"Why are you interested in this?" Newt asked after reading, perplexed.
Another puzzle was why such news made the front page. These conferences were commonplace – debating cauldron thickness today, dragonhide glove composition tomorrow, or import tariffs the day after. Their purpose was merely to make Ministry officials appear occupied.
Previously, such reports were buried in obscure corners. Readers preferred serious topics like missing pets or victims of nude-call scams.
"The conference doesn't interest me. I'm going for the spectacle," Wayne said gleefully. "Scrimgeour's expression will be priceless."
Newt didn't know what grudge Wayne held against Scrimgeour, but since the boy wished to go, he raised no objections. A two-day delay mattered little.
...
At dawn the next day, nearly all dragon keepers came to bid farewell upon learning of Wayne and Newt's departure.
In just twenty days, Newt had impressed the keepers with his exceptional expertise. Working alongside such a magizoologist, they'd gained invaluable knowledge.
As for Wayne, their gratitude was absolute.
Wayne took Norberta out every day, his overwhelming dragon aura keeping the other dragons unusually docile and making the dragon keepers' jobs much easier.
"Rooaaar~!"
Norberta gazed reluctantly at Wayne and Ho-Oh, her roar sounding utterly dejected.
Wayne patted the dragon's head reassuringly. "We'll see each other in a few months. I'll be waiting for you at Hogwarts."
That was right—Norberta, as a reserve, had been selected as the eighth dragon and would soon be heading to the school.
Ho-Oh looked at Norberta, whose large eyes were filled with sadness, and hesitated for a moment before finally making up its mind.
A single golden tail feather detached from its plumage and drifted down onto Norberta, leaving even Wayne staring in surprise.
This wasn't just any feather—it was a Rainbow Feather.
Infused with Ho-Oh's own power, holding this feather would allow one to claim the title of Ho-Oh's envoy.
It seemed Ho-Oh was a tsundere at heart. Though it usually paid little attention to Norberta, this was the first time it had ever gifted a Rainbow Feather.
This was its way of acknowledging her as its daughter.
The feather settled onto Norberta's body, merging seamlessly into her form.
"Chirp! Chirp~!"
Ho-Oh said something else, and after one last glance at Wayne and Ho-Oh, Norberta flapped her wings and flew back to her nest.
After bidding Charlie a final farewell, Wayne finally boarded the carriage.
During the flight, Newt suddenly remembered something and quickly asked, "You're going to the Safety Exchange, but do you even have an invitation?"
"I don't, but someone does." Wayne stretched lazily. "We'll head to the black market in La Place Cachée first. Someone will take us into the venue."
Hearing "black market," Newt immediately knew who Wayne was referring to and didn't press further.
Two hours later, the Zouwu landed in a park on the outskirts of Paris.
Wayne first stowed it back into his suitcase, then placed a hand on Newt's shoulder and Apparated them both to Cross Rosier's shady shop.
At the sight of Wayne, a flicker of excitement flashed in Cross's eyes—but the moment he noticed Newt beside him, it instantly turned to disdain.
"Why'd you bring this old fossil along?"
Newt sighed. "Rosier, you're over a decade older than me. If I'm an old fossil, what does that make you?"
"Hmph. I may be old in body, but my spirit's young." Cross didn't bother hiding his displeasure.
"Why does he hate you so much?" Wayne muttered under his breath.
"He lost to Theseus back in the day and has held a grudge against both of us ever since."
"I see." Wayne suddenly understood.
"Bullshit!" Cross immediately lost his composure. "Your brother had no honour—he ambushed me!"
Newt said calmly, "You'd have lost either way. Theseus was Chief Auror!"
"Call him here, I'll fight him again!"
"He's retired."
"Alright, alright." Wayne stopped the bickering between these two centenarians. "Cross, take me to the venue. The meeting's already started, hasn't it?"
Cross glared at Newt but didn't continue the argument.
"Follow my Apparition."
With that, Cross vanished with a crack. Wayne took Newt and followed the spatial traces.
...
The three arrived outside a grand cathedral guarded by several men in black.
Cross presented the invitation. After verification, the guards let them pass.
Inside wasn't an actual church but a huge tiered hall. Entering from the highest level, they overlooked the proceedings below where an official was delivering a speech. Cross led Wayne and Newt to some empty seats.
From here, Wayne quickly spotted Scrimgeour among the row of officials opposite. Just as he was about to sit, Cross grabbed his arm.
"Many old friends want to see you, knowing you're coming," Cross whispered. "You don't have to go. We've no right to demand anything."
These "old friends" could only mean the remaining loyalists.
After brief consideration, Wayne nodded. Given all they'd done for him, meeting them was reasonable.
"I'm going with Cross to meet some people. Please wait here," Wayne murmured to Newt.
The old man nodded. "Stay alert. Don't get tricked."
"I understand." Wayne gave a slight nod.
...
Guided by Cross, they exited through a side door into an antechamber.
Conversation ceased immediately when they entered. Wayne scanned the room—a dozen elderly men and women, all white-haired with aged features.
"Everyone, this is Mr Lawrence," Cross introduced, gesturing at the youth.
The elders' eyes shone with fervour. One stepped forward, trembling. "Mr Lawrence... did you truly... see him?"
Instead of answering, Wayne looked at Cross. "Who's this?"
"Rodriguez from Berlin," Cross identified the man, then added, "Everyone here received your letters. They've contributed greatly to this meeting—trustworthy."
Rodriguez continued earnestly, "Rest assured, we'd give our lives without hesitation for even one word from him." The others nodded solemnly.
Observing their conviction, Wayne couldn't help mentally disparaging Voldemort again.
Look at them. Then look at you.
Even after half a century imprisoned, Grindelwald still commanded such devoted followers—all influential figures who could sway Ministry of Magic policies across nations. And none were doing poorly, either.
Looking again at the motley crew under Voldemort's command, there were indeed a few loyal ones like Barty Crouch Jr. and Bellatrix, but unfortunately, they were all complete lunatics.
They might be good for murder and arson, but expecting them to build an organisation... that would be pure fantasy.
How could the gap be so vast?
"You exaggerate, Mr Rodriguez. I'm merely being cautious for safety's sake," Wayne said with a smile as he shook his hand.
"I understand," Rodriguez replied. "Prudence is necessary."
He guided Wayne to the seat of honour while taking the position to his right – clearly, among these followers, his status was the highest.
In fact, on Grindelwald's list, Rodriguez ranked second.
Wayne vaguely remembered him as a former Chief Auror of the German Ministry of Magic.
As for the top-ranked individual, she hadn't come, nor had Wayne written to her.
Once seated, Wayne addressed their most pressing concern: "I have indeed met Mr Grindelwald – twice."
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Rodriguez exclaimed excitedly. "How is the great man? Is he in good health? Was there any deeper meaning in his instruction for you to contact us? Does he... does he wish to emerge again?"
Only then did the old man realise he'd bombarded Wayne with questions and hurriedly apologised.
Wayne waved it off, waiting for Rodriguez to compose himself before continuing:
"Grindelwald is currently in good condition, still quite robust. He can polish off an entire table of dishes without trouble – last time we dined together, I couldn't even compete with him."
"Contacting you actually has little to do with him personally. I simply needed assistance, and he recommended your group."
"As for whether he wants to resurface... he himself has no such intention. Moreover, there are many in the world who wouldn't welcome news of his reappearance."
"We fear no one but Dumbledore!" an elderly witch shouted fiercely – the mix of bravado and cowardice nearly made Wayne laugh aloud.
Not bad. At least they had the self-awareness to know who they couldn't afford to provoke.
They proceeded to ask numerous questions about Grindelwald, with some even entrusting Wayne to deliver local delicacies, as if worried the old man might go hungry or cold.
By the end, they began probing – both overtly and subtly – about Wayne's dissatisfactions with the current wizarding world.
If needed, they could rally supporters at his call. Wayne found this equal parts amusing and exasperating.
"Everyone, this is really just a coincidence. My target is Scrimgeour alone, not the British Ministry of Magic, let alone the entire European continent."
"Many of you have likely investigated me. I'm simply a Muggle noble – your so-called wizard supremacy ideology has nothing to do with me."
Someone couldn't resist objecting: "But you became a wizard – and a great one at that."
Their measure of a wizard's greatness wasn't based on trivialities like Order of Merlin medals, but on Grindelwald's approval.
The fact that Grindelwald entrusted Wayne with the core methods of leading the faithful spoke volumes.
Thus, from the moment they met Wayne, there were none of those tiresome tests of strength. These most loyal devotees all maintained a posture of deference.
"Does that mean I must draw a line with Muggles?" Wayne looked at the toothless old man who had spoken. "Grindelwald's failure proves this theory can't succeed. Even if it could, I'd choose to stand with Dumbledore."
Several pairs of eyes flashed with suppressed indignation.
Cross hastily intervened: "Gentlemen, let's table this discussion. Mr Lawrence's primary purpose here isn't to debate with you—he's eager to appreciate your achievements."
"Quite right," said Rodríguez coldly, sweeping his gaze across the others before smiling at Wayne. "Grindelwald himself hasn't voiced objections—who are you to worry? Mr Lawrence, our conversation has been most pleasant. Should you ever require our services, you need only ask. I'll spare no effort."
The others quickly voiced similar sentiments.
After exchanging pleasantries, Wayne exited the antechamber. To avoid suspicion, the elderly followers didn't follow.
"What do you think, Rodríguez?" an old woman asked suddenly.
"Confident like the master—that gleam in his eyes doesn't lie," Rodríguez said gravely. "When speaking of Dumbledore and our master, his tone was completely equal. Few in this world can do that."
Another elder sighed. "Yet he shows no concern for wizarding rights."
"No matter," Rodríguez shook his head. "As long as he isn't like Dumbledore, there's still hope."
"Times have changed. The idea of enslaving Muggles is impossible—even under our master's leadership. What we need is for wizards to live in sunlight..."
The group fell silent.
...
"They didn't say anything... untoward?" Newt asked nervously when Wayne returned to his seat.
"Nothing significant," Wayne gave a slight shake of his head. "Some petty schemes, but I paid them no mind."
"Good." Newt relaxed slightly.
Newt wasn't worried about danger befalling Wayne—he feared Wayne might become dangerous to others if persuaded.
The speaker had concluded. During Wayne's absence, the German representative had emphasised this conference's focus: simulated exercises for 'friendly' exchanges between international Aurors to foster mutual improvement.
As this was scheduled programming, no objections arose.
It presented an excellent platform for demonstration and competition, as Auror capabilities largely reflected a nation's security standards.
The exercises comprised two segments.
First came conventional one-on-one duels, with three participants per nation.
Second were team matches—as Aurors often operated in squads, these were three-versus-three.
The opening match featured host nation France against Germany's Aurors.
Both sides demonstrated excellent form—silent spells and instant casting executed flawlessly, movements agile. The match ended in an honourable draw.
Next, the competition between Austria and Hungary revealed that Austrian competitors were clearly superior. Three consecutive silent spells with multiple incantations shattered defences, successfully disarming their opponents.
After the two Aurors left the arena, Wayne perked up.
He saw Scrimgeour say something to a large, dark-skinned man behind him, who then stepped onto the platform.
His opponent was an Auror from Romania.
When the announcer called out their names, Wayne immediately recognised who the large dark-skinned man was.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and future Minister for Magic.
"Watch closely now," Wayne said to Newt, who was nearly asleep.
The old man also roused himself, fixing his gaze intently on the duelling platform.
He wanted to see exactly how Wayne would make Scrimgeour lose face.
The duel began swiftly. The Romanian Auror launched the first attack, firing a textbook non-verbal Stunning Spell with practised ease. Kingsley Shacklebolt reacted quickly, deflecting the spell and counterattacking.
Yet to his surprise, his opponent didn't cast any defensive charms; instead, he continued his assault with a clear intent to trade injuries.
Hum~!
The spells collided with an invisible barrier and were deflected away, causing Kingsley to startle visibly.
He had alchemical defensive items!
But that wasn't all. The Romanian Auror raised his right hand, where a ring glittered brightly, and in the blink of an eye, two thick beams of red light shot forth.
Kingsley's hastily erected shield was violently shattered, leaving him momentarily magically stunned. Seizing the opportunity, the Romanian Auror fired two precise spells.
One disarmed him, while the other sent Kingsley flying backwards, crashing heavily onto Scrimgeour's table.
Scrimgeour, who had been composed until now, immediately darkened with fury.
Wayne, however, grinned.
Old bastard, that slap was meant for your face.
And this is just the beginning. If I don't make you resign from the Ministry this year, I'll adopt you as my son!