With the office's current occupant arrived, the portrait Headmasters quickened their pace—each delivering one final solid hit to Phineas before returning to their frames to resume playing dead.
Phineas, presumably too embarrassed, vanished from his portrait, likely fleeing to hide in the Black family's ancestral home.
"Please sit, Mr Lawrence," Dumbledore gestured for Wayne to the opposite chair. "What would you like to drink? Black tea, green tea, hot chocolate?"
Wayne didn't stand on ceremony. "Black tea will do."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly and said cheerfully, "I'm also very fond of black tea. In fact, Bathilda recently gifted me some Ceylon tea, though unfortunately, Minerva and Filius both prefer lemon tea, so I've never had the chance to share it with anyone."
Dumbledore lightly tapped the table with his wand, and an exquisitely designed teapot and cups appeared on the surface.
The teapot floated gently, pouring tea for the two of them automatically.
"Now, how about some dessert? I recommend trying Cockroach Clusters," Dumbledore said as a silver platter appeared, causing Wayne's expression to shift slightly.
The platter was filled with Cockroach Clusters, and like Chocolate Frogs, these things moved.
Dumbledore picked one up, popped it into his mouth, and closed his eyes in enjoyment. It even squirted.
Wayne's face changed. "Headmaster, do you have any sandwiches or macarons?"
"Of course."
Though disappointed that Wayne showed no interest in the Cockroach Clusters, Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured a few sandwiches and colourful macarons.
"I believe the appearance of dessert isn't important—what matters is its sugar content," Dumbledore said with a wink. "Are you sure you won't try some?"
Wayne didn't answer. "Actually, according to Muggle scientists, visually appealing food also increases people's appetite.
"Headmaster, would you rather eat chocolate shaped like dung or dung shaped like chocolate?"
Dumbledore paused. "Could I choose neither?" He had to admit, both options Wayne presented were revolting.
"Of course." Now it was Wayne's turn to smile.
"You're the boss."
Dumbledore chuckled, too. The feeling of a student joking with him was novel. He could tell Wayne was genuinely relaxed, treating him like just an ordinary old man.
Picking up the Ceylon tea, Wayne took a sip, his mouth filling with floral notes. Compared to traditional Eastern black tea, Ceylon tea had a darker hue and stronger floral aroma but lacked the lingering sweetness and the distinctive fragrance of tea leaves. Each had its merits, purely a matter of personal taste.
As Dumbledore had mentioned that morning, most of their conversation revolved around the Phoenix.
Apart from initially asking how Wayne had encountered the Phoenix, the rest of the time was spent with Dumbledore sharing some rearing tips.
Wayne patiently noted them all down.
Thanks to the system's so-called localisation, Ho-Oh had also acquired some abilities of the Phoenix in this world, such as Apparating and healing injuries with its tears. In terms of taste and habits, there were many similarities too.
Seizing the opportunity, Wayne made his request to raise Ho-Oh in the Forbidden Forest.
Dumbledore readily agreed: "Unlike an idle old man like me with plenty of time to dote on pets, letting it roam free is a fine choice for you."
'Idle, my foot,' Wayne thought to himself.
'You old bee, aren't you devoting most of your energy to the Mirror of Erised and Harry?'
After finishing with the Phoenix talk, Dumbledore started talking about woollen socks.
"When it comes to protecting one's feet, I think nothing is more comforting than woollen socks.
"I used to scoff at them, but now I can't get enough of them," Dumbledore said with a wink, like a mischievous old man.
"I doubt any elderly person could resist receiving a pair of woollen socks as a Christmas gift.
"But alas, it seems everyone assumes I prefer books."
'Hey, Ministry of Magic? Someone here is soliciting bribes from young wizards—aren't you going to do something about it?'
Wayne laughed it off, promising Dumbledore would be satisfied come Christmas.
But what he knew was that Dumbledore didn't love woollen socks for the socks themselves, but for what they symbolised.
In Britain, woollen socks represented family. Dumbledore was indeed the greatest white wizard of this century, but even with his formidable magical power, he could not undo the mistakes of his youth.
Such pain, along with the one locked away in Nurmengard, had been tormenting him relentlessly.
The time had already passed five o'clock, and Wayne prepared to take his leave, heading back to the Great Hall for some proper, filling food.
"Wait a moment, Mr Lawrence."
Dumbledore took out a piece of parchment, scrawled something swiftly upon it, and then handed it to Wayne.
Wayne took it and saw that it was, in fact, a pass for the Restricted Section.
Normally, such passes would specify particular books.
But the one Dumbledore had given him was time-limited, with no restrictions on which books he could borrow, valid until Christmas.
"You're still young and need plenty of sleep. Night-time wanderings should be kept in moderation," Dumbledore said with a smile. "This is your reward for showing restraint with the Three-Headed Dog."
"Thank you, Headmaster." Wayne showed not the slightest hint of shame at being caught breaking school rules. "I also think going out at night isn't ideal. The Restricted Section has no lighting—my eyesight's nearly ruined."
Dumbledore's smile froze.
This young wizard never reacted as expected.
Others, when caught, would usually be flustered and panicked. But with Wayne, it was as if he hadn't done anything wrong at all.
After Wayne left, the Headmaster's Office returned to quiet.
But the peace lasted only briefly before the portraits of past Headmasters grew lively again.
Big-nosed Fortescue laughed heartily. "That boy's delightful—not very Hufflepuff at all!"
"He should've been sorted into Gryffindor!"
Headmistress Dilys Derwent retorted, "Why not Ravenclaw? That boy must've known all along his actions wouldn't escape the Headmaster's notice.
"Such sharp insight—who else but the eagles of Ravenclaw could claim that?"
"Watch your words!" roared Headmaster Rost, a proud Hufflepuff, hurling an apple into Fortescue's portrait. "We Hufflepuffs can produce outstanding talent too!"
Dumbledore did not join the squabble among the Headmasters. Instead, he gazed at the untouched velvet cloth and chuckled wryly.
"To think... I've been outdone by a child."