In the familiar classroom, only Harry attended today's tutoring session.
Many students had left for home after the morning ball—Malfoy among them. Still, plenty remained, keeping the castle lively.
Harry arrived after the lavish Christmas feast, in decent spirits now that the excruciating dance was over.
"What are we learning today?" he asked.
Before Wayne could answer, a Niffler emerged, scrutinising Harry with bean-like eyes.
Harry blurted out, "Jerry? Why've you lost so much weight?"
"This isn't Jerry."
Wayne lifted Jerry out and weighed him in his palm, showing Harry that only such a plump Niffler was truly his own.
As for this one, it had been hastily caught last night—a tool Niffler for Grindelwald to possess.
Old Gellert, true to his reputation as the original dark lord, was undeniably gifted. A niche spell composed entirely of ancient runes and forgotten languages, and he'd grasped the basics in just one night, managing to split off a fragment of his consciousness to possess another creature.
Carrying over actual power, however, wasn't so simple. Of course, Wayne hadn't taught him that part. If Grindelwald could figure it out on his own, that would be his own achievement.
With the magic learned, it was time for a test run.
Grindelwald asked Wayne to see things through and fetch him a small animal for the experiment.
So Wayne brought back a Niffler.
Grindelwald's face had turned green on the spot. If he'd had a wand in hand, he'd have surely cast a spell to match his expression.
After a fierce internal struggle, Grindelwald relented.
Freedom was paramount. As for the Niffler... well, at least it wasn't one of Newt's.
"Is this Harry Potter? Looks dim-witted and punchable—just like your senior," Grindelwald remarked, his resentment practically tangible. For a moment, the bespectacled dunderhead overlapped with the freckled nuisance in his memories.
Sensing danger, Harry instinctively took two steps back before catching himself.
"Bloody hell, the Niffler talked!"
"Wait, no—an Animagus!"
Wayne sighed. "Harry, after being tricked so badly by an Animagus last term, haven't you learned anything?"
"Since when do Animagi have magical creature forms?"
"Oh. Right." Harry blinked, then eyed the boy curiously. "So then this is..."
"You can call him Old G. A friend of mine." Wayne dangled the Niffler by its scruff. "Not his real body, just a magical effect. He's curious about Hogwarts but can't visit in person, so he's dropping by magically instead."
Harry nodded vaguely and offered a polite, "Hello, Mr G."
Grindelwald gave a dismissive hum in response.
"Right, back to the lesson." Wayne tossed Grindelwald aside and flicked his wand.
Several chairs shattered instantly, reforming into lanterns the size of teacups that darted through the air at high speed. After a few adjustments, their movements became utterly erratic.
Just watching them for a moment made Harry's head spin—like a dozen Bludgers circling him.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"Your spellwork's decent now, especially the Stunning Spell, Knockback Jinx, and your signature Disarming Charm. You've even mastered nonverbal spellcasting—that's commendable."
Harry grinned sheepishly, heart swelling. After so long, praise from Wayne was rare enough to count on one hand. This sense of achievement outweighed even Professor McGonagall's compliments.
"However..." Having dispensed the praise, Wayne moved on to critique.
"Your casting's too rigid. I've told you since day one—never stop moving. Even when incanting, keep your feet active."
"Another issue is your accuracy. Your aim still isn't precise enough. Every spell must be aimed as close to a wizard's head as possible."
Harry nodded repeatedly. "I'll pay attention to that."
"Today, your task is to knock down all these lanterns. No leaving until you've finished."
With that, Wayne sat down beside Grindelwald, leaving Harry to train freely.
"What spells can I use?"
"Anything you're proficient with."
Harry very much wanted to say he could burn all the lanterns to ashes with a single Blasting Curse, but he was certain that if he actually did so, Wayne would burn him alive instead.
So he obediently used the Disarming Charm.
Red light flashed continuously in the room. Wayne was right – his aim was indeed poor. It wasn't until his fifth attempt that he shattered the first lantern.
What made Harry blush was that he'd actually been aiming for the one beside it.
Now he understood the purpose of Wayne's training exercise.
In the chaos of battle, his spells might hit allies instead of enemies.
Harry switched to the less magically demanding Knockback Jinx and became more cautious with his casting.
After a while, half of the fifteen lanterns in the air had fallen.
But to his dismay, the lanterns he'd already knocked down suddenly repaired themselves and floated back up, as if mocking his incompetence.
Wayne's voice chimed in at just the right moment: "Forgot to mention – if you don't knock them all down within five minutes, even the broken ones will restore themselves."
Harry's face fell completely, but not daring to protest, he could only start over with a pained expression.
"Pathetic," Grindelwald said disapprovingly. "Can't even complete such simple training. What exactly did Dumbledore see in him?"
Wayne corrected: "It's more accurate to say Voldemort chose him."
Grindelwald let out a thoroughly scornful laugh: "No wonder he got killed by his own Killing Curse. Probably wasn't right in the head."
"Perhaps," Wayne didn't argue.
Before their conversation began, he'd already soundproofed Harry's area, so there was no need for restraint.
Soon, Grindelwald couldn't stand watching anymore and told Wayne to lift the Silencing Charm.
"Harry Potter! How exactly have you been learning magic?"
"Your wand isn't just a tool – it's your partner, an extension of your arm!"
"Focus your eyes, mind and will entirely on your target. Don't think about hitting it – just concentrate on tearing those damned lanterns apart!"
Harry, about to cast another spell, froze and looked uncertainly at the Niffler on the table.
"Listen to him," Wayne added. "Mr G is an exceptionally powerful wizard. Countless people would beg for his guidance. You should treasure this opportunity."
"Oh."
Harry acknowledged this but didn't immediately act. Instead, he reflected on Grindelwald's reprimand.
Eyes. Mind. Will.
Don't aim with the wand in hand, but firmly believe you will hit the lantern.
"Flipendo!"
A blue arc sliced through the air, striking the top of the target lantern with perfect accuracy.
"I did it!" Harry's face lit up with joy.
"There's still hope." Grindelwald seemed somewhat satisfied. "Remember, you must grow accustomed to the feel of a wand in your hand, yet simultaneously disregard its presence."
"This will greatly assist your future training in wandless magic."
"I understand, Mr Gellert," Harry said respectfully, continuing his practice.
Following Grindelwald's method, his accuracy and precision improved significantly. The older wizard pointed out every minor flaw along the way.
His voice was hoarse and deep, yet carried an undeniable magical quality—as if people were born to follow his guidance.
Harry felt it too. Not a shred of resistance rose within him.
Even when being reprimanded, he could only blame himself.
The greatest difference between the two Dark Lords wasn't their power, but this uncanny ability to bewitch minds—or rather, to inspire unwavering loyalty.
Yet Wayne found the scene rather bizarre.
The first Dark Lord is mentoring the arch-nemesis of the second.
When Harry eventually faced Voldemort, would he shout, "My master is Grindelwald"?
...
One hour later.
"Thank you very much, Mr G." Harry bowed politely to the Niffler, having gained tremendously from today's session.
"Don't thank me."
Grindelwald remained indifferent. "I was merely assisting young Lawrence today. This had nothing to do with you."
"One final piece of advice for you – learning how to cast magic is merely the first step in becoming a wizard."
"A true wizard can unleash more powerful spells in battle, breaking through their limits, rather than being all theory with no practical skills, panicking when it comes to real combat."
Wayne lowered his head and poked the Niffler.
Though these words were directed at Harry, he couldn't help feeling they also included Hermione and Fleur.
Grindelwald glared angrily at Wayne, though the Niffler's beady eyes lacked any real intimidation.
Can't you see I'm in the middle of looking cool here? Ruining the atmosphere.
Fortunately, Harry was thoroughly convinced today and didn't notice their interaction, instead nodding solemnly.
...
The two parted ways, and Wayne stood in the corridor, asking softly, "Where else would you like to go?"
Grindelwald pondered for a moment. "You're the host here. Show me around as you please."
For Dumbledore, Hogwarts encompassed most of his life. To him, this castle held immeasurably special significance.
Yet Grindelwald, with whom he shared such a complicated relationship, had never set foot on these grounds.
The reason he wanted to learn Wayne's possession spell was precisely to visit this place.
After all, given his identity, arriving here in person was nearly impossible.
Hearing his request, Wayne didn't refuse.
After some thought, he first took Grindelwald for a stroll around the Black Lake, then walked along the edge of the forest bordering the grounds.
Along the way, they encountered Hagrid.
The half-giant was in poor spirits. Yesterday, Hagrid had confessed his heritage to Madame Maxime and even persuaded her to admit she was also half-giant, which thoroughly angered Maxime. Their meeting ended badly.
Wayne could only sympathise.
Expecting Hagrid to understand tact was like hoping Voldemort would turn over a new leaf.
Moreover, he genuinely didn't think Hagrid and Maxime were a well-matched pair, given the vast differences in their social standing and living environments.
After parting with Hagrid, Wayne returned to the castle.
The school still enforced curfew during holidays, but that made no difference to him.
Man and Niffler walked from the common room all the way to the eighth floor.
Suddenly, Wayne asked, "Want to see Dumbledore's office?"
Grindelwald's interest was piqued. "It's on this floor?"
"Mm. See that gargoyle? That's the entrance." Wayne pointed towards the end of the corridor.
"Let's take a look then." Grindelwald naturally wouldn't refuse.
Wayne warned, "Remember to play dead once we're inside. Don't let the Headmaster notice anything, or we'll both be in trouble."
"Relax. I've fooled Albus countless times before. He won't notice."
After wishing the gargoyle a merry Christmas, Wayne stepped onto the moving staircase.
Unexpectedly, Dumbledore wasn't in his office. The room was silent, the portraits all asleep with their curtains drawn.
Grindelwald surveyed the room. Though he'd never been here before, it felt strangely familiar.
His gaze sharpened as he spotted a photograph displayed in a cabinet beside the desk.
"Wayne, move closer," Grindelwald said gravely.
Wayne approached.
In the photograph, two handsome young men smiled brightly at the camera.
...
Meanwhile, at St Mungo's.
Dumbledore remained entirely unaware that his old friend had arrived at Hogwarts, for at that moment, he was visiting an elderly man on the brink of decay.
"I don't understand why you're so fixated on this matter, Dumbledore," the old man spoke with deliberate slowness. "That experience was so long ago, my memories have grown terribly hazy..."
"Though I dislike saying it..." Dumbledore sat by the bedside, peeling an apple for him.
"But Bob, we're wizards. If you truly wish to remember, you certainly can."
Dumbledore sliced the apple into segments, arranging them on a plate, his gaze inadvertently brushing the old man's temple.
Noticing the hint, the man fell silent for a moment.
"You want my memories?"
"This is vitally important to me, Bob," Dumbledore said earnestly.
Bob Ogden – seventy years ago, he'd been head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement Squad.
In 1925, he'd undertaken a mission whose complete details Dumbledore now required.
Yet the intervening decades had eroded Ogden's recollection to mere outlines and final outcomes.
For anyone, requesting memories constituted a profound invasion of privacy – even when the request came from Dumbledore.
Ogden hesitated, but Dumbledore's longstanding reputation for integrity ultimately persuaded him.
...
Late at night, Dumbledore returned to the castle with the successfully obtained memory.
Despite the hour, he didn't retire, instead pouring the silvery substance from its vial into the Pensieve, where it swirled slowly, emitting a faint glow.
Drawing a deep breath, Dumbledore plunged his face into the silvery mass.
Only after considerable time did he resurface, his expression complicated.
"Marvolo... Merope..."
Having witnessed the complete sequence, the final fragments of his uncertainty fell into place.
There would almost certainly be a Horcrux there.
Dumbledore, who'd studied Voldemort exhaustively, knew the Dark Lord would only place Horcruxes in locations of personal significance.
And what could better proclaim his heritage as Slytherin's heir than the Gaunt family shack?
Just as Dumbledore resolved to investigate the location, a sudden, piercing pain lanced through his chest.
His expression shifting, Dumbledore staggered backwards into his chair.
After a moment, a wry smile twisted his lips.
"How could I have forgotten that vow?"
Had the Unbreakable Vow not retaliated, he might never have recalled that upon discovering concrete Horcrux clues, he was magically bound to include Wayne in the retrieval.
Had he attempted to go alone, his heart would likely have detonated upon arrival.
Could this be yet another founder's relic?
A sense of foreboding settled over Dumbledore.
At this rate, all four founders' artefacts would indeed end up in Lawrence's possession!
The old headmaster didn't yet realise how conservative his estimation remained.
Only upon seeing the Horcrux would he experience true heartbreak...