Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall regarded Wayne with pleased satisfaction. The boy's progress had pleasantly surprised her.
Wayne had reached the stage where transformations came effortlessly. So-called multiple transformations couldn't constrain him anymore—he could transfigure objects however he pleased.
Group transfiguration obeyed his will as readily as his own limbs.
McGonagall suddenly realised that having such a prodigious student could be rather headache-inducing. It meant she had little left to teach this young man in the coming years.
An idea struck her.
"Lawrence, would you be interested in writing a paper for Transfiguration Today?" she proposed.
"Your understanding of multiple transformations is remarkably thorough. Any submission would undoubtedly be accepted."
Transfiguration Today was the wizarding world's authoritative newspaper on Transfiguration, highly academic with a niche readership composed mostly of magical elites.
Wayne's skills surpassed most adult wizards', and with her backing, his paper's publication was virtually guaranteed.
"Certainly, Professor. I'll follow your suggestion," Wayne agreed readily. "Once I've finished writing, perhaps you could help me revise it?"
This would benefit him, too.
The notion that knowledge equalled power in the magical world was somewhat simplistic, yet held some truth.
Only those who gained knowledge and grew through learning could persevere in their studies.
Dumbledore's fame spread throughout the wizarding world for two reasons.
Firstly, he'd defeated Grindelwald and was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared—the two Dark Lords had unwittingly elevated Dumbledore's status.
Secondly, his vast network of connections. Even before confronting Grindelwald, Dumbledore had friends worldwide, managing to befriend Nicolas Flamel despite their 300-year age difference.
The behaviour of elite figures often drew attention from ordinary folk, and thus, Dumbledore's reputation grew steadily.
When most people superior to you in status and power consider someone formidable, you instinctively develop reverence for them, too.
Wayne was now someone who could command the wind and summon the rain within the school. But in the wider wizarding world, few knew his name.
Receiving the Order of Merlin could help him rise to fame, while writing a paper for Transfiguration Today would showcase his academic prowess.
Once a person demonstrated their strength, they'd find that the number of kind souls and friends around them also increased.
Wayne wasn't the lone-wolf type of powerhouse. He had always believed that true strength lay not just in personal ability but also in one's network of influence—not obsessed with power, but capable of shaping it.
Professor McGonagall's proposal suited him perfectly.
Watching Wayne's retreating figure, Professor McGonagall shook her head regretfully.
'Look at that student, and then look at the ones in my own house who just blew up a dead rat—the more I see, the angrier I get.'
...
The next exam to rush to was Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Many students were clutching books while eating lunch, cramming in as much as they could. To their dismay, the invigilator was once again Professor McGonagall.
McGonagall felt that Quirrell was too lenient in keeping these young wizards in check, so she volunteered to supervise one exam in his place.
Honestly, without McGonagall as Deputy Headmistress, this shambolic school would have fallen apart long ago.
The exam papers were handed out. Toby and Norman skimmed a few questions casually at first, then suddenly realised something was off.
They scrutinised the paper from top to bottom.
This looks familiar… Not sure, let's check again.
Their heads snapped up in unison, staring at Wayne's back in disbelief.
These questions… aren't they the exact same ones Wayne posted on his door—the 'final exam paper' Professor Quirrell gave him?
They passed by it every day. Even if they'd only glanced at it casually, they'd memorised every single question by now.
But they hadn't revised a single one.
That really was the final exam!
The questions hadn't even been rearranged.
This is beyond ridiculous.
"Sherlock (Norman), Brown (Toby), what are you two doing instead of answering the questions?" Professor McGonagall noticed their odd behaviour and scolded them sharply.
"No, I—Wayne, he—" Norman was too stunned to speak. He exchanged a look with Toby, his fellow sufferer.
Wayne, seated near the front, sighed quietly.
Even after going this far, I still couldn't save these two geniuses.
After the exam, Toby and Norman clung to each other, wailing in despair.
"Toby! I'm such an idiot!"
"Norman! So am I!"
If time could be rewound, they would go back and slap their past selves hard across the face.
I didn't believe it, you didn't believe it. And now it's really on the exam—how's that for a shock?
"Enough of this," Wayne said, walking over to them helplessly. "The practical lesson this afternoon is testing the Knockback Jinx. Hurry up and go practise."
Only then did they snap out of their daze, rushing off to find an abandoned classroom to train in.
In the end, they managed a decent enough score in the practical to scrape an Acceptable (A).
The end of Defence Against the Dark Arts didn't mean the exams were over for the day.
Due to the nature of the subject, students had to return to the Astronomy Tower at ten in the evening to sketch their observations of the celestial bodies.
By the time everything was finished, it was nearly midnight.
While everyone was heading downstairs, Hermione grabbed Wayne's hand and ducked into another corridor, leading them to the eighth-floor Room of Requirement.
There, Cho, Penelope, Cedric, and the Weasley twins were waiting anxiously.
"You're finally here! I was scared to death," Cedric sighed in relief upon seeing them.
Even for a nighttime stroll, this was a bold move. The Headmaster's Office wasn't far away—if Dumbledore came out, they'd be done for.
"We came as soon as the exam ended," Hermione panted.
Cho paced nearby three times, and a door materialised out of thin air.
Apart from Wayne and the other two, the rest were seeing the Room of Requirement for the first time, staring at the door in astonishment.
Inside, the room was beautifully decorated, with a long dining table laden with delicacies and a birthday cake.
"Happy birthday, Wayne," Cho said, her watery eyes seeming to speak as she smiled warmly at the boy.
The others, too distracted to examine the Room of Requirement, quickly followed suit, offering their congratulations.
The reason they'd risked sneaking out during exam week was to celebrate Wayne's birthday.
Originally, the twins had planned a feast in the kitchens, but Cho had vetoed it.
"Thank you, everyone," Wayne beamed.
It was the first time in his life that so many people had gathered to celebrate his birthday.
In the past, it had just been him and Humphrey, with perhaps a few servants joining in. Overjoyed, Wayne blew out the twelve candles amidst the birthday song, and everyone sat down to enjoy the feast.
During the meal, Cedric and the others asked about the Room of Requirement. Upon learning that it adapted to the user's needs, the twins groaned in frustration.
Since their first year, they'd dedicated themselves to uncovering every secret passage in the school—yet this treasure had been right under their noses.
Hermione, meanwhile, was still quizzing Wayne about the exam. Realising she'd missed a point in her Transfiguration essay, the little witch's face fell.
"Don't be disheartened," Wayne chuckled. "Even if you left something out, getting an 'O' won't be a problem."
"Hmph," Hermione lifted her chin. "Just an 'O' isn't enough—I'm aiming to surpass you for top of the year."
Wayne grinned wider. "Then you're dreaming. Unless I drop out early, you won't take first place in the next seven years."
"Don't underestimate me," Hermione retorted stubbornly. "You didn't even revise before the exam. Full marks in practicals might be easy, but you must have missed some theory."
"So you're confident, then?" Wayne raised an eyebrow.
Hermione nodded firmly.
"How about a bet?" Wayne tempted her further.
After a brief hesitation, she agreed.
"What are the stakes?"
"Like this..." Wayne leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Soon, her fair cheeks flushed crimson.
Seeing her reaction, Wayne feigned indifference and waved a hand. "If you're scared, forget I mentioned it."
"Who's scared?" Hermione shot back immediately. "If I get top of the year, you have to teach me the Patronus Charm."
"Deal."
Cho watched the pair and shook her head helplessly.
Hermione was too competitive—that rascal Wayne wouldn't have made the bet if he weren't certain. No one knew what conditions had been proposed to elicit such a strong reaction from Hermione.
The girl's thoughts wandered, and whatever she imagined caused her earlobes to turn a delicate shade of pink.
Since there were still exams the next morning, everyone didn't linger long after the hearty meal.
After a brief rest, they all returned to their dormitories to sleep.
...
In the blink of an eye, the exam week reached its final day.
Just one more hour to endure—finishing History of Magic—and they could relax and enjoy themselves for a whole week until the results were announced.
When Professor Binns instructed them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, cheers erupted without pause, the sweltering heat unable to dampen their enthusiasm.
Wayne also let out a long sigh of relief. Finally, it was over.
His first year was about to reach its conclusion.
While the other students dashed out of the castle in high spirits, Wayne slipped into his trunk.
"Well, Gardevoir, has Quirrell made his move?"
"Gardevoir!"
Gardevoir shook her head gently. The Marauder's Map lay open before her, and Wayne leaned in to take a look.
Quirrell had just emerged from a classroom—Wayne remembered it was where the sixth years had been examined.
Dumbledore was still in his office, having not left the school.
Since the exam week began, Wayne had kept the Marauder's Map active at all times, entrusting Gardevoir to keep an eye on Quirrell.
No one could guarantee when Voldemort would strike.
Even with the traps set up in the fourth-floor corridor, Wayne had added an extra layer of insurance.
"You've worked hard these past few days." Wayne patted Gardevoir's head. "Go rest—I'll take over now."
Gardevoir smiled, her eyes narrowing as she shook her head.
...
Meanwhile, Harry, finally free after his exams, had time to ponder the Philosopher's Stone. He felt he was missing a crucial piece of information, but couldn't recall what it was.
Until... he reached Hagrid's Hut.
"That's it—the dragon egg!" Harry's eyes lit up as he immediately pinpointed the most suspicious detail.
Hagrid's love for dragons was undeniable, but why had a strange man coincidentally appeared, practically giving him the egg for free?
Harry entered Hagrid's Hut and soon got the answers he sought before hurrying back to the castle.
...
Night fell.
The celebrating young wizards continued their revelry in the Common Room, but the castle itself had grown silent.
Dumbledore's icon suddenly vanished from the Marauder's Map, and Wayne perked up.
Sure enough, before long, Quirrell—who had been holed up in his office—emerged. Instead of heading straight for the fourth-floor corridor, he first visited Filch's office, staying only briefly before leaving.
A diversion—Dumbledore had already left the school, and the map indicated that Snape was still in his office.
Now was the perfect moment for Voldemort to seize the Philosopher's Stone.
In the silent corridor, a figure in purple robes walked unhurriedly—Quirrell.
His expression was calm now, none of his usual timidity or nervousness, his head held high.
He moved leisurely from the second floor toward the fourth.
But inwardly, he was far from the composed image he projected—his emotions churned like an erupting volcano. Having endured for nearly a year, he had suffered countless humiliations in the process.
Mocked by young wizards in class as a fraud who only recited textbooks.
Hounded by complaints, nearly driven out of the school.
Almost knocked unconscious while watching a Quidditch match.
To restore the Dark Lord's body, his Gringotts vault was so empty a rat could sprint through it, and he had to scrape together extra income even during Christmas.
Venturing into the Forbidden Forest to hunt Unicorns, only to be half-beaten to death, then gritting his teeth through the pain to return and keep teaching.
Threatened by young wizards into handing over the final exam papers early, just to avoid speaking to them.
And so on.
Quirrell's footsteps faltered, his unconsciously raised smile collapsing.
'Why… did every single one of these incidents bear Lawrence's shadow?'
'Damnable Lawrence! Once the great Dark Lord is resurrected, you'll be the first to die!'
Quirrell clenched his teeth silently, quickening his pace. No point wasting anger on a soon-to-be corpse.
He, the Dark Lord's right-hand man and the greatest contributor to his resurrection, would soon stand second only to one in the wizarding world.
At this moment, Quirrell's arrogance knew no bounds.
Dumbledore?
Senile old fool—a single letter has lured you hundreds of miles away to London.
Snape?
A mere paper tiger. So you've been spying on me all this time?
Well, enjoy grading that mountain of exam papers. By the time you realise something's wrong, the Dark Lord will already be reborn.
McGonagall?
Best not to comment on that one.
Finally, Quirrell arrived at the right wing of the fourth-floor corridor, staring at the shabby wooden door.
His heart pounded wildly.
Beyond that door lay all the glory and riches he craved!
Over the past year, he had meticulously unravelled every obstacle set by the professors, committing every detail to memory.
Now, entering was merely a formality.
"Master, I'll begin now!" Quirrell declared excitedly in his mind.
"Go, my child," Voldemort's voice remained weak, yet tinged with anticipation.
"Overcome every barrier. Bring me the Philosopher's Stone, and I shall grant you… Everything!"
"Praise you, my Master," Quirrell murmured devoutly, withdrawing a prepared harp from beneath his robes.
With a flick of his wand, the harp began playing on its own, filling the air with a soothing melody.
"Alohomora!" Quirrell twisted the doorknob and stepped inside, silently cursing Hagrid once more.
To extract this crucial piece of intelligence—how to bypass the most troublesome obstacle, the Three-Headed Dog—he had drained his last remaining funds, even resorting to a loan shark, all to procure a single dragon's egg.
And the solution turned out to be this absurdly simple. What a bloody waste.
The harp's gentle tune reached Fluffy's ears just as the beast stirred. Within moments, all six of the dog's eyelids grew heavy.
Despite its valiant struggle, Fluffy succumbed within seconds, collapsing into a deep, rumbling slumber.
Quirrell waved his wand dismissively, shoving the massive creature aside to reveal the trapdoor beneath.
Next was Professor Sprout's Devil's Snare.
That mediocre Head of Hufflepuff was far too soft-hearted. Using Devil's Snare as a barrier? Was she genuinely worried that intruders might die from the fall?
Staring into the pitch-black, bottomless tunnel, Quirrell wore a serene smile before leaping straight down.