The last weekend before Easter passed uneventfully. Monday arrived.
Wayne was distracted during History of Magic class.
Quirrell hadn't troubled the Unicorn again these past two days, leaving Wayne waiting in vain.
Did fate truly require the Chosen One to intervene before Quirrell would act?
Professor Binns had begun lecturing on the First Wizarding–Goblin War, the final segment of the term's curriculum. Once this lesson concluded, all that remained was revision.
Well, revision—if one could even call it that.
Most students coasted through History of Magic this way. It wasn't until after Easter that they'd realise they even had such a subject.
Cedric's advice was simple: read through the material once in April, then again in May.
Come June, kneel and beg the older students for last year's exam papers.
Being a ghost, Professor Binns updated his question bank at a glacial pace—the same exam could be recycled for decades.
One would have to be spectacularly unlucky to sit an updated paper.
...
In Charms, Professor Flitwick had stopped teaching new spells.
Instead, he let the young witches and wizards practise the year's incantations freely, while he stationed himself firmly beside Seamus to contain any explosive mishaps.
"Hermione, relax."
Perhaps because the professors had abandoned normal lessons, Hermione had grown unusually tense.
"No, no—there are only six weeks left until exams!" She shook her head frantically.
"I need to start revising. Wayne, do you have any Invigoration or Pepper-Up Potions left? I plan to wake up two hours earlier every day—"
Ron and Harry, seated in front of them, wore expressions as though constipated.
Listen to that. How is that even human?
Six weeks of revision—what were students like them, who planned to pray to Merlin at the last minute, supposed to do? The thought of having detention at eleven o'clock that night made the two feel even worse.
Wayne could do little about Hermione's attitude—she cared too much about her grades. He could only promise the young witch that he'd provide her with some Invigoration Draughts to maintain her efficiency, on the condition that she got enough sleep each night.
...
Late at night.
Inside the suitcase, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.
Mia the Thunderbird soared across the sky, her wingbeats stirring flashes of lightning that churned the clouds.
Soon, heavy rain began to fall across the entire miniature world.
Wayne stood watching from the ground as Gardevoir thoughtfully shielded him with a psychic barrier, keeping the rain at bay.
When Mia landed, Wayne smiled and stroked her neck. "Well done. I'll come to you whenever we need rain."
"Scree~!"
The young Thunderbird had grown considerably, her wingspan now exceeding seven metres—very close to the average ten-metre span of an adult Thunderbird.
This was largely thanks to Wayne feeding her lightning daily.
It wouldn't be long before Mia surpassed even her parents in strength.
After feeding the Thunderbird, Wayne planned to visit the Restricted Section to copy some books before sleeping, but he suddenly froze mid-step, his expression turning serious.
"Gardevoir."
Wayne placed his hand on Gardevoir's shoulder, lowering all mental defences.
Their minds connected instantly, and Gardevoir soon understood his intentions and their destination.
"Gardevoir!"
Before teleporting, Wayne tossed out the Niffler sleeping soundly in his pocket, leaving Jerry utterly bewildered.
...
At half past ten that night.
Harry, Ron, and Malfoy arrived in the Entrance Hall, where Filch had been waiting for some time.
"Follow me."
With a curt command, Filch led the way with an oil lamp, thoroughly enjoying himself as he spent the journey terrifying them with descriptions of various cruel punishments.
While Malfoy looked somewhat frightened, Harry and Ron remained distracted, watching him as if he were a clown.
The two had done their research beforehand—since Dumbledore became Headmaster, all corporal punishment of students had been strictly prohibited.
The punishments Filch described had all been methods used during the tenure of Phineas Nigellus, the least popular Headmaster in history.
They crossed the dark grounds under an exceptionally bright moon, though drifting clouds kept obscuring its light.
Finally, Harry spotted Hagrid's Hut, its windows glowing faintly. Fang's barking announced Hagrid's arrival as he pushed open the door to greet them.
"Righ', yeh can go now. I'll bring 'em back later." Hagrid said impatiently, shooing Filch away.
With a cold snort, Filch took his lamp and retreated to the castle.
"Thank goodness," Harry and the others sighed in relief once Filch was out of sight.
Even Malfoy was no exception.
To say the least, the current trouble was caused by helping Hagrid deliver the dragon, so he was bound to look after them.
"Where are we going?" Ron asked, eyeing Hagrid, who was fully armed and even carrying a crossbow, with confusion.
"The Forbidden Forest."
"What?!" Malfoy's voice was laced with terror. "No! That place is full of dangerous creatures!"
"Don' worry, Malfoy," Hagrid reassured him. "Long as yeh stay close ter me, nothin' in the Forbidden Forest can harm yeh. Jus' follow along quiet-like. Let's go."
With that, Hagrid led the way with Fang at his side.
Truth be told, Harry and Ron were also nervous, but they didn't want to show fear in front of Malfoy, so they steeled themselves and followed Hagrid.
But Malfoy wasn't about to let them off the hook.
"This is all your fault, Potter!" Malfoy hissed under his breath.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't beg you to come along to deliver Norbert. You insisted on tagging along like a stubborn mule."
"Nothing good ever happens when you're around. If I'd gone alone to deliver Norbert, we wouldn't have been caught by the professors."
"Oh, please, if we'd left it to you, Norbert would probably be in your family's manor by now," Ron retorted mercilessly.
The three of them bickered the entire way, their attention completely diverted, and their fear of the unknown diminished considerably.
It wasn't until they entered the Forbidden Forest and reached a narrow path that Hagrid raised his lantern high, illuminating the way ahead.
"See tha' shimmerin' stuff on the ground? Silvery-white, it is?"
"Tha's unicorn blood. Summat's hurt a unicorn in the Forest. Even with Wayne's help treatin' it, we still gotta check on the situation. It's me duty."
"What if whatever hurt the Unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy's voice trembled with barely suppressed fear.
"Like I said, Malfoy, long as yeh're with me, no creature in the Forbidden Forest'll harm yeh."
Hagrid said, "Let's go. Follow the trail o' blood."
...
Deep in the Forbidden Forest.
"Neigh~!"
The Unicorn glowed with a radiant white light as it galloped at high speed, a shadowy figure hot on its heels, the distance between them closing steadily.
In their chase, they had already crossed beyond the protective boundaries of Hogwarts.
Crack!
The sharp sound of Apparition echoed as the dark figure suddenly appeared directly in front of the Unicorn. Clad in a black hooded robe, his face was obscured, making it impossible to discern his true features.
The robed figure raised his wand, and a curse streaked forth in a crimson arc. The Unicorn barely managed to dodge.
A second curse followed immediately, striking one of its forelegs. The Unicorn stumbled and fell, silvery blood seeping from the wound.
Despite the beauty and tragedy of the scene, the robed figure showed no emotion as he raised his wand once more.
This time, he aimed for the Unicorn's chest.
Swish!
Wayne and Gardevoir appeared in front of the Unicorn at the last moment, the Shield Charm deflecting the curse back with precision.
The hooded man hadn't anticipated Wayne's sudden appearance and reacted two seconds too late. His hasty defence failed to prevent his own curse from sending him flying.
Wayne pressed his advantage. With a sweeping motion of his left hand, a towering tree over ten metres tall was uprooted and hurled at the hooded figure.
Boom!
A cloud of dust billowed up. Wayne didn't bother to look, turning instead to examine the Unicorn's injuries.
"Whimper~!"
The Unicorn let out a pitiful whinny, and the young boy patted her head in exasperation.
"Who told you to run off like that? I chased you for ages before catching up."
Wayne didn't know the Unicorn's exact location and could only rely on the magical connection between them to keep searching.
The silly creature hadn't run towards the school but had instead bolted beyond the anti-Apparition boundaries.
Fortunately, the robed figure's first attack had only been meant to restrain her movements, lacking significant power or any cursed effects, leaving just minor injuries.
After pouring a bottle of Essence of Dittany over the wounds and instructing his Gardevoir to protect the Unicorn, Wayne finally stood up and turned towards the hooded figure who'd been sent crashing through trees.
Or rather... Quirrell.
"Little wizard... you're looking for death!"
A voice warped by cold malice hissed from beneath the hood. Seeing Wayne standing protectively before the Unicorn filled both Quirrell and Voldemort with unbearable hatred.
You again!
Why is it always you!?
Wayne Lawrence!
How dare a mere student interfere so brazenly—do your parents know about this?
From the start of the term until now, Wayne had continuously thwarted their plans.
He'd nearly gotten Quirrell expelled through complaints to Dumbledore, and when Quirrell tried to curse Harry, the brat started a brawl that knocked him unconscious.
Again and again.
Even if Quirrell could tolerate this, Voldemort certainly couldn't!
"Kill him! Kill him now!"
Voldemort's furious shrieks in Quirrell's mind sent agonising waves through his soul, igniting his murderous rage.
Because of Wayne, all his savings had been depleted, forcing him to risk dangerous underworld dealings in Diagon Alley during the holidays just to earn money.
His hatred burned even hotter than his master's.
Quirrell raised his wand and shrieked: "Avada Kedavra!"
The sickly green curse erupted with unrestrained lethal intent, its power amplified by Quirrell's torrent of negative emotions.
Though Voldemort considered Quirrell a bumbling fool, this didn't make him incompetent.
Among all Death Eaters, how many had truly earned Voldemort's regard?
Snape counted—his potions mastery stood unparalleled, and his combat skills ranked among the strongest beneath the Dark Lord himself.
Bartemius Crouch Jr. also qualified, both for fanatical loyalty and his capability, having subdued even the formidable Auror Mad-Eye Moody with Peter Pettigrew's help.
While Quirrell fell far short of such heights, he still surpassed most adult wizards as an elite among elites.
Wayne's wand flicked rapidly, transfiguring scattered stones into layered shields. The Killing Curse shattered three barriers before its magical power dissipated.
Against an unpredictable foe, direct confrontation remained the poorest strategy.
Swirling his wand, he traced a fiery circle on the ground.
"Protego Diabolica!"
Blazing flames erupted skyward, encircling Wayne and Quirrell like some gladiatorial arena.
"You're not escaping today. Capturing you might even earn me a Special Award for Services to the School from Professor Dumbledore."
Wayne stood imperiously, his wand levelled at Quirrell.
Though he couldn't yet perform Fiendfyre's protective flames like Grindelwald, ordinary fire was enough to interrupt Quirrell's attempt to Apparate, cutting off his escape.
"Do you think Dumbledore will mourn for you?" Quirrell snarled, unleashing powerful magic without restraint.
Wayne retaliated fiercely, swinging his wand to cleave the earth and sever nearby trees.
Rubble and splintered wood were swept upwards, transformed by transfiguration into razor-sharp projectiles that shot forth.
A simple Banishing Charm became a lethal assault.
Quirrell's Shield Charm weakened steadily; a stone grazed his cheek, drawing blood.
With a crack, Quirrell was forced to Apparate to Wayne's right. Two Disarming Charms pursued him, forcing him to roll desperately across the ground to evade.
The boulder behind him exploded into dust.
Staring at the debris, Quirrell's scalp prickled.
Since when does a Disarming Charm shatter things like a Reductor Curse? This isn't "Expelliarmus"—it's "Expelli-life"!
His rising bloodlust and fury were doused by cold dread.
Wayne's onslaught was relentless.
"Sectumsempra, Wingardium Leviosa, Reducto, Diffindo."
Spells fired from his wand like machine-gun rounds—familiar incantations, yet their terrifying potency made them nearly unrecognisable. Quirrell wondered if Wayne was just shouting random words.
He tried to overpower Wayne with sheer magical power, banking on his maturity as a wizard. But when their spells collided, violent sparks erupted. His wand nearly flew from his grip, forcing him to retreat.
Magical power? Crushing defeat!
Roaring flames, shrieking spells, ceaseless explosions—
Nearby magical creatures awoke in panic, fleeing instinctively from the chaos.
...
The commotion soon drew Hagrid's attention. "There's a fire over there! We'd best go check it out."
Hagrid hurried toward the blaze, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione reluctantly trailing. Separating from Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest was far riskier than facing whatever lay ahead.
Breathless, they reached the fire's perimeter. Through the flickering flames, they gaped at the scene.
"H-H-Harry," Ron stammered, "is that... Wayne?"
Hagrid, taller, saw more clearly—the wild spells flashing nearly blinded him.
"It is Wayne! He's fighting someone—and there's a Unicorn too!" Malfoy shrieked, bolting in terror until Hagrid yanked him back by the collar.
"Harry, keep 'im from runnin' off. I'll fetch Dumbledore. Fang, stay an' guard 'em!"
Dropping Malfoy, Hagrid sprinted toward the castle. A glance told him charging in would be suicide—only Dumbledore or the other professors could intervene.
...
Inside the inferno, Quirrell's robes were drenched in blood, his wand hand mangled beyond recognition. He was broken.
Wayne was practically toying with him, several times having the chance to easily win but stopping mockingly like a cat playing with a mouse, giving him a chance to catch his breath.
"Master, save me! I don't want to die here!"
Quirrell screamed desperately in his mind, and Voldemort was nearly spitting blood—if he'd had a body to do it with.
"Useless! Can't even handle a first year. Hand over your body to me!"
Without waiting for Quirrell's consent, he forcibly seized control of Quirrell's body.
In an instant, Quirrell's aura changed. A sinister wind howled, and the flames were suppressed by a head.
A pair of serpentine eyes appeared beneath the hood, locking onto Wayne with a deathly stare.
Though he cursed Quirrell, Voldemort had witnessed Wayne's combat prowess firsthand. This was not something a first-year wizard should be capable of achieving. Even he, back in his day, couldn't have done it.
No one could be stronger or more talented than him!
Voldemort's killing intent surged violently, the surrounding air growing thick. His wand emitted a loud, echoing crack.
"Avada Kedavra!"