After Grindelwald's explanation, Wayne finally understood the distinction.
Pure malice and killing could corrupt one's magical power. This transformation wasn't inherently good or bad—it remained your own magic—but it would affect the casting of certain spells.
Take the Patronus Charm, for instance. Studying Dark Magic or committing murder would impact this profoundly positive spell.
"What about you? Can you cast a Patronus?"
Grindelwald gave a slight nod, a wisp of silvery smoke curling from his fingertips.
Wandless conjuring of a full Patronus was a privilege reserved for Andros and Wayne. Even Dumbledore and Grindelwald couldn't manage it.
Wayne's face was a picture of disbelief.
If you called Grindelwald evil, he certainly wasn't as purely wicked as Voldemort. But compared to some Death Eaters, he was rotten to the core.
That such a man could cast a Patronus—was there no justice left in the world?
Noticing the scorn in his gaze, Grindelwald took offence. "Do you think I've killed many people?"
Back in his day, his ranks had been filled with talented wizards. How many had truly warranted his personal attention?
The ones he'd most wanted dead—Newt and that Muggle fatso—had remained safely under Dumbledore's protection.
Truth be told, the number of people he'd killed with his own hands might not have exceeded Wayne's tally by much.
"But those Death Eaters didn't kill many either."
From what he'd gathered, the last Wizarding War had claimed around a hundred lives—slightly more wizards than Muggles. Spread across Voldemort's followers, the individual counts were hardly staggering.
Most hadn't killed at all, content to trail behind their master, swaggering and bullying.
"That brings us to your second misconception," Grindelwald said gravely. "Overuse of Dark Magic taints one's magical essence with negativity, rendering the Patronus impossible."
"Sorry, but I've never experienced that." Wayne spread his hands helplessly.
Even constant Dark Magic use left his temperament and magic unaffected—not due to the Dragon King's legacy nor his runic talents, but the Innate Saint granted by Andros's template.
Wayne had realised long ago that even prolonged Cruciatus sessions on Barty Crouch Jr left his psyche untouched.
"Which is why I say you're a freak," Grindelwald muttered enviously.
"So why these questions today? Who's learning Dark Magic?"
"Oh no, just some doubts after reading." Wayne produced a black-bound tome that radiated palpable malevolence.
Though its gilded lettering had faded, Grindelwald recognised it instantly: Secrets of the Darkest Art.
"Why study this filth?" He frowned in distaste.
For a Dark Wizard of Grindelwald's calibre to react so viscerally spoke volumes about the book's dangers.
"A sudden query occurred to me." Wayne flicked his wand, pages whirling to a midpoint section.
The spread detailed the creation of Horcruxes and the associated spells.
This book was the root of all evil—Hogwarts' Restricted Section also housed a copy. It was from this very book that Voldemort had originally learned how to create a Horcrux.
As for the page containing those instructions, whether it had been torn out by Voldemort himself or by old Dumbledore, Wayne had never seen it in the Restricted Section.
The complete copy he now held had been borrowed from Nicolas's home.
"I was thinking about the soul fragment within a Horcrux... Well, never mind, let's just say Tom."
Wayne stated his main purpose for coming:
"Tom is now an independent entity. Can he continue splitting his soul to create new Horcruxes?"
"What madness is this..."
Grindelwald was startled by Wayne's speculation, feeling a chill run down his spine.
A Horcrux made by Voldemort's Horcrux—what if one day, that Horcrux's Horcrux revived as a separate being, breaking free from its original host?
'Are we playing mitosis here?'
"Have you told Dumbledore?"
"No. You're the expert on Dark Magic—I wanted your opinion first."
Wayne was being genuinely humble. He had never been particularly interested in Dark Magic, let alone studied it in depth.
Though Grindelwald was no match for him in a fight now, the man hadn't spent the past few decades idly. In terms of knowledge and experience, he undoubtedly still surpassed Wayne.
"I've never made a Horcrux, so I can't say for certain." Grindelwald shook his head. "But what you're suggesting isn't impossible. We'd need to study it further before drawing conclusions."
"How do we study it?" Wayne asked.
"Leave Secrets of the Darkest Art here with me, and fetch a few other books." Grindelwald listed the materials he needed—just the titles alone made it clear they were nothing wholesome.
After a brief hesitation, he sighed and added, "Actually... the simplest method would be for one of us to create a Horcrux ourselves. That would be the most reliable way."
"But you, boy, have no use for such a thing."
"That's what I think too." Wayne agreed. "So... would you be willing to try?"
Grindelwald's gaze suddenly sharpened. "Boy, are you testing me?"
"I'm serious." Wayne showed no trace of guilt, meeting Grindelwald's mismatched eyes directly. "This is important. We need a definitive answer."
He kept Tom around to handle tasks he couldn't openly undertake himself, intending to reap the benefits later—but that didn't mean he'd tolerate Tom slipping beyond his control.
If Tom could also create Horcruxes, it'd be better to crush him outright right now.
The only reason Tom was still alive and kicking was that he was developing as expected, without stepping too far out of line.
The atmosphere grew heavier. Grindelwald studied Wayne for a long moment, finding no ulterior motive, before continuing, "Do you know the requirements for making a Horcrux?"
Wayne nodded. "I've read this book."
"Are you concerned about the killing part?"
"Not just any killing—murder." Grindelwald's voice lowered. "What counts as murder? Killing an innocent person who has no connection to you whatsoever."
"Do you think Dumbledore would allow me to do that?"
"Are you afraid of the Headmaster?"
"Not afraid. I just... don't want to harm any more innocent people." Grindelwald suddenly seemed deflated. "Enough have died because of me already."
"I won't force you." Wayne noticed Grindelwald's guilt—not just towards those killed by his faction, but also towards those who'd followed his old comrades.
"Hear me out first, then decide."
Daring to broach this with Grindelwald meant he already had a plan.
"I want to ask—does murdering innocents only apply to you, or to everyone?
"For example... someone who's no enemy of yours, but my mortal foe.
"Would killing them count as murdering an innocent?"
Grindelwald's gaze flickered. "In that case... indeed it would."
"Brilliant." Wayne clapped his hands cheerfully. "After money, what I've got most of is enemies."
Grindelwald: "..."
"How do you have so many enemies?" he couldn't help quipping.
"Can't be helped. The family business keeps expanding—friction's inevitable."
Wayne spread his hands in an innocent gesture. "Plenty try underhanded tactics against my company, especially those blood families. They're nothing but trouble alive—may as well serve your experiments."
"So, old Gellert, care to lend a hand?"
Grindelwald hesitated again.
This time was different. After hearing the youth's solution, he leaned towards agreement.
Not to help Wayne, but mainly... for Dumbledore.
As Wayne had described in that dreadful scenario, more Toms might emerge. Wouldn't Dumbledore work himself to death?
'Fine. Let me help you one last time.'
After a moment of self-indulgent emotion, Grindelwald finally said, "Bring your chosen targets. I agree.
"But I'll need one more thing."
"What?" Wayne asked.
"A copy of that photo from Dumbledore's office, in a pocket watch case. I'll use it as the soul's anchor."
Wayne's expression turned peculiar.
'Really? This far?'
"Problem?" Grindelwald's gaze turned dangerous instantly.
'I'm agreeing to this massive favour, and you won't even copy a photo?'
"Not at all." Wayne shook his head rapidly. "Simple matter. I'll deliver it with the person."
"No. I want it within a week."
"You're impossible." Wayne surrendered. The old man's age, still playing these games.
"But listen, Gellert." Wayne grew serious:
"A split soul finds no peace after death—punishment for those who fear mortality.
"You understand what that means?"
"I do." Grindelwald remained impassive. "Just a fractured soul unable to pass on, trapped between life and death.
"I've never been one for hesitation. If life's unsatisfactory, why fret about what comes after?"
"Besides..." Grindelwald's eyes gleamed. "My soul's already incomplete, Horcrux or not."
Wayne froze, instantly conjuring dramatic scenarios.
"Meaning what? You made a Horcrux before, and Dumbledore destroyed it?"
"No." Grindelwald shook his head slightly. "Haven't you noticed Dark Magic barely affects me?"
"That's true."
Wayne looked at him. From appearance alone, Grindelwald seemed like an entirely ordinary old man.
Unlike Slytherin or Voldemort, whose research into Dark Magic had visibly altered their appearances.
"That's because I suppressed all the side effects into a single fragment of my soul and then destroyed it."
Grindelwald said the most chilling words in the most casual tone.
Destroying one's own soul... That was hardly any less sinister than the evil of creating a Horcrux.
"What were you thinking?" Wayne couldn't help but ask.
"Simple. I didn't want Dark Magic to erode my temperament or cloud my judgement," Grindelwald said calmly. "Magic is merely a means to achieve my ideals, not something that should dictate the course of my life."
Wayne: "..."
What could he even say to that?
He suddenly recalled Grindelwald once mentioning he'd attempted to repair his soul using others' souls. Perhaps this was the reason.
Glancing at the sky outside, Wayne knew it was time to leave.
He placed a pre-prepared spatial pouch on the table.
"Inside are some non-perishable foods and a few bottles of alcohol. If you need anything, send me a letter. There's a tamed owl waiting outside."
Since Grindelwald had agreed to the experiment, Wayne felt obliged to improve his living conditions somewhat.
Without ceremony, Grindelwald took the items and waved his hand dismissively, signalling for Wayne to leave.
Wayne scoffed and flew out with an exaggerated swagger.
Once beyond the wards, he Apparated several times in succession, returning to Hogsmeade.
At this hour, the students probably hadn't arrived at the station yet, and the feast wouldn't have begun. Wayne first visited his two shops.
Celia Store had opened next to the Three Broomsticks.
Its floor-to-ceiling windows displayed an array of merchandise, ready for its official opening in a few days.
Meanwhile, Wayne and Nagini's 'Angel's Heart' café had chosen a location directly opposite Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, clearly intending to compete.
The café's interior decoration was more elaborate than the store's, but Nagini had assured him it would open by late September, just in time for the first Hogsmeade weekend.
After his rounds, he headed to the Hog's Head.
The bar was filled with oddly dressed wizards. Aberforth was engaged in a shouting match with a Goblin. Without greeting him, Wayne waved and headed upstairs.
Pulling back the curtain covering Ariana's portrait, the golden-haired girl stirred awake.
Recognising Wayne, she gave him a sweet smile.
"Hello, Wayne."
Wayne grinned. "Ariana, I'm fifteen now. You should call me Big Brother Wayne."