The holiday's final days found Harry, Toby, and Norman in the hospital wing.
Wayne had been clear—just two or three drops of Draught of Living Death would suffice. But Harry, wanting to be safe, took a proper swig. The consequence was him stretching out his legs and departing this world most peacefully.
The potion's strong effect terrified Ron, who thought Harry had been poisoned, causing quite a commotion.
Madam Pomfrey could only sigh—since the Draught wasn't poisonous, forcibly waking Harry would cause harm. He'd have to sleep it off naturally.
Harry wasn't alone in his misfortune. Toby and Norman had once again exceeded Wayne's expectations of human ingenuity by believing cross-dressing would fool a Unicorn.
They hadn't got within three metres before each received a sharp hoof to the ribs.
Cedric, watching secretly from the crowd, breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing he hadn't acted impulsively—he'd been prepared to cross-dress himself if their plan worked. Now that sacrifice wouldn't be necessary.
Lulu's sudden violence startled the other young witches, who initially thought the Unicorn had gone berserk.
When they learned the truth, their expressions became priceless. To be fair, Norman's freckled face and thin, frail build, combined with the superb make-up skills of Senior Grace, perfectly matched the aesthetic standards of this country.
At the very least, on the way to the infirmary, quite a few boys found their hearts racing.
...
By Sunday night, Toby and Norman, who had only suffered external injuries, had already been discharged, leaving Harry as the sole occupant of the hospital wing.
Suddenly, his eyelids twitched, and he struggled to open them, immediately feeling a wave of weakness.
"Thank goodness, you're finally awake," Ron exclaimed in delight.
"Water... water..." Harry's lips moved faintly—he felt parched.
Ron hastily handed over the cup of water he had prepared in advance. Once Harry had drunk his fill, Ron brought over a few pieces of chocolate.
After eating them, Harry finally felt somewhat alive again.
"How long was I out?" Harry still felt groggy.
"A full three days," Ron held up three fingers. "If it weren't for Madam Pomfrey feeding you nutrient potions, you might have starved to death."
Ron looked impressed. "That was Draught of Living Death—I've never seen anyone drink that stuff like it was juice."
As his brain gradually rebooted, Harry remembered how he had ended up here and couldn't help but feel exasperated.
"I didn't expect Wayne's potion to be that effective."
"Anyway, here's this for you." With that, Ron retrieved a large bundle of books and parchment from the bed behind him.
"Classes start tomorrow, so you've got one night to catch up on homework."
Harry stared at him in horror. "I can barely think straight, and you want me to do homework?"
"Fine, don't do it. Just send Snape and Professor McGonagall to the hospital wing—then they won't be able to check your work," Ron said flatly.
Harry eyed the towering stack of books and seriously considered downing another bottle of Draught of Living Death.
...
The Easter holidays had ended, marking the beginning of the term's final stretch.
No one quite knew how time had slipped away, but by the time everyone snapped out of it, the final exams were upon them.
Hogwarts' exams took place during the first full week of June, with results released the following week, followed by the final Quidditch match.
The day after the end-of-year feast, students would board the Hogwarts Express and head off for a pleasant summer holiday.
As May arrived...
Seeing everyone working so hard, Wayne was genuinely moved.
So, one day in May, he gathered all the little badgers in the Common Room once more.
"Wayne, who are you planning to complain about this time? If you agree to my terms, I'll help you," teased Emelia Grace, the sixth-year Prefect.
This was the same senior who had helped Norman and Toby with their cross-dressing.
Since then, it was as if a switch had flipped—she kept pestering Wayne, saying she wanted to see just how pretty he'd look in women's clothing.
Wayne refused without hesitation. He was a man's man—there was no way he'd cross-dress.
But the senior wouldn't give up, asking him now and then. Noticing the eager expressions on the other badgers' faces, Wayne opened his mouth, then closed it.
Seriously, what are you all even expecting?
"The professors have all been very diligent—I'm not planning to complain about anyone," Wayne explained helplessly.
At his words, many of them looked disappointed. Wayne even overheard one little badger muttering under their breath, "Why not complain to the Headmaster... then we might not have to sit the final exams."
'Blimey, when did Hufflepuff start harbouring such ambitious souls?'
'You're wasted in the badger house. Might I suggest you hurry off to Slytherin instead?'
"Ahem!" Wayne hastily coughed twice to grab everyone's attention. "Everyone, do you know where I went over Christmas?"
"Wasn't it New York?"
Wayne gave Toby an approving look. Well done, already learning to jump in with answers.
Wayne declared loudly, "Exactly! I went to New York, and while I was there, I even met Mr Newt Scamander!"
Gasps erupted.
"Who? Newt Scamander?"
Cedric executed a smooth slide-tackle, expertly latching onto Wayne's leg, his face flushed with excitement.
"You met Mr Scamander?"
"Of course," Wayne replied affectionately, patting Cedric's head. "Not only did I meet him, but I also spent the entire holiday at his house. We even went to see Thunderbirds together."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" Cedric wailed, feeling as though he'd lost a thousand Galleons.
Dumbledore was indeed a great wizard revered by all students, but his stature and achievements were so lofty that most couldn't even grasp just how extraordinary he was.
Newt, however, was different—more human, more relatable. He'd faced failures, even been expelled from school, yet ultimately triumphed through sheer effort and his love for magical creatures.
Cedric adored this legendary Hufflepuff alumnus above all others!
Many others wore similarly aggrieved expressions, glaring resentfully at Wayne. It was bad enough not mentioning it earlier, but now you're rubbing it in our faces?
Wayne secretly delighted in the reaction—this was exactly the effect he'd wanted.
"Don't fret, everyone. It only just occurred to me—I've brought back gifts!" Wayne produced a book: 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'—specially signed by Newt himself, complete with a personal message.
"Godfather!" Cedric cried hoarsely.
"Move over!" Wotley shoved Cedric aside and latched onto Wayne's leg instead. "Wayne—no, Mr Lawrence! Just give me that book, and I swear, once I graduate, the Quidditch Captain's seat is yours! You'll get the Prefect's bathroom, the private Prefect's compartment—everything!"
Cedric gaped at him in disbelief.
"Wotley, you told me I was next in line for Quidditch Captain!"
Wotley replied coldly, "Sorry, Diggory. We're not that close."
Cedric instantly turned to stone.
A swarm of eager badgers surged forward, eyes fixed hungrily on the book in Wayne's hands.
"Hold on, everyone!" Wayne quickly shook off Wotley and leapt back, raising his voice. "I brought back fifty signed copies! There's enough for everyone to have a chance!"
Cheers from the Common Room nearly blew the roof off.
Once the excitement died down, Wayne continued, "But we can't just hand out all fifty at once. To keep it fair, I've decided—"
"Anyone who ranks in the top ten of their year in the final exams gets a copy!"
Cedric's face immediately lit up with joy.
Top ten? That was far too easy—he had been the top of his year for two consecutive years.
Wotley's expression turned grave. His grades were borderline for the top ten, depending on luck. It seemed he'd have to buckle down and revise seriously.
While some rejoiced, others despaired. The badgers' academic performance was generally not stellar, and the top ten was too daunting a goal for most.
Wayne had to lower the bar—just making it into the top fifteen would suffice.
Even if the total number exceeded fifty, there was no need to worry. Since he'd managed to procure fifty books, getting more wouldn't be an issue.
...
Instantly, the Hufflepuff students' enthusiasm for studying was ignited.
By the next day, they had practically taken over half the library.
Watching the earnest little badgers buried in their books, students from other houses were utterly baffled. What on earth had happened? Why were they all suddenly so fired up? And when word spread about the night's events, some weren't pleased and sought Wayne out directly.
They wanted Newt Scamander's signed books, too. Unfortunately, Wayne turned them all down.
This was an exclusive Hufflepuff perk. There weren't even enough to go round for their own house—how could outsiders get a share?
This led to other students joining the grind. Top fifteen, was it?
If I can't get the book, neither can you. If I study hard enough to push you out, problem solved.
A wave of academic competition, sparked by Hufflepuff, swiftly swept through every house. Late into the night, students could still be seen burning the midnight oil in their respective Common Rooms.
This had Wayne grinning from ear to ear.
With everyone grinding, his potions would surely sell like hotcakes, wouldn't they?
The reason he'd turned the books he'd originally planned to give away into rewards was to cash in one last time before the term ended.
Focus Potions, Invigoration Draughts, Baruffio's Brain Elixir, Wit-Sharpening Potions...
With all these study-enhancing concoctions, if you didn't use them while everyone else did, wouldn't you fall behind?
Within just a few days, Wayne had raked in hundreds of Galleons, draining the pockets of so many students that they'd pale at the sight of him and bolt in the opposite direction.
The professors caught wind of this and thoroughly approved of Wayne's methods. Encouraging students to study hard this way was far more effective than a few words in class.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick found some excuse or other to award Wayne a hefty pile of House points.
Professor Sprout even summoned Wayne to her office and lavished him with praise. Ever perceptive, Wayne presented her with a signed copy of Newt's book.
Upon leaving the office, the twins popped up out of nowhere, blocking him from both sides.
"Looking for a fight?" Wayne arched an eyebrow and began rolling up his sleeves.
"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Wayne!" Fred hastily restrained the younger boy. Joking aside—whether it was a duel (with wands) or a duel (bare-knuckled)—the two of them together were no match for Wayne.
"Boss," George grinned, sidling up. "Any chance you could spare us a copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'?"
Wayne frowned. "What do you two want it for? Never heard you were fans of Newt."
"Of course we are!" Fred nodded solemnly. "We love magical creatures."
"Absolutely," George sighed. "So many prank items require rare ingredients, you see."
Wayne: "…"
...
June 1st, Monday.
Amidst the tense atmosphere, the end-of-term exams began.
For Wayne, having his birthday fall on the start of exam week was a rather dreadful experience.
Fortunately, waking up to presents at the foot of his bed lifted his spirits considerably. After today, he would no longer be an eleven-year-old kid. He'd be twelve!
The school began with written exams for all subjects, followed by practical assessments.
That morning, Professor McGonagall appeared before everyone in her most severe manner, her sharp eyes sweeping over the young witches and wizards in the examination hall.
Drawing on her extensive experience, she caught numerous students attempting to cheat. Some had smuggled in cheating quills, trying to swap them with the ones provided. Others had scribbled notes on their arms in invisible ink, which would reveal the answers when licked.
There were even those wearing special enchanted spectacles that displayed answers automatically upon seeing the questions. The methods were varied and ingenious—students had poured a year's worth of cleverness into these schemes.
But none could escape Professor McGonagall's keen scrutiny.
With fifty years of invigilation experience under her belt, she was a master at thwarting cheating. These petty tricks couldn't fool her; she saw through them effortlessly.
Every time she exposed another cheater, the corners of her mouth would twitch almost imperceptibly upward.
Wayne, however, had no part in any of this. Some money was worth making, but some wasn't.
He could easily have produced those cheating tools, but helping others cheat? What would the professors think of him then? If he got into trouble later, no one would have his back.
So even though many had begged him for help, he hadn't budged. If you want to cheat, don't come to me—Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade both sell similar items.
As Professor McGonagall walked among the students, she paused behind Wayne, glanced at his paper, and nodded approvingly before moving on.
Just a quick look was enough for her to know he'd hand in a perfect paper.
The other students weren't so lucky. Even those who hadn't cheated trembled when they sensed her nearby.
Finally, after struggling through the last convoluted essay question, Wayne handed in his exam. Next came the even more challenging practical portion.
At least the written exam had multiple-choice questions, and for the essays, he could cobble together something from past assignments—quantity often passed for quality.
But practical exams? If you didn't know it, you didn't know it.
This year's first-year practical was particularly difficult: students had to transfigure a mouse into a snuffbox.
The more ornate the box, the higher the marks. Any lingering mouse-like features would mean deductions.
"Seamus, what's wrong?" Wayne asked, puzzled by Seamus's despondent expression as he emerged from the classroom.
"I didn't turn it into a snuffbox," Seamus muttered miserably.
"Don't worry, it's just a few points. Hannah's snuffbox still had a mouse's head on it—she claimed it was decorative, and Professor McGonagall seemed to buy it," Wayne reassured him.
"No, it's not the same," Seamus sighed. "I didn't even manage to make it resemble a snuffbox."
"Then what did you turn it into?"
Wayne was even more confused. Seamus was decent at Transfiguration—surely he hadn't failed?
Seamus exhaled heavily. "I turned the mouse into a dead mouse. It exploded all over the classroom."
Wayne: '...'
No wonder Professor McGonagall hadn't called him in yet—she was probably still cleaning up.
Another five minutes passed.
"Wayne Lawrence!" Professor McGonagall's voice called from inside the room.
Wayne entered to find the professor looking rather displeased—bits of dead rat had nearly splattered onto her face moments earlier.
After invigilating exams for so many years, this was the first time she'd encountered a student like Seamus who attempted to assault an examiner.
Wayne greeted her politely and was about to wave his wand when Professor McGonagall flicked her hand, making the rat on the table vanish instantly.
"Mr Lawrence, these exam questions are far too simple for you," Professor McGonagall said with a faint smile. "Frankly, I'd be justified in giving you full marks outright."
"But I want to see whether you've made any progress in Transfiguration since last time."
"If I'm not satisfied, your privileges next term will be revoked."
Geniuses deserved special treatment—not just privileges, but also higher expectations.
If Wayne became complacent without showing any improvement in Transfiguration, McGonagall was prepared to give the young lad some proper guidance.