Watching Jerry cling tightly to the golden Galleons, Wayne hesitated. Nifflers were indeed adorable, but they were also incredibly mischievous, unlike Ho-Oh and the Unicorns, who were far more well-behaved.
If he adopted one, he'd have his hands full.
He was someone who preferred to keep a low profile, especially when it came to mischief.
A Niffler wasn't the right pet for him.
But the little fellow's name had a connection to him, and its endearing clumsiness had struck a chord in his heart.
After a moment's thought, Wayne turned to Newt and said, "Could I pass Jerry on to a friend? She doesn't have a pet and is more attentive than I am."
"A girl?" Tina caught the 'she' in his phrasing immediately, her smile turning teasing.
"That's right." Wayne scratched his head sheepishly. "A Ravenclaw girl—she'd take good care of Jerry."
He planned to give the Niffler to Cho.
Hermione preferred cats, so a Niffler wouldn't suit her, whereas Cho had once mentioned she found them cute. If Cho found it too troublesome to keep, he'd just take it back.
Tina couldn't help but chuckle.
"I'll answer for Newt—just make sure your friend keeps her jewellery well hidden. If anything goes missing, she'll have to check Jerry's belly."
Newt didn't object either. He trusted Wayne, and by extension, Wayne's judgment.
After a hearty meal, Wayne pulled out fifty copies of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' and placed them in front of Newt.
"Senior, mind signing these?"
Newt's lips twitched. "This many?"
"It's not that much." Wayne shook his head. "Fifty copies aren't even enough for Hufflepuff. If Flourish and Blotts hadn't run out of stock, I'd have bought at least two hundred."
"By the way, where's the bookstore in New York? I might drop by tomorrow."
"Let's not." Newt quickly stopped the young man. "This is more than enough. I'll be revising it in a couple of years—buying now would be a waste."
Wayne had no choice but to relent.
With a sigh, Newt began signing. Hearing that the books were meant for other Hufflepuffs, he added a personal blessing to each, even if he didn't know the recipients' names.
Meanwhile, Wayne was pulled aside by Tina to chat with a few elders by the fireplace. Jacob carefully drew a wand from his pocket, its surface gleaming with a polished sheen.
Wayne could tell at a glance it had been well-loved over the years.
"This wand was given to me by Dumbledore," Jacob said, reminiscing as he held it. "Back then, he wasn't the Headmaster yet—just the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"You pointed this wand at Grindelwald?" Wayne asked curiously.
"That's right." Queenie and Jacob exchanged a smile. "If Hicks hadn't stopped me, I'd have taught him a lesson."
"I believe you, darling."
Wayne winced—too sweet. Even after all these years, they were still so lovey-dovey.
But it was clear that Queenie and Jacob, this chosen Muggle, shared a deep bond.
As midnight approached, Wayne stood to take his leave. Tina wasn't pleased.
"Why not stay here? Where else would a child like you stay in the city?"
Wayne reassured her, "Grandma Tina, I have property in New York too—no need to worry."
"Besides, I've got Muggle business to handle tomorrow. Staying here would be inconvenient."
"Once everything's settled, I'll come straight back."
Only then did Tina reluctantly agree to let him go, though she insisted he stay with them on Christmas Eve—no more running off.
Newt rubbed his sore wrist, finally finished signing fifty 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', including two specially customised editions meant for Hermione and Cho.
Wayne stepped out the door, and Newt asked, "After the holidays, I'm heading to Arizona. Fancy joining me?"
"Arizona..." Wayne thought for a moment before tentatively asking, "Something to do with Thunderbirds?"
"Exactly."
Newt nodded. "Every winter is the Thunderbird nesting season. They hatch during the summer thunderstorms.
"This trip is partly to ensure the Thunderbirds reproduce safely and partly to protect them. Every year around this time, poachers show up in droves."
He added, "If you come, I'll keep you safe too."
"I'm in, of course," Wayne answered without hesitation. "And don't worry about my safety—the Potions professor at school praised my talent for duelling. I can handle myself."
Newt's face scrunched in confusion.
Since when did Potions professors also train students in duelling?
...
Back at his upscale Manhattan apartment, the first thing Wayne did was fish Jerry out of his pocket.
The little troublemaker had been restless the whole journey, eyeing the silver buttons on his cuffs. His tiny hands kept tugging, trying to stuff them into his pouch.
Wayne didn't stop him, watching as the Niffler struggled for ages to pry the button loose before attempting to stash it away.
Only then did Wayne leisurely intervene, plucking the button back.
Jerry clung to it stubbornly, refusing to let go, but a Niffler's strength was no match for Wayne's. After a futile struggle, he could only sulk and try to crawl back into the pocket.
Dangling in Wayne's grip, the Niffler remained grumpy—until Wayne produced a golden Galleon. Instantly, Jerry's beady black eyes lit up, mesmerised by the coin.
This time, Wayne didn't tease him. Jerry smoothly tucked the Galleon into his belly pouch.
Then Wayne took out another. And another.
One after another, the two fell into a rhythm—Wayne would produce a Galleon, and Jerry would stash it away.
By the time hundreds of Galleons had been dispensed, Jerry glanced between Wayne and his bulging pouch with longing.
"Full already?" Wayne chuckled, placing ten Galleons on the table at once.
No matter how hard Jerry tried, he could only cram in three more.
Clink!
Another few hundred Galleons spilt out, nearly burying the Niffler. Jerry's eyes gleamed at the sight of so much gold, but with no space left, he could only squeak in frustration.
"Not so hard to handle after all," Wayne mused, lifting the little creature. He was noticeably heavier now.
A few hundred Galleons were enough to keep him satisfied. As long as Jerry was well-fed, there was no risk of him causing mischief.
And when short on cash, he doubled as a handy wallet.
It almost made Wayne reluctant to hand Jerry over to Cho. Why not keep him?
Even when he grew older and could hoard more treasures, Wayne could easily fill him up.
Patting the Niffler's head, Wayne warned, "I'm going for a bath. Stay put."
"If you mess up the room, I'm confiscating all the Galleons."
...
24th December.
Due to the time difference, while it was still afternoon in the Americas, Europe had already slipped into Christmas Eve.
Austria. Nurmengard Castle.
This was an isolated tower, nestled within the endless expanse of the Alps, far from any trace of human habitation.
The cold wind howled through the mountains, and the lonely snow seemed never to cease. Even on Christmas Eve, the warmth of the holiday failed to reach this place.
In the wizarding world, there were two infamous prisons.
One was Azkaban, located on a desolate island in the North Sea and governed by the British Ministry of Magic.
Guarded perpetually by Dementors, it was said that no prisoner could ever escape.
The other had no terrifying creatures—only two elderly Squibs taking turns on watch.
And it held only one prisoner.
Yet because of that single prisoner, Nurmengard's reputation rivalled Azkaban's, striking fear into hearts.
The first Dark Lord, Grindelwald.
Strictly speaking, that title wasn't entirely accurate.
Grindelwald had never called himself the Dark Lord. He didn't even consider himself a Dark Wizard.
His followers, too, believed they were walking the path towards the greater good.
Even in defeat, he had held his head high.
The battle back then hadn't been fought for personal gain or power—it was simply a clash between two different paths.
Thus, the only universally acknowledged Dark Lord of the century was Voldemort.
The air rippled, and a milky glow appeared as Dumbledore stepped out onto the mountainside.
He gazed up at the tower.
At its highest point, a faint light flickered in and out of view.
Standing there for a full half hour, the old man finally steeled himself and took the first step.
Approaching the barrier, he pressed a golden parchment against it. The blue magical wards shimmered, absorbed the parchment, and then split open.
The Squib guarding the gate sensed the disturbance and hurried out with a lantern. Seeing Dumbledore's actions, he relaxed and returned to his hut to resume drinking.
These Squibs were less like Nurmengard's guards and more like caretakers for the prisoner upstairs, responsible for delivering meals and cleaning.
The reason Aurors weren't used was simple—Grindelwald's ability to sway minds was too formidable.
When Grindelwald had been imprisoned by the Magical Congress of the United States, the Aurors guarding him had been rotated every two days.
Even then, he had managed to turn one with words alone, eventually escaping.
In the end, they resorted to Squibs—even if he swayed them, they lacked the power to help him flee.
In the highest room of the tower, a gaunt old man sat in the corner. The moment the wards shifted, his dull eyes flickered.
Closing his eyes, he focused, then suddenly they blazed with renewed brilliance. Rising, he dampened his hands with water from a bowl, smoothed his hair, and straightened his clothes, making himself somewhat presentable.
Creak!
Just as he finished, the door swung open. Dumbledore stood at the threshold but didn't enter. Grindelwald settled into a chair.
"I didn't receive your letter. I thought you'd forgotten—or died."
"To think you'd come in person."
"Counting the years, your last visit was eleven years ago."
His memory… was sharp indeed.
Dumbledore considered it.
The last time he'd come was after Voldemort's disappearance—he'd sought answers to certain questions.
"Our meetings always make certain people tremble." Dumbledore finally walked in and sat opposite Grindelwald, though his eyelids drooped heavily.
Grindelwald didn't mind. He regarded his old friend with a faint, inscrutable smile.
"Last time you came, it was for a baby. And this time?" He paused. "Don't tell me you're just here for a casual visit."
He knew Dumbledore better than anyone. This man, hailed by others as the greatest white wizard of the century, never acted without purpose.
Not even towards those closest to him.
"...It wasn't my idea to come. It was Keynes's request."
"He was worried someone might disturb your retirement, so he asked me to shoo away those pesky flies."
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and turkey, sausages, steak, and boiled potatoes appeared on the table. A set of exquisite cutlery materialised before each of them.
"Rather simple fare, but it'll have to do."
Grindelwald didn't stand on ceremony. He picked up his knife and fork and began eating ravenously, his manners thoroughly uncouth.
Though imprisonment hadn't starved him, it certainly hadn't granted him fine dining. Steak and sausages were delicacies he never saw otherwise. Dumbledore simply watched in silence.
The man who had once nearly conquered the world had been reduced to such a pitiable state. And the one responsible for it was none other than Dumbledore himself.
A full hour passed before Grindelwald cleared the table. By then, his earlier savagery had vanished, replaced by his usual elegance. With a flick of his wrist, a handkerchief appeared in his hand.
After dabbing his lips, he lifted his gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into the old man across from him.
"Out with it, then. What's happened that's worth a personal visit?"
"Nothing major."
Dumbledore cleared the table with a wave of his hand, replacing the remnants with steaming tea. He spoke leisurely, "A dozen or so new Ministries of Magic have popped up in the north. It's chaos over there.
"Some old friends might be getting ideas. They may come looking for you."
Grindelwald frowned slightly, pausing for several seconds. "Have you really become like this now?"
"Like what?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.
"I'm asking about your purpose," Grindelwald enunciated each word, his gaze unrelenting.
"Even if that were the case, you wouldn't show up here. You'd just stand guard outside the tower in silence.
"Don't give me that nonsense about Keynes. He isn't important enough to command you."
Dumbledore drew a deep breath. He hated this feeling. But there was nothing to be done.
Before Grindelwald, he was always so transparent.
"Will you speak now?" Grindelwald tapped the table lightly, his tone indifferent.
"Very well."
Dumbledore turned his gaze to the window.
"Hogwarts has a new student. An exceptional one—the most gifted young wizard the school has ever seen."
"Hmm." Grindelwald made a noncommittal sound, gesturing for Dumbledore to continue.
Geniuses emerged every year, but whether they reached the heights of himself and Dumbledore depended not just on talent, but on temperament.
Still, if Dumbledore had brought it up, this child must be different in some way.
"Oh, and he's a Hufflepuff."
Grindelwald's languid expression faded.
What was this? Had Dumbledore come all this way just to spite him? Did he not know Grindelwald had always clashed with Hufflepuffs?
As if oblivious to his old friend's expression, Dumbledore continued speaking: "He's different from you and Tom—he has no interest in Dark Magic. From him, I sense an immense, positive, magical power.
"Of course, that's not the main point. The main point is his pet."
Grindelwald had already clenched his fists, magical power surging within him.
If that pet turned out to be a Niffler, he would have to challenge Dumbledore to another clash of the titans.
"It's a Phoenix, a very unusual one."
"A Phoenix?" Grindelwald's eyebrow arched. "Is the boy surnamed Dumbledore?"
"No, no. His name is Lawrence—Wayne Lawrence." Dumbledore shook his head. "That Phoenix is extraordinarily special."
"Under the influence of its flames, Fawkes completed his rebirth in just a single day."
"What?!"
A sharp glint flashed in Grindelwald's eyes.
"You heard correctly, and I can vouch for the authenticity of this."
Dumbledore took a deep breath before voicing his true purpose for coming: "Your expertise in Dark Magic far surpasses mine.
"If—if we could harness such immense life force... could Ariana be revived?"