With the core challenge resolved, remaining adjustments proved trivial.
Insufficient toxin suppression? Increase dosage.
Add two fur-inhibiting ingredients, merely ensuring no adverse reactions with existing components—child's play for two Potions Masters.
Their perfected formula required only three days.
A newly improved version of Wolfsbane Potion remained effective for up to six months. With Lupin no longer available for testing, a new werewolf subject was required.
Thus, Wayne directly handed the potion to Damocles.
Having lived over a century while dedicating his life to advocating for werewolves, Damocles knew plenty of them—finding test subjects wouldn't be an issue.
"And don't you laze about either. Remember to write that thesis," Damocles repeatedly emphasised before leaving. It had only been a year or two since they'd last met, yet Lawrence seemed even idler than before.
He genuinely worried that once he left, the boy would toss responsibilities aside and spend all his time fawning over those girls.
Were it not for fearing it might strain their relationship or trigger Wayne's rebellious streak, he'd have bluntly advised—Lad, women only slow your potion-brewing!
To prevent this, he'd specially enlisted Dumbledore's oversight.
With the Headmaster supervising, surely nothing could go wrong now?
Satisfied, Damocles departed, leaving Wayne and Dumbledore staring awkwardly at each other.
Dumbledore suddenly smiled. "Mr Lawrence... please don't disregard Damocles' kindness. He means well."
His tone carried unmistakable schadenfreude—seeing Wayne discomfited plainly delighted him.
"Headmaster..." Wayne fixed him with a solemn gaze. "Professor Flitwick mentioned you're also interested in Ravenclaw's notes?"
Dumbledore's smile stiffened. A foreboding prickled him, yet he nodded. "Indeed. As a wizard, I can hardly resist Ravenclaw's knowledge. Though this old man hasn't yet devised what might persuade you."
He'd long wished to negotiate with Wayne but lacked suitable bargaining chips.
"Simple." Now it was Wayne's turn to beam.
"You write this report for me, and I'll make you a copy of the notes."
Dumbledore was dumbfounded: "I write it for you?"
"Exactly. You co-authored 'Twelve Uses of Dragon Blood' with Nicolas back in the day, along with countless classic papers."
"With your help, this paper will be absolutely rigorous."
Dumbledore quickly countered: "But I know nothing about the latest Wolfsbane Potion."
"All the experimental processes and final results are right here." Wayne pulled out a thick stack of parchment, a full twenty centimetres tall with hundreds of sheets.
"Your potion skills are excellent too – I'm sure there won't be anything you can't understand. By the time you've finished reading, the paper should be nearly done."
"Then I'll make you that copy of Ravenclaw's notes."
Dumbledore was the very definition of a hexagonal warrior. His alchemy skills had earned Nicolas Flamel's approval; he could hold his own in scholarly discussions about the History of Magic, and his Transfiguration mastery was unparalleled in centuries. As for potions – such a fundamental subject could hardly challenge him.
During his studies, Wayne had even read several of his papers.
"I guarantee you won't regret it," Wayne said meaningfully, shaking his head afterwards as if savouring the notebook's contents.
This was all an act. He'd merely skimmed a few pages before Damocles showed up, leaving him no time recently to study it properly.
Still, based on what he'd seen, he wasn't entirely lying.
The notebook was profoundly arcane – less like early musings and more like the distilled essence of Ravenclaw's magical maturity.
Dumbledore's curiosity burned brighter.
Even he had to acknowledge one truth: you might doubt Lawrence's character, but never his discernment.
Whether in choosing girlfriends or academic matters.
Seeing Wayne's confident guarantee, he felt tempted.
But some haggling was still necessary.
"I could mentor you through writing the paper, Wayne. After all, this potion is your brainchild – you should complete it to properly articulate its merits."
The Headmaster spoke earnestly, but Wayne remained unmoved.
"Professor, I don't need them to understand – just to know it actually works and get it approved. No need for complications."
After several unsuccessful attempts to persuade him, Dumbledore found Wayne utterly unyielding and reluctantly agreed.
Delighted, Wayne handed over the notes and scampered off.
Staring at the parchment in his hands, the old wizard felt dizzy.
Writing a student's homework in his twilight years?
Wouldn't this tarnish his reputation?
...
[Congratulations, Host, for achieving the feat – Defying Heaven's Order: My Ghostwriter is the Headmaster. Completion: High. Obtained Critical Hit Gift Package.]
Wayne's eyebrows shot up.
He'd merely wanted to slack off – an unexpected bonus.
Originally heading to meet Cho, Wayne detoured to a secluded spot, slipped into his suitcase world, and opened the package.
Golden light flashed.
[Congratulations, Host, obtained Card Magic]
Three rotating cards – red, yellow and blue – appeared in Wayne's mind before shattering into streams of information that he absorbed.
Card magic, Twisted Fate's signature technique, involves imbuing playing cards with magical power to achieve various effects.
Red cards deal area damage, yellow cards immobilise, and blue cards pack a powerful single-target strike.
Wayne pulled out a deck of UNO cards, drew one, and flicked it casually. The card shot forth with a blue arc of light, striking a rock like an arrow.
A fine crack appeared in the solid stone. Circling around to the back, Wayne saw the card embedded in the ground—the rock, over a metre thick, had been completely pierced.
Next, he tested the yellow card's effect. While the immobilising property wasn't obvious, the accompanying force shattered the rock into dozens of fragments.
As for the final red card, it reduced those fragments to dust.
The power was decent—not overwhelming, but enough to diversify his offensive repertoire.
However, what Wayne valued more was the knowledge of magical property alteration within this skill, which would greatly aid his research into Command Seals.
Hmm, and Twisted Fate's card-throwing techniques too. That way, he'd never lose when playing cards with Hermione and the others.
When the time came...
Heh heh heh, strip mahjong—no, strip poker, anyone?
...
After briefly familiarising himself with the skill, Wayne returned to the castle.
It was Monday, the day Grindelwald tutored Harry, and he wanted to see what exactly the two of them studied during their sessions.
He'd noticed some changes in Harry during the last match, though they weren't too obvious yet—after all, the boy had always been a bit clever.
But if Harry really got led astray by Grindelwald...
Well, that might not be so bad?
In many ways, Grindelwald's methods were more practical than Dumbledore's life lessons. As long as he wasn't trying to incite war between Muggles and wizards, a bit of cunning could make life much more comfortable.
Wayne had no intention of interfering.
After dinner, he told Cho that Gardevoir would pick her up later, then headed to the third-floor classroom.
Pushing the door open, he found Harry seated in a chair, listening to the Niffler spin tall tales.
"What brings you here?" Grindelwald asked, surprised.
"Finished my work, thought I'd check on you," Wayne said, taking a seat. "What were you discussing just now?"
"Teaching him a simple spell," Grindelwald said flatly. "The boy's a bit slow—still can't grasp it after two lessons."
Harry grimaced. "Mr G, how is this spell simple? I haven't even taken Ancient Runes yet, and you're expecting me to cast magic using runes. It's impossible!"
"What spell is it, exactly?" Wayne asked curiously.
"Protego Diabolica."
Wayne sighed. "If I were Harry, I'd have cursed you out by now. He can't even control Fiendfyre, and you're teaching him this?"
"How do you learn to run before you can fly?"
"It's a simplified version. Ordinary flames will do." The Niffler hopped onto Wayne's shoulder in a few quick bounds.
"Perfect timing. Take us outside—there's not enough space here for him to practise."
Wayne didn't refuse, leading Harry to the barren land beside Hagrid's vegetable patch.
Grindelwald explained the simplified incantation to Wayne, who understood it after just one listen.
He'd once used the Fire-Making Charm to cast a rudimentary version of Protego Diabolica, though the principles behind his simplification differed from Grindelwald's.
He seemed to succeed with magic almost effortlessly, while Grindelwald had employed some runic abilities to help Harry understand.
"Today, you'll keep practising the Fire-Making Charm. First, get a feel for setting things ablaze. Don't hold back or worry about causing fires—Lawrence will handle the aftermath."
Grindelwald assigned Harry his task for the day.
Harry nodded earnestly before casting the Fire-Making Charm and the more basic Spark Charm.
After months of instruction, he'd grown accustomed to following Grindelwald's teachings without question.
Wayne alternated between extinguishing flames and chatting with Grindelwald.
"It's been over two months of teaching. What do you think of Harry?" Wayne asked.
"A tall tree among ordinary saplings," Grindelwald offered a fairly balanced assessment. "Decent talent, strong interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts. With proper training, he could become a competent Auror."
Having listed the positives, he began complaining: "But Dumbledore's held him back. According to Potter, apart from classes and tutoring here, he's had almost no opportunity to practise spells."
"No magic allowed at school, and the Forbidden Forest—such a perfect testing ground—is off-limits to students."
"What does Dumbledore think he's doing? Cultivating greenhouse flowers?"
"I quite agree with you there," Wayne nodded. "He always treats magic as dangerous—which I don't dispute—but the real danger isn't magic, it's people."
"Still, I understand why he does it. Too many have gone astray through obsession with magic."
Grindelwald snorted. "No wonder the wizarding world's declining daily. He's the root cause."
Wayne gave him an odd look. "Wasn't that because you wiped out an entire generation?"
Faced with the youth's bluntness, Grindelwald bared his teeth in frustration but could only stew silently.
After a pause, he asked somewhat awkwardly: "Potter mentioned Dumbledore's been vanishing unpredictably lately. What scheme is he plotting now?"
"No schemes. Just an old man wanting to spend time with family and enjoy his twilight years."
"Family?" Grindelwald mused... "You mean that fool Aberforth?"
"Hah! I refuse to believe they'd reconcile. After Credence died, those two were finished."
"And whose fault was that?" Wayne side-eyed the true culprit.
"Don't spout nonsense!" Grindelwald reacted vehemently. "He was an Obscurial! Even without my involvement, how long do you think he'd have lasted?"
"He lived to adulthood," Wayne countered coldly. "You taught him highly dangerous Dark Magic and methods to control the Obscurus, didn't you?"
"Don't pretend ignorance. Each use didn't just drain magical power—it consumed the host's life force."
Grindelwald fell silent, unable to refute this.
Reflecting further, Wayne realised the wizarding world's current state—its mediocre, infantile standard of magic—could indeed be traced to Grindelwald's influence.
The two lapsed into quiet, until the older wizard finally muttered:
"Regardless, I don't believe he's disappeared to see Aberforth."
"I never said he went to see Aberforth. He went to be with Ariana." As Wayne spoke, he summoned water from the Black Lake to extinguish the flames Harry had conjured.
At the mention of that name, Grindelwald's spirit instantly deflated. In a sombre tone, he reproached:
"Boy, that joke isn't the least bit funny."