The moment Snape stepped into the classroom with a thunderous expression, the chatter died instantly. Even the Slytherins kept their heads down, not daring to breathe too loudly.
"Potter, you seemed to be enjoying yourself just now. What were you discussing? Share it with the class."
Harry stood up reluctantly. "Professor, we were talking about Quidditch..."
"Oh?" Snape drawled.
Malfoy snickered, watching Harry with gleeful schadenfreude.
"If you love Quidditch so much, why don't you go train right now?"
"Really?!" Harry's eyes lit up.
Hermione stared at him in disbelief.
'Has a Troll kissed your brain? How could you take the bait?!'
"Of course." Snape pointed to the door. "Go now. Then report for detention after ten tonight. How does that sound?"
Harry forced a laugh and sat back down, shooting a glare at the smirking Malfoy. Malfoy met his gaze defiantly, sparks of rivalry flashing between them.
After docking five points from Harry as a matter of course, Snape wrote the recipe for the Swelling Solution on the board.
"One set of ingredients per person. After class, I'll randomly select a few lucky students to taste their brews."
As he spoke, Snape's gaze lingered on Harry before finally settling on Neville Longbottom. The round-faced boy shot Hermione a pleading look.
"Granger, you'll pair with Brown. Finnigan, you're with Longbottom," Snape swiftly arranged, noticing his little trick.
Hermione could only helplessly shoot a pitying glance at Neville, who looked on the verge of tears, before going to join Lavender Brown.
The young wizards quickly gathered their materials.
Hermione secretly swapped her pre-prepared ingredients with Neville's, then took his and Seamus's materials to re-process them.
Though Snape saw this, he didn't intervene, his gaze distant. Lily had been just as helpful back in the day.
Truthfully, he didn't dislike Hermione's intelligence – it was her lecturing manner that irked him.
It reminded him too much of his younger self.
If only he could pluck Potter's eyeballs out and transplant them onto Hermione, dye her hair Weasley-red, then poison her voice into silence...
A perfect young Lily would emerge.
With his heartstrings thus plucked, Snape drifted through the lesson absent-mindedly, unconsciously wandering the classroom.
Before he knew it, he found himself standing behind Neville and Seamus.
A terrifying shadow loomed over them.
Both gulped audibly as Seamus tremblingly added chopped dried nettles to the cauldron. He reached out with his wand to stir.
Neville jolted, an inexplicable dread seizing him. He wanted to stop Seamus, but it was too late.
BANG!
After the explosion, three screams rang out. Hermione, standing nearby, watched in horror as the splashing potion flew toward her. Fortunately, the defensive ring Wayne had given her was on her finger – the Shield Charm activated automatically, blocking the scalding liquid.
The entire class turned to look.
The sight of Snape, Seamus and Neville's conditions made everyone gasp. Bloody hell... were they even human anymore?
Neville's upper body had swollen to twice its size, bursting his robes. Seamus's right arm was thicker than an elephant's leg, covered in revolting pustules.
Snape had it worst – lost in thought, he only reacted when disaster struck. Too late.
The unidentified potion splashed directly onto his forehead and – BOOM – his head tripled in size while he swayed dizzily.
Pfft!
Someone snorted first, then more couldn't hold back.
Summoning his last strength, Snape bolted through the classroom door, his roar echoing behind him: "Class dismissed! Fifty points from Gryffindor! Get those two idiots to the hospital wing!"
...
By lunchtime, the story had warped beyond recognition: "Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan couldn't take Snape's bullying anymore and turned his head into a pig's!"
Ron was animatedly describing the (alleged) scene, surrounded by upper-years.
"Seamus lifted the cauldron and slammed it onto Snape's head!"
Though wildly exaggerated, the young lions loved it. Who cared about accuracy? The outcome was undeniable.
Many later witnessed Snape sprinting to the hospital wing with his robes wrapped around his head.
"What happened?" A gentle voice came from behind.
Hermione immediately put down her cutlery and clung to Wayne's arm, looking aggrieved. "Wayne, I almost got disfigured. Thank goodness for the ring you gave me."
Hermione was truly frightened this time. Seeing the Troll-like state Neville and the others were in, she reckoned she'd be lying in the hospital wing too if not for the Shield Charm.
Lavender Brown also came over to express her gratitude. She'd been right beside Hermione—neither of them could have escaped in that situation.
"There, there," Wayne comforted the little witch, smoothing her hair. It was rare to see Hermione so vulnerable, and he found it rather amusing.
"Now tell me what happened?" he urged again.
"You don't even care about me!" The little witch puffed up in anger like a blowfish, but she still recounted the entire incident in detail.
The scene from that time flashed through his mind, and Wayne couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Pfft—!"
"No, as a Hufflepuff, how can I not pay my respects when a professor is injured?"
Struggling to suppress his laughter, Wayne put on a solemn face and quickly waved his hand. "You eat first. I'm going to check on Professor Snape."
With that, Wayne practically flew out of the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him from the speed of his steps.
Lavender Brown sighed in admiration. "Wayne is so kind. I heard Professor Snape always targets him, yet he still cares so much about the professor."
"Truly the most outstanding student in Hufflepuff," Hermione muttered, her expression deadpan.
She was utterly disillusioned with Gryffindor. What kind of people were these?!
Meanwhile, Wayne raced to the hospital wing at top speed. Taking advantage of Madam Pomfrey's absence, he slipped inside unnoticed.
Several beds were separated by curtains, with Neville and Seamus occupying the outermost ones, though both were so tightly wrapped in bandages that Wayne could barely tell them apart.
The two let out muffled groans upon seeing him.
Unable to understand them, Wayne waved and pressed further inside, feigning concern.
"Professor Snape, I heard you were injured. Nothing too serious, I hope?"
On the bed further in, Snape—who had been resting with his eyes closed—felt a vein throb violently in his temple at the sound of that infuriatingly familiar voice.
"Get out! Lawrence! Don't you dare come in!"
"What was that? I c-a-n-'t h-e-a-r y-o-u~!" Wayne barged in, playing dumb, only to lock eyes with Snape's swollen, pig-like face.
"Pfft! Sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to—I—"
"OUT! LAWRENCE! FIFTY POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF!"
Wayne only regretted not bringing a camera to immortalise Snape's disgraceful state. Maybe he should apply for a Time-Turner and sneak back later?
Still, thanks to Snape's 'assistance'—along with those 250 points—he'd finally hit the 10,000-point milestone.
Watching Wayne's retreating figure, Snape's chest heaved with rage. That brat needed to graduate. Now.
Seven years. Seven more bloody years.
At this rate, Snape was convinced he'd die of sheer frustration before he ever got his revenge on Voldemort.
His glare sharpened as it pierced through the curtains towards Neville and Seamus. Potter and Lawrence could wait. These two idiots were going down first!
...
With the professor practically incapacitated, the afternoon Potions class for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was naturally cancelled, giving Wayne time to tend to his little world.
By evening, Hufflepuff's point counter had plummeted by another fifty, nearly overtaking Slytherin in reverse.
Such a loss would have caused an uproar in Gryffindor, but the badgers merely expressed brief surprise before moving on.
Upon learning the deduction resulted from Wayne's 'visit' to Snape, their curiosity shifted to the professor's current condition. Sometimes words fail to convey the message, and Wayne didn't have a Pensieve for everyone to take turns admiring, so he had to rely on his exceptional drawing skills to depict it, eliciting gasps of amazement all around.
"Incredible!"
"It's so lifelike—I can practically see Snape with a pig's head!"
"Ah, that's the exact expression—I'd recognise it even in ashes!"
"Is there anything Wayne can't do?"
Cho, sitting at the neighbouring table, had witnessed Wayne's artistic process and insisted, "You have to draw one for me too."
"Sure," Wayne teased with a grin. "I'll draw you when you're swollen into a pig's head."
"Ugh, you're awful!"
"Burp!" Cedric, seated beside Wayne, let out a loud belch.
"Wayne, can I make a copy?" asked a little badger, raising his hand.
"Go ahead." He placed the drawing on the table, and a crowd of young wizards pulled out parchment. Those without borrowed from others, and those who couldn't cast the Doubling Charm enlisted the help of their friends.
Soon, Snape: Limited Pig-Head Edition spread throughout the school.
When Snape was discharged and saw the portrait, Hogwarts descended into chaos once again.
...
"Wayne, what is this—?"
In the Hufflepuff dormitory, Toby peered curiously at the shimmering blue insect with a gem-like sheen inside the transparent glass bottle on Wayne's desk.
Wayne began explaining to his two roommates, "Billywig—a magical creature from Australia. Its sting is a key ingredient in Fizzing Whizzbees."
One of the Billywigs in the crate had an injured wing, so Wayne had brought it out to apply ointment, keeping it nearby for observation.
At the mention of Fizzing Whizzbees, both boys' eyes lit up instantly.
It was one of the most popular sweets in the wizarding world, and they often asked Cedric to bring back a few bags whenever he visited Hogsmeade.
Remembering Hufflepuff's infamous habit of putting anything in their mouths, Wayne quickly warned them: "This is just the raw ingredient—it's not edible. The sting is poisonous. Anyone stung by a Billywig will feel dizzy and start floating uncontrollably."
"Really? I don't believe it!" Norman blurted out, leaving Wayne speechless.
Both boys stretched out their arms in unison, chanting, "Sting us!"
Wayne: "..."
Such an absurd request—naturally, he obliged.
One minute later.
Toby and Norman were swaying dizzily, hovering half a metre off the ground.
"Wayne, why've you gotten so short?"
"Huh? Why do I have six fingers now?"
"Hehehe, big sister in stockings…"
The two were completely high.
Another half-hour passed before the effects wore off.
"Convinced now?" Wayne sighed, watching his roommates struggle to stand steadily.
"Convinced, convinced," Norman nodded repeatedly, though his gaze kept drifting back to the little bottle.
This feeling… wasn't half bad.
...
Late at night.
After ensuring his two roommates had peacefully closed their eyes, Wayne slipped into the miniature world inside the crate.
Hanging a portrait of Merlin—widely circulated in the magical world—on the living room wall, he lit three sticks of ambergris and bowed three times.
"Merlin above, I offer ten years of Cedric, Norman, and Toby's romantic luck in exchange for drawing the prize I desire this time."
After making his wish, Wayne bowed deeply once more before placing the incense into the burner. He wasn't sure whether this method would work on the system, but he figured it was worth a try.
If it worked, great; if not, no harm done.
It wasn't his love life at stake, after all.
Taking a deep breath, Wayne sat on the floor beside the high stool, forming the grand formation that made smoke rise from his head.
"System, begin the draw."
The first ten-draw concluded, yielding a purple card—the Patronus Charm.
The second ten-draw ended with another purple reward: the Fiendfyre Curse.
The third ten-draw's purple reward was the Firestorm Spell.
The fourth ten-draw's purple reward was a portion of Nicolas Flamel's alchemical experience.
Wayne paused, rubbing his temples.
His body felt swollen. Four consecutive ten-draws had granted him numerous ordinary spells, on top of the results of his own relentless practice. Over a dozen spells had broken through to Master-level proficiency in quick succession.
The passive effect of the Manaflow Band was activated, rapidly increasing his internal magical power reserves. He needed to slow down.
A full half-hour passed before the discomfort of bloating mostly subsided.
Wayne checked his status panel.
[Magical Power: 2.6 S]
This level of power… neither here nor there.
Compared to an average professor or an elite Auror, Wayne's magical power was undoubtedly far ahead. But against Dumbledore or Voldemort? He had no idea how much of a gap remained. When would this standard unit finally change?
"Again. Another ten-draw."
Once rested, Wayne sat up with renewed vigour. Several more purple rewards came, but still no House-elf.
His expression darkened gradually.
Could it be…
That Cedric simply had no luck in love?
That couldn't be right. Cedric was decent-looking—only five or six tiers below himself—surely he wasn't that bad?
For a moment, Wayne began to doubt whether he'd chosen the right sacrificial target.
"Again!"
Another ten-draw. He skimmed past the blue and white cards, then tapped the purple one, his spirits lifting.
Finally, something good.
[Talent: Waterwalking]
[Effect: Grants the host water manipulation abilities, allowing effortless movement even atop towering waves. In aquatic environments, magical power recovery speed increases.]
Whenever it came to talent-type skills, Wayne had never drawn a bad one. This was no exception.
After reading the description, Wayne immediately dashed out of the room and headed to the lakeshore to test it firsthand.
With a mere thought, the calm lake stirred. A lifelike sea serpent materialised, soaring through the air.
Wayne stepped onto the water's surface—just as the system described—finding it no different from solid ground, even more agile. The currents carried him wherever he willed.
"A fine talent, and well-suited for wandless magic," Wayne concluded.
"Again!" His excitement surged—this was the sign of a lucky streak.
The eighth ten-draw yielded a purple reward: the Animation Charm.
The ninth ten-draw produced another Unbreakable Vow parchment, along with the Legilimency Spell.
By the tenth ten-draw, Wayne had grown accustomed to the guaranteed gold. He opened the purple card first—nothing special, just the Killing Curse. Then, with trembling hands, he tapped the golden reward.
A House-elf. It has to be a House-elf.
As the golden light faded, Wayne's jaw dropped wide enough to fit an egg as he read the card's contents.
Only one thought filled his mind.
'Apologies, Cedric, Toby, Norman. You lot might not have girlfriends for the next decade.'