Aunt Marge had returned to normal, and another wizard had modified her memories before she fell into a deep slumber.
The Dursleys didn't object to Harry leaving – in fact, they couldn't wait to see him go.
However, before Harry departed, Uncle Vernon pressed five hundred pounds into his hands.
"This covers your room and board for the next fortnight."
"Remember, don't go telling tall tales to Lord Lawrence. You chose to leave of your own accord."
Harry stood frozen as the notes were shoved into his palm.
After two seconds of silence, Harry clenched the money and gave a slight bow. "The fault was mine today. I've caused you trouble."
Without waiting for Vernon's response, he turned and hurried after Fudge.
Aunt Marge's offensive remarks were her own doing, but Vernon and Petunia had genuinely tried maintaining peace these past days – today's incident had been completely undeserved.
Vernon stared dumbfounded as the group boarded a Ford Anglia, unprepared for Harry's apology.
Back inside, observing the still-unconscious Marge, Vernon eventually told Petunia, "When Potter visits next time, let's not have Marge over. Save them from another brawl."
"I won't have those peculiar people invading my home again!"
...
"Your uncle knows Mr Lawrence?" Fudge inquired curiously from the car's backseat.
"Eh?"
Startled from his thoughts, Harry replied hastily: "Wayne came by once before – helped me quite a bit. Their attitude used to be... rather awful."
"I see." Fudge nodded, then suddenly mused:
"This time, I've truly witnessed Mr Lawrence's influence in the Muggle world."
"Because of him, the Muggles have even mobilised their military to search for Black. A £100,000 reward for information – if those Goblins at Gringotts agreed, that could be exchanged for a full twenty thousand Galleons."
"Because of Wayne? That seems rather excessive, doesn't it?" Harry was astonished.
These past few days, he'd been bombarded with news about Black.
Dudley loved watching television, spending all day either playing games or glued to the screen.
When a programme got interesting, news bulletins about Black would frequently interrupt, sending Dudley into such a rage that he nearly smashed the television.
"Not excessive at all. That uncle of his..." Fudge shook his head and explained the relationship between Humphrey and Wayne.
He was thoroughly vexed himself, receiving letters from Number 10 Downing Street every other day inquiring whether Black had been captured.
Now he had to contend not only with pressure from wizards but also with urging from the Muggle government.
Several more strands had already abandoned his thinning scalp.
Harry stared blankly ahead through the car window, finally understanding exactly what status Wayne held in Muggle society...
Soon, the car arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. After settling Harry in, Fudge repeatedly warned him not to leave Diagon Alley before hurriedly departing.
Only when lying in bed did Harry remember there was something he'd forgotten to ask Fudge.
Why had Fudge's attitude towards him changed so dramatically after Black's escape?
...
In the small topmost room of Nurmengard Tower, an old man and a youth sat facing each other.
"You actually came?"
Grindelwald looked at the youth before him with surprise.
"Had nothing better to do during the holidays. Got bored, so here I am." Wayne waved his hand, conjuring an extravagant feast along with two bottles of Macallan single malt whisky.
"Oh? Brought whisky this time?" Grindelwald's eyes lit up.
Taking one bottle, he said appreciatively, "Didn't take you for a connoisseur. Single malt's the only proper way to drink whisky."
"Don't know the first thing about it myself. These were gifts." Wayne shook his head, placing a glass before Grindelwald and pouring them each half a measure.
"Cheers."
As they raised their glasses, a delicate frost formed across the surfaces before they clinked gently together.
After taking a sip, Grindelwald set down his glass, savouring the taste. "How many years has it been since I've tasted whisky this fine... Lad, you're leaving these bottles behind when you go."
"Look at you – where's your dignity? And you call yourself the Dark Lord."
"Hmph. There's no Dark Lord here. Just an old man who's been locked up for decades."
Grindelwald seemed in no hurry to enjoy the feast before him, watching Wayne with an amused expression.
"Seems you've encountered some difficulty, or you wouldn't be drowning your sorrows."
"Need me to help... eliminate whoever's causing your troubles?"
Grindelwald's approach was refreshingly straightforward – either solve the problem or remove its source.
Generally speaking, the latter method proved simplest.
"Piss off," Wayne said irritably. "Eliminate her? Harm one hair on her head and I'll scatter your ashes to the winds."
Grindelwald's eyes sharpened with understanding. "Her? So it's a woman then?"
The young man sighed and downed the remaining whisky in his glass.
This body had never been exposed to alcohol before, and the dizzying effects came almost immediately.
Fuelled by the drink, Wayne voiced his troubles.
This holiday, most of his energy had been spent placating girls. Hermione had been mostly resolved, and Fleur, who already knew some of the situation, had only sulked for a couple of days.
But then he'd stumbled with Cho.
After learning the news, Cho didn't argue or make a scene—she simply stopped acknowledging him.
Every day when Wayne went to see her, she never turned him away. The girl still let him in, but treated him like thin air, carrying on with her own tasks and barely exchanging more than a few words with him all day.
After several days of this, Wayne grew frustrated.
If she had been like Hermione, openly displaying her displeasure, it would have been easier. Once she was appeased and her anger subsided, things would return to normal.
But the worst was this silent treatment—the calmer she was, the harder it was to handle.
Distraught, Wayne decided he needed a drink to drown his sorrows.
Nicolas was too old for heavy drinking, and Newt had vanished who-knows-where in search of the Horned Serpent.
After some thought, the only suitable candidate left was Grindelwald.
So he went to Nurmengard.
After drinking, he could always take out his frustrations by beating up the old man.
"Over something this trivial?" Grindelwald's expression froze after listening to Wayne's rambling.
He had assumed Wayne was dealing with some thorny, complicated issue...
And it turns out it's about women?
"What's so great about women anyway?"
Grindelwald glared at the young man with exasperation. "With your power and talent, wasting your days on such trivial matters is an absolute disgrace!"
"Don't you have any grander ambitions?"
"Women really aren't that interesting," Wayne sneered at him. "So you chose a man instead, didn't you?"
Grindelwald snorted coldly. "Albus and I share a resonance of souls. You could never understand."
"Right," Wayne cut into a piece of foie gras, chewing slowly as he savoured the rich, buttery texture melting on his tongue. "Of course, I don't understand you lunatics, acting like you were born with some grand destiny."
"I just want to live happily, finding amusement when life gets dull."
"Most importantly, I need to help the Lawrence family flourish and prosper."
Grindelwald paused, recalling the efforts and sacrifices he had once made for his ideals—only for it all to come to nothing. He sighed and resumed eating.
"You certainly live with clarity."
"Regrets?" Wayne asked.
"No." Grindelwald shook his head. "I caused the deaths of many innocent people and lost hundreds of followers. But if I could do it all again, I would."
"Had I succeeded, countless more wizards would have benefited, living openly under the sun."
Grindelwald's gaze suddenly sharpened, and the temperature in the room dropped.
"If only I had killed Newt back then—roasted that Niffler and Bowtruckle of his—none of the later troubles would have happened."
Wayne, mid-sip of his mushroom soup, froze briefly before giving him a deadpan look.
Where did all this resentment come from? Even now, he still couldn't let go of his grudge against his senior.
Not even Dumbledore occupied his thoughts this much, did he?
Though, when he thought about it, there was some logic to it. If it weren't for Newt and the Niffler, Grindelwald wouldn't have lost the blood pact, and Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to move against him.
Without Dumbledore, he might have truly conquered the world.
What a pity...
Wayne shook his head, eyebrows raised. "Mr Grindelwald, you'd better accept your fate. My senior is happily married now, living his best life while chasing Horned Serpents all over Britain."
Grindelwald trembled with rage but didn't retort, choosing instead to stuff his face with food.
He'd come to realise that Wayne was the polar opposite of the taciturn, inarticulate Newt.
This lad's every word stabbed straight to the heart, and without any leverage against Wayne, Grindelwald was utterly outmatched in their verbal sparring.
Better to eat more and spare himself the aggravation.
Seeing his silence, Wayne couldn't be bothered to continue either.
In an eating contest, how could a Hufflepuff lose to some expelled Durmstrang student?
Thus, the two men abandoned all restraint, gorging themselves while occasionally clinking glasses.
Soon, the table was cleared of delicacies like a locust swarm had passed through, and one of the two whisky bottles stood empty.
Grindelwald patted his full stomach contentedly. "That Gardevoir of yours is becoming quite the chef."
"Naturally. She's learning Eastern cuisine now. Next time you visit, I'll have her prepare some – guaranteed better than French food."
"I'll hold you to that."
Wayne stood, cracking his neck with a series of pops.
"All this food – shouldn't we work it off?"
Grindelwald, who'd been anticipating Wayne's next visit, suddenly understood.
The brat had only come to find a drinking buddy and punching bag. He couldn't help a bitter laugh.
"Come on then. Let's see if I can't teach you a lesson today."
...
An hour later, they returned to the tower.
Grindelwald's already shabby robes sported several new holes and scorch marks, while Wayne's appearance was dishevelled – his robes intact but hair resembling a bird's nest.
Since this was about venting frustration, overwhelming force would defeat the purpose. Thus, their duel employed no special talents, only conventional magic.
Far more challenging than last time, but the catharsis was undeniable.
His mood had improved considerably.
"Here, let's finish this bottle too." Grindelwald was feeling rather pleased himself, having regained some dignity.
Last time Wayne emerged unscathed – at least this round cost him a few hairs.
Wayne didn't refuse, continuing to drink and chat with Grindelwald.
"By the way, teach me that human Transfiguration of yours. Otherwise, next time I'll bring a feast and make you watch me eat it all."
"Are you the devil?"
"Coming from the Dark Lord, that's high praise. But we're just getting started – ever heard of Gender-Swap Mints?"
"What's that?"
Wayne produced one, explaining its effects before threatening:
"Mr Grindelwald, you wouldn't want to ruin your reputation in old age, would you?"
After a long silence, Grindelwald slammed the table. "You win. It's just Human Transfiguration – I'll only say this once..."
Wayne listened intently, committing every detail to memory with occasional nods.
Separating body parts for individual transformation before recombination was truly ingenious – just prohibitively difficult, incorporating some Dark Magic principles into the learning process. But it wasn't particularly difficult for him - he could master it after some study back home.
Drinking to his heart's content, Grindelwald's face showed slight tipsiness as he said, "Lawrence, dealing with your little girlfriend isn't that troublesome. You just need to..."
Wayne initially paid no attention, thinking what would someone who got involved with that old bee know about women. But the more he listened, the more sense it made.
"Not bad, old Gellert. How do you know so much?" The youth's gaze towards the old man changed, carrying respect for the first time.
"Hmph." Grindelwald gave a cold, proud snort. "Back in the day, the witches who worshipped me could form a queue from Paris to Berlin. This is nothing."
"If this trick of yours works, I'll come again before term starts."
Wayne couldn't sit still either. He snatched back the wand he'd just given Grindelwald and placed two more bottles of alcohol on the table.
"Drink slowly. I'm heading back first."
With that, he walked out through the wooden door.
"Pathetic brat." Grindelwald curled his lip disdainfully.
Bang~!
The door burst open as Wayne poked his head back in:
"Oh, right, forgot to mention earlier. That Human Transfiguration isn't for me - it's to teach Newt and Grandma Tina."
"They'll need ways to disguise themselves after rejuvenation. Thanks!"
With that, Wayne scampered off.
Grindelwald stood frozen for a moment before roaring in fury.
"Lawrence, you absolute bastard!"
...
Back in London, the next day.
The moment Mr and Mrs Chang left for work, Wayne arrived at Cho's house.
The girl remained aloof, but he paid no mind, forcibly dragging her to bustling Muggle districts for shopping and countless desserts.
Then the next day, and the next...
Before they knew it, half a month had passed.
Hermione returned from France, the Antibes beaches having tanned the young witch several shades darker, her white teeth now strikingly conspicuous when she smiled.
A horrified Wayne hastily brewed numerous skin-whitening potions for her, determined to restore the fair-skinned Miss Granger before term began.
Only then did Hermione realise Wayne disliked her new 'healthy' dark brown complexion. Near tears, she holed up at home applying ointments, afraid to go outside.
Finally, Wayne deemed the time right.
That day, after escorting the still largely silent Cho home, he stopped her at the doorway, turning her to face him with feigned surprise.
"Cho, I've only just noticed - you've put on quite some weight."
The girl's eyes flickered, but she remained silent.
"Tsk, even a double chin now." Wayne shook his head regretfully, pinching his own chin before walking off.
Cho ignored him, closing her door.
Once inside, her expression transformed. Rushing to the full-length bedroom mirror, she scrutinised herself, disbelieving fingers prodding her chin.
"I actually have a double chin! How did I get so fat?"
"Oh no... what if Wayne stops liking me now?"