After teasing the guardian statue, Wayne felt much better and walked happily into the passage.
The spiral staircase inside moved automatically. Wayne stood on it and was carried up to the door.
The door was tightly shut, with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin—a creature with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle.
From this knocker, Wayne could sense strong magical energy. It was clearly an excellent magical artifact.
If a wizard tried to break into the Headmaster's office by force, the knocker would transform into a real brass griffin and attack.
This type of magical beast was immensely powerful, ranked at the 5X level—not inferior to dragons.
Hogwarts truly was steeped in deep magical heritage.
Wayne sighed inwardly, feeling a sudden urge to pry the knocker off and install it at his own home.
An alchemic artifact of this level was far beyond his current skills to create.
But it was just a passing thought—after all, he wasn't strong enough to defeat Old Dumbledore.
Just like how Cedric would lovingly stroke his Nimbus 2000, Wayne fiddled with the knocker for a while before finally pushing the door open and entering.
The Headmaster's office was a grand circular room with a high ceiling and excellent lighting.
It was four in the afternoon, and warm sunlight streamed into the room, shining on the gemstones inside, casting a soft glow.
"So extravagant... even I wouldn't waste resources like this," Wayne muttered.
In most other parts of Hogwarts, lighting came from oil lamps and candles—but in the Headmaster's office, it was gemstones.
Dumbledore wasn't in the room. Wayne casually found a soft armchair and sat down, observing the office layout.
The most prominent feature was undoubtedly the books. Almost half a wall was covered with towering bookshelves that reached the ceiling, with a spiral staircase beside them to help fetch books.
Next came the portraits on the other half of the wall.
Though the room was empty, Wayne could constantly feel multiple eyes watching him.
But whenever he turned around, the portraits all remained still, like Muggle paintings—completely motionless.
Near the large desk, there was a stone basin resting on a tall stand. Wayne recognized it immediately—it was a Pensieve, a very rare magical item used to store and relive memories.
He wanted to steal it.
The moment he entered the room, Wayne had the uncontrollable urge to bring everything back home.
On the other side of the desk stood a tall, full-length mirror, tilted slightly. Most of it was covered with a velvet cloth, leaving only the stand and a small portion of the mirror visible.
"Hey, kid."
A sharp voice suddenly rang out. Wayne turned around.
One of the portraits had "come alive."
"You've been staring for a while. Do you even know what that is?" the voice asked.
Wayne walked over to take a closer look. The speaker was an old man with a goatee, wearing silver-green robes.
A nameplate below the portrait read:
Phineas Nigellus Black (1847–1925).
Wayne shook his head. "It's covered. How would I possibly know what it is?"
"Hmph, ignorant," Phineas snorted, stroking his goatee with an expression of utter disdain.
"That's the Mirror of Erised. Do you know what that is?"
Wayne put on a look of earnest attention.
"It lets you see your deepest, most desperate desire. Want to know what you long for the most right now?"
Phineas coaxed, "Go give it a try. Dumbledore's been staring at that mirror every night till dawn lately—he's practically obsessed."
"Not interested," Wayne waved his hand and slumped back into his seat, utterly bored.
"I want everything, yet nothing really matters to me. Looking into it would be pointless."
This wasn't some excuse to brush Phineas off—it truly reflected how Wayne felt.
He was interested in everything, but not intensely so.
Because Wayne was well aware that whatever he wanted, he'd eventually get.
That was the confidence of someone blessed with a cheat.
Phineas was thrown off by Wayne's attitude.
"What? You haven't even looked and you're already talking big?"
Wayne glanced at him. "No wonder you were the most unpopular headmaster in the school's history. You tried to control everything—from heaven to earth. Now you want to control whether I look into a mirror?"
"Even in death, you're still such a handful. No wonder people curse your name."
There was a moment of silence in the room before it erupted into thunderous laughter.
The portraits of past headmasters, who had all been pretending to sleep, finally couldn't hold it in. One by one, they doubled over with laughter.
A large-nosed headmaster even pointed at Phineas. "Black, you finally got what you deserved! You just got roasted by a student!"
A chubby woman clapped her hands with delight. "As expected of our little Hufflepuff wizard—his judgment is spot on!"
"No laughing! You're not allowed to laugh!" Phineas shouted, hopping mad. "You damned little wizard! If I were still alive, I'd expel you on the spot!"
"Well then, come back to life," Wayne said with a shrug, while his mind buzzed with system prompts—he was gaining points.
Well, well. Roasting a former headmaster earns points too?
What a nice surprise.
Phineas was practically exploding with rage.
"You brat! You Hufflepuff blockheads! You're only ever good for being cooks or shopkeepers!"
And that did it.
Phineas's sweeping insult offended every headmaster who had once come from Hufflepuff.
The most hot-tempered one couldn't hold back. He vanished from his own portrait and, a moment later, appeared in Phineas's frame—swinging a fist straight into Phineas's nose.
The other Hufflepuff headmasters weren't far behind. They all charged in for a righteous group beating.
Phineas screamed in pain, while the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw headmasters cheered from the sidelines. Even the Slytherin headmasters didn't lift a finger to help.
They might've all been from Slytherin, but Phineas's sharp tongue had offended just about everyone within his first hundred years of being up on that wall.
Wayne grinned, enjoying the grand headmaster brawl, occasionally nodding in admiration.
Look at that side kick—such power. And that Black Tiger Heart Strike? Perfect form.
Truly, the ultimate destiny of a wizard was close-quarters combat. No wand needed.
Just as Wayne was thoroughly enjoying the show, the door to the headmaster's office opened.
Dumbledore walked in. Seeing the chaotic scene, he froze for a second, then noticed the untouched velvet cloth. His eyes lingered on Wayne, a smile playing on his lips.
"Did I come at a bad time?"
"No, Headmaster," Wayne shook his head. "You came at just the right time."
"If you'd been any later, Headmaster Phineas might've been beaten to death."