Inside the comfortable room, the Heads of House were chatting with their guests, all except Snape.
With Slytherin coming in dead last, Snape had no interest in playing the role of socialite.
When Dumbledore and Wayne entered, Miranda Goshawk grinned. "Thank you for delivering our guest of honour, Dumbledore. You may leave now."
The old Headmaster's smile froze.
"She's right, Albus. Off you go," Bathilda Bagshot chimed in teasingly. "Another time, we'd love to chat—but not now. In fact, let's avoid each other all summer unless you've found a suitable Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
Light laughter rippled through the room.
Dumbledore, for once, looked genuinely awkward.
The notorious one-year curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post was infamous. Even the ever-connected Dumbledore became persona non grata every summer.
Some had even fled Britain entirely to avoid his recruitment efforts. No one wanted to be his next sacrificial lamb—the position was downright cursed.
Unable to muster a retort, Dumbledore could only offer a sheepish smile.
"At least spare me some dignity in front of the students." Watching Wayne stifling his laughter, Dumbledore felt utterly helpless.
Bathilda teased, "Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to discuss your glorious exploits later."
The old Headmaster was no match for her and could only retreat in defeat.
"Come sit down, young man," Miranda beckoned, and Wayne obediently took the empty seat to Newt's right.
All the guests except Fudge observed Wayne with keen interest.
Miranda began: "Mr Scamander has told us about your actions. It's hard to believe you'd only been at school for four months at the time."
"Such a significant matter should have been shared with us sooner," Professor Flitwick said disapprovingly.
"Were you planning to keep it hidden forever if not for today's ceremony?" Professor Sprout nodded in agreement. Lawrence was exceptionally talented, if a bit too restless—he hadn't even taken a proper break during the holidays.
Among those present, apart from Fudge and Bones, each could be considered an academic heavyweight.
Their conversation naturally leaned towards scholarly topics. Though unable to contribute, the two outsiders listened with polite smiles.
Bones remained perfectly silent throughout, but Fudge proved rather irritating with his ill-timed exclamations and flattery.
Every single one of these individuals wielded influence that rivalled—if not surpassed—many pure-blood families, regardless of their official positions at the Ministry.
This influence extended far beyond Britain, reaching across the entire wizarding world. As a newly appointed Minister, Fudge was desperate to cultivate relationships with these prestigious figures to consolidate his position.
Hence, his determination to linger despite the obvious lack of welcome. Familiarity would come with persistence, he reasoned. Yet he couldn't hide his astonishment.
Wayne was keeping pace with these elderly academics, discussing theories that sounded like complete gibberish to Fudge.
Miranda showed particular interest in Wayne's lightning spell, probing extensively about his creative process and inspiration.
This witch from Ravenclaw had a legendary background.
Born in 1921 to an impoverished pure-blood family, their poverty stemmed from her mother's extraordinary fertility, outdoing even Mrs Weasley by producing nine daughters.
As the youngest, Miranda faced the same predicament as Ron, forced to wear hand-me-down robes from her sisters, which strained her relationships with them.
Her exceptional talent in Charms manifested early; the widely used Bat-Bogey Hex was her invention, originally conceived simply to silence her sisters.
Through continued magical research, her published 'Standard Book of Spells' series became standard textbooks across wizarding schools, translated into seventy-two languages, including Siren and Goblin.
In many ways, she was Ravenclaw's version of Newt, although less famous because she avoided deep involvement in the Wizarding Wars, preferring to focus on spellcraft research.
Miranda pioneered the documentation of non-verbal spell techniques in mainstream literature, breaking the pure-blood families' oral tradition of guarding such secrets.
The other witch present, Bathilda Bagshot, was equally remarkable.
She was the author of 'A History of Magic' and a seasoned contributor to Transfiguration Today, residing in Godric's Hollow as Dumbledore's neighbour. Most importantly, she held a deeply concealed identity—the great-aunt of the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald.
It was precisely after being expelled from Durmstrang that Grindelwald came to Britain seeking her, where he encountered the seventeen-year-old Dumbledore, altering the course of magical history.
Facing their questions—which were also a test—Wayne answered with calm composure.
To enter a circle, one must demonstrate one's capability and worth, proving one deserves inclusion.
Even though Newt had vouched for him, these individuals still harboured their doubts...
After all, Wayne was too young, and what Newt had said was utterly astonishing.
Yet after some discussion, everyone's impression of the boy had changed.
A prodigy!
Not the kind who dabbles in everything superficially, but a true hexagonal warrior—a genius in every subject.
Whether it was Transfiguration, Magizoology, or Charms, there seemed to be nothing he wasn't proficient in.
Even in areas where he was slightly less experienced, his talent and extraordinary memory were undeniable.
...
Time flew by, and soon it was late at night.
Elderly figures like Bathilda Bagshot and Damocles Belby were visibly fatigued, prompting Professor McGonagall to step in.
"Everyone, I believe there will be plenty of time for further discussions in the future. Let's call it a night for now."
The group readily agreed.
Damocles Belby, the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, looked at Wayne with satisfaction.
"Mr Lawrence, you'll be attending next month's gathering in Paris, won't you? We can discuss your proposed improvements to the Wolfsbane Potion then—I believe they hold great promise."
Newt smiled. "Indeed, I'll be bringing Wayne along. Nicolas has extended an invitation to him as well."
"That's wonderful! You'll meet many more fascinating friends there," Miranda said cheerfully.
"Though it's a shame Dumbledore can't make it—he'll be busy all holiday fretting over teaching staff."
Everyone except the Heads of House chuckled at that.
Fudge watched Wayne with undisguised envy.
A gathering organised by Nicolas Flamel—how prestigious must that be?
There would surely be many renowned wizards in attendance. Why hadn't he been invited?
Internationally, his reputation didn't even measure up to that of old Barty Crouch.
After bidding their farewells, Wayne gave Newt a nod and then left.
...
Officially, he was returning to his dormitory, but once he rounded a corner, he summoned Gardevoir and Apparated straight to the entrance of the Forbidden Forest.
About fifteen minutes later, Newt arrived briskly, carrying his suitcase.
"You're here," Wayne said flatly.
Newt looked baffled. "Didn't you ask me to come?"
"…"
'No cooperation at all.'
"Just take me to see Nagini."
Newt nodded, opened his suitcase, and the two stepped inside, descending into the basement of the house. With a spell, he undid the complex locking mechanism.
The walls were forged entirely of steel, with no exit except the door.
A massive serpent over ten metres long lay dormant—this was Nagini.
"She doesn't recognise me at all anymore, and she's grown extremely vicious."
Newt scratched his head sheepishly. "So I've had to dose her with Draught of Living Death daily to keep her under control."
Wayne crouched down, running his hand over Nagini's cold, scaly body.
"Senior, what methods have you tried?"
"Many," Newt said, gazing at the serpent. "Resurrection Draught, honeysuckle, self-heal, Mandrake juice.
"I've even attempted every known curse-breaking method and consulted witch doctors from the African continent, but nothing worked."
He looked at Wayne expectantly. "You asked me to bring Nagini here—does that mean you have a solution?"
Wayne shook his head lightly.
"I can't be certain. I can only try. Let's go outside."
Then, levitating Nagini, they moved outdoors, where Wayne summoned Ho-Oh.
"Ho-Oh, use Sacred Fire."
"Chirp chirp!"
Pure white flames descended upon Nagini. Unlike previous healing sessions, Nagini felt pain—excruciating, as though struck by the Cruciatus Curse—so intense that even Draught of Living Death couldn't suppress it, jolting her awake with a hoarse hiss.
Newt reached for his wand to restrain her, but Wayne was quicker. "Petrificus Totalus!"
The massive serpent stopped trembling, yet her screeches grew ever more piercing. Thick black smoke billowed from her body, and ink-like droplets fell onto the grass, instantly withering the surrounding turf.
"It's working," Newt said with relief. Unlike the previous remedies he'd given Nagini, this time there was an actual reaction.
But soon, Ho-Oh halted and shook its head. "Chirp!"
"I understand."
Wayne grasped Ho-Oh's meaning.
The dark force was too deeply entwined with Nagini, nearly inseparable from her very being.
While purifying her, Ho-Oh was also putting her life in danger. Even its Sacred Flames couldn't guarantee cleansing the curse without killing her.
If Ho-Oh were in its complete form, it could purify her recklessly and then revive her afterwards.
Newt sighed regretfully at the unconscious giant serpent.
"It's fine. It'll just take a bit longer," Wayne said with a smile. "We'll take it slow. Once her body recovers, we'll have Ho-Oh purify her again."
"A few more sessions, and Nagini will eventually return to normal."
"You're right," Newt replied, smiling in relief. "Then I'll leave her in your care."
"Don't worry, Senior. One day, you'll share afternoon tea with your old friend again."
"By the way, has Grandma Tina returned to Dorset yet?"
"Yes, just recently. She's been cleaning the house—apparently, a bunch of Ghouls have infested the attic. She wanted to drive them out, but I stopped her."
"She's been cross with me lately. When you see her, put in a good word for me."
As they chatted casually, they moved Nagini into Wayne's case. The moment Newt spotted Gardevoir, he froze.
"This is…"
"Gardevoir," Wayne introduced. "My head caretaker. She's been managing things here lately."
"Gardevoir!" she greeted politely.
"No, I mean…" Newt stared at the young man in confusion. "What kind of magical creature is this?"
He had encountered nearly every magical species in the world, yet he'd never even heard of Gardevoir.
"Consider her a discovery. There's only one Gardevoir in the world."
Seeing Wayne had no intention of elaborating, Newt didn't press further.
However, from then on, his attention remained fixed on Gardevoir.
When he noticed how adeptly she cared for the other magical creatures, he couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.
Back in the day, he, too, had had a beautiful, capable female assistant…
Unfortunately, Tina had given him an ultimatum—marry her or spend his life with the assistant.
With a wand pressed to his throat, Newt had chosen the former. Looking back now, he did feel a twinge of regret…
Wayne called over Mia. Seeing how much the young Thunderbird had grown, Newt was beyond astonishment.
Miracles around Wayne were so frequent that something like this hardly warranted surprise.
"Wonderful," Newt said enviously, gazing at the vibrant little world. "If Dumbledore had been my Headmaster back then, perhaps I wouldn't have been expelled."
Not completing his full student years remained one of life's greatest regrets for him.
"What's that over there?" Newt asked curiously, pointing at the vast expanse of empty farmland. "Chomping Cabbages, though I've already used them up."
Wayne briefly recounted the incident involving Quirrell.
"That thrilling?" Newt's expression turned complicated. "Having Voldemort teach Defence Against the Dark Arts—should I call it your good fortune or Dumbledore's recklessness?"
"Well, it fulfilled one of Voldemort's dreams," Wayne remarked as the two walked towards the Mooncalf herd.
"Didn't he apply for that position right after graduating?"
"Ah, right," Wayne suddenly stopped and looked at Newt. "I forgot to ask in my letters.
"The Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest seem to hold you in high regard. What exactly did you do for them?"
Newt immediately lowered his head, stammering, "I-it's nothing, really."
Seeing his reaction, Wayne grew even more curious. Under persistent questioning, Newt finally relented.
His aged face flushed red. "T-twenty years ago, the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest were on the brink of extinction. Their tribe had almost no mares left.
"So... they begged me to help them... breed."
Wayne recoiled in horror. "You agreed?!"
"Not in the way you're thinking!" Newt quickly clarified, realising how it sounded.
"They wanted me to contact Centaurs from other regions to see if they could... collaborate."
Wayne suddenly understood. So, he was playing pimp.
Who knew Newt dabbled in that sort of business?
"Alright, I should go. You should head back and sleep too," Newt said, flustered and now shooing him away after revealing his embarrassing past.
"I've got a lot to do tomorrow before leaving school," Wayne sighed, then asked, "Senior, want some Acromantula venom?"
Newt looked at him in surprise. "You can get that?"
"Of course. I'm on good terms with the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest," Wayne said confidently. "I am a Hufflepuff—I get along well in the forest."
Hearing this, Newt was visibly tempted. "Then I'll take some."
His stock was running low, and he'd been fretting over it.
Newt had once considered breeding Acromantulas himself, but given their rapid reproduction and aggressive nature, he ultimately abandoned the idea.
...
Half an hour later, watching the boy brandish his wand, summoning thunder and fire to negotiate with Aragog, Newt was utterly dumbfounded.
'This is what you call "good terms"?'
'It's a miracle you weren't expelled and sent to Azkaban for further education!'