If Wayne knew Dumbledore had noticed, he'd surely give him a thumbs-up in admiration—the older ginger really is spicier.
Indeed, this was the power of time.
I am direction, I am fortune.
Under the influence of Feng Hou Qimen, Wayne could locally manipulate time and space, controlling the transformations of heaven and earth.
But with over a thousand wizards present, even he—while capable of killing them all—couldn't possibly control everyone through Feng Hou Qimen's power.
So, Wayne was controlling himself.
Though it appeared there were eight Waynes on the dance floor, in reality, there was only one.
But it was him at different moments in time.
One second, he was waltzing with Fleur; the next instant, he might be dancing the tango with Hermione.
Yet these moments were so brief, almost imperceptible, creating this surreal spectacle.
Still, not everyone remained oblivious.
The eight partners dancing with him sensed something peculiar, feeling the boy before them was strangely elusive.
To achieve this effect, Wayne was now operating at full capacity, his mind intensely focused. Above his head hovered Ravenclaw's Diadem, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, ensuring his thoughts could keep pace with his movements without a single misstep.
A single song wasn't particularly long—just about five minutes—yet Wayne felt as though he hadn't slept for two full days.
As the final chord faded, the eight Waynes vanished from the floor.
He reappeared on a bench in the corner of the Great Hall, his face deathly pale, drenched in sweat.
The audience applauded the Champions and professors for their spectacular opening performance, though many also cast curious glances Wayne's way.
Transforming into eight at once—what an incredible duplication spell.
Some academically challenged students even began scheming: if they could master this spell, wouldn't it mean their duplicates could attend classes for them?
With that, the ball descended into complete freedom.
Students who had been itching to dance finally took to the floor with their partners, the Weird Sisters' melodies shifting from stately to lively.
But Cho and the others had long lost interest in the ball. They gathered around the boy, their expressions full of concern.
"Wayne, are you alright?" Astoria asked worriedly.
She had never seen Wayne look so drained, and her heart ached as she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweat.
"I'm fine... could even go for some plums," Wayne managed to joke, though his eyelids drooped heavily, as if he might doze off any second.
"That spell must have taken a huge toll."
Tomoyo guessed the reason for his state and felt deeply guilty. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have agreed to open the dance with you."
"Same here," Cassandra said remorsefully.
The other girls fell silent, each regretting their earlier insistence. Luna produced a piece of chocolate and gently fed it to the boy.
Wayne swallowed it in one bite, the sweetness spreading through his mouth, making him feel slightly better.
He grinned and waggled a finger. "I came to Hogwarts with three goals: fairness, fairness, and still fairness."
"If we're dancing, then we dance together. Otherwise, I wouldn't agree to any of you."
The issue wasn't scarcity but imbalance. Had he danced with Fleur first, then taken turns with the others, they might not have voiced complaints, but resentment and discomfort would have festered.
Wayne wanted to prevent that entirely, striving to treat everyone equally and show he held them all in the same regard.
Some might say a playboy shatters his heart into pieces, distributing the fragments among different people.
But Wayne's heart remained whole—devoted fully to each person, just shifting swiftly between them, much like his dancing earlier.
As expected, after Wayne finished speaking, though the girls continued to scold him for taking such risks and not valuing his own health, the slight upturn of their lips made it obvious even to a fool how pleased they were.
What followed was treatment fit for an emperor.
Sakura and Tomoyo kept him company in conversation, Astoria and Gabrielle took turns feeding him, while Hermione massaged his shoulders—a sight that made everyone's scalp tingle with secondhand embarrassment.
They were here for socialising and networking, not to be force-fed affection.
Couldn't you save the public displays for somewhere else?
...
A while later, the professors and judges completely withdrew from the dance floor, leaving the space to the students.
Crouch approached Wayne, took in the young master's leisurely posture with a twitching lip, but still asked:
"I noticed you didn't look well earlier?"
"Just mental exhaustion." Wayne waved a hand dismissively. "You danced rather well, by the way. I saw Professor Katerina trying to speak with you the entire time. So? Any stirrings of the heart?"
Hermione and Cho had to summon every ounce of self-control to keep their faces straight and not burst out laughing.
Crouch and Katerina?
How could he even suggest such a thing?
Crouch's moustache bristled with indignation as he choked out, "She merely wanted inside information about the next round of the tournament. It wasn't what you're implying."
Wayne pursed his lips without retorting.
That Headmaster of Koldovstoretz had practically glued herself to Crouch earlier, and you're telling me it was for tournament intel?
That's quite the sacrifice.
Still, he spared his capable subordinate further embarrassment by not continuing the gossip.
After exchanging greetings, Crouch hurried off—lingering would only invite more teasing.
Next came Bagman's sycophantic overtures, followed by Rita Skeeter.
Hermione detested how Rita Skeeter fabricated stories without regard for truth.
But since Wayne needed to use this woman, she could only huff quietly and subtly shift further away.
By now, the Great Hall had thinned somewhat.
Amidst such intimate whispers, how could these hormonal teenagers resist temptation? The urge to dance where prying eyes couldn't see was only natural.
The courtyard garden became the perfect retreat—its many obstructions and pitch darkness hid everything.
Pairs slipped out: boys with girls, girls with girls, boys with boys.
Having rested sufficiently, Wayne rose again to dance with several young witches in turn.
Then came invitations from Hannah and Susan, followed by the Patil sisters—he accepted them all without discrimination.
Only the first dance held special meaning; the rest were mere social obligations. Refusing would have been needlessly rude.
After a lively number with Lavender Brown, Wayne prepared to leave—only for Dumbledore to approach, startling him into retreat.
"Headmaster, isn't this inappropriate?"
"I only dance with witches."
Dumbledore's eyelid twitched. "Your imagination remains... vivid, Mr Lawrence."
"I've danced enough tonight. My purpose isn't to solicit you."
"Good." Wayne exhaled in relief as Dumbledore gestured. "Shall we talk over there?"
The corner table overflowed with pastries and drinks. They settled at its farthest edge, where Snape sat nursing a solitary drink.
"Brandy?" Wayne identified the scent instantly, eyebrows rising.
"Rather potent taste, Professor Snape. Sixty-proof, at least?"
"Your concern is unnecessary," Snape replied tonelessly.
"Severus, won't you dance?" Dumbledore inquired gently. "Poppy was asking after you earlier."
"Fatigue prevails. Thank you." With that, Snape departed with his glass, leaving them in privacy.
Dumbledore watched the lonely figure retreat before sighing. "Were Severus more forthcoming, he might discover his colleagues' merits."
"His existence needn't be so isolated."
Wayne popped a bear-shaped biscuit into his mouth. "You summoned me to discuss staff mental health?"
His gaze followed Snape's exit, mind turning.
The Felix Felicis reserves were dwindling from frequent Diadem use.
He wondered if Snape had fresh stock.
"Merely an observation."
Dumbledore raised his glass. Wayne clinked it with orange juice.
"Happy Christmas."
"And to you, Headmaster."
The two took a sip, and Dumbledore finally spoke: "That magic just now was quite extraordinary. If I'm not mistaken... it was the power of time, wasn't it?"
Wayne's hand paused slightly, surprised by Dumbledore's perceptiveness.
"Professor, you seem quite knowledgeable about time?"
Dumbledore noticed his confusion and smiled faintly, though his entire demeanour suddenly grew much more sombre.
"Death is but the next great adventure."
"I would embrace it with joy, for I have already experienced all the wonders and pains this world has to offer."
"But Ariana..."
Dumbledore's voice trembled slightly: "Her world was too small, limited only to Aberforth and myself. Yet even so, I failed in my duty to her, instead..."
Wayne's eyes lifted slightly, an invisible spatial force separating the two of them from the outside world.
No one could hear what they were saying, nor see their expressions.
"So, you wish to return to the past and save Ariana?"
"Indeed."
Dumbledore replied hoarsely, his emotions somewhat steadied: "I've used Time-Turners, even obtained the Sands of Time from ancient ruins."
"But the span of time is simply too vast. Nearly a century's gap cannot be bridged by these means to return to that day."
Wayne frowned as if witnessing a Troll attempting arithmetic—utterly absurd.
"Professor, don't tell me you're unaware of the consequences of meddling with time..."
"In 1899, Eloise Mintumble's Time-Turner malfunctioned, accidentally sending her five hundred years into the past. She stayed only five days, yet it caused catastrophic repercussions."
"Her own body continued ageing, five direct descendants vanished without a trace, and hundreds of people were erased as though they'd never existed."
"And that was because she didn't interfere with anything during those five days. Otherwise, it would've been far worse."
Wayne studied him intently: "If you went back and saved Ariana, I guarantee the world would become complete chaos."
To put it mildly, if the old man succeeded, the damage he'd inflict upon the world would surpass that of both Dark Lords combined.
Yet faced with Wayne's challenge, Dumbledore's expression remained as serene as ever.
"If Ariana can return, I will bear all the consequences."
As if you could.
Wayne cursed inwardly. These so-called Lords, white or dark, were all the same.
Well... except he might be one too?
Still, this actually raised Wayne's opinion of Dumbledore.
To save family, who cared if the world burned?
If Dumbledore had the means to save Ariana but chose to stand idle due to worldly rules and order, that would've earned Wayne's contempt.
"Professor, let me be blunt." Wayne happened to glance at the dance floor where Ron was enthusiastically snogging some dark-skinned girl, prompting him to look away with mild disgust.
"My magic does involve time, but it only works within my domain. At most, it can pause time—not reverse it."
Dumbledore's eyes dimmed. "I understand."
However, he had endured too many blows over the years and hadn't held much hope when seeking out Wayne. Thus, he quickly regained his composure.
"My apologies for interrupting your delightful evening," Dumbledore said courteously. Wayne shook his head. "It's fine. I completely understand how you feel."
"If something like this happened to Cho or the others, I'd undoubtedly make the same choice as you."
Of course, this was merely hypothetical.
He'd already prepared numerous safeguards for the girls. Few beings in this world could threaten them now.
Even if Voldemort truly returned, they could hold out until his arrival.
Dumbledore regarded him with emotion.
If he'd possessed Wayne's current power at seventeen, perhaps the tragedy wouldn't have occurred.
He could have toyed with Grindelwald back then!
"Ah, speaking of which..." At the thought of Grindelwald, Dumbledore's eyes flickered as he withdrew an envelope from his sleeve.
"This is from Gellert, for you."
Wayne had already spotted the Deathly Hallows wax seal and accepted it.
"Seems he's doing well these days, able to afford proper stationery."
Grindelwald had previously complained about lacking parchment for letters to Dumbledore, having to tear corners from bedsheets as makeshift paper.
"You... haven't read this, have you?" Wayne asked casually.
"No," Dumbledore shook his head gently, adding candidly, "Though I'd appreciate knowing its contents afterwards."
"Grindelwald placed enchantments on it. He said you'd know how to open it."
Dumbledore felt slightly uneasy that Grindelwald had secretly corresponded with Wayne while actively preventing him from seeing it.
He worried what might happen if these two aligned – the wizarding world would be truly Dreadful then.
"We'll see," Wayne pocketed the letter without opening it immediately, nor promising to share its contents.
Dumbledore felt a metaphorical toothache but couldn't insist, taking his leave.
...
At midnight, the Weird Sisters concluded their performance. The crowd offered one last round of enthusiastic applause before heading towards the entrance hall.
Wayne had grown rather sleepy but needed to return Gabrielle to her dormitory.
The little girl had struggled to keep her eyes open since ten o'clock and now slept soundly in his arms.
Upon reaching Fleur and Gabrielle's room, Wayne carefully settled Gabrielle into bed.
The next moment, Fleur embraced him.
"Must you leave tonight?"
"Mmm," Wayne murmured. "Just wait until after your birthday."
"Hmph," Fleur gave a sugar-sweet hum, nuzzling against him before finally releasing the youth.
After some verbal sparring, Wayne returned to his own dormitory.
To his surprise, Toby and Norman hadn't returned yet.
Retrieving Dumbledore's delivered letter, he employed the special magical method Grindelwald had taught him. The wax seal gradually dissolved.
Inside lay a single parchment with just one brief sentence. Yet upon reading it, Wayne's pupils constricted sharply.