"Albus tasked me with locating Voldemort's traces. I failed, but unexpectedly witnessed you and I battling at Durmstrang, destroying half the campus."
"Kid, don't tell Dumbledore about this. I'm afraid he might silence you permanently."
These few words left Wayne's expression fluctuating between dark and stormy.
The implications of Grindelwald's message were simply too enormous.
The fact that they'd fought at Durmstrang indicated they'd been adversaries at that time.
And most crucially... Grindelwald had actually been released?
That final line about not telling Dumbledore had truly thrown him into the fire.
Should he say anything?
Moreover... could Grindelwald's words even be trusted?
Had he genuinely witnessed those events unfold, or was this some carefully laid trap to sow discord?
Wayne had no way of knowing.
For the first time, he found himself caught in an impossible dilemma.
...
Nurmengard Tower.
Unlike the festive bustle of Hogwarts, even on Christmas Eve, this prison built for one remained desolate - if anything, more devoid of human presence than usual.
Even the Squib guards responsible for monitoring the tower had departed to reunite with their families.
Perhaps because over these decades, Grindelwald had never shown the slightest inclination towards escape.
Perhaps it was because the wizards who once knew his terror had gradually faded from society, and people had forgotten what 'great feats' this old man had once accomplished.
In any case, the nations responsible for guarding Grindelwald had grown lax, waiting only for him to die of old age before abandoning this place entirely.
At the top of the tower, only a single room held the faint glow of candlelight.
Outside, the world was blanketed in snow. Grindelwald sat at a rickety wooden table, leisurely eating the Christmas dinner Dumbledore had brought him two days prior.
"That boy should have received my letter by now?"
He murmured to himself, calculating the time.
Contrary to Wayne's convoluted assumptions, Grindelwald's reason for writing the letter was exceedingly simple.
Because...
He thought it would be amusing.
That was all—pure and simple.
Not long ago, Dumbledore had come to ask him to use his prophetic abilities to help locate Voldemort. Though Grindelwald had refused outright, he had still taken the risk and tried.
Two years ago, the world had undergone a peculiar shift, and Grindelwald had noticed his prophetic abilities growing increasingly worse.
Where he had once easily glimpsed countless visions of the future, the difficulty had now increased tenfold, while the risk of backlash had grown exponentially.
Moreover, Voldemort had placed an extremely sinister curse upon his own name, so Grindelwald had failed.
Yet there had been an unexpected discovery.
Grindelwald was also curious—why had he seen that particular vision? Or rather, why did such a possibility even exist?
The future he had seen was merely one of countless possibilities, the one with the highest probability, but by no means absolute.
Unable to make sense of it, Grindelwald had simply written to Wayne, testing whether the boy might know the reason.
He had specifically instructed Wayne not to tell Dumbledore, fearing it might agitate the old man and affect the likelihood of that future coming to pass.
As Grindelwald finished the last bite of cold bread, the temperature in the room abruptly rose.
A ball of fire materialised in the air, and from within the flames emerged a radiant Phoenix.
Grindelwald showed no surprise.
In fact, he found it perfectly normal.
Likely, Wayne had finished reading the letter and sent his bird to investigate.
But the next moment, Grindelwald froze.
A young man's voice emerged from Ho-Oh's beak.
"Old Gellert, what nonsense are you up to now? What exactly did that letter mean?"
Grindelwald's clouded eyes widened slightly as he stared at the bird's mouth, wondering if his ears were deceiving him.
Thwack!
Ho-Oh—no, Wayne—flapped a wing and smacked him.
"Speak."
Grindelwald rubbed his cheek. "Lawrence boy... is that really you?"
For a moment, he hadn't processed it.
"Just a little trick. My real body's still at Hogwarts. There's a trace of my consciousness in Ho-Oh."
"Enough chatter. Explain yourself, or I'll duel you right here and now."
"Mr Grindelwald, surely you wouldn't want to lose the privilege of writing to your old flame in the future?"
Wayne's tone was impatient. After racking his brain over the letter, he had given up trying to decipher Grindelwald's intentions and decided to settle things with his wand instead.
If Grindelwald had truly set his schemes upon Wayne, no amount of their decent rapport would spare him a beating.
Grindelwald looked speechlessly at the Phoenix. "How can I answer if you don't ask questions?"
"That question is too broad. Be more specific."
"Fine. Was that letter you sent me a deception, or a genuine prophecy?"
"Every word was true." Grindelwald's reply carried absolute conviction.
Ho-Oh's gaze sharpened like blades, staring directly into those turbid heterochromatic eyes as the flames around its body grew more intense.
A long silence followed.
Given Grindelwald's methods, even quintuple-strength Veritaserum might not extract the truth. Wayne trusted his psychic senses and intuition more.
He could feel it—Grindelwald wasn't lying.
"Why not tell Dumbledore?"
Grindelwald raised his hand, and a beam of magical power appeared in the room.
"My prophetic ability never shows an inevitable future, but countless branching possibilities—perhaps hundreds or thousands, sometimes just two or three."
As he explained, the magical beam began splitting into branches, one notably thicker and brighter than the rest.
Grindelwald pointed. "This is the vision I saw—the most probable outcome."
"But if I interfere recklessly, or draw Dumbledore's attention, the future might change."
"Then why tell me?" Wayne countered.
Grindelwald smirked. "Simply following my instincts. Perhaps this is the right path."
"Though the information is scarce, I have a premonition—my release is undoubtedly connected to you."
Ho-Oh rolled its eyes adorably. "Who are you fooling? Why would I release you? So you can lead wizards into another war against Muggles?"
At Wayne's undisguised mockery, Grindelwald's expression darkened. "I won't do that again."
"I lost decades ago. Success is even less possible now."
Muggle technology advanced relentlessly, their terrifying weapons multiplying endlessly.
War would yield only one outcome: Archmages like him and Dumbledore slaughtering Muggle leadership, while wizardkind faced racial extinction.
Even survivors would gradually assimilate into Muggle society, forgetting their magical heritage over generations.
Wayne reluctantly accepted Grindelwald's explanation.
Many questions remained—why would the two fight, and at Durmstrang no less?
Grindelwald himself couldn't elaborate further; his vision contained only fragments.
Dissatisfied but helpless—Grindelwald had truly disclosed everything—Wayne turned to leave.
"Lawrence," Grindelwald suddenly called out, eyes gleaming. "Could you teach me that spell?"
...
The next morning, Christmas Day.
Wayne slept until past nine, only waking to exclamations of "Bloody hell!" and "WTF!"
"What's the noise?" Wayne sat up irritably, eyeing his shouting roommates. "When did you two get back last night? Where's all this energy coming from?"
"Look!" Toby gaped at the mountain of gift parcels threatening to engulf their room—some even spilling onto his and Norman's beds.
Apart from a few for them, the rest were all Wayne's Christmas presents.
"Normal," Wayne yawned as he got out of bed, pushing aside the parcels by his bedside before retrieving his suitcase to store them all away.
"My Christmas gifts keep increasing every year. I reckon these aren't even all of them yet."
Wayne wasn't wrong. For the entire morning, owls kept flying into the Hufflepuff common room and dormitory, dropping off parcels addressed to him, leaving the little badgers utterly stunned.
This was their first Christmas with Wayne, and their first glimpse at just how popular he was.
However, Toby and Norman's focus was slightly different.
Toby watched with a pained expression as Wayne packed away gift after gift, then pulled out the one he and Norman had prepared:
"Had I known, I wouldn't have bought you something this expensive..."
Wayne thanked them with a smile and accepted it. Opening it, he found the newly released PS gaming console.
No wonder they were wincing—the console cost a staggering two hundred and fifty pounds. Their pocket money was likely nearly drained.
...
Inside the suitcase's miniature world.
The mountain of gifts was being unpacked one by one. The workload was so immense that Wayne had to call for reinforcements.
Sakura and Tomoyo were in charge of unwrapping, while Hermione and Cho stood by with quills, recording the contents.
Though tedious and monotonous, the thrill of unboxing kept the girls thoroughly entertained.
"Eh? A gold chain?" Sakura exclaimed, pulling a gleaming necklace from an ornate box.
She weighed it in her hand, eyes widening. "This must be two or three pounds!"
Then she read the sender's name on the box: "Lucius Malfoy?"
Hermione, who was jotting things down, froze. "Malfoy's father?"
"He sent you something this valuable—could there be some scheme behind it?"
Though Hermione hadn't formed the golden trio with Harry and Ron, her impression of Malfoy remained just as poor.
The boy was the epitome of a standard Slytherin, looking down on anyone from other houses.
Even the courtesy he showed her was solely because of Wayne.
Hermione was sure that if she were just an ordinary student, unattached to Wayne, she'd have been called a Mudblood long ago.
"Perhaps Mr Malfoy is thanking me for educating his son so splendidly," Wayne said, turning the necklace over in his hands before tossing it to Jerry.
Jerry happily tucked it into his little belly.
The gaudy gold chain reeked of new money—utterly mismatched with his old-money sensibilities.
After the brief interlude, the girls resumed unpacking and cataloguing.
The number of people sending Wayne gifts was staggering—current students, graduated seniors, elderly folks currying favour for Elixir of Life, and academic pen pals.
After four years, Wayne had essentially achieved a global network of friends.
Even with everyone pitching in, it still took until two hours after lunch to finish the tally.
"I'm exhausted," Cho groaned, rubbing her sore wrist. Wayne wouldn't let her strain further, taking her hand to massage it gently.
"Thank you, everyone."
"I didn't mind," Fleur said, having joined midway. She tilted her head. "Why go through all this detailed record-keeping?"
"To see who didn't send me anything, of course."
Wayne stared at the stack of parchment before him, densely covered with names and their corresponding gifts.
"Help me filter this list to see how many people in the school didn't give me presents."
"Hmm, never mind the second years and below – I'm not that familiar with them anyway. Focus on checking Slytherin and Hufflepuff."
The girls gaped in astonishment.
Hermione completely lost her composure: "So you went to all this trouble... just to see who didn't give you Christmas presents?"
"Of course not." Wayne shook his head solemnly, his expression earnest. "If they didn't give me gifts, it means they don't consider me a friend. There must be something I've done wrong."
"I'll make sure to pay them extra attention in future."
The others caught his underlying meaning, their expressions becoming uncontrollable.
Just how petty could this person be...
...
Another hour passed, and Hermione and the others finally helped Wayne compile the statistics.
Only two Hufflepuff students hadn't given him gifts—one was Zacharias Smith, and the other was a seventh-year student about to graduate.
Wayne understood the latter's situation. It wasn't due to poor relations, but rather special family circumstances. They neither gave nor accepted gifts from others each year.
As for Slytherin... he was rather displeased.
A full twenty-four people.
He meticulously copied each name into his notebook—many bearing familiar surnames again.
Seeing he'd even prepared a dedicated little notebook, the girls didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Even Hermione, who'd known Wayne the longest, couldn't understand why he took such trivial matters so seriously.
Once everything was sorted, Gardevoir had dinner ready.
After the meal, they prepared to visit Hogsmeade for the evening fireworks display. Watching Sakura's excitement, Wayne asked amusedly, "Playing around all day—have you cracked the golden egg's secret yet?"
Sakura froze, then shot the boy a glare.
"Don't ruin the holiday mood! That egg can wait until term starts."
Tomoyo covered her mouth, giggling at Sakura's shameless evasion. Apart from listening to its screeching the day she got it, Sakura hadn't touched the egg since.
Fleur, however, blinked with quiet confidence—clearly having uncovered some clues.
...
As the group departed, a Niffler crawled from Wayne's pocket.
Unlike Jerry, this Niffler was much thinner, its belly less rounded.
A hoarse voice emerged from the creature: "So this is your daily life—wallowing in female company?"
"Jealous?" Wayne retorted.
"Jealous my arse!" The Niffler snorted. "What's so great about women? Real men should—"
"Stop." Wayne pinched its mouth shut. "Grindelwald, if you keep disgusting me, I'm sending you back."
With that, he dropped the Niffler to the floor.
"You're a proper bastard," the Niffler spat furiously. "Fine! At least I had more freedom in Nurmengard."
"Suit yourself." Wayne shrugged, tossing it aside. "Ho-Oh will take you back. I've got Harry's tutoring session—can't entertain you."
"Wait." The Niffler straightened, beady eyes fixed on him.
"You're meeting Harry Potter?"
"There's only one Harry here. Who else would it be?"
"Take me along."