Now that the current headmaster had arrived, the portraits of former headmasters hurriedly landed one final blow each on Phineas before returning to their own frames to resume playing dead.
As for Phineas, likely feeling thoroughly embarrassed, he vanished from his frame—probably fleeing to the Black family home to hide.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Lawrence,"
Dumbledore gestured for Wayne to sit opposite him. "Would you like something to drink? Black tea, green tea, hot cocoa?"
Wayne didn't stand on ceremony. "Black tea will do."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly, clearly delighted. "I like black tea as well. Bathilda just sent me some Ceylon tea. Unfortunately, Minerva and Filius both prefer lemon tea, so I haven't had a chance to share it with anyone."
He gently tapped the table with his wand, and a beautifully crafted teapot and teacups appeared on the surface. The teapot floated up and began pouring tea for both of them.
"And how about a dessert? I recommend trying Cockroach Clusters," Dumbledore said cheerfully as a silver tray floated into view—Wayne's expression immediately shifted.
The tray was full of Cockroach Clusters. Like Chocolate Frogs, they even wriggled around.
Dumbledore picked one up and popped it into his mouth, closing his eyes in delight.
It even oozed when bitten.
Wayne's face turned a shade paler. "Headmaster… do you have any sandwiches or macarons instead?"
"Of course."
Though slightly disappointed that Wayne had no interest in the roach treats, Dumbledore still waved his wand and conjured a few sandwiches and a colorful array of macarons.
"I've always believed the appearance of a dessert is secondary. What truly matters is its sugar content," Dumbledore said with a wink. "Are you sure you don't want any?"
Wayne didn't respond directly. "Actually, Muggle scientists have researched this—visually appealing food does stimulate appetite."
"Headmaster, would you prefer chocolate shaped like poop, or poop shaped like chocolate?"
Dumbledore paused for a second. "Can I choose neither?"
He had to admit, both options sounded utterly disgusting.
"Of course," Wayne smiled in turn.
"You're the boss here, after all."
Dumbledore chuckled. He found this kind of banter with a student quite refreshing.
He could tell that Wayne was genuinely relaxed, treating him like just an ordinary old man.
Wayne took a sip of the Ceylon tea, and a floral aroma spread in his mouth.
Compared to traditional Eastern black tea, Ceylon tea had a deeper color and a stronger floral scent, though it lacked the lingering aftertaste and unique freshness of high-quality tea leaves.
Each had its merits—it all came down to personal preference.
As Dumbledore had mentioned that morning, the bulk of their conversation revolved around the phoenix.
Aside from asking how Wayne had encountered Ho-Oh, Dumbledore mostly shared tips on phoenix care.
Wayne listened attentively and took mental notes.
Thanks to the system's so-called "local adaptation," Ho-Oh had gained some traits of phoenixes in this world—like the ability to Apparate and healing tears.
Its diet and habits also had quite a few similarities.
Wayne took the opportunity to make a request: he wanted to raise Ho-Oh in the Forbidden Forest.
Dumbledore readily agreed. "You're not like this old man with nothing better to do and plenty of time to dote on a pet. Free-range is a fine approach."
Yeah, sure—"nothing better to do."
Wayne rolled his eyes inwardly.
Old Bumblebee here probably spends most of his energy on the Mirror of Erised and Harry Potter, doesn't he?
Once they finished discussing phoenixes, Dumbledore moved on to wool socks.
"For foot protection, I don't think anything compares to wool socks,"
"There was a time when I looked down on them. Now, I adore them."
He winked, grinning like a mischievous child.
"I doubt there's an old man in the world who wouldn't want a pair of wool socks as a Christmas present."
"But unfortunately, everyone seems to think I prefer books."
Hello, Ministry of Magic?
Someone's soliciting bribes from a young wizard here—aren't you going to do something about it?
Wayne chuckled and casually promised to make sure the headmaster was very happy this Christmas.
But what he truly understood was that what Dumbledore liked wasn't wool socks themselves—but the meaning behind them.
In Britain, wool socks symbolized family affection.
Dumbledore was indeed the greatest white wizard of the century, but even with his immense magical power, he could not undo the mistakes of his youth.
That pain—and the one imprisoned in Nurmengard—had tormented him all this time.
It was already past five o'clock, and Wayne also prepared to take his leave, planning to return to the Great Hall for some food that could truly fill his stomach.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Lawrence."
Dumbledore took out a piece of parchment, quickly scribbled something on it in his flowing, elegant handwriting, and handed it to Wayne.
Wayne looked down—and to his surprise, it was a permission slip for the Restricted Section.
Normally, such slips would specify certain books to be borrowed.
But the one Dumbledore gave him was time-based—with no restrictions on which books could be accessed, and valid until before Christmas.
"You're still young and need plenty of sleep. Don't stay up too late wandering around," Dumbledore said with a smile. "This is your reward for showing mercy to the three-headed dog."
"Then thank you, Headmaster," Wayne replied, showing no embarrassment whatsoever about having been caught breaking school rules. "I agree, going there every night isn't great—there's no light in the Restricted Section. My eyes are practically going nearsighted."
Dumbledore's smile stiffened slightly.
This little wizard... never played by the rules.
Others, when caught breaking the rules, were usually flustered and nervous. But when it came to Wayne, it always seemed like he wasn't the one in the wrong.
...
After Wayne left, the Headmaster's office returned to silence once again.
But that silence only lasted a short while—soon, the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses grew lively again.
The long-nosed Phineas Nigellus Black laughed heartily. "That boy is truly entertaining! Not like a Hufflepuff at all."
"He should've been in Gryffindor!" someone countered.
Headmistress Dylis Derwent refuted immediately, "Why not Ravenclaw? That boy definitely knew he couldn't fool the Headmaster with his actions."
"With such sharp perception—who else but the eagle of Ravenclaw could claim him?"
"Mind your words!" retorted Headmaster Rostock from Hufflepuff, angrily hurling an apple at Phineas's portrait. "Hufflepuff can raise brilliant talents too!"
As the headmasters bickered back and forth, Dumbledore remained silent.
He stared at the velvet curtain that hadn't moved an inch and chuckled silently to himself.
"Who would've thought… I'm not even as clever as a child..."