Grindelwald's feelings towards Ariana were... complicated.
Not the romantic kind of complicated, mind you—unlike Snape's situation.
It was regret. No, more accurately, remorse.
Why had he brawled with that fool Aberforth? Why had he struck so recklessly?
Even if Ariana hadn't died, Dumbledore might still have hesitated.
But he could have waited!
Once the Obscurus within Ariana erupted, he would have eventually drawn Dumbledore out of Godric's Hollow.
Instead, their relationship had fractured beyond repair—a complete collapse, both professionally and personally.
So when Wayne mentioned Ariana, it instinctively unsettled him.
"Who's joking? If I'm lying, I'm Sirius."
Harry instinctively turned his head—were these two discussing Sirius?
Wayne waved him off, shooing him further away before addressing the Niffler: "Dumbledore and I found the Resurrection Stone at Christmas."
Grindelwald: "???"
Even a Niffler's eyes could convey shock, apparently.
"I know you're eager, but hold that thought."
Wayne cast a Silencing Charm to prevent Harry from overhearing.
"The Resurrection Stone isn't as miraculous as you imagine. It merely pulls souls into a space adjacent to the living world, with severe side effects."
"Only Dumbledore's willpower could withstand that terrifying wave of despair—and even then, not for long."
At this point, Wayne recalled Snape's performance, which had been utterly poor.
Every time he used the Resurrection Stone, it took him over a week to recover. Attending his classes felt downright depressing.
And now, Dumbledore was no longer obsessed with familial bonds. He borrowed the Resurrection Stone primarily to research souls and determine if it was truly possible to summon one back to the living world.
What he wanted wasn't some illusory Ariana, but a soul that could genuinely be revived.
The difference in their ambitions was stark.
Well, though, for the next while, Dumbledore probably wouldn't have the energy for it.
Writing a thesis on the Wolfsbane Potion wasn't exactly easy.
After hearing the whole story, Grindelwald didn't know what to say either.
In the end, he could only blurt out, "That wastrel Voldemort—using the Resurrection Stone to make a Horcrux. I don't know whether to call him extravagantly bold or just a clueless bumpkin."
At the same time, he felt a chill.
Just how many Horcruxes had Voldemort made?
Even the most evil, death-fearing wizard in history hadn't been this extreme, had he?
"Wayne, have you ever tried gathering all three Deathly Hallows?"
Grindelwald suddenly asked, his voice trembling with barely suppressed excitement.
With his talent for manipulation, he'd already seen right through Harry—down to his metaphorical underwear—and knew that one of the Hallows, the Invisibility Cloak, was in Harry's possession.
Back when he'd founded his followers, his original goal had been to find the three Hallows and use their power to change the world.
Who'd have thought that, through sheer coincidence, all three treasures would end up at Hogwarts?
"With your relationship with Potter, borrowing the Cloak would be no problem. And Dumbledore's Elder Wand—surely you're not completely unmoved?"
Grindelwald's words dripped with temptation, but Wayne's expression remained unchanged.
As if Grindelwald weren't talking about the legendary Deathly Hallows, but three random weeds by the roadside.
"The Elder Wand belongs to Dumbledore. If anyone's qualified to gather them, it's him."
"Don't you want to conquer death?" Grindelwald's voice rose an octave.
"I already have." Wayne gazed at the horizon as Ho-Oh flew over from the distance, landing beside him and nuzzling him affectionately.
"With my Ho-Oh here, death and I parted ways long ago."
Grindelwald spluttered, "That's relying on external power!"
Wayne countered, "And the Deathly Hallows isn't?"
Grindelwald fell silent, but he still refused to give up. If Wayne wouldn't do it, then he'd get Dumbledore to.
He no longer had any personal obsessions, but the mystery of the Deathly Hallows weighed heaviest on him. If he didn't solve it, he'd die with regrets.
Seeing Grindelwald so agitated was a rare sight for Wayne. Amused, he agreed.
He'd go talk to Dumbledore.
...
The next day, Wayne arrived at the Headmaster's Office.
First, he checked on the progress of the thesis, then brought up Grindelwald's question.
After listening, Dumbledore set down his quill and sighed.
"To be honest, Wayne, the very day I got the Resurrection Stone, I borrowed the Cloak from Harry."
Wayne: "..."
Well played, Dumbledore. Who'd have thought someone with such honest-looking eyebrows would pull a sneaky move like that?
"Then why didn't you tell me earlier?" Wayne said discontentedly.
"Because I found nothing," Dumbledore replied even more helplessly. "At the time, all three Hallows were placed on the table, yet nothing happened. I even held them to summon spirits, but there was still no change."
"Perhaps the legend about the three Hallows conquering death is just a rumour. Or perhaps it's because I'm not their true master."
"You're the master of the Resurrection Stone, the Invisibility Cloak belongs to Harry – simply gathering them together means nothing."
"..."
Having gotten his answer, Wayne didn't dwell on it further, sending Ho-Oh to deliver a letter to Nurmengard.
Grindelwald was deeply disappointed upon hearing this – he'd wanted to persuade Wayne to seize the other two Hallows.
However, Wayne ignored him.
It wasn't that he didn't believe there might be secrets involved, but rather that he saw no need to expend energy on it.
This was harder to investigate than determining who Helena's father was – pure wasted effort with no reward.
...
Life at Hogwarts then entered a period of stability.
Just days after the conflict, Karkaroff was admitted to the hospital wing due to "localised discomfort".
Upon discovering the condition required surgical intervention, his pride prevented him from letting Madam Pomfrey perform the operation, so he was transferred to St Mungo's.
What Karkaroff didn't know was that having been hit with the Haemorrhoid Hex, any removed growths would quickly regrow within six months – and grow progressively larger – until the curse's duration expired.
By that time, he'd likely need an open-door policy down there.
With one nuisance gone, Hogwarts became considerably more harmonious.
As the next tournament match wasn't until after final exams, students gradually stopped paying attention to the Holy Grail War, focusing more on their studies instead.
The Hogwarts students had it worst.
This was a seven-school joint examination. Previously, they'd only competed against students from other houses – now there were six additional schools involved. If they performed too poorly, the teachers would lose face.
Not only did homework gradually increase, but classroom demands also became stricter.
In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Moody finally brought out his ultimate teaching tool – the three Unforgivable Curses – to give students a lesson they'd never forget.
Moody, disguised as Barty Crouch Jr disguised as Moody, was mimicking the 'real' professor's behaviour patterns, hence this decision.
That he'd waited this long to introduce the Unforgivable Curses showed remarkable restraint, Wayne thought.
To be precise, it wasn't an introduction but a demonstration.
In class, Moody placed a mouse inside a transparent glass enclosure.
"I expect you all know about the three Unforgivable Curses, but has anyone actually used or witnessed them?"
No one answered. Wayne lowered his head in thought.
He'd never used the Killing Curse, rarely used the Imperius Curse, and had only employed the Cruciatus Curse a few times – all on Barty Jr.
Well, and perhaps Tom too.
Looking at it this way, he really was quite a good person.
When no one responded, Moody continued unperturbed:
"Before this lesson, I actually spoke with Dumbledore. He felt exposing you to these curses was too early – and too cruel."
"I couldn't disagree more," Moody rasped in his gravelly voice.
"Dark Wizards don't care about your age, and their wands don't come with underage protection laws."
Seamus burst out laughing at Moody's dark joke, only to realise he was the sole one laughing in class. His chuckles died abruptly after two awkward sounds.
"First, the Imperius Curse."
"Imperio!" Moody pointed at the rat, which had been cowering in a corner. It immediately stood upright, then dropped down and began chasing its own tail at remarkable speed.
When Moody finally stopped it, the rat could barely stand, rolling onto its back yet still performing an elaborate tap dance under his command, falling several times during the routine.
The class laughed – except Moody.
"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody growled. "How'd you like it if I tried it on you?"
The laughter vanished instantly.
"The Imperius Curse causes no physical harm, yet this magic can be more dangerous than the Killing Curse at times. Remember, only unwavering willpower can resist it."
Students bent over their desks, taking notes as if under the curse themselves.
When they looked up again, he began demonstrating the Cruciatus Curse. A red flash struck the rat, its legs immediately curling inward as its body convulsed violently.
Though of different species, the young wizards could still feel the rodent's agony.
Noticing Neville's distress, Moody stopped at once. The round-faced boy gripped his desk with white-knuckled intensity, eyes wide with terror.
"Longbottom!" Moody barked. "Never fear the Cruciatus!"
"I know what this curse did to your parents, but you mustn't be afraid. The more you fear it, the more Dark Wizards will use it!"
"Don't disgrace Frank!"
Moody's words strengthened Neville, who nodded firmly. Though still pale, his trembling ceased.
"I understand, Professor Moody."
"Good. Remember – never cower before evil. Your cowardice emboldens them."
Seeing solemn expressions across the classroom, Moody's stern demeanour softened slightly.
Teaching genuine Defence Against the Dark Arts was one purpose of his Hogwarts appointment – but his primary mission was teaching these young wizards to confront darkness without flinching.
Without courage, even mastered spells would prove useless.
"Finally... Avada Kedavra!"
Green light seared their vision. Harry felt a stabbing pain between his eyes. When he blinked, the rat lay motionless – permanently freed.
He caught a fleeting satisfaction in Ron's eyes.
Moody murmured, "Most unpleasant. No counter-curse exists, nor any shield. Only one person's ever survived it – and he sits before me now."
Harry flushed crimson as every head swivelled towards him.
"So don't try blocking the Killing Curse with the Shield Charm I taught you. This magic is indefensible – in modern terms, at least."
Moody's magical eye swivelled towards Wayne before assigning homework: "Six-foot parchment on focusing willpower to resist the Imperius. Next lesson, I'll test each of you."
The bell rang precisely as he finished speaking.
Moody limped out of the classroom with his textbooks in hand, and the tense atmosphere gradually eased as students began filing out.
"Ron, you seemed quite pleased earlier?"
Harry walked alongside Ron, suddenly lowering his voice to ask.
"Pleased?" Ron froze, then shook his head vigorously. "How could I be pleased? Those were Unforgivable Curses."
Seeing Harry's sceptical look, he deflated. "Alright, fine. I was imagining that rat as Peter Pettigrew."
Harry immediately understood and sympathetically patted his friend's shoulder. "If it had been Voldemort, I'd have been even happier than you."
The two continued towards the common room.
Meanwhile, further back, Wayne intercepted a blonde-haired girl from Castelobruxo.
"Ksenia, I've recently acquired some excellent wines. Fancy sampling them tonight?"
"Really?" The blonde girl lit up with excitement before growing wary. "Lawrence, you're not going to charge me, are you? My wallet's already been drained by your card games and fine wines."
"Of course not. This is my treat—how could I take your money?" Wayne said magnanimously. "I just think you've got great taste. If you approve, this wine will definitely sell well."
After his repeated assurances, Ksenia relaxed completely and agreed with a smile.
They arranged to meet at nine that evening in the corridor between the new building and the castle.
Watching the blonde girl disappear from view, Wayne spoke without turning his head. "Hermione, I can explain..."
"Then explain..."
Hermione's voice floated eerily from behind him, her wand already drawn.
Wayne turned with a smile and took her small hand in his. "I'm just curious about the Castelobruxo students. Their philosophies are quite similar to Muggle society—I wanted to learn more."
"You're not jealous, are you?"
"Of course not." Hermione pulled her hand back with a light huff. "I was just wondering how your taste could have dropped so drastically."
She knew Wayne wouldn't lie about such things—the man never bothered hiding his escapades. Recently, he'd been getting rather cosy with that girl from Ilvermorny, too.
...
Come evening, Wayne evaded Filch and found Ksenia in the corridor, leading her to the small courtyard garden.
He placed several bottles of bourbon on the stone table.
Although vodka was universally popular in Russia, practically considered a fruit wine, bourbon was far more favoured by women.
Sure enough, upon seeing it was whisky, Ksenia took a hearty swig, her face lighting up with delight.
"This is divine, Lawrence. It must be terribly expensive?"
Wayne smiled and nodded but didn't mention the price.
Eight pounds a bottle—the cheapest kind.
But thanks to his magic—specifically the Fine Wine Charm—even the most inferior liquor could be transformed into the finest treasure.
As they clinked glasses, Ksenia's cheeks soon flushed pink, her gaze growing hazy.
Wayne knew the moment had arrived. After coaxing her into two more drinks through card games, he finally broached the subject...