"No!"
Dumbledore flatly refused the moment Grindelwald made his demand, his voice tinged with anger.
"Gellert, don't push it. Wayne is my student—I have no right to make decisions for him!"
"If you're truly feeling rusty, I'd be happy to spar with you myself."
Grindelwald stiffened, staring at Dumbledore in disbelief.
His expression seemed to say—
'For some brat, you'd actually fight me?'
Even after the Blood Pact shattered, the number of times they'd crossed wands could be counted on one hand.
Saving Credence? Understandable—he was his nephew, after all.
Then it was saving Newt, saving Newt, saving Newt—
Dreadful!
Grindelwald's eyes abruptly sharpened, the dulled heterochromatic irises gleaming with renewed intensity.
"You want to fight me? Then bring it on!"
Wandless, imprisoned for decades—
Even weakened to this extent, he had never understood fear or retreat. Not even against Dumbledore would he back down.
The atmosphere grew tense, and the two old men locked in a silent standoff, neither yielding an inch.
Wayne yawned.
If they were going to fight, they should hurry up. Weren't their eyes tired from all that glaring?
"Boy, what do you think?"
His bored demeanour caught Grindelwald's attention. "Your Headmaster sang your praises last time—I just want to see how much of it was true."
"Besides, facing a wandless old man over a hundred years old... surely you're not scared?"
"Taunting won't work on me, Mr Grindelwald." Wayne didn't even lift his eyelids.
"If anyone truly considers you a decrepit old man, they'd be the real Muggle."
"I've heard plenty about your glorious exploits. With just words, you nearly turned half of Paris against itself."
"Indeed, one can't treat you as an ordinary young wizard." Grindelwald clapped his hands, his dishevelled appearance doing nothing to diminish his presence.
Voldemort really should take notes.
Just then, the Niffler crawled out, stuffing several shiny crystal bottles from the table into its pouch. Seeing Wayne's lack of reaction, it happily jumped back into his pocket.
Grindelwald narrowed his eyes, slowly closing his palm.
Back in Paris, something precious of his had been stolen in exactly this manner.
"Listen, boy, I'll be blunt. I simply dislike you and your Hufflepuff lot and want to teach you a lesson."
"But I'd never endanger your life. Not with Albus here – he wouldn't permit lethal measures."
"Even without him present, I, Gellert Grindelwald, always keep my word!"
"Actually..." Wayne also stood up, walking to the window to gaze at the desolate world outside.
"I've no objections to crossing wands with Mr Grindelwald. In fact, I'm rather eager to see how you differ from Voldemort."
"But the professor already owes me a huge favour for this trip. Asking me to exert myself further? I don't do business at a loss."
Before coming, Dumbledore had specifically reminded him to bring Ho-Oh.
Wayne had agreed without hesitation.
Partly because he'd felt somewhat guilty about unleashing Tom to cause trouble, wanting to secretly help old Dumbledore out.
But now being expected to handle everything? That didn't sit well with Wayne.
Who wasn't a capitalist these days?
Always playing philanthropist – did they think Wayne Lawrence was some great benefactor?
To Wayne's surprise, upon hearing his reasoning, Grindelwald doubled over laughing, barely able to stand straight:
"Spot on! Albus has always been like this, getting people to work for free. Aren't they fools?"
"Quite foolish," Wayne nodded in agreement. Newt, Nicolas, Jacob and the others back then had essentially worked pro bono.
Well, Jacob had received payment – a fake wand...
No core? That was just a bloody stick of wood!
"Hear that, Albus?" Grindelwald grew even more delighted, pointing at Dumbledore's aquiline nose.
"The lad's agreed, but you'll need to offer satisfactory compensation."
Dumbledore gave a wry smile. "Wayne, you're far wealthier than I. What could I possibly offer that would tempt you?"
From his sleeve, he produced a thick notebook.
"I'd planned to give this to you later – or rather, as payment for Ho-Oh."
"It contains my recompiled Transfiguration insights from recent years. I hope it proves helpful."
Wayne perked up, happily accepting it and flipping through the pages.
Even a cursory glance revealed it was packed with substantial content.
Dumbledore's Transfiguration expertise...
In a xianxia world, this would be considered an Emperor-rank cultivation technique.
"Enough, enough." The boy grinned as he packed his things away. "I'll take this fight. Do you want him half-dead or bruised beyond recognition? If you're feeling merciful, I can make sure the injuries are all internal—nothing visible on the surface."
Grindelwald laughed in furious disbelief. "Your talent for boasting surpasses that Scamander fellow by several hundredfold."
"Why do you keep bringing up Newt?" Wayne sounded impatient. Was Dumbledore just an accident, and Newt the true object of affection?
In the short time he'd been here, he'd heard Newt's name mentioned far more often than Dumbledore's.
"Shall I fetch him next time so you two can catch up?"
"No!"
"Absolutely!"
Dumbledore and Grindelwald spoke simultaneously.
"Alright, Gellert," Dumbledore said sternly. "Since Wayne has agreed, let's not complicate things further."
"The boy started it, and now you're blaming me?" Grindelwald flopped back onto the hay pile.
"Out with it, then. What's the urgent matter that sent you rushing here?"
Steering the conversation back on track, Dumbledore finally relaxed slightly and recounted the situation in a grave tone.
"Resurrection?" Grindelwald straightened. "Fascinating... Are you certain it's a resurrection?"
"Here are Wayne and Harry's memories of the event." Dumbledore had come prepared, even bringing the Pensieve from the Headmaster's Office.
It contained not only Wayne's memories but also those he'd later extracted from Harry, forming a complete account.
Grindelwald submerged his head in the basin. After a long while, he emerged, his expression now equally solemn.
"Where's the diary?"
Dumbledore handed it over—the one Dobby had returned after gaining his freedom.
Grindelwald examined it closely, running his fingers over the cover and title page. He closed his eyes, concentrating, then suddenly opened them again.
"No mistake. This is a Horcrux."
"Creating a Horcrux at sixteen... Even I couldn't manage that at his age."
"Albus, you've taught a remarkable student."
Grindelwald's tone carried a note of awe.
His access to the outside world was nearly nonexistent, save for occasional visits from Ministry of Magic officials from neighbouring countries who came to check on him and occasionally brought news.
Grindelwald had only known that another Dark Lord had emerged. Initially, he'd scoffed—in his mind, the only true luminaries in the world were himself and Albus.
Now, it seemed he'd underestimated this younger adversary.
At the very least, in the realm of Dark Magic, the boy possessed undeniable talent—no weaker than his own.
"Tom is indeed brilliant," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Did you notice anything else?"
"Don't rush me. I need to be certain."
With that, Grindelwald plunged his head back into the Pensieve, scrutinising specific details repeatedly before finally setting it aside.
"Boy," Grindelwald fixed his gaze on Wayne. "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"
"I do." Wayne nodded without hesitation. "It preserves a fragment of the creator's soul, forcibly anchoring their entire being to this world."
"So long as the Horcrux remains intact, the soul cannot perish."
"Good. You're well-informed." Grindelwald studied the boy with approval, his voice laced with temptation:
"Want to learn how to make a Horcrux? I can teach you."
"Just create one Horcrux, and you'll achieve immortality. You'll have endless life, without the Philosopher's Stone's limitation of failing to halt bodily decay."
Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly.
He knew Grindelwald's silver tongue all too well – the man could turn black into white, death into life.
He hadn't been worried about Wayne initially, but the moment Grindelwald spoke, unease crept in.
"No need for your lessons," Wayne replied impassively, his tone indifferent. "Nicolas's home already contains instructions for Horcrux creation. I've studied them, but such a crude method of immortality holds no appeal for me."
"I can not only achieve immortality myself, but even extend it to everyone around me."
"Horcruxes? Only the mentally deranged would create those."
Wayne studied Horcruxes purely out of interest in magic. For someone who possessed Ho-Oh, immortality was truly simpler than eating or drinking.
Dumbledore looked at Wayne with approval.
This was precisely why he granted Wayne his utmost trust.
Wayne had already attained everything Voldemort desperately coveted.
Such were the disparities of the world – some spend their entire lives unable to reach Rome, while others are born with Rome built at their doorstep.
Grindelwald stared intently at the young man. "You're stronger than I was. When I first learned of Horcruxes, I nearly succumbed to the temptation of creating one."
"So do you possess a Horcrux?" Wayne asked curiously.
"No," Grindelwald shook his head. "I had more important matters to accomplish."
Dumbledore's gaze dimmed.
"Alright, Gellert. Having examined it repeatedly, what have you discovered? Share everything."
Grindelwald snapped back to attention and looked down at the diary. "Hmm... Tom Riddle, correct? He has indeed been resurrected."
"It's extraordinary, but I've identified a crucial point that makes this outcome seem perfectly logical."
"This diary contains an excessive number of sealed souls – so many that they've merged with his preserved memories to birth an entirely new consciousness."
"I can't decide whether to praise him as a genius or condemn him as a madman."
"Creating a Horcrux requires only the tiniest soul fragment – never this magnitude of souls."
Grindelwald joked, "Perhaps he was inexperienced during his first attempt?"
Unfortunately, his attempt at levity failed to amuse anyone. Dumbledore's expression grew even graver.
Grindelwald sensed the gravity. "How many Horcruxes has he made?"
"Unknown," Dumbledore shook his head. "But I'm certain of at least two."
"Madman..." Grindelwald murmured. "The agony of soul fragmentation is unbearable for ordinary people – a hundred times worse than the Cruciatus Curse."
"Let's focus on Tom's situation first," Dumbledore rallied himself. "So with Tom resurrected, does that mean there are now two Toms in the world? Are there any differences between them?"
"That's difficult to articulate," Grindelwald pondered for two seconds.
"You could say Tom is Voldemort, but Voldemort isn't Tom."
"Yet this Tom isn't the original Tom either."
This convoluted explanation, resembling a tongue twister, left both Wayne and Dumbledore thoroughly confused.
"Plain English, Mr Grindelwald."
"I'm thinking aloud," Grindelwald shot Wayne a glare.
"This Tom is a completely new entity formed from the fusion of Voldemort's soul fragment and memories. He perceives himself as his former self, but is in fact a distinct being."
"Though fundamentally, there's little difference."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully before asking, "As a new entity with only a soul fragment, could he potentially achieve Voldemort's ultimate accomplishments?"
"That question... I'm afraid the answer is yes," Grindelwald replied with a light chuckle, looking at Dumbledore.
"Albus, do you think a person's talent is related to their soul?"
"This..." Dumbledore hesitated. "To some extent, yes."
"Correct." Grindelwald nodded. "But the connection isn't as significant as one might think."
Staring blankly at the door, Grindelwald murmured, "I once had the same question. I attempted to use others' souls as nourishment to strengthen my own, to become more powerful."
"Unfortunately, it proved ineffective."
Dumbledore's expression darkened. He hadn't known Grindelwald had committed such cruel acts.
Such an offhand remark concealed countless wizards' bones beneath its surface.
"Back then, I thought it was making use of waste." Grindelwald smiled bitterly. "Now, I would never do such things."
"Let's continue." Dumbledore didn't wish to dwell on this further.
"I can tell you with certainty that while it may have some effect on other magics, for Dark Magic, a fractured soul might actually serve as better nourishment."
Wayne suddenly looked up, observing Grindelwald's distant gaze.
"A maddened soul, paired with maddened incantations, could potentially unleash even greater power."
"So... whether it's Voldemort or Tom, their personalities may drastically change, but their strength could increase rather than diminish."
He suddenly grew gleeful. "Congratulations, Albus. Your future enemy is a powerful madman—possibly even two."
Dumbledore remained silent for a long moment before exhaling slowly.
"One last question. Are Voldemort's Horcruxes the same as Tom's?"
"I don't know," Grindelwald answered decisively. "I've never seen Horcruxes used as a means of resurrection, so I can't answer that."
"Any speculation would be irresponsible. I won't lead you astray."
"Prepare for the worst scenario."
"I understand." Dumbledore nodded, then produced a skull.
"Gellert, help me. Help me find Tom. The magical world can't withstand the havoc of two Dark Lords."
Seeing the skull in his hand, Grindelwald's expression turned nostalgic.
This had been his most frequently used divination tool in the past. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to have preserved it so carefully.
"Wayne, could you summon Ho-Oh, please?" Dumbledore requested. "Grindelwald's prophetic gift is unique—it consumes his life force. Back then, he made too many prophecies and greyed prematurely."
"In his current state... he likely couldn't even complete a single full prophecy."
"Understood."
Wayne had anticipated this moment. With a thought, Ho-Oh materialised in the room.
"Is this that extraordinary Phoenix?" Grindelwald studied Ho-Oh curiously. "It's quite different from Fawkes indeed."
Flames from the sky showered down upon him. Grindelwald closed his eyes, neither flinching nor avoiding them.
He let the flames wash over him.
If Dumbledore wished him harm, such methods wouldn't be necessary.
A surge of immense life force flooded into his withered limbs and bones, like dead wood reviving in spring.
The wrinkles on Grindelwald's face rapidly faded, and his hunched posture gradually straightened.
Dumbledore quickly called for it to stop.
He'd only wanted Wayne to provide minimal assistance.
If this continues, the Dark Lord who conquered the entire European continent decades ago will return at the peak of his power!