It was Wayne's first realisation that Dumbledore's sarcasm could rival even Snape's.
The ashen pallor of Lucius Malfoy's face revealed just how devastatingly effective that simple remark had been.
Abraxas Malfoy – Lucius's father, Draco Malfoy's grandfather.
Dragon pox was a uniquely wizarding disease against which even the most esoteric potions proved largely ineffective.
Sufferers developed scarred, greenish skin and emitted sparks when sneezing.
Early stages were treatable, but advanced cases became incurable.
Dying from this contagion was generally considered disgraceful among wizards.
Ironically, dragon pox predominantly afflicted pure-blood wizards – likely a consequence of inbreeding.
Not only Abraxas Malfoy, but Harry's grandparents had also succumbed to dragon pox.
Dumbledore's reference served dual purposes: mocking Lucius's early orphanhood and implying his lack of upbringing.
Wayne watched as Lucius raised his ornate cane, only to lower it helplessly.
Such restraint!
"I apologise, Dumbledore," Lucius gritted out. "But you must explain your unauthorised return."
"Explain what?" Dumbledore regarded him calmly. "How you threatened the other ten governors? How you vowed to curse their families if they didn't suspend me?"
Lucius paled further. "Have you resolved the attacks?"
"Naturally." Dumbledore raised the diary. "Someone brought one of Voldemort's former possessions into the school, causing this term's disturbances."
"I'm most curious how Lockhart came to possess this diary."
"Lockhart?" Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened slightly. "You're saying Lockhart is the culprit?"
Dumbledore stared directly into his eyes with an unsettling intensity.
Soon, he lowered his gaze.
Lucius realised something, his expression changing abruptly. "Damn it! You used the Legilimency on me!"
"Let's discuss the origin of Tom Riddle's Diary instead," Dumbledore sidestepped the accusation. "Such Dark Artefacts should fall under Arthur's jurisdiction."
"I suppose he really ought to investigate properly. The last search wasn't thorough enough."
"Investigate all you like. It's nothing to do with me," Lucius said with visible discomfort. "Since the attacks have ended, congratulations, Dumbledore. Your position has been reinstated."
"Indeed, though that hardly requires your acknowledgement." Dumbledore stood. "On the contrary, there's something I must inform you about."
"The other board members unanimously agree that you and Parkinson are no longer suitable as school governors. From today, the Greengrass and Flamel families will be taking your places."
Wayne smiled faintly.
This outcome was largely his doing.
Dumbledore would temporarily withdraw into the shadows, waiting for the culprit to reveal themselves. Once evidence was obtained, they'd remove troublemakers like Malfoy and Parkinson.
This had been their agreed plan from the beginning.
Originally, the Rosier family had also been entangled with Malfoy. Wayne had intended to replace them with the Scamander family, but judging by Dumbledore's wording, only two seats had been vacated.
Still, it was enough. Securing two of twelve seats granted considerable influence.
One only needed to observe Malfoy's past behaviour – how he'd constantly boasted about his father being a governor.
As for the annual sponsorship fees to the school? For Nicolas Flamel or Madam Greengrass, such amounts were negligible.
Lucius stood frozen, his trembling hand gripping his cane. His lips moved soundlessly before he ultimately remained silent.
He knew he'd lost this round completely. No words could change that now.
The most pressing matter now was returning to deal with the possible arrival of Arthur Weasley. After years of rivalry, he understood Arthur even better than Molly did.
The man would never let slip such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Lucius turned to leave, but was stopped once more by Dumbledore.
"Wait a moment." Dumbledore picked up Tom Riddle's Diary from the desk and handed it to Lucius, speaking calmly.
"Don't carelessly discard valuable items. Hogwarts cannot withstand the Dark Lord's treasures."
Lucius snatched it angrily, tossing it aside without a glance before turning on his heel.
Only after descending the spiral staircase did he realise his house-elf hadn't followed. He bellowed:
"Hurry up, Dobby! Do you hear me?"
But Dobby didn't move. Instead, he held the diary aloft, from which a sock slipped through the pages.
"Master has given Dobby a sock!" Dobby gasped. "Dobby... is free?"
Hearing this from below, Lucius understood at once. He scrambled back up, spotting the brand-new woollen sock in Dobby's hand—realising he'd been outmanoeuvred.
"My apologies, Lucius. I'd intended it as this year's Christmas gift for you—hand-knitted by myself. Though it seems you've no use for it now." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously.
For the first time since learning of Tom's resurrection, he smiled.
"Good. Very good."
Lucius trembled with rage, missed his footing, and tumbled onto the lower platform with a Troll-worthy shriek.
"Dumbledore, just you wait!"
The wails faded into the distance—Lucius had clearly departed. Dobby bowed deeply to Dumbledore, his nose nearly brushing the floorboards.
"Thank you, Mr Dumbledore! You are the greatest wizard in the world!"
"Don't thank me. This is in gratitude for your... assistance to Harry." Dumbledore felt slightly odd saying it.
Dobby's well-meaning interventions had nearly cost Harry his life—but the intent had been genuine.
Overjoyed, Dobby took his leave. Dumbledore had offered him paid employment, but the newly freed elf wished to travel first and didn't accept immediately.
"Mr Lawrence, you've worked hard. Set these matters aside and rest for now."
Dumbledore regarded Wayne. "You handled that well earlier. Tom's situation isn't suitable for widespread knowledge—I'll announce at the feast that all is resolved."
"Understood, Professor." Wayne nodded without lingering, exiting the office.
The old headmaster returned to his seat, gazing pensively at the golden sunlight beyond the window.
Lucius's interruption had broken his train of thought. Now he needed to reorganise his approach—to find the optimal solution.
First: Tom was Tom, and Voldemort was Voldemort.
These two previously identical concepts now demanded separate consideration.
A Horcrux's soul fragment resurrecting independently, while the primary soul still existed...
Not even Herpo the Foul could have anticipated such an outcome when inventing Horcruxes.
Second: the prophecy issue. Trelawney's prophecies were immutable—destiny itself.
So when the Dark Lord returned...
Which Dark Lord did that refer to?
Voldemort? Tom?
Or both?
The thought of potentially facing two Dark Lords whose magical prowess wouldn't be much weaker than his own gave Dumbledore another headache.
He was tired. When would this damned wizarding world finally know lasting peace?
Perhaps it would be better if it just perished altogether.
"Exquisite grey..."
What could that signify?
After prolonged contemplation, Dumbledore formed a vague hypothesis - it likely referred to Tom's transformation.
But the precise nature of this change would only become clear with further intelligence gathering.
Having considered the negative aspects, Dumbledore deliberately turned his mind to the potential benefits of Tom's resurrection to lift his spirits.
First was the matter of power.
From the visions in the Pensieve, it was evident Tom's current abilities weren't particularly terrifying - merely at his sixth-year level, far from deserving the Dark Lord title.
For at least several years, he wouldn't pose a significant threat.
The process of Tom becoming Voldemort hadn't happened overnight.
After graduation, he'd disappeared, travelling extensively across the world, sinking deeper into Dark Magic's quagmire, consorting with the most malevolent Dark Wizards, undergoing numerous dangerous magical transformations before finally emerging as Voldemort.
This made it difficult to connect him with the exemplary Head Boy he'd once been.
While Tom remained underdeveloped, Dumbledore could focus more energy on dealing with Voldemort.
Moreover, he wondered how Voldemort might react upon learning one of his Horcruxes had been resurrected.
Dumbledore's gaze grew distant. Knowing Voldemort as he did, the Dark Lord would certainly be displeased - likely enraged.
Voldemort, who prided himself on being unique and of a superior bloodline, would never tolerate another version of himself existing.
There was a high probability that these two would become adversaries.
If they could be made to fight each other first, eliminating either would be advantageous.
These were the only comforting rationalisations Dumbledore could muster.
As matters grew increasingly complex, even this century-old wizard felt the exhausting weight of it all.
His eyes gleamed with resolve.
External assistance had become necessary...
...
Meanwhile, Tom was also contemplating his next steps.
Passing through the Vanishing Cabinet had transported him to its linked counterpart.
Had Harry been present, he'd have recognised the cabinet Tom emerged from as the very one he'd once hidden in - located at Borgin and Burkes in Diagon Alley.
This was a secret Tom had stumbled upon - Borgin's Vanishing Cabinet connected to its counterpart in the Room of Requirement.
"Who—?"
Mr Borgin happened to be in the shop when a figure abruptly stepped from the cabinet, leaving him utterly astonished.
The face seemed hauntingly familiar, yet he couldn't immediately place it.
Before Borgin could ponder further, Tom had already raised Lockhart's wand.
"Imperio!"
Borgin's eyes instantly glazed over.
"Give me all your Galleons," Tom commanded, and Borgin obediently produced several hundred coins from the till.
After pocketing the money, Tom cast a Memory Charm to erase all traces of his presence...
Only then did he exit Borgin and Burkes.
To avoid drawing attention, he magically altered his Slytherin robes into plain wizard's attire.
At Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Tom ordered a cold drink and gazed absently at the wizards passing by on the street.
There was joy at returning to the human world, but also resentment at being manipulated by Young Master Lawrence... no, Wayne Lawrence.
Most importantly, he needed to decide his next move.
Dumbledore was his enemy. Lawrence was his enemy. Even Voldemort... would become his enemy.
In this world, he had truly become utterly alone, with all as his foes.
Oh, and he'd been kicked out by Lawrence, too – couldn't even stay in Britain, forced to return to his homeland.
He sat there all afternoon until the shop closed.
Only then did Tom make his decision.
He would study!
He carefully analysed the differences between himself and Wayne Lawrence.
Magic went without saying – that boy was a monster, impossible to catch up with in the short term.
Beyond power, the biggest gaps between him and Lawrence were perspective and temperament!
He admitted he only half-understood those theories Lawrence spouted, never grasping their essence.
His orphanage upbringing lacked proper education, leaving him ignorant of the Muggle world he'd once scorned.
But after a year of being Lawrence's plaything, he'd discovered Muggle culture shone brighter in schemes and ideology.
He would study seriously for a while to address his weaknesses.
Otherwise, even if he returned to Britain in two years, he'd remain Lawrence's fool.
Decision made, Tom left Diagon Alley.
He remembered some book titles Lawrence had mentioned. He'd buy those first, then seek education abroad.
When those two years were up, he'd give Lawrence one hell of a surprise.
...
"Achoo!"
Wayne, who'd been sleeping with his head on Nagini's lap, suddenly sneezed awake.
"Did you catch a chill?" The snake-woman asked softly, considerately tucking her hair behind her ears to avoid tickling Wayne's nose. "I'll fetch a blanket."
"No need, the temperature's perfect." Wayne shifted to a more comfortable outward-facing position. "Must be Tom or Snape cursing me – no one else would."
Nagini chuckled lightly. "If you feared curses, you shouldn't have let him go."
"If I'd wanted to keep him, I wouldn't have given the diary to Lockhart."
Wayne stretched lazily. "After two months of tension with multiple petrified students, wasn't this the whole point?"
"Besides... I want to see what the second half of Trelawney's prophecy really means."
Compared to Dumbledore, Wayne understood the prophecy more deeply.
Because Tom had been reshaped by his own hands.
The first half didn't matter – it was the unfinished latter part that counted.
[We shall finally behold, the true...]
The true what?
Seeing Wayne lost in thought, Nagini remained silent, though her legs grew numb beneath him.
After a long while, Wayne snapped out of it and smiled.
"Enough about Tom. What about you?"
"How's your reading coming along?"
"I've barely managed to grasp it?" Nagini smiled sheepishly. "I'm rather slow, I'm not sure how much I've actually learned."
"Don't worry, as long as you've mastered the basic management skills and financial knowledge. You won't be alone anyway, I'll help hire some shop assistants for you."
"Yes, I definitely won't let you down," Nagini said earnestly.
A glimmer of anticipation flashed through her eyes.
Soon she would appear as a normal witch in the wizarding world, even managing a shop in Diagon Alley.
Such a life was something she'd never dared imagine before.
...
As evening fell, students flocked to the Great Hall before six o'clock, brimming with excitement.
That afternoon, the hospital wing had nearly been overwhelmed by the crowd. Even Madam Pomfrey couldn't hold back the eager students, who managed to extract plenty of information from Harry.
Dumbledore had returned, and the crisis of the Chamber of Secrets had been resolved.
It was Wayne and Harry who had saved the school.
Surrounded by a crowd, Wayne made his way to the first floor. Toby and Norman tried their best to pry more useful details from him, but Wayne remained tight-lipped, only revealing that the monster in the Chamber was a Basilisk.
When they reached the entrance of the Great Hall, Dumbledore stood there. The little badgers greeted him warmly, and the old wizard smiled in return.
"I need to speak with Mr Lawrence about a few matters. Please lend him to me for a while."
The badgers obediently dispersed, leaving Wayne to eye him curiously.
"Wayne, are you free next weekend? I need to take you somewhere—oh, and Ho-Oh as well."
"It's assistance will also be required."
"Where to?"
"Austria. Nurmengard."