Hearing Phineas's grating, hoarse voice, the youth glared. "Phineas, if you call me 'brat' again, I swear I'll go deal with Sirius."
Snape watched Phineas encouragingly, silently cheering him on in his heart.
Don't back down now, Headmaster Black. You can do this.
You're the least popular headmaster in school history—how could you fear a mere student?
True to form, Phineas didn't disappoint Snape. Upon hearing Wayne's threat, he merely snorted.
"Go ahead if you want. As long as that useless grandson of mine stays alive, do whatever you please."
Seeing the old man's stubbornness, Wayne played his trump card. "Phineas."
"Hmm?" The old man smirked, looking smug.
The youth said darkly, "I recently met a curse-breaker who's exceptionally skilled in tomb traps and protective magic... I thought I'd invite him over to the Black family for a visit."
Phineas's expression changed.
How could he not know what curse-breakers were?
Fancy name, but they were just grave robbers!
What else needed curse-breaking besides ancient ruins and certain wizards' tombs?
If his own grave got dug up... Phineas shuddered, his attitude softening. "Wayne, we're old friends now. No need to trouble your curse-breaker acquaintance."
"You go ahead with your business. Once you're done with Dumbledore, come find me."
The light in Snape's eyes vanished completely, while Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly to suppress a laugh.
Dumbledore watched their exchange with a smile before asking, "Mr Lawrence, what brings you here today?"
"A few things," Wayne nodded. "You go ahead—I can wait outside and chat with the gargoyle."
The Sorting Hat 'came to life' too. "Take me with you, take me with you!"
"No need for that," Dumbledore said, glancing sideways at the lively hat. "You may wait here. We won't be long."
Wayne didn't refuse, sitting directly on the sofa.
Professor McGonagall and Snape had only just arrived themselves, and the two of them were there for entirely different matters.
"Minerva, last night I received letters from several other headmasters. The delegation this time will be quite substantial."
The old man interlaced his fingers, resting them against his chest. "Aside from students meeting the application criteria, each year group will include some young wizards—essentially exchange students in another form."
"These individuals will attend classes alongside our own students."
Professor McGonagall's expression shifted slightly. "Attend classes together? Is this confirmed?"
"Ah, after all, only the Headmaster can lead the team. Their professors have all remained at the school."
"I understand." Professor McGonagall stood ramrod straight, already aware of why Dumbledore had summoned her.
If the Holy Grail War was a competition among the chosen, then this was now an assessment of the professors.
Professor McGonagall had long considered the school her home, and she would naturally never allow Hogwarts' professors to be deemed inferior to those of other institutions. Upon returning, she would have to meticulously plan the curriculum to showcase their exceptional standards.
The overall quality of the students also needed to be elevated—only then could Hogwarts' teaching excellence be proven.
The thought of students who couldn't even recite spells properly gave her a headache.
"Minerva," Dumbledore encouraged with a smile, "I believe you're more than capable of handling these minor matters. So, I leave it all to you."
"I'll do my best."
As she finished speaking, the castle's bell chimed, and Professor McGonagall hurried off to her class. Wayne shot Dumbledore a look of disdain.
To dress up shirking responsibilities in such grand terms... If not for the Deputy Headmaster's extraordinary sense of duty, this wretched school would have collapsed long ago.
Dumbledore noticed the young man's contemptuous gaze, his aged face uncharacteristically flushing. He awkwardly changed the subject. "Now, Snape... I've reviewed your request for additional funding. I'm afraid the school can no longer afford to cover more materials for you."
"You must be joking, Dumbledore." Snape's brows furrowed into a deep scowl. "This year's supplies are nearly a third less than usual, with many advanced materials halved. My entire teaching plan has been thrown into disarray."
"Hold on a moment." Wayne raised his hand, cutting off Snape's tirade. He cleared his throat. "Professor Snape, this is precisely what I wanted to ask. Why were so many supplementary potion ingredients required at the start of the term? The school never had such traditions before."
"The board's allocated funding this year hasn't decreased compared to previous years—it's even increased slightly. So where did all that money go?"
The implication was blatant, practically forcing the accusation down Snape's throat.
Predictably, his nose twisted in fury as he jabbed a finger at Dumbledore and roared, "That's none of my damn business! I'm not the Headmaster—he's the one handling the finances!"
"My apologies, Professor Snape. I misunderstood you." Wayne's earnest apology softened Snape's expression slightly—until the boy's next words made him reach for his wand in outrage.
"After all, of all the professors here, you're the one who looks most suspicious."
"Enough, both of you." Dumbledore tapped the Elder Wand wearily, forcing Snape's hand—and wand—back down. If these two kept bickering, they'd soon come to blows.
Then he'd have to find a substitute for Potions class, and the burden would fall on him again.
"Wayne, as you can see," Dumbledore explained patiently, "most of the budget has gone into constructing the new building. And with hundreds of international students arriving soon, this year's finances are indeed strained."
"I understand." Wayne nodded.
Truthfully, he'd guessed as much when he saw the new building upon returning to school. His earlier remarks had purely been to needle Snape.
"Lawrence, with all your wealth, won't you make another donation to the school?" Snape sneered.
"It's hardly reasonable to expect students to contribute funds," Dumbledore frowned.
"Exactly," Wayne said disdainfully, eyeing the old bat. "How about this – let Professor Snape bear the hardship while I take the blame. He can replenish the potion ingredients this term."
"You... you..."
Snape's fingers trembled. Never had he heard of staff being expected to supply their own materials.
What a bloody capitalist!
Dumbledore was torn between laughter and exasperation, about to refuse when Wayne's mosquito-faint whisper reached his ears.
"Help me this once, and I'll share good news with you later."
After two seconds of suspicious scrutiny, Dumbledore decided to trust him.
With a smile, he turned to Snape: "Severus, the school won't forget your contribution."
"Dumbledore?" Snape stared at him incredulously.
"Resign yourself to it, Severus," Dumbledore sighed.
Faced with this cunning duo, even the Slytherin Head of House was powerless.
Ultimately, Snape had to agree under protest.
Wayne's glance clearly dismissed him – your business here is done, leave now.
Yet Snape remained rooted. After being fleeced, what secrets could these two have that he shouldn't hear?
He'd bloody well stay put!
Seeing his obstinacy, Wayne sighed. "Very well, actually..."
Whoosh – a red light shot from his sleeve, striking the unprepared Snape, who collapsed soundlessly.
Dumbledore's mind went blank at this assault.
...Someone had attacked a professor before his very eyes?
Wayne offered a polite smile. "Apologies, Headmaster. What follows is too sensitive for Professor Snape's ears. Best he naps awhile."
"Then... let him nap," the stunned headmaster nodded weakly.
What else could he do now?
"Mr Lawrence, what exactly did you wish to say?"
"Well, the good news I mentioned – I've discovered a secret about Professor Moody."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's interest was piqued.
Wayne cheerfully announced: "The secret is... our current Defence professor isn't the real Moody, but an impostor."
"What did you say?" The perpetual smile vanished from the old wizard's face.
"You heard correctly. The current Moody isn't Moody. Haven't you noticed? Last night and this morning, he only drank from his flask, which actually contains Polyjuice Potion."
"That's Moody's habit," Dumbledore said calmly. "As a seasoned Auror, he's extremely cautious. Too many wish him dead."
"To suspect a professor based solely on this is irrational, Mr Lawrence. I expect better judgment from you."
"Even you were deceived. I must say, he's remarkably capable." Wayne gave a light chuckle. "Allow me to take some of your time to tell a story."
Dumbledore nodded noncommittally. "All ears."
The portraits of past Headmasters on the walls had opened their eyes at some point, yet none made a sound, careful not to disturb the two men.
Wayne slowly recounted the story between Crouch and his wife, and how young Barty had been rescued.
Dumbledore's expression gradually began to change.
"I can scarcely imagine Barty capable of such things."
"Every man has his weakness, and Mr Crouch's only weakness was his wife."
Dumbledore sighed. "Even something as beautiful as love can drive people to commit irreparable mistakes."
Perhaps he was lamenting Crouch's fate... or speaking of his own past.
"A mistake remains a mistake. This is more serious than misjudging Sirius's crime." Dumbledore said gravely, "Had it been before, I'd have supported your push for Barty's advancement, but not now."
"He cannot become Minister for Magic."
"That was never my intention anyway." Wayne shrugged indifferently. "Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will suffice. It's his old trade, after all."
After speaking with the old fossils of the Bones family that day, Wayne had changed his mind.
Ministers typically had term limits - ten years maximum before retirement. But department heads faced no such restrictions. Unless they erred, they could serve until incapable, much like his uncle Humphrey's civil service system.
Thus, Wayne only needed to ensure someone incompetent like Fudge wasn't in charge, while controlling the actual power centres beneath.
"But how did young Barty escape? And how can you be certain Moody is Barty in disguise?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Crouch was too busy to return home recently - the World Cup, the Holy Grail War... too many matters. Young Barty escaped just days before the tournament."
"And how do you know this Moody is him?"
"Simple." Wayne produced a parchment, spreading it across the table. Tapping it lightly, he murmured, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink lines emerged from the centre, rapidly spreading to form a complete map of Hogwarts dotted with countless names, most stationary - likely in lessons.
Dumbledore examined the map with fresh curiosity, soon expressing admiration:
"Your creation? Exquisite magic, linking to the castle's core. Have you visited there already?"
"No, I didn't make this." Wayne shook his head gently. "But you'd know its creators well - the work of the Marauders."
"James?" Dumbledore blinked.
"Indeed." Wayne nodded frankly. "I chanced upon this map. Only after hearing Sirius describe their nicknames last year did everything become clear."
Wayne had once doubted whether James Potter and his friends truly made this map, suspecting it might have been found in the Room of Requirement or elsewhere.
But after chatting with Sirius during the summer and acquiring the Black Family's collection of books, he could confirm it.
This was indeed the work of those few individuals.
The ancient and noble Black Family truly had some tricks up their sleeves, thanks to their profound heritage—most of the map's techniques were provided by Sirius.
They had employed a True Name Magic, where any name mentioned within this area would be recorded on the map. The reason it could be maintained for so long was that the map's magical power source came directly from the castle's core.
From a certain perspective, Hogwarts was like an enormous magical artefact—moving staircases, breathtaking enchanted ceilings—all requiring magical power to sustain.
One of the castle's abilities was to absorb the stray magical energy emitted by young wizards during daily life, storing it for the castle's routine upkeep.
Back then, Sirius and the others had located the core and used magic to establish a connection between the map and the castle.
The core's location shocked Wayne even more.
It was directly beneath the kitchens.
He resolved to visit it when he had the chance.
While Wayne was lost in thought, Dumbledore had already begun studying the names on the map.
He saw his own name and Wayne's in the Headmaster's Office, Professor McGonagall in the Transfiguration classroom—a single square crammed with dozens of names. Dumbledore glanced at it; it must be a third-year Transfiguration class, as he recognised several Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third-years.
Then... his gaze shifted to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom, where his eyes abruptly sharpened.
A name that shouldn't have been there appeared nonetheless—Barty Crouch Jr.
Meanwhile, Moody's name remained quietly in the office, unmoving.
By now, he was eighty to ninety percent convinced of what Wayne had said.
"Ah..." Dumbledore exhaled deeply, his emotions complex.
During yesterday's encounter, he hadn't detected the slightest abnormality in 'Moody'. No normal person would even consider such a possibility.
Fortunately, there was Wayne. Fortunately, there was this map. At least Moody would suffer less because of it.
Dumbledore wasn't overly concerned about Moody's life being in danger—Polyjuice Potion required the target to remain alive.
"Professor, when do we act?" Wayne rubbed his hands in anticipation.
"Alastor's magical eye is quite remarkable. If we approach him abruptly, we'll alert the enemy," Dumbledore said gravely. "We must find a plausible reason to bring him to my office to ensure nothing goes wrong."
"Is all that really necessary?" Wayne thought Dumbledore was being overly cautious. "I could just charge into his office—he wouldn't escape."
"Indeed... I'll join you," a hoarse voice interjected.
Wayne started, turning to see Snape already awake.
He'd specifically controlled the spell's intensity—even Norman and Toby shouldn't have woken up this quickly.
How had Snape managed it?