Though unfamiliar with Song Dynasty history or the phrase 'you've brought great suffering upon your emperor', how could someone as clever as Crouch not grasp the implication?
His expression shifted slightly when Wayne mentioned Dumbledore now.
"He's your target?"
"Why not?" Wayne countered. "Our Headmaster has power, prestige, intellect—everything. He's the only one Voldemort ever feared. Wouldn't he make an excellent Minister for Magic?"
Crouch shook his head repeatedly. "He's undoubtedly the finest candidate. No one in Britain is more qualified than Dumbledore. But—"
After consideration, Crouch continued, "I know Dumbledore. He declined the position several times before, choosing to remain Hogwarts Headmaster. This time would be no different. He'd never agree."
"Who said we need his agreement?" Wayne said quietly. "When Voldemort's shadow looms over Britain, when Dark Marks fill London's skies, I'll rally the people in Dumbledore's name."
"He'll have to accept, willing or not."
"Once the deed's done, refusal won't be an option."
"This is the people's will. How could our Headmaster betray their expectations?"
Crouch felt his temple twitch again.
"You plan to force his hand?"
"Must you phrase it so crudely?" Wayne frowned. "I'm considering the wizarding populace across all counties."
"Tell me honestly—wouldn't Dumbledore as Minister stabilise public morale?"
Crouch fell silent.
He couldn't refute Wayne's argument. It was undeniable—the reassurance the century's greatest white wizard could provide.
The young man sighed softly. "Let Dumbledore bear this hardship, while I shoulder the infamy. At least the people's hearts will be at ease."
Crouch regarded him with complex emotions. "You're truly... self-sacrificing."
He recalled Wayne's close relationship with Dumbledore. The Headmaster was even aware of him and young Barty's existence.
Yet when scheming against him, the boy showed no mercy—if anything, greater ruthlessness.
Crouch could vividly imagine Dumbledore's expression upon learning he'd been made Minister.
'Never cross this young master,' he resolved. 'Or I might be the next one ensnared.'
A chill ran down Crouch's spine, his demeanour becoming markedly more deferential.
Their discussion turned to Ministry affairs. Crouch suggested several inconspicuous yet influential positions, which Wayne noted for Fudge to arrange later.
Finally, Crouch voiced his other pressing concern: "Where have Tom and Voldemort gone?"
The iridescent glint in Wayne's eyes shimmered briefly before he replied, "Avoid speaking his name when I'm absent."
"Voldemort has returned. If attentive, he can sense who invokes him."
Crouch nodded cautiously.
Many wizards enchanted their names, usually to prevent curse targeting. But Voldemort had transformed this into a detection system.
Years ago, some dared say his name openly. After executions, 'You-Know-Who' became the norm.
"Tom must have gone abroad; his main base isn't here."
"But he's arranged a meeting time with Voldemort, so he'll definitely return soon."
Wayne shared some information he knew with Crouch. "As for Voldemort... he's hiding quite deep. I've been searching for him recently."
"Even an inhuman monster like Voldemort needs time to recover after losing half his body. It makes sense he's lying low."
"Keep an eye on the northern situation. Especially Russia—Tom's been doing quite well there."
Crouch frowned. "Can't we just issue a warrant? Cut off his retreat while he's still relatively weak."
"On what grounds?" Wayne gave him a sidelong glance. "He's using a different identity now. No one would suspect him, nor believe our claims."
"Do you think Britain and Russia have good relations?"
Crouch choked on his words.
That was putting it mildly. Britain got along with practically no one—universally disliked. Only their cousins in North America tolerated them.
"As long as he still has ambitions, he'll slip up eventually. Until then, don't make any unnecessary moves."
"Understood."
Wayne waved his hand, his figure dissolving into bubbles before vanishing completely.
...
While Wayne pursued Voldemort's trail, Fudge launched his retaliation against Dumbledore.
In a battle fought entirely within the rules, the authority wielded by a Minister for Magic far surpassed that of Hogwarts' Headmaster.
Even if it was the country's only wizarding school.
However, Fudge didn't openly target Dumbledore directly. Instead, he sought vulnerabilities within Hogwarts.
Unfortunately, apart from its abundance of young wizards, the school had plenty of flaws.
Moody's unorthodox teaching methods—openly demonstrating Unforgivable Curses in class—would normally go unchallenged.
However, when someone sought to cause trouble, there was a clear precedent for punishment.
Then there was Barty Crouch Jr's attack on Potter and the tampered tournament trophy—Fudge hadn't forgotten those incidents either.
These minor issues wouldn't cripple Dumbledore, but they made excellent nuisances, forcing him to attend Ministry interrogations every few days.
Watching the constant stream of point notifications popping up, Wayne silently mourned for Dumbledore for exactly one second.
'Professor, this is just the beginning.'
'The worst is yet to come.'
He had no choice.
With graduation looming in a few years, his opportunities to earn points through school mischief would disappear.
Amid the chaos of the next term, he needed to stockpile resources for emergencies.
Dumbledore would simply have to endure.
Between reorganising the Order of the Phoenix and enduring Fudge's harassment, the old wizard barely had time to breathe.
The twins' letters to Wayne were vague, mentioning only that Molly and Mr Weasley were often absent lately, with occasional visits from Moody and Sirius.
Lupin had even quit his job at Borgin and Burkes, though Wayne didn't know his current whereabouts.
Undoubtedly another of Dumbledore's assignments.
The Order of the Phoenix was Dumbledore's secret society formed to oppose Voldemort, comprising either elite wizards or those with unique skills.
Wayne had half-expected an invitation to join, but after waiting days, no letter arrived.
Probably still considered him underage.
...
Just as Wayne was still complaining about Dumbledore being inconsiderate, the man himself suddenly paid a visit.
Sensing the alarm outside the house being triggered, Wayne put Cho down from his lap and Apparated to the entrance.
"Professor, what brings you here today? Didn't you go to the Ministry of Magic?" Wayne blurted out.
Usually, at this hour, he should be at the Ministry arguing with those officials.
Dumbledore, who had been smiling, lost his smile upon hearing this.
"How did you know?"
Although the newspapers had been attacking him and Harry, news about his frequent visits to the Ministry hadn't spread yet.
Wayne gave an awkward smile: "Fudge has already spoken to me, asked me to stay neutral."
"Professor, it's not that I'm not on your side... It's just that his offer was too good."
Dumbledore: "..."
'So tired. I really need a break.'
He wasn't insisting that Wayne take his side or use his influence to help him—that was a personal choice he couldn't interfere with.
As long as Wayne's stance against Voldemort remained firm, that was enough.
But that didn't mean Wayne got to gloat about it...
Several minutes later, Wayne and Dumbledore were in the tea room.
Before them sat a pot of black tea and hot chocolate, along with pastries Dumbledore had brought.
"You shouldn't have brought gifts, Professor. You're too kind."
Wayne picked up a pudding and popped it into his mouth, then frowned: "Next time, don't bring something this sweet. I prefer cheesecake."
It took tremendous willpower for Dumbledore to stop himself from reaching for the Elder Wand.
These desserts weren't gifts at all—he'd specially bought them from a confectionery after leaving the Ministry, all his favourite snacks.
Wayne had snatched them right out of his hands at the door.
For a moment, he'd thought Wayne was being considerate of his tiredness, only to watch him stash them in his own cupboard.
He'd queued for a full hour to get those!
Since he couldn't take them back, he wasn't about to let Wayne ruin them all. Without a word, Dumbledore began devouring them.
Only after finishing every last bite did he let out a satisfied burp—he wouldn't need dinner tonight.
With the food gone, it was time for business.
Wayne gave a pre-emptive warning: "Professor, don't drag me into your feud with Fudge. I've already accepted his goodwill.
"In business, integrity comes first."
"This isn't about Fudge, and I won't involve you," Dumbledore said, sipping his tea. "Wayne, your improved Wolfsbane Potion should have passed review by now?"
Wayne nodded. "Damocles wrote to me recently asking me to brew more. The potion's too difficult—very few can master it."
"I came about the Wolfsbane Potion," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort's greatest skill is commanding dark creatures—werewolves, Vampires, evil Goblins, giants... they all served him over a decade ago.
"I want to weaken his forces while he's still injured."
"Hagrid and Madame Maxime have gone to negotiate with the giants. As for the werewolves... that depends on you."
"Understood." Wayne nodded. "That's a small favour I can certainly do."
"However, I'd still advise you to approach Mr Diggory. His standing in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is quite respectable now."
Dumbledore sighed helplessly. "If Fudge knew this was my suggestion, he'd oppose it regardless of how sound the decision might be."
"So you want me to go?"
"Precisely."
After some thought, Wayne agreed.
"Alright then. I was planning to visit The Burrow to see Fred and George anyway."
Visiting Fred and George was merely incidental. Wayne's real purpose was to check on Mr Lovegood, who'd been holed up at home constantly, making it impossible for him to secretly bring Luna out.
Seeing his agreement, Dumbledore's smile returned.
"You mentioned earlier that Hagrid and Madame Maxime went to see the giants?" Wayne asked curiously.
No wonder Hagrid had written asking for perfume recommendations a few days ago.
"They've already reached the giants' territory," Dumbledore said. "But progress hasn't been smooth. It'll take more time.
"Most likely next term, we'll need a new Care of Magical Creatures professor."
"But how did you persuade Madame Maxime?" Wayne looked puzzled. "This matter doesn't really concern France yet, does it?"
Dumbledore smiled. "I enlisted Nicolas as my mediator. In France, his reputation carries far more weight than mine."
"I see." Wayne nodded in understanding.
"Then I'll await your good news."
Dumbledore set down his teacup, cast a pained glance at the empty plate, and took his leave.
...
Late at night, Malfoy Manor.
Though the Malfoys presented a uniformly acerbic front to the world, the affection between Mr and Mrs Malfoy, and towards Draco, ran deep.
Traditionally, the days immediately following Draco's return for the holidays were the manor's most harmonious period.
After a while, Lucius would begin finding fault with his son, while Narcissa remained indulgent.
This year, however, things were different.
The entire manor stood eerily silent, not a single light burning in any of its buildings.
In the opulent but dimly lit Great Hall, only a few candelabras flickered with uncertain flames.
"My Lord, the Ministry remains undisturbed. Few believe you've truly returned."
Lucius Malfoy prostrated himself on the floor, reporting with utmost caution. Beyond the hall doors, Draco Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, watched nervously, scarcely daring to breathe.
"Indeed. Even among you old friends..."
"Had you not seen me with your own eyes, wouldn't you have doubted too?"
Voldemort's dispassionate voice cut through the air as a candle's flame illuminated his face—half in shadow, half in ghastly pallor.