What determines the power of a spell?
Magical strength? The incantation? Wand movement? Emotion, knowledge, willpower, the wand itself?
Too many variables—most of them maddeningly difficult to quantify.
As Wayne immersed himself deeper into the magical world, accumulating knowledge and honing his craft, his magical power steadily grew. With it came a clearer understanding of how magic truly worked.
The mind is abstract—its desires intangible. Magical power, by contrast, is tangible, the bridge between intent and miracle.
When the two align—mind and magic—what follows can be nothing short of extraordinary.
Even when magical power remains constant, a change in the wielder can alter the outcome entirely.
The difference lies not in the strength of the magic, but in the one who commands it.
The moment Quirrell's aura shifted, Wayne immediately became alert. He knew his enemy had changed in that instant.
A bone-chilling killing intent condensed into frost, the green light blazing brilliantly, the serpentine pupils reflecting it—a sight that sent shivers down the spine.
Wayne's hair stood on end—not out of fear, but because he was facing an unprecedented, formidable foe, and his body instinctively reacted.
Snape was strong, but there had been no killing intent in their duel.
The Scourers carried killing intent, but they were too weak, so weak that Wayne could effortlessly obliterate them without even trying.
Only the evil aura emanating from Quirrell, now controlled by the tailed beast Voldemort, could truly move him.
Dynamic Perception activated at full power, breaking through Voldemort's oppressive aura.
Wayne Apparated to his side.
In an instant, three Laceration Curses were unleashed.
Invisible blades shot from different angles.
Voldemort frowned slightly as the withered weeds around him grew wildly, transforming into venomous snakes that acted as shields, intercepting the attacks.
"How's that? A technique taught to me by my Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Wayne said with a smile. As he spoke, his magical power morphed into golden whips, shattering the Shield Charm.
Voldemort Apparated, putting distance between them, his heart growing colder.
Using the techniques I taught you against me? Great. Just great!
But it wasn't over yet. Wayne raised a single hand to the sky. "Fulminatus!"
Crack!
Lightning streaked down from the sky as Voldemort violently shattered the thunderbolt.
Wayne uttered another word: "Condense!"
The fragmented arcs of electricity solidified into a net of lightning, crashing down upon Voldemort's head. A hoarse roar escaped Voldemort's lips as clusters of ghastly white flames flew from his sleeves, transforming into sharp blades that slashed towards the lightning net.
The piercing sound of tearing mingled with dull thuds of impact. He then summoned a silver shield, positioning it before him to block the remaining shockwaves.
Within the confines of the modest ring of fire, their figures flickered back and forth. Accompanied by the detonations of immensely powerful curses, they would occasionally lock in a stalemate before vanishing once more.
Gardevoir dared not relax for even a moment, remaining vigilant as she deflected stray curses, while the frail Unicorn trembled behind her.
Humans are terrifying!
Wayne focused intently. The same spells produced vastly different effects depending on who wielded them.
All manner of sinister Dark Magic and common combat spells became unpredictable weapons in Voldemort's hands, often achieving startling results.
Meanwhile, Voldemort harboured equal astonishment.
Every spell cast by Wayne surpassed its natural limits, elevated to unprecedented potency under his command.
Protective charms proved nearly useless in such an exchange, stoking Voldemort's murderous intent to white-hot intensity.
This boy couldn't be allowed to live.
Given time, Wayne would undoubtedly become another Dumbledore. Trapped between two monstrous opponents, when would he ever rise to power? Death was the only answer.
An emerald Killing Curse sliced through thunderous flames, approaching silently as Voldemort executed an exaggerated motion—his wand whipping from behind to strike forward in a lethal arc.
Beyond the ring of fire, Malfoy and Ron had collapsed at the utterance of the Killing Curse, clinging to each other in trembling terror.
Raised in wizarding households, they knew the curse's reputation—like the Boogeyman to frightened children, its mere mention could hush a room.
Harry soon joined them, writhing in agony.
His lightning-shaped scar burned as though splitting his skull, sending him spiralling between unconsciousness and searing wakefulness.
Voldemort had noted their arrival but dismissed them entirely.
Killing Wayne consumed his entire focus.
Quirrell's body groaned at its limits, but the anguished protests only heightened Voldemort's exhilaration.
Wayne stood solemn as frost formed amidst flames where the Killing Curse passed, freezing the very air.
Bathed in radiant white light extending to his wand, Wayne summoned his most trusted magic.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Billowing white mist erupted from his wand tip. Like snow meeting spring sunshine, Voldemort watched dumbfounded as his Killing Curse dissolved before the luminous onslaught.
Blinding radiance turned night to day, inexplicable courage swelling in Ron and Malfoy's hearts as they rose to witness the swirling white sphere above.
Even Harry's pain eased considerably.
"Gardevoir!" The Pokémon's eyes sparkled watching her master's display of power.
"Uwu~!"
The Unicorn trilled joyfully, recognising this energy—the same force Wayne had previously shared, now magnified beyond measure.
Finally, the egg-shaped concentration of mist detonated with thunderous force!
"Rooooaaar~!"
A draconic roar echoed through every mind present, sending magical creatures miles away prostrating in reverence.
Neither Western dragon nor Eastern lung, the majestic creature combined elements of both—wingless yet powerfully built, its serpentine body lacking antler-like horns but radiating primal strength, surrounded by swirling white specks of light moving in a rhythmic pattern.
Just the sight of it evoked feelings of grandeur, power, and wonder.
'Has it finally hatched?'
Bathed in the radiance, Wayne felt himself entering a peculiar state, his magical power surging within him, pure and righteous as the embodiment of justice.
[Innate Saint]
At last, Wayne understood the true meaning of this talent. Yet, even more questions flooded his mind.
His Patronus was far too extraordinary, far surpassing even the strength of an SS-grade.
Had Andros truly been this powerful back in the day?
But he quickly pushed these doubts aside. The most important thing now was—
Battle!
"That's no Patronus!" Voldemort roared, his worldview utterly shattered.
Even Dumbledore's Patronus wasn't like this—melting the Killing Curse, with a tangible, solid form, and a body several times larger than an ordinary Patronus.
This was an entirely different spell.
"No, this is a Patronus," Wayne declared with absolute certainty. "Go, Aurelion!"
With his will, the silvery-white dragon Patronus moved. A gust of wind howled as it appeared before Voldemort in an instant, its claws outstretched.
Crack!
Voldemort Apparated repeatedly, faster than before, but the dragon's tail had been lying in wait, lashing out with brutal force.
Quirrell's body twisted grotesquely as he crashed into the fiery shield, screaming in agony.
"Damn brat! You'll pay for this!
"I'll be back!"
Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pain, Voldemort Apparated again. Flames surged skyward as the dragon king's claws reached out, attempting to stop him.
A burst of black mist erupted from Quirrell's body, accompanied by the wails of tortured spirits. The sheer force of the impact briefly created a vacuum.
Both the flames and the Patronus's claws were repelled, and in the end, he managed to escape.
Tch.
Wayne shook his head in dissatisfaction.
He didn't know who was the strongest among Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Voldemort, but Wayne was certain of one thing—
When it came to survival skills, the other two combined were no match for Voldemort. How terrified of death must a man who created seven Horcruxes be?
"Scree~!"
Just as Wayne was about to extinguish the flames and clean up the battlefield, a clear Phoenix cry rang out. Along with the appearance of Fawkes, two more figures arrived.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
Taking in the surrounding flames, Dumbledore's expression flickered momentarily before returning to normal.
"Merlin's beard!" McGonagall gasped.
Countless trees had been reduced to charred husks, the ground scarred with deep trenches. Even a fool could tell how fierce the battle had been.
"Lawrence, where's the enemy?!"
McGonagall gripped her wand tightly, scanning the area for any sign of the foe.
"Er..." Wayne scratched his head sheepishly. "Professor, you're a bit late. He just fled not long ago."
As he spoke, he casually dispelled the surrounding flames.
Only after they vanished did Professor McGonagall spot Harry and his two friends hiding behind a large boulder.
She clutched her chest. "What on earth happened here? Mr Lawrence, why on earth are you in the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night instead of being asleep?"
The more she spoke, the angrier she became.
"Now, now, Minerva," Dumbledore interjected, halting McGonagall before she could fully launch into lecture mode.
He pointed towards Harry and the others. "The children aren't in the best condition. The most important thing now is to get them to the hospital wing for Poppy to examine."
"You're quite right," McGonagall nodded repeatedly, hastily pulling the three closer.
"Fawkes, take everyone back first," Dumbledore said softly.
McGonagall waved her hand, "Lawrence, come here quickly."
"Minerva, I still have some words to exchange with Mr Lawrence."
Dumbledore spoke calmly, but McGonagall detected the unyielding tone beneath and could only nod in acquiescence.
Fawkes grasped Professor McGonagall and disappeared with a sharp crack.
Wayne stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes downcast, the picture of silent obedience.
Dumbledore too remained silent, the atmosphere growing heavy until Fawkes returned moments later.
"Mr Lawrence, let's continue our conversation in the office."
"Professor, might I trouble you to wait a moment?" Wayne said, glancing at the Unicorn and Gardevoir.
Dumbledore gave a silent nod as Wayne approached Gardevoir, the Unicorn circling him excitedly.
"Will you come with me now?" he asked.
The Unicorn nodded vigorously, its large head bobbing, eyes shining with hope and affection. This time, when Wayne touched its horn, the creature didn't resist.
He then instructed Gardevoir to take the Unicorn to Hestia's care, saying he'd return later himself.
Only then did he rejoin Dumbledore. "Shall we go, Professor?"
...
The Headmaster's Office.
Wayne sat somewhat uncomfortably across from Dumbledore.
Usually, during his visits, the old Headmaster would ply him with treats and drinks. Today, not even a cup of water was offered.
"Mr Lawrence."
Dumbledore finally spoke, "The Dark Wizard you fought was Quirrell, wasn't he?"
"I can't be certain."
Wayne neither confirmed nor denied, carefully avoiding leading the conversation: "He cast concealment spells throughout—never revealed his face or distinguishing features."
"Could you recount the battle in detail? Not that I underestimate Quirrell's abilities."
But if Wayne had only been fighting Quirrell, the scene wouldn't have been quite so... dreadful.
What truly concerned Dumbledore was whether his suspicions would be confirmed. Even at death's door, Unicorn blood could preserve life—but at the cost of a terrible curse.
To harm such an innocent, pure creature invited fate's cruel retribution. Neither living nor dead—a fate worse than death.
So... Tom, how far have you fallen?
Wayne's gaze wandered before settling on the Pensieve. "Professor, explaining would take ages. Why not see for yourself?"
"Oh?" For the first time that evening, Dumbledore smiled. "You recognise a Pensieve?"
The Headmaster's earlier anger hadn't been directed at Wayne, nor at Harry and the others.
It was meant for Quirrell. For the one behind Quirrell.
"Yes, read about it in 'Magical Artefacts of Distinction'," Wayne approached the Pensieve, pressing his wand to his temple.
Silver-white strands emerged, drifting into the ancient stone basin.
Mist rose as the water's surface rippled.
"Professor, I can assure you these memories are completely unaltered."
"Of course, I believe you, Lawrence," Dumbledore approached, patting Wayne on the shoulder. "No one would doubt a Hufflepuff's promise."
Wayne twitched the corner of his mouth and stepped back, leaving space for the old Headmaster.
Dumbledore leaned into the Pensieve while Wayne idly amused himself by teasing Fawkes.
After thoroughly ruffling Fawkes' carefully preened feathers—inciting indignant squawks and frantic flapping around the room—Wayne took the opportunity to collect several fallen feathers.
"Tsk, losing feathers at such a young age. You're lacking exercise, Fawkes."
After a brief moment of stunned silence, the enraged Phoenix lunged at Wayne, who dodged, leaving Fawkes to land squarely on the Sorting Hat.
"Ow! What are you doing?" the previously dormant Sorting Hat yelped.
"Stupid bird, get off me! Dumbledore just finished polishing me!"
And so, the hat and the bird began squabbling, much to Wayne's amusement as he watched the spectacle unfold.
About fifteen minutes later, Dumbledore emerged from the Pensieve with a grave expression, only to find his office in complete disarray.
"Professor, it was Fawkes. Nothing to do with me," Wayne said innocently.
Dumbledore stared at him, especially after having just witnessed the memory of Wayne as though touched by divine grace, now comparing it to the mischievous brat before him.
Is this really the same person?
"I—" Dumbledore began, but the office door was abruptly thrown open.
Snape stormed in, his face livid, and roared, "You said the school was safe!"
"Severus—"
"Answer me!" Snape snarled, ignoring Wayne entirely.
"Very well, I will address your concerns," Dumbledore replied calmly, unruffled. "But allow me a moment. Mr Lawrence needs to return to rest."
Snape continued to seethe but said nothing further. Dumbledore then turned to Wayne.
"Thank you for your assistance today, Mr Lawrence. However, your actions were exceedingly reckless—you even set fire to a significant portion of the Forbidden Forest. I have no choice but to deduct one hundred and fifty points from Hufflepuff."
Wayne blinked, listening to the crisp chime of the point deduction in his mind.
Dumbledore continued, "That said, in recognition of your efforts to protect school property and save three students and a Unicorn, I shall award Hufflepuff one hundred points."
A vein throbbed in Snape's temple.
Could you be any more blatantly biased?! I'm the Head of Slytherin and standing right here!