The world felt surreal to Cho after learning Aberforth's true identity.
Even when the enormous bowl of stew arrived, she remained dazed.
One brother: Hogwarts' Headmaster, the century's greatest white wizard.
The other: a disreputable pub owner providing trading grounds for illegal Dark Wizards.
The contrast couldn't be more extreme.
"Don't lump me in with him," Aberforth said, clearly accustomed to such reactions. "He's him, I'm me. The only connection is our surname."
Wayne deftly served Cho, producing cutlery from his own supplies.
"The old man's right. Just treat him as a particularly grumpy codger."
"You little..." Aberforth sighed. That drunken night when he'd called Wayne "little brother" still haunted him.
With both men so casual, Cho gradually relaxed.
Eyeing the unidentifiable stew, then watching Wayne eat heartily, she braved a taste.
Surprisingly good.
Between mouthfuls, Wayne addressed business.
"Any progress with our shopping list?"
"Got most of it. No leads on the iron-eating beast, though – too obscure," Aberforth shook his head. "Try Scamander if you're desperate. That's his speciality."
"Newt's no help either," Wayne wiped his mouth regretfully. "Asked him last year. Said they're strictly controlled."
'I just want to raise a panda. Why must it be so difficult?'
Aberforth returned upstairs, emerging with a leather case.
Wayne pocketed it without inspection.
As a black market facilitator, Aberforth sourced many prohibited items – materials unavailable even in Diagon Alley.
"Genuine dragonhide, forget-me-not pearls, mandrake roots, and all the African snakewood bark you can find. Do put in extra effort."
Wayne handed over a heavy pouch of galleons.
"What exactly are you planning with all these ingredients? Polyjuice Potion, devil's brew, or some kind of lethal poison?"
Glancing at the number of Galleons inside, Aberforth's eyelid twitched.
This didn't paint him in a good light.
If all this money were exchanged for the materials Wayne wanted, the crimes would be enough to land him in Azkaban until death.
"Old friend, no need to showcase your ignorance," Wayne chuckled. "Many alchemical experiments require these materials, too. I'm not as wicked as you imagine."
"I'd believe that if your senior said it," Aberforth sneered.
The boy before him was the least Hufflepuff-like Hufflepuff he'd ever met.
Yet also the most agreeable one.
Only someone with this temperament wouldn't be led around by his brother.
After the meal, Wayne had planned to slip away with Cho, but Aberforth insisted he stay for a drink.
Reluctantly, Wayne settled back down.
As they drank, the conversation flowed freely.
"Why does the Headmaster have a Phoenix, but you don't?"
Cho blinked her beautiful eyes at the old man.
"You think Phoenixes grow on trees?" Aberforth snorted, tilting his bottle. "There is a legend that Phoenixes appear when a Dumbledore needs help. My great-grandfather owned one."
"I've heard that too," Cho nodded eagerly. "It's said to symbolise the Dumbledores' noble bloodline."
"That's what I believed too, until I realised the truth."
Aberforth's voice grew sombre, his azure eyes distant.
"A Phoenix only appears when a Dumbledore nears death, to sing their final elegy."
Cho paled. "Then... then the Headmaster—"
"Don't fret, he'll live long yet." Aberforth waved a hand. "That Phoenix didn't come for him."
"It came for... my son."
"Credence Dumbledore. He fell in the war against Grindelwald. Fawkes originally followed him."
"After his death, Fawkes remained."
Wayne had suspected as much from the films, but hearing Aberforth confirm it settled the matter.
"So the Headmaster is Fawkes' second master?"
"No." Aberforth shook his head. "Phoenixes are fiercely loyal. They only ever have one true master in their lifetime."
"Credence was merely the reason for Fawkes' appearance. The Phoenix never bonded with him—just came to see him off."
"But with my brother... Fawkes truly chose him."
...
At two in the afternoon, Wayne left the Hog's Head with Cho, returning to the castle.
The day's haul wasn't bad. Aberforth had shared many tales from the First Wizarding War, giving Wayne deeper insight into that era.
Compared to those days, modern wizards might as well be regressing.
Their overall skill level couldn't hold a candle to wartime standards.
This seemed to be the Ministry of Magic's deliberate policy—suppressing magical combat prowess.
Only Ministry Hit Wizards and Aurors receive proper battle training nowadays.
Another global-scale war would devastate the already fragile wizarding world's population.
Moreover, Wayne finally got an answer from Aberforth to his burning question: Why wasn't Grindelwald executed?
At that moment, Aberforth's expression was profoundly complex.
"Grindelwald lost, but his followers remain."
"Executing him would provoke retaliation from tens of thousands of highly skilled dark wizards. The outcome would be mutual destruction, potentially leading to the collapse of the wizarding world."
"He doesn't represent pure evil. Even I cannot deny that."
"Wayne, what are you thinking about?" Cho asked the boy who had been silently lost in thought.
"Nothing." Wayne didn't mention his desire to see what kind of person Grindelwald truly was. He smiled and said, "Let's go deliver some food to Astoria."
...
Arriving at the entrance to the Slytherin common room, a passing young snake nearly collapsed in fear at the sight of him.
Wayne had visited twice before, and neither occasion had ended well for Slytherin's dignity – thoroughly trampled on both times.
Before he could even speak, the student scrambled back into the common room in panic.
"Am I really that terrifying?" Wayne muttered gloomily.
Fortunately, Malfoy happened to return just then, allowing him to successfully meet with Astoria.
The young girl was delighted with her gift, thanking Wayne and Cho repeatedly.
After learning of Astoria's circumstances, Cho felt great sympathy for the sweet girl, and their conversation flowed harmoniously.
However, the common room entrance wasn't the place for extended chats – especially with Wayne present.
Many Slytherins feared he might suddenly go berserk and blockade the entrance again, watching nervously from just inside the doorway.
After just a few words, the three parted ways.
This arrangement had its benefits – now that Slytherin knew of Wayne's connection to Astoria, not a single first-year dared bully her.
No one even raised their voice around her.
...
"Peeves, sir, please return my necklace."
"Not sincere enough! You must address me as the King of Mischief, Peeves the Great!"
"I don't consider this mischief. This is outright theft."
After seeing Cho back to the tower and descending to the third-floor corridor, Wayne overheard this peculiar exchange.
Rounding the corner, he saw a blonde girl looking up earnestly at Peeves, who was floating mid-air.
Hearing his mischief being questioned, Peeves threw a tantrum like a wronged child, swinging the butterbeer cork necklace wildly.
The girl's normally placid expression showed traces of anxiety and concern.
"Peeves."
Wayne's calm voice cut through the air. Peeves froze mid-flail, spotting the boy at the end of the corridor.
"M-Master Lawrence!"
Peeves looked ready to fade from fright.
"Give Luna back her necklace." Wayne's sharp glare made Peeves tremble. He hastily tossed the necklace to Luna before fleeing with dramatic shrieks.
"Thank you, Lawrence."
The girl carefully fastened the necklace around her neck, offering sincere gratitude.
"Don't be too polite to Peeves. He'll take advantage."
This was Luna, whom Wayne had met briefly before.
Though now wearing school robes, the girl's eccentric style remained unchanged.
"Yes, Peeves always causes trouble for us." At that moment, a ghost drifted out from the wall – it was Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor house ghost.
"Sir, pleased to meet you," Wayne greeted, while Luna blinked her protruding eyes.
"Hello, Lawrence," Nicolas said gently. "This is the first time I've seen Peeves afraid of a young wizard. Previously, he only feared the Bloody Baron."
Wayne smiled without responding.
To test the effects of Dread, he'd played several pranks on Peeves.
Ever since then, whenever Peeves saw Wayne, it was the poltergeist who looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Sir, you seem to be in particularly good spirits," Luna observed more keenly, noticing Nicolas's mood.
"Ah, well, I should be," Nicolas spoke slowly, his tone cheerful:
"This year's Halloween marks the five-hundredth anniversary of my death."
He puffed out his chest, adopting a noble air.
"You actually died on Halloween?" Wayne raised an eyebrow. "Halloween is All Saints' Day – even executioners wouldn't want blood on their hands that day."
"Perceptive Lawrence," Nicolas muttered. "You and this young lady ought to be in Ravenclaw."
"Truthfully, as a ghost, I've forgotten the actual day I died."
"All ghosts are the same – we've settled on celebrating our deathdays on Halloween."
Wayne nodded. "I see. Well, happy early deathday then."
"Thank you." Nicolas looked delighted. "So, would you like to attend my deathday party? Ghost friends will be coming from all over the country."
"Oh, and Harry Potter has already agreed to come."
"You might even witness me joining the Headless Hunt."
Just as Luna was about to speak, Wayne pulled her back. The boy maintained his practised smile: "Apologies, Sir, but we'll be attending the school feast."
"Have a wonderful time, and good luck joining the Headless Hunt."
"What a shame." Nicolas shook his head regretfully before drifting away like smoke.
"Why refuse?" Luna asked, ignoring how he'd held her arm, tilting her head at the boy.
"Ghosts gathering from across the country... they might know about Wrackspurts and Nargles."
"This is for your own good," Wayne said gravely.
"A ghost's banquet isn't what you imagine. It's practically dancing on graves."
"If you actually went, your luck would turn quite poor for a while."
Luna tilted her head. "Is that so? Lawrence, you've saved me again."
"And how will you repay me this time?" Wayne studied her with interest.
No matter her expression, Astoria always looked pitifully woebegone.
But Luna – in any state – had that permanently distracted air, as if her thoughts were elsewhere.
"If you ever need anything, just tell me," Luna said airily.
"But I doubt there's anything you can't solve that I could manage."
"At least you can see Wrackspurts," Wayne grudgingly acknowledged one of Luna's advantages.
"They're avoiding you. Dark creatures dare not gaze upon the midday sun."
...
Halloween night.
A vast bank of dark clouds drifted over Hogwarts, and the Quidditch players who had just gone out for training soon returned in disarray.
The icy rain had soaked through their robes, leaving several of them shivering as they dashed towards the fireplace.
"This is the umpteenth time," Cedric grumbled. "Why has there been so much rain lately?"
Wayne, who was reading by the fireplace, flicked his wand, and the players' clothes instantly dried.
"Professor Sinistra said last night that it would basically rain for the next month, possibly even freezing rain."
Wayne said softly, "If you want to train, you could buy waterproof badges. The effect speaks for itself."
"Too expensive. Can't you make it cheaper?" Wotley grimaced. "Two Galleons? That's my dating budget with Lenita for next month!"
"Right..." Cedric automatically agreed before realising something was off. He stared at Wotley in shock. "Who did you say? Lenita? Not Imelda?"
Passing by, Senior Grace overheard and smirked. "He changed ages ago. As Wayne puts it... It's called a transfer. Last time, I even saw Wotley and Lenita snogging at the Astronomy Tower."
"Like two seals fighting over a grape."
"Hahahaha!"
Wotley's face burned crimson as the surrounding spectators doubled over with laughter—all except Cedric, whose laughter died halfway through.
Wotley had already "transferred" through so many girlfriends, while he still hadn't even had one!
...
Even as they entered the Great Hall for the feast, Cedric was still muttering about it.
"I'm not ugly either, so why do I hardly get any love letters from girls? And even when I do, they're... never mind."
He was consulting Wayne.
In Cedric's eyes, Wayne was the playboy of Hufflepuff—girlfriends came in but never left, and they were always the prettiest in every year.
The Great Hall had already donned its Halloween-themed decorations.
Pumpkins, ghosts, and bats floated in the air.
Students who loved the lively atmosphere had painted their faces and dressed up as vampires or imps.
At the staff table, Lockhart had even stuck two horns on his head, his wand spraying glittering confetti that landed right on Snape's plate.
"Who do you hang out with every day?" Wayne asked casually between bites of lamb chop.
"You, Wotley, Fred and George, and a few roommates."
"Well, there you go. The girls probably don't want to distract you, so they don't send you love letters."
"What do you mean?" Cedric looked even more confused.
Wayne shrugged. "They think you're gay. Otherwise, why don't you have any female friends?"
Cedric looked as though he'd been struck by lightning.
"I'm not!"
"Don't tell me. Go tell the girls."
Wayne wasn't making this up—Cho had told him all this, warning him to be careful. At the time, he hadn't known whether to laugh or cry.
Leaving Cedric to explain himself to every girl in sight desperately, Wayne enjoyed the lavish feast.
Halloween was usually a prime time for mishaps—like last year's Troll incident.
But this year, the troublemaker Tom was firmly in his grasp, so no surprises could possibly occur.
For the peace and harmony of the school, he had truly sacrificed so much in silence.
Dumbledore really ought to deduct a few hundred points from him—then double them and add them back.
At the head table, Dumbledore was also smiling cheerfully, sharing a newly heard ghost story with Professor McGonagall.
Though it was neither amusing nor frightening in the slightest, Professor McGonagall clearly understood workplace etiquette, her expression perfectly appropriate.
"Ah!"
Just then, Divination Professor Trelawney, seated at the edge of the head table, suddenly shrieked.
Dumbledore turned towards the sound, his body stiffening.
This state...
It was a genuine prophecy!