant in his generation, but that branch had withered in the 1940s. Before Ho-Oh's arrival, he'd never considered alternatives. Now, a seed of thought took root.
For himself, it was too late—this life was set. But his brother Aberforth had proven capable. Fathering a wizard of Credence's extraordinary talent showed remarkable... fertility.
Perhaps he could ask Wayne to restore Aberforth's youth? Let the Dumbledore line continue?
The more he mused, the more the idea appealed.
For a moment, he didn't know what price he could offer to move Ho-Oh to action.
Crouch had paid with his loyalty... but what could he offer?
Gurgle~
A strange noise suddenly came from his stomach, and only then did Dumbledore realise he hadn't eaten all day.
Remembering Wayne's mention of spicy hot pot, he tapped his fingers, deciding to give it a try.
...
Wayne finished his meal and returned to the Common Room with the letter he had just written in the Headmaster's Office.