It took nearly two hours for Wayne to finally free himself from the badgers' clutches.
Their curiosity was simply too overwhelming. If possible, Wayne would have loved to haul Dumbledore's Pensieve over and let them see for themselves.
"Can you teach me the Patronus Charm?" Cedric asked excitedly once the others had left, satisfied. "I've wanted to learn this spell for ages, but no matter how many times I tried, I never succeeded."
Wayne didn't refuse. Tipping his chin up, he gestured, "Show me what you've got first."
Cedric waved his wand, chanting the incantation.
And then… only a wisp of thin white mist emerged—so faint it dissipated with the slightest breath, barely noticeable.
Shaking his head, Wayne immediately pinpointed the issue. "It's not your magical power, nor is it your wand movement or incantation timing."
He tapped his temple.
"Your emotions aren't strong enough. The Patronus Charm requires more intense emotion than any other spell—well, except for the three Unforgivable Curses, but those are fuelled by negativity."
At the mention of the Unforgivable Curses, Cedric shifted uncomfortably.
"Practising this spell more won't help. You need to learn how to channel positive emotions first."
Cedric was a genuinely kind soul—warm-hearted and benevolent, the epitome of a model Hufflepuff, if slightly less exceptional than Wayne himself.
People like him rarely experienced extreme emotions—their happiness never reached euphoria, and their anger seldom flared intensely.
In this emotion-driven magical system, that was somewhat of a disadvantage. No wonder Hufflepuff rarely produced exceptionally powerful wizards.
"Then how did you manage it?" Cedric asked, baffled.
"Why are you still stuck on this?" Wayne sighed in exasperation, clapping him on the shoulder. "What gave you the impression that I'm normal?"
Cedric gaped as Wayne staggered back to the dormitory.
You're definitely not normal—because you're truly shameless!
...
The next day, during Herbology class, Professor Sprout called Wayne out of the greenhouse and gave him a thorough scolding.
He could remain composed even in front of Dumbledore.
But faced with the wrath of his own Head of House, Wayne could only bow his head and repeatedly agree, putting on a show of earnest acceptance, while silently vowing to do the same next time.
At noon, Wayne found Henderson, the Beater from the Quidditch team. "You had Defence Against the Dark Arts this morning, right?"
"Yep, what about it?" Henderson looked at him in confusion.
"Did Professor Quirrell show up?"
"He did, but it seemed like he hadn't rested well last night. He only lectured for a bit before letting us revise on our own."
Wayne was stunned.
Most people would tough it out with minor injuries, but Quirrell was outright disregarding his life. After being beaten so badly by him, he still came to teach. With that level of dedication, which professor could compare?
...
In the blink of an eye, it was the last Friday before Easter.
Wayne finally got to attend the long-awaited Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Quirrell's complexion was even paler than before. When he picked up his book, his sleeve slid back, revealing his arm.
Wayne could see the veins under his skin—it was practically skin and bones.
"S-s-students, please revise on your own," Quirrell stammered. "The exam will cover the entire book—no questions outside the syllabus."
With that, he quietly took his seat.
The young wizards rolled their eyes. The sound of flipping pages filled the classroom.
The entire book was the focus? What was the point of saying that?
Wayne silently read his extracurricular book until after class, when he stopped Quirrell, who was trying to slip away with his head down.
"Mr Lawrence, is there something you need?" Quirrell forced a weak smile.
If possible, he didn't want to return to Hogwarts after barely surviving that day.
But Voldemort had used the last of his strength to heal Quirrell's external injuries and ordered him to return to school the next day as if nothing had happened.
Then, he fell into a deep slumber.
Having been utterly dominated for a whole year, Quirrell didn't dare defy the Dark Lord's will. So even though he was terrified and his body was falling apart, he forced himself to keep teaching as if nothing was wrong.
Quirrell's injuries had only been superficially healed. The final blow from the dragon's tail had been too severe—an eerie force had seeped into his body, burning his flesh like fire.
Days had passed, and the symptoms still hadn't faded.
When Wayne suddenly blocked his path, Quirrell's first instinct was to drop to his knees and beg for mercy. The trauma was just that deep.
"Professor, you don't look too well. The weather's been unpredictable lately—do take care of yourself," Wayne said cheerfully, feigning ignorance of Quirrell's true nature as he expressed concern for his teacher's health.
"Just some insomnia lately—haven't been sleeping well. Thank you for your concern." Quirrell cursed inwardly.
'I'm like this because of you!'
But outwardly, his attitude couldn't have been more polite.
"If there's nothing else, Mr Lawrence, I'll be on my way."
"Oh, actually, there is something I'd like to trouble you with." Wayne scratched his head sheepishly. "Professor, the exam focus you gave is too broad. Could you be a bit more specific?"
"O-of course." Quirrell hastily flipped through his textbook and pulled out two pieces of parchment, handing them to Wayne with both hands. "H-here's the final exam paper. I've already prepared it."
Wayne accepted it with satisfaction.
This was the privilege of being a top student—the professor just handed him the exam outright.
If only Snape could be as cooperative as Quirrell.
"What did the professor just give you?"
After Quirrell left, Toby and Norman, who had been observing the pair from around the corner, jumped out and asked curiously.
Wayne answered truthfully, "I thought the scope was too broad, making revision difficult, so I went to ask the professor for more detailed key points."
"And he gave me the final exam papers."
As he spoke, he handed the two pieces of parchment to Norman.
His two roommates' academic performance was truly lamentable, so he figured he might as well help where he could.
Norman quickly scanned the contents of the parchment, then flashed a smug grin, giving Wayne a strange look.
"Wayne, you just don't get it, do you? Professor Quirrell is lying to you," he said with great confidence. "Back in primary school, I used to ask teachers the same thing, but the key points they mentioned never appeared on the actual exams."
"So… none of this needs to be reviewed!"
"Exactly!" Toby nodded in agreement. "I've been tricked by teachers, too. They'd leave out everything they mentioned and test the rest."
He patted Wayne's shoulder consolingly. "Don't feel bad. Think of it as eliminating wrong options—saves a lot of effort."
Wayne looked at his roommates with mixed feelings.
'I've practically spoon-fed you, and you still spit it out. Well, may you rest in peace…'
In the afternoon, during the last lesson before Easter, the young wizards' minds were no longer on studying, having already slipped into holiday mode.
Unfortunately for them, the final lesson for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw was Potions class.
Faced with Snape, they had no choice but to suppress their excitement.
The atmosphere in the classroom was tense. Snape, unusually, wasn't prowling around spewing venom but remained seated at his desk, watching the students brew their anti-rash potions.
Snape hadn't been having an easy time lately.
He'd uncovered the enormous secret Quirrell was hiding, yet Dumbledore insisted he continue pressuring Quirrell as usual.
The reason was simple: if Snape suddenly changed his attitude, Quirrell would grow suspicious. To avoid alerting him, even though Snape knew the Dark Lord was lurking within Quirrell, he had to grit his teeth and threaten him periodically as before.
Merlin knew how much stress he was under daily.
"Lawrence, this is Potions class, not afternoon tea—"
Spotting Wayne chatting amiably with Ravenclaw's Padma, Snape instinctively snapped, only to meet Wayne's deep, penetrating gaze.
A shudder ran through him as he recalled what he'd witnessed that night.
"Don't let it happen again."
Wayne: ???
'I was ready to lose House points, and you hit me with a "don't let it happen again"?'
The other students were equally stunned. A mere warning from Snape? Unheard of.
When the bell rang, the classroom erupted in deafening cheers as everyone bolted for the door.
Wayne lingered behind—Snape still owed him half a vial of Felix Felicis and several other potions.
He was here to collect.
To Wayne's surprise, before he could say anything, Snape fired the first question.
"Lawrence, where did you learn the Laceration Curse?"
Wayne froze, then immediately understood how Snape knew—old Dumbledore must have made him use the Pensieve too.
"Professor, do you want to learn it?"
Snape recoiled as if physically struck.
'That's my bloody spell! And you're asking if I want to learn it?'
"Don't evade the question. I asked where you learned it."
"No comment, Professor. That's my personal privacy." Wayne couldn't be bothered to make up an excuse. "If you want to learn it, I can teach you."
"But this spell has no counter-charm, so you must be very careful when using it. Ordinary healing potions and spells are completely ineffective."
No counter-charm learned?
Snape's confusion deepened.
Perhaps it was something he'd casually jotted down in the Restricted Section years ago.
When people can't understand something, they often invent a plausible explanation for it, and Snape was no exception.
Over a decade had passed since he invented this spell, and he could no longer remember whether he'd ever let the spell circulate outside his notes.
"I know the Laceration Curse, too," Snape said. "The counter-curse is Vulnera Sanentur. You press your wand to the wound and sweep it downwards."
After speaking, Snape immediately felt something was amiss.
Hadn't he summoned Wayne here to demand answers? How had he ended up giving away the counter-curse instead?
Wayne, now happily in possession of the counter-curse, no longer seemed in any hurry to settle accounts. With a quick farewell, he slipped out of the office, leaving Snape alone to question his life choices.
...
And so began the final holiday before exams.
On the first day, nearly all the upper-year students went to Hogsmeade, leaving the school noticeably emptier.
After breakfast, Wayne took Cho and Hermione into the Forbidden Forest.
On their way, they happened to meet Hagrid coming out of his hut. The half-giant was carrying a watering can and a hoe, apparently heading to tend his vegetable patch.
"Morning, Hagrid," Wayne waved in greeting.
Hagrid nodded at the trio. "Where're yeh off to so early?" he asked.
"Oh, just going into the forest to check on Hestia," Wayne replied.
"Right then, don' be too long," Hagrid responded automatically. It took him a full minute to realise what was wrong with this picture.
Since when did students announce their trips into the Forbidden Forest so openly?
Turning around, Hagrid found the trio had already disappeared.
He sighed resignedly. Well, it wasn't as if Wayne would be in any danger in the forest—if anything, he was the danger to most magical creatures.
Inside the enchanted suitcase world.
A soft grassy clearing was spread with a picnic blanket laden with various snacks and drinks. A floating pitcher hovered mid-air, automatically refilling any cup that ran empty.
The three settled around the spread. Hermione clutched her Transfiguration textbook, beginning her revision. Of all subjects, she feared performing poorly in Transfiguration the most.
Transfiguration was simply too difficult, and the professor happened to be Gryffindor's Head of House.
Hermione couldn't bear imagining the disappointment in Professor McGonagall's eyes if she failed to achieve an 'Outstanding'.
Hogwarts exam results were graded as: O (Outstanding), E (Exceeds Expectations), A (Acceptable), P (Poor), D (Dreadful), T (Troll)
The Troll grade hadn't been awarded in years, though this year's Crabbe and Goyle showed promising potential to break that streak.
For Hermione, anything less than an O might as well be a T.
Cho didn't possess such a competitive streak—she was a laid-back girl, quietly reading a book titled 'Quidditch Tactics Explained'.
Only Wayne…
The girls finally couldn't take it anymore.
Cho reluctantly set down her book and addressed the boy rolling around on the floor: "Wayne, if you're bored, go do something you want to do. You don't have to stay here."
Hermione nodded vigorously, pouting. "Exactly, you're disturbing our reading."
Wayne reluctantly sat up straight.
"It's not boredom—it's just a little habit I have when I'm thinking."
Cho's face darkened.
Who rolls around on the floor when they're thinking?
With a snap, both girls closed their books.
Hermione asked, "What's the problem this time? Tell us—maybe we can help."
Wayne thought for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe you actually can."
He looked at them seriously. "How exactly can I make more money?"
Hermione and Cho exchanged glances. Cho asked in confusion, "Isn't your Celia Store doing well?"
"Not recently." Wayne sighed, shaking his head. "Aside from prank items, quills and maps aren't selling anymore."
"But you're not short on money, are you?" Hermione tilted her head. "Jerry's pockets are full of your Galleons—that's enough for me to live on until graduation."
"You don't understand." Wayne shook his head. "It's not about the money—it's about the joy of taking it straight out of young wizards' pockets."
'And the points,' he added silently in his mind.
Both girls' expressions darkened. What kind of twisted hobby is this?
But since this was the boy they liked, Cho had no choice but to help brainstorm. "How about opening a tutoring class?" she suggested. "You're top of the class and a good teacher. As long as you can improve grades, plenty of people would be willing to pay."
She and Hermione knew Wayne's teaching skills best—her transfiguration was already on par with an outstanding fourth-year student, and she'd learned plenty of practical spells in Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Wayne gave the dark-haired girl a complicated look.
'Truly a woman with Eastern blood—even at Hogwarts, she hasn't forgotten about tutoring classes.'
Hermione also had an idea. "The protective accessories you make are pretty—just too expensive."
"What if we removed the functionality and just sold them for looks?"
Wayne mused.
Education targets children. Accessories target women. And the easiest money comes from children and women.
Combining the two, the best money came from young witches.
Wayne sprang to his feet, pressing his fingers to his lips and letting out a sharp, far-reaching whistle.
Soon, Mia flew over, followed by three Unicorns trotting up.
"Good girl, this doesn't concern you—go play." Wayne stroked the Thunderbird, who let out a disgruntled chirp before flying off.
Then he looked at the three Unicorns gathered around him, finally settling on the last one he'd tamed—her name was Lulu.
"Lulu." Wayne stroked her horn, and she obediently lowered her head. "Your master's running out of money. You wouldn't want to never eat Murtlap jerky again, would you?"
"Wuu~!" Lulu blinked up at him in confusion.
"How about this? Many students at school really like you. Why don't we take photos with them to earn some living expenses?"
Hermione and Cho's jaws dropped.