Cassandra had been standing at a distance, pretending indifference.
But upon hearing about the stolen snakewood tree, she immediately dropped the act.
"Father, you can't be serious?" Cassandra stared at Lafferty in disbelief. "How could the snakewood tree be stolen? Did some students take too many leaves?"
The leaves of the snakewood tree possessed potent medicinal properties, serving as versatile substitutes for numerous potions, making them extremely valuable.
Ilvermorny's snakewood tree was over two hundred years old. There had been incidents in the past where students secretly took leaves to sell, hence Cassandra's suspicion.
Yet Lafferty shook his head. "Cassandra, even at my most confused, I wouldn't mix up the words 'leaves' and 'tree'. The entire snakewood tree is truly gone."
"Who did this?" Cassandra's face flushed with anger.
Ilvermorny's heritage was already shallow, with precious few treasures to boast about.
The snakewood tree was among its most prized possessions.
"We don't know," Lafferty admitted. "The entire tree was uprooted. When discovered, all that remained was a massive hole – not even a single root left behind."
"Egbert has returned to track down the culprit. We've informed MACUSA, and the news has been temporarily suppressed."
"Cassandra, please don't tell the other students yet. Perhaps it'll be recovered by the time you return?"
"Mr Lawrence, I'd also appreciate your discretion," Lafferty added, turning to Wayne.
"Of course, Mr Worley," Wayne nodded gently.
After a moment's thought, he asked, "Have you considered using a Time-Turner to identify the thief?"
Lafferty sighed again. "The school immediately applied to the Ministry for a Time-Turner upon discovering the theft. But the culprit clearly anticipated this – there's magical interference in the area. Whenever I travelled back and approached the site, my body became unstable."
"Is that so..." Wayne's eyes narrowed as his fingers subtly moved within his robes.
Divination symbols shifted continuously until finally settling upon the image of a dark-haired young figure, though the facial features remained indistinct.
Yet even this blurred silhouette was enough for Wayne to confirm the identity.
Tom actually went to North America?
The greater the event, the stronger the backlash.
From a mystical perspective, Tom's role in this world was akin to a fated antagonist. Managing to divine his involvement was already a significant result.
Mr Worley didn't notice Wayne's distraction, sharing some of his own theories before departing with Cassandra.
When strange incidents occurred in North America, the blame would inevitably fall upon the Scourers nine times out of ten.
The two parties had been bitter rivals for centuries, so no underhanded tactics would come as a surprise.
Wayne understood exactly why Tom had stolen a tree.
The Ilvermorny people probably didn't realise it wasn't just any ordinary snakewood tree, but rather Slytherin's wand.
Then again, perhaps they did know but couldn't rouse the slumbering wand, hence leaving the tree to grow while occasionally plucking its leaves.
After parting ways with the two, Wayne - who'd originally intended to return to his dormitory - changed direction and found Ksenia near the new building.
With time pressing, he had no leisure for drinking and coaxing information. His eyes flashed as he cast the Imperius Curse, leading her to a secluded corner.
"Ksenia, have you been in contact with any students from Koldovstoretz recently?"
Kseniya nodded dazedly: "I've been exchanging letters with my good friend Bezzokova."
"Did you discuss Professor Corvinus?"
"We mentioned him, though not often."
"Is he still at school? Has he taken any leave?"
"....."
Wayne asked many questions, but Ksenia could answer few.
He only learned that everything at Koldovstoretz was normal, with nothing unusual occurring.
After erasing Ksenia's memory, Wayne let her go.
As for Tom's affairs... a Niffler hiding in shadows would only emerge at the sight of gold. So long as he had objectives, he'd inevitably expose himself eventually.
Wayne merely needed to remain seated on high, awaiting his challenge.
...
Returning to his dormitory, Wayne checked Barty Crouch Jr.'s condition once more. Finding no discrepancies, he arrived punctually at the Headmaster's Office at ten o'clock.
Dumbledore and Moody had been waiting for some time. While Moody noticed nothing amiss, Dumbledore sensed something different.
"Wayne, you're..." the old Headmaster asked with uncertain suspicion.
This change wasn't in appearance or demeanour - purely Dumbledore's intuition.
His body tensed slightly as if facing a formidable enemy. Without realising it, Dumbledore's hand had instinctively moved towards the Elder Wand.
This was true brilliance - an edge so sharp it triggered his primal sense of danger.
"What about me?" Seeing Dumbledore's hesitant expression, Wayne paused, then noticed the wand in his grasp and suddenly understood.
"Professor, I've made some breakthroughs in my recent magical research. Just minor things, nothing to worry about."
Dumbledore: "....."
He wished he could make breakthroughs, too. Why was it so difficult?
Although wizards had no clear hierarchical divisions or legendary spiritual senses to discern another's power at a glance, those of similar calibre could still sense it—an intuition of being evenly matched.
Dumbledore found it increasingly difficult to gauge how far Wayne had progressed. He might have already surpassed him.
He felt no jealousy or wariness, even hoping Wayne would grow stronger still.
Strong enough to crush Voldemort with one hand would be ideal—then he could retire peacefully and enjoy his golden years.
"Was it because of Ravenclaw's notebook?" Moody suddenly asked.
Wayne hesitated before nodding. "Partly."
He had indeed been studying Ravenclaw's notes recently, with some gains. But the significant changes stemmed from his deeper understanding of magic and further deciphering of the Dragon King's inheritance.
Moody nodded, asking no further details. Ancient magic held little interest for him. His main concern was why Wayne had summoned them so late.
...
An hour later, only the two elders remained in the office, Wayne having departed unnoticed.
Dumbledore and Moody wore equally stunned expressions, remaining silent for a long while.
After further contemplation, Moody finally spoke. "Albus, do you think Wayne's plan is feasible?"
Dumbledore nodded reflexively. "Undoubtedly. He never acts without certainty. It just sounds... somewhat unreliable."
"But you saw Barty Crouch Jr.'s condition just now," Moody frowned. "That spell was downright sinister. I can hardly believe that was Barty."
"I never imagined it could achieve this either," Dumbledore admitted cheerfully. "It seems Frank and Alice's condition might be curable after all."
After consideration, he decided, "We'll proceed with Wayne's plan then. It is indeed safer, and your security will be better guaranteed."
Moody waved dismissively. "I'd die happy if it meant finishing off the Dark Lord."
"Alastor, that's needless sacrifice. We still face challenges in eradicating him completely. I need your strength."
Moody grumbled indistinctly before grabbing the briefcase Wayne had left and departing.
...
Soon, the date arrived—June twenty-fourth.
After breakfast, the champions were summoned by Professor McGonagall to a meeting room beside the Great Hall.
Upon hearing their families would attend, Harry immediately looked sceptical. He couldn't imagine the magic-fearing Dursleys coming to cheer him on.
Though if they knew the tournament was life-threatening, they might come to pray for his quick demise.
But upon entering the meeting room, Harry's face lit up with joy.
"Surprise!" Mrs Weasley greeted him warmly. "It was Arthur's idea—we wanted to give you a shock."
"Hello there," Bill shook Harry's hand with a smile. "Charlie wanted to come too, but he couldn't get away. Said your performance against the Hungarian Horntail was incredible—absolutely unbelievable."
Harry offered modest explanations in a quiet voice.
The room was spacious, with each champion's parents occupying their own space to encourage their children. Wayne had also slipped in and was whispering something with the Delacours.
Mr Delacour currently regarded him with undisguised displeasure, finding fault with everything about him.
When Fleur was having a quiet word with her mother, he finally said resentfully, "Wayne, wasn't stealing one of my daughters enough? Must you take my other precious girl, too?"
"She's just a child!"
Mr Delacour's liver ached with frustration. He'd arrived full of joy, expecting Gabrielle would be delighted to see her father after so long.
Instead, his younger daughter had barely reacted to his presence, clinging persistently to Wayne's side like a little shadow.
"Uncle, you're overthinking it," Wayne said with an awkward chuckle.
"I'm just being nice to Gabrielle. You didn't bring her a gift this time, so she's probably upset with you."
"That's because I came in such a hurry," Mr Delacour grumbled. "I have to work overtime when I get back, too."
Wayne observed his future father-in-law's resentment and discreetly slipped him several potion bottles, explaining their uses.
Mr Delacour immediately beamed and pocketed them.
"What were you discussing so cheerfully?" Mrs Delacour asked casually, noticing his smile.
Mr Delacour quickly composed himself. "Nothing important. We were just talking about Fleur's performance."
Wayne extricated himself and went to greet Sakura's mother, Nadeshiko Kinomoto.
They didn't linger long before several champions led their families out of the conference hall.
For many parents, this was their first visit to Hogwarts – perhaps their only one in this lifetime – so they naturally wanted a proper tour.
Wayne spent the morning strolling the grounds with the Delacours, showing them the Whomping Willow and the school's various transports. In the afternoon, he guided Sakura and her mother through the castle, introducing them to the portraits.
...
Dinner that evening was far more sumptuous than usual, but as the competition approached, the champions' initial joy at their families' arrival gave way to nervous tension, leaving few with much appetite.
At the head table, Fudge chatted and laughed merrily with the various headmasters in high spirits. He even raised his glass from afar to clink with Wayne's.
When the ceiling darkened to a deep purple, Dumbledore stood, and the hall fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes I shall invite you all to make your way down to the Quidditch Pitch for the final task of the Holy Grail War. For now, could the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the grounds."
Thunderous applause filled the Great Hall as the champions filed out. Before leaving, their parents each handed them a pouch of coins.
"What's this?" Harry asked blankly, staring at Sirius.
"Can't hurt to have it handy," Sirius replied with an odd expression, offering no further explanation.
Puzzled, Harry followed Bagman out.
When the champions entered the familiar tent, Wayne sat waiting behind a table, smiling warmly at them.
Harry suddenly understood exactly who that money was intended for.