What story Grindelwald told Harry, Wayne naturally had no way of knowing.
But he wasn't the least bit worried about Harry following Grindelwald's path.
Simply because... they were fundamentally different kinds of people.
Harry had grown up in the dreadful environment of the Dursleys' home. After coming to school, he faced crises every year, stepping forward whether by choice or necessity, disregarding personal safety.
You could say Harry was thoughtless, impulsive, and sometimes hot-tempered.
But you absolutely couldn't say he wasn't a classic example of a good person.
Especially in his seventh year, when Harry learned about his status as a half-Horcrux and understood Dumbledore's plan, he faced death with equanimity.
With that level of resolve, Harry would never accept Grindelwald's ideology.
Besides, what if he did get successfully brainwashed?
Harry's talent ceiling was obvious—at best, he'd become another Snape or James Potter, never reaching Grindelwald's heights or causing any real upheaval.
Charisma alone wasn't enough to accomplish anything; you needed power to match.
So Grindelwald was doomed to fail.
He knew it himself. He was only toying with Harry on a whim, to spite Dumbledore.
Wayne just hoped Grindelwald's interest would last a while longer, so he could enjoy some peace.
...
In the classroom, Grindelwald's story was nearly finished.
He hadn't told it in full, stopping at the three-way duel that killed an innocent girl.
This episode was one of the century's greatest secrets. Even Hermione wouldn't know the details, let alone a lacking student like Harry.
So... Harry naively thought it was just a story.
"Do you have any questions?" Grindelwald asked when he finished.
Harry, utterly engrossed, eagerly asked, "Sir, who cast the spell that killed the girl?"
"Unknown..." Grindelwald's voice was hoarse. "Whoever it was, it wasn't intentional. Even that outsider boy only saw the girl as a burden—he never meant to kill her."
Harry frowned. "Family isn't a burden or dead weight. Who was he to make decisions for others?"
"It wasn't about making decisions," Grindelwald explained patiently. "Jude Law was torn at the time. He was too talented, with grand ambitions, yet held back by two incompetent family members—unable to help more people or change the world. Isn't that a waste?"
"He was the one who told Depp 'for the greater good,' yet in the end, he was the one who wavered."
"Shouldn't Depp have given him a push?"
Jude Law was his stand-in for Dumbledore, while Depp represented himself. Aberforth was merely referred to as "the goat."
Harry fell silent. He still didn't agree with the reasoning, but didn't know how to argue against it.
"Potter, you actually face the same choice," Grindelwald said meaningfully.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You must be joking. I'm just an ordinary wizard. I could never be as powerful as the protagonists in your stories."
In a three-way duel, even a stray spell could kill someone. He didn't think he'd ever reach that level in his lifetime. And the three young men in the story were only just graduated.
"Heh." Grindelwald chuckled. "Potter, between you and Voldemort, only one can survive. You can't escape this. It's your destiny."
"Then it'll definitely be me who survives," Harry said with absolute certainty.
"Oh?" The Niffler's beady eyes fixed on him. "Where does this confidence come from? How can you be so sure you'll surpass Voldemort?"
Because Grindelwald had used Voldemort's name directly, Harry's favourable impression of him increased slightly.
"It's simple," Harry said confidently. "Voldemort fears Dumbledore, and there's also Wayne. With those two around, they'll definitely finish off Voldemort for good. Doesn't that mean I'm safe?"
Grindelwald: "..."
Dumbledore, you should come and see this.
Your chosen saviour has turned into a lazy fish who only knows how to cling to others' coattails!
Grindelwald felt stifled. He was beginning to doubt whether he could win his wager with Wayne at all. Brainwashing this hopeless case was proving rather difficult!
An hour passed swiftly. Harry hadn't learned anything magical, having spent the entire time chatting with Grindelwald, yet he didn't feel bored in the slightest.
"Same time next week. I'll teach you some proper combat magic."
"Alright, Mr G." Harry nodded. "How are you getting back? Should I escort you to Wayne?"
"No need. He's already made arrangements."
"Then I'll be off."
Harry left the classroom. Not long after, Ho-Oh emerged from flames, snatched up the Niffler and vanished again.
Grindelwald gritted his teeth.
Since he'd be teaching Harry regularly from now on, he couldn't get rid of this damned Niffler. He'd have to endure keeping it.
Just looking at the creature made him remember what had been stolen from him decades ago.
Bloody Hufflepuffs! Nothing but trouble!
One shrimp stole his marriage certificate, and now this pig-hearted fellow was forcing him to raise a Niffler.
He'd get his revenge one day!
...
In the blink of an eye, a week had passed.
On this Saturday, the castle buzzed with excitement.
From today onwards, there would be a Quidditch Match nearly every Saturday for the next few months. The draw had determined that Ilvermorny would face Mahoutokoro in today's opening match.
All schools treated these competitions with no less seriousness than the Holy Grail War. After deciding to host the inter-school tournament, they'd even called in additional Quidditch players from their respective institutions.
If the Triwizard Tournament pitted each school's elite against one another, then the Quidditch matches became battlefields testing collective strength.
Sports are war without the shooting – this saying held equally true in the wizarding world.
By eleven o'clock, everyone had left the castle, walking beneath brilliant sunshine towards the Quidditch Pitch.
To everyone's delight, the stadium had been renovated – seating capacity nearly doubled, with brand new, far more comfortable chairs installed throughout.
In the stands, the students of Mahoutokoro began singing their school anthem as their massive emblem fluttered in the air. Thick golden smoke coalesced into the shape of a gigantic Golden Snitch.
"So intense," Hermione couldn't help but click her tongue. "It feels like every single person at Mahoutokoro is a Quidditch fanatic."
Since today's match wasn't inter-house, the young wizards sat more casually. Hermione had moved to sit beside Wayne, while Fleur and Astoria had joined them too.
"You're not wrong," Wayne explained with a smile. "Although Quidditch is the most popular sport among wizards worldwide, its status at Mahoutokoro is even higher."
"Some students even graduate despite poor magical abilities, as long as their Quidditch skills are exceptional enough."
"That's ridiculous," Astoria said, shrinking back slightly as she watched the opposing stands where students were nearly screaming themselves hoarse.
"Actually, Mahoutokoro's obsession with Quidditch is partly Hogwarts' fault."
The girls all turned to him curiously.
Wayne elaborated on the backstory.
About four hundred years ago, a few Hogwarts students—well, more like troublemakers—attempted to circumnavigate the globe on their modified brooms. Blown off course by fierce winds at sea, they were fortuitously rescued by a Mahoutokoro professor.
To repay the debt, they taught the local students the rules of Quidditch.
From then on, the sport flourished at Mahoutokoro, even developing a unique tradition: the fiercer the winds, the more riders were expected to charge headlong into them, honing their flying skills to perfection.
This was why Mahoutokoro's Quidditch prowess was unmatched.
How unmatched?
Before Lee Jordan could even get into his commentary, Sakura had already caught the Golden Snitch.
The stadium fell silent for a few seconds before erupting into thunderous applause and cheers.
"One hundred and fifty to zero—unbelievable!" Lee Jordan screeched. "Sakura Kinomoto caught the Snitch in just one minute and twenty seconds!"
"Thank Merlin, this isn't a Hogwarts inter-house match, or she'd have broken a hundred records with that speed!"
"Competitors from other schools, are you ready for Mahoutokoro's challenge?"
As Lee finished, the applause from non-Mahoutokoro students noticeably dimmed.
The Hogwarts players huddled together, their expressions grim.
"Merlin's beard," George exclaimed dramatically. "Harry, did you see her move? Like lightning!"
"You'd think she was riding a Firebolt!"
Harry and Cedric, both Seekers, wore solemn expressions.
It wasn't just her flying skill and sharp eyes—they noticed Sakura had feinted in the opposite direction first, tricking Ilvermorny's Seeker into charging the wrong way before darting toward the Snitch.
Utterly composed.
"Harry, do you think you can handle her?" Cedric asked gravely.
Harry stared at him blankly. "I thought Cho was representing us for that match?"
"Oh. Right." Cedric smacked his forehead—he'd forgotten.
"Well, then it's not our problem. Win if we can, but if not, we can at least drag it out with the Firebolt and score a few more goals."
The team nodded in unison....
The match ended far too quickly, leaving students who had anticipated an exciting duel somewhat dissatisfied, though there was nothing to be done about it.
No sooner had their backsides warmed the seats than they had to get up and leave.
"You go on ahead. I've got something to attend to," Wayne said to Hermione before quickening his pace to intercept Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, do you have a moment?"
A flicker of excitement flashed in Dumbledore's eyes—he had guessed why Wayne sought him out.
"Madame Maxime, Mr Koga, I must take my leave first," Dumbledore said to the other headmasters, barely suppressing the urge to Apparate away with Wayne immediately.
Once acknowledged, Dumbledore promptly followed Wayne back towards the castle.
"Why does he seem in such a hurry?" Maxime frowned as she watched their retreating figures. "Has something happened?"
"Likely Hogwarts' internal affairs," Zaka speculated. "Dumbledore can handle it. No need for us to meddle."
Nearby, Koga and Katerina nodded in agreement, letting the matter drop.
...
Inside the Headmaster's Office, Wayne wasted no time. He produced the Resurrection Stone without preamble.
"The curse and Voldemort's soul fragment have been completely purged. You may use it without concern."
Dumbledore's hands trembled as he gingerly took the stone, eagerly rotating it three times—just as described in The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
In a realm invisible to Wayne, three figures suddenly materialised.
Tears streamed down Dumbledore's face. "Ariana... Percival... Kendra..."
Hearing these names, Wayne's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Three at once—Dumbledore had buried his suffering deep indeed.
Percival, Dumbledore's father, had been imprisoned in Azkaban for retaliating against the boys who tormented Ariana. He died not long after.
Kendra, Dumbledore's mother, had relocated the family to Godric's Hollow, where she perished in an accident, killed by Ariana's Magic Riot.
It could be said that the origin of all tragedies in the Dumbledore family stemmed from those three little boys long ago.
Without them, Ariana wouldn't have become an Obscurial, and none of the subsequent events would have occurred.
Yet one couldn't say it was entirely a bad thing.
Had Ariana not developed problems, perhaps Dumbledore and Grindelwald might have joined forces, and the wizarding world would have reached its conclusion long ago.
Wayne sat quietly on the sofa, lost in aimless thoughts.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore murmured to himself, tears streaming down his aged face and into his beard.
He was apologising to his parents, confessing to his sister—everything felt so real, the three spectral figures more substantial than ghosts, as if truly brought back to life.
But gradually, Dumbledore noticed something amiss.
"Ultimately... just an illusion?"
They were cold yet sorrowful. Though returned to the mortal world, they didn't belong here, forever separated by a veil—so close yet impossibly distant.
Summoning formidable willpower, Dumbledore put down the Resurrection Stone.
His sister and parents vanished.
A wave of grief permeated the room, even the usually boisterous Sorting Hat falling silent.
The Headmaster portraits discreetly observed Dumbledore, who sat as if soul-stricken, utterly despondent.
An immeasurable time passed.
"Thank you, Mr Lawrence," Dumbledore rasped, pushing the Resurrection Stone forward.
"Professor, I believe you should have been mentally prepared," Wayne said as he pocketed the stone. "Have you forgotten how the second Peverell brother died?"
In The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the second brother had demanded the Resurrection Stone to mock Death.
He summoned his beloved, yet couldn't truly touch her, eventually breaking down and taking his own life.
"I understand." Dumbledore closed his eyes. Moments later, he'd regained some composure. "I can confirm they truly returned—but not completely."
"Mr Lawrence, have you tried it yourself?"
Wayne shook his head. "No. I only finished restoring the Resurrection Stone this morning."
"Then don't attempt it," Dumbledore advised gravely. "Had I not known of my unfinished mission, I might not have overcome this either."
"The living still need my guidance ahead. I cannot stop now."
"You might consider a brighter perspective," Wayne mused, turning Gaunt's Ring in his fingers. "Even if not truly resurrected, they're closer to you now."
"Think of the Resurrection Stone as a communication device. Across two worlds, you can still converse—isn't that happiness enough?"
Dumbledore stared blankly before smiling faintly. "Thank you for your counsel. I feel much better."
"Viewed differently, problems do simplify remarkably."
His gaze dropped to the ring in Wayne's hand. "I suddenly wish to speak with them again."
"Then you'll need to queue," Wayne said, closing his fist around the stone. "I've an appointment with Professor Snape."
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly. Remembering his own recent state, he nodded involuntarily.
"Then don't delay. Go quickly."