To be honest, Wayne hadn't expected Dumbledore to only learn about Gryffindor's sword being in his possession now. He'd assumed the Sorting Hat would have told the old man immediately after returning.
Yet this also demonstrated Dumbledore's trust in him, which admittedly felt rather nice.
"No wonder you and the Sorting Hat get along so well."
Dumbledore smiled wryly - these two spoke in exactly the same manner.
"Mr Lawrence, I only learned of this today. Is the sword currently in your possession?"
Instead of answering, Wayne simply opened his palm, and the sword materialised in his hand. Removing the ornate gem-encrusted scabbard, the gleaming blade caught the light as Newt and Tina stared curiously at the legendary weapon.
Much like Slytherin's Parseltongue, this sword was one of Godric Gryffindor's most famous symbols, renowned throughout the wizarding world. Even Tina, an Ilvermorny graduate, had read numerous accounts about it in books.
Wizards who wielded both sword and wand were rare throughout history. To see the actual artefact today gave Tina the peculiar sensation of witnessing legend made real.
Newt was equally awestruck, if not more excited than his wife. These were relics of the Founders themselves.
Dumbledore took the sword from Wayne's hands and examined it carefully, relieved to find no damage. He'd feared Wayne might have dismantled it for research.
Before he could finish exhaling, the weight vanished from his hands as the sword returned to the teenager's grasp.
"Mr Lawrence," Dumbledore said wearily, "Were this sword my personal property, I wouldn't hesitate to gift it to you for Christmas. But Gryffindor's sword belongs to Hogwarts - to the entire school, not any individual."
"Don't worry, I understand completely," Wayne nodded earnestly. "I'll return it to you before graduation."
Dumbledore choked slightly.
Before graduation... who knew if he'd even live that long!
"That's too long. Return it to the Sorting Hat by the end of this academic year," Dumbledore began negotiating. Wayne immediately countered with the sixth year.
Under Newt and Tina's astonished gazes, the old wizard and young student haggled like merchants in a marketplace, even bargaining down to precise dates.
In the end, Wayne secured temporary legal ownership of Gryffindor's sword until his birthday during his fifth year. As part of the exchange, the sword would remain in Dumbledore's custody until Wayne returned to school after the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship.
Truth be told, the old man had been itching to get his hands on it.
Previously, he'd only heard legends of Gryffindor's sword without ever seeing the real artefact.
Without Wayne, he might never have had the chance.
Now that it was in his possession, he'd undoubtedly devote considerable effort to studying it.
With matters satisfactorily resolved, Dumbledore cheerfully examined the sword, admiring the pinnacle of Goblin craftsmanship from a millennium ago.
Newt extended an invitation: "Since you're here, why not stay for dinner?"
"How terribly improper of me," Dumbledore said, though his feet showed no intention of leaving.
When Newt repeated the offer, he added wistfully: "Thank you for including this lonely old man in your holiday celebrations."
Tina's expression had turned stormy, but for the sake of appearances, she maintained her composure and wordlessly retreated to the kitchen to prepare supper.
Though Wayne was certain Newt would face repercussions after Dumbledore's departure.
...
At the dinner table, Rolf became painfully awkward upon meeting his future Headmaster, practically burying his face in his plate.
Dumbledore offered the boy some perfunctory encouragement before turning his conversation with Wayne back to Gryffindor's sword.
"I've heard it can absorb various magical powers to enhance itself. Is this true?"
"Quite," Wayne nodded. "Though Gryffindor clearly exhausted most possibilities. I've only found one substance that it hasn't assimilated."
"What might that be?" Dumbledore inquired curiously.
"Fiendfyre." Wayne casually dropped the term that made both Newt and Tina visibly uncomfortable.
"When the sword absorbs it, the blade becomes scalding hot when channelling magical power."
"Fascinating approach," Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps one might experiment with Everlasting Fire?"
"Tried that. No reaction. The eternal combustion property might be incompatible with the sword's nature?"
"Quite possible..."
Their discussion grew increasingly esoteric, eventually touching upon methods for the sword to absorb curses.
Rolf, who'd been eavesdropping, regarded Wayne with awestruck admiration. Where he couldn't even speak in the Headmaster's presence, this boy debated with him as an equal.
Truly remarkable.
...
The holidays passed swiftly. After Dumbledore's departure, days slipped by in a blur.
The new year arrived, and Wayne had expected to laze about until his planned departure for France to meet Nicolas.
But that afternoon, an owl delivered correspondence from Spinner's End, forcing him to alter his itinerary and return to London early.
"Leaving? We agreed you'd stay until the day after tomorrow before heading straight to France!"
Tina frowned at the young man standing before her.
"Ah, Grandma Tina," Wayne wheedled, moving closer to explain. "Unavoidable, I'm afraid. A company I've invested in has made a technological breakthrough—I must inspect their progress."
"We're talking about significant capital here."
"You've invested in a company?" This being her first hearing of it, Tina momentarily forgot her irritation.
"Indeed. A flying broomstick manufacturer with promising prospects."
"How much did you invest?"
Wayne performed some mental calculations before answering uncertainly: "Twenty-five thousand Galleons."
"That much?" Tina looked even more astonished.
"It was only ten thousand Galleons at first." Wayne shrugged helplessly. "But their later-stage development kept getting more expensive. I couldn't just abandon it halfway, so I had to keep investing. That's how it ended up like this."
He now holds over fifty per cent of Firebolt's shares - sixty per cent to be exact. The two original founders had effectively become his underlings.
"You'd better go then." This time, it was Tina who grew anxious.
Twenty-five thousand Galleons was no small sum.
"Should Newt go with you?"
Tina worried Wayne might have been scammed, which is why she suggested it.
Wayne smiled. "No need. My Potions professor lives there too - he's the one who introduced me to them. Everything's above board."
Only then did Tina feel reassured.
Wayne went to bid Newt farewell, said goodbye to Rolf, then headed to the bamboo grove in the backyard.
Stroking the giant panda's soft belly, Wayne murmured, "Tuantuan, your master's leaving now. I'll come back for you soon."
Upon hearing her master's words, Tuantuan showed no signs of reluctance.
With Newt providing ample food and drink, her life couldn't be more comfortable.
Unlike before, when she had to fight other bamboo-eaters for food in the mountains, she'd already gained a little weight after just a few days here.
"You glutton." Wayne tapped the panda's head in exasperation, half-amused, before Apparating away with a crack.
...
Spinner's End.
With a sharp pop, Wayne appeared outside a convenience store at the street corner.
A Muggle woman happened to step out at that moment, her eyes widening in shock at the sudden appearance of the young man. She opened her mouth to scream.
"Shh!" Wayne raised a finger to his lips.
The woman's gaze glazed over momentarily before she walked away as if nothing had happened.
"Bloody unlucky," Wayne muttered, shaking his head. Only once the woman was out of sight did he head towards the Firebolt company.
Wayne knocked on the door, and someone answered almost immediately.
Spencer Wallow opened it, his face lighting up at the sight of him.
"Boss, you're here already?"
"Finally getting to see the finished product—of course I'd hurry." Wayne chuckled teasingly. Wallow scratched his messy hair, too embarrassed to respond.
They'd already burned through over twenty thousand Galleons of Wayne's money. If they still couldn't deliver results, it'd be no different from fraud.
The two descended into the basement, where the two most skilled Goblins Wayne had previously met immediately dropped their tools and hurried over, bowing deeply.
"Boss!"
"Hmm, looks like you've been doing well." Wayne glanced at the working Goblins.
They were far more diligent than during his last visit, though their gazes towards the two elder Goblins were filled with resentment and fear.
Good. The enemy should crumble from within.
"All thanks to your brilliant leadership," one of the elder Goblins fawned. "Everyone's morale is high, and efficiency has improved significantly."
"Not bad. Bonuses later." Wayne waved a hand dismissively, deploying the classic tactic of throwing money at the problem.
If these two Goblins didn't taste some benefits, how could he squeeze more value out of the others?
Hearing about year-end bonuses, the two Goblins grinned even more obsequiously, ushering Wayne deeper into the basement. Before entering, they turned to glare at the other Goblins:
"Work faster! Delay the schedule, and I'll dock your pay!"
...
Inside the office, Agatha McKay enthusiastically presented the first near-complete Firebolt to Wayne.
"Our brooms are crafted from the finest ash wood. Based on the Muggle physics materials you provided, each one adheres to aerodynamic principles to minimise drag."
"Even the bristles have been individually enchanted for balance and reduced wind resistance. Current top speed has reached one hundred and eighty miles per hour."
"Instant acceleration is also thirty per cent faster than initial projections, which is why we've spent so much time and funding."
McKay carefully explained the reasons towards the end, as if to prove they weren't swindling Wayne.
The cost meant nothing to Wayne.
But McKay's attitude was commendable.
He'd also discreetly used the Legilimency Spell and found no deceit—only technical thoughts filled the man's mind, devoid of any ulterior motives. Moreover, McKay and Wallow had indeed brought him a pleasant surprise.
In the original work, the Firebolt's top speed was only 150 miles per hour, but now it had been increased by 30 miles in one go.
What was already a groundbreaking broomstick had now become utterly dominant.
Wayne examined the prototype before him. Its streamlined form was exquisitely graceful, though the wooden handle remained somewhat rough as it hadn't been polished or waxed yet. Otherwise, there were no issues.
"Excellent. I believe Firebolt Company will undoubtedly surpass Nimbus to become the world's most successful flying broomstick manufacturer."
"Boss, we share that confidence," Wallow nodded in agreement. "There's just one matter requiring your decision—what price point do you think is appropriate for the Firebolt?"
"What's the production cost?" Wayne asked.
"Factoring in labour, defect rates, and material fluctuations, each broom comes to approximately 2,800 Galleons," Wallow replied swiftly. "If we increase production volume, we could distribute costs further, but the minimum wouldn't drop below 2,500 Galleons."
Wayne was inwardly astonished.
At that price, one could nearly buy an entire team's worth of Nimbus 2000s.
"In that case," Wayne stroked his chin, "we're not merely crafting broomsticks—we're creating works of art. With no competitors emerging for years, we should set the price higher."
"How about 4,999 Galleons?"
"Isn't that a bit too high?" Hearing Wayne's figure, both Wallow and McKay were startled. Their initial expectation had been around 3,500.
The two Goblins showed no reaction.
The higher the price, the better—that meant bigger dividends for them.
"Not high at all," Wayne shook his head. "Each broom lasts at least five years. Nimbus may be cheaper, but Quidditch teams replace theirs annually."
"Besides, apart from them, hardly anyone would buy such expensive broomsticks anyway. Those who want them won't care about this amount of money."
"Very well then." Wallow and McKay were convinced by Wayne's reasoning.
"Take this." Wayne produced a deed given to him by Madam Greengrass.
"With the company about to make waves, we ought to have a proper office location."
"Thank you, boss." Wallow accepted it excitedly, gaining new appreciation for Wayne's financial resources and background.
Properties in Diagon Alley weren't obtainable through money alone.
Owning one was a premium asset that could be passed down for centuries.
All the shops were held by pure-blood families or centuries-old companies—there hadn't been any available for ages.
"When will the first broom be ready?" Wayne asked another question.
"About a week," Wallow answered promptly. "The Goblins have become much more obedient lately, speeding up production."
"A week?" Wayne frowned. He'd wanted to take one for a test ride.
Suddenly, he turned to the two silent Goblins and produced another bag of Galleons.
"Three hundred Galleons here." Wayne smiled, jiggling the pouch. The Goblins' eyes remained fixed on the rising and falling bag, ears pricked at the crisp clinking of coins.
"Tell me—if I wanted the broom by the day after tomorrow, do you think that's possible?"
"O-of course!" one Goblin shrieked. "Overtime! Mandatory overtime! We'll deliver without fail!"
"Bastard!" Another Goblin smacked his companion's head in frustration. "What do you mean by overtime? That's the employees' New Year's gift to their boss!"
"Excellent." Wayne was thoroughly satisfied with their attitude and tossed the money pouch over.
The two Goblins pounced on it like starving dogs, brawling over ownership of a single Galleon.
...
Due to the poor working conditions at the Firebolt factory, Wayne left immediately after concluding his business.
Originally intending to depart directly, he suddenly remembered Snape and changed direction, heading towards the alley's end.
He'd sent Snape a single Knut as a Christmas gift this year, yet the professor hadn't reciprocated with anything – a slight that genuinely wounded Wayne.
Since he was already here, he might as well ask whether the professor had simply forgotten about gift-giving etiquette.
...
In a dimly lit room at the alley's end, candlelight flickered uncertainly.
Snape stood before his workbench, watching the bubbling cauldron where liquid boiled with ominous glugs.
With meticulous care, he tipped black powder from a vial onto a spoon, gradually adding it to the cauldron while observing the potion's reaction.
Then, the wooden door shuddered under violent knocking.
"Professor? Professor Snape! I know you're home – open up!"
The sudden noise made Snape's hand jerk. The entire spoonful of powder cascaded into the cauldron.
BOOM!
A pillar of flame erupted skyward as the cauldron exploded, spraying liquid across every surface.
Snape's lips trembled, his entire body shaking with rage. A full ten seconds passed before he managed to roar: "Lawrence, you absolute wretch!"