"George and the others often mention you in their letters. Have they told you? I'd like to invite you to The Burrow."
Mrs Weasley was an exceedingly kind witch. Looking at her, Wayne felt he was seeing another Professor Sprout.
"They've told me. Don't worry, I'll visit when I have time," Wayne said, his robes trembling slightly without anyone noticing.
A piece of parchment 'accidentally' fluttered out, which Mrs Weasley kindly picked up for Wayne.
Danger!
The twins, Ron, and Harry all felt a sense of foreboding when they saw Wayne's trademark shy smile.
Especially the twins—they knew whenever Wayne was about to cause mischief, he'd put on this harmless façade.
And indeed, this time was no exception.
At first, Mrs Weasley only glanced at it indifferently, but when she realised it was a report card, her eyes widened. "Full marks?"
"Good heavens, Wayne, you got full marks in every subject?"
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Wayne said shyly as he took back the parchment. "Studying hard is just what students should do. There's no need to be surprised."
"Yes, yes, that's what a good child should be like." Seeing how well-behaved and sensible Wayne was, Molly liked him even more.
Meanwhile, Harry, the twins, Ron, and even Percy were staring at the boy in shock.
What kind of creature was this?
Wasn't he the one who caused the most chaos and made the biggest headlines in the entire school?
Suddenly, Molly turned sharply to look at the twins and Ron. "Where are your report cards?"
Their shocked expressions turned to horror. Even Harry sensed danger and quickly made his excuses before slipping away.
"Mum, we did quite well too. The reports are in our trunks—it'd be such a hassle to get them now," Fred said with a strained laugh, while secretly glaring at Wayne, who was enjoying the show.
By now, they'd realised Wayne had shown his report card on purpose to land them in trouble.
Impossible to guard against!
Having no choice but to delay Molly's wrath with sweet talk, the twins and Ron were dismayed to be tricked one last time before the term ended.
Seeing the crowd around them, Molly gave up on making them unpack and, after chatting briefly with Wayne and insisting he must visit The Burrow when possible, led her family away.
"Fred and the others will be thanking you all summer," said Penelope, who'd witnessed everything, laughing uncontrollably.
Though still young and not yet fully mature, she already possessed a quiet charm—enough to catch Wayne's eye, even if he didn't show it.
"Senior, haven't you gone home yet?" Wayne asked curiously.
Penelope replied softly, "No rush. My parents are probably still at work—there'd be no one to let me in anyway."
Her parents were ordinary office workers who returned home very late each day.
This summer, Penelope planned to work part-time to earn next term's living expenses.
"If you're working anyway, why not work for me?" Wayne joked as they left the platform. "My home happens to need a maid."
"Damn aristocrat," Penelope muttered, giving Wayne a light pinch. "You already have Gardevoir—what do you need a maid for?"
Having visited Wayne's trunk, Penelope knew just how capable and obedient Gardevoir was.
Wayne shook his head. "I'll probably be away from home most of this holiday, so hiring Muggles to clean isn't very convenient."
He planned to make some modifications to his house and, apart from Humphrey, didn't want other Muggles around in case they stumbled upon any traps.
"Then I'll do it. Don't worry about paying me—consider it thanks for all your help this year."
Penelope spoke earnestly; Wayne had indeed helped her greatly.
Gazing into the sky-blue eyes of his blonde-haired senior, Wayne smiled. "Then I'll take advantage of your kindness."
...
"Uncle, what brings you here?"
After seeing Penelope home, Wayne returned to his mansion to find Humphrey sitting in the living room watching TV.
"Knew you were on holiday today, so I came specially to cook for you."
Humphrey pursed his lips, eyes still glued to the screen. Two steaks sat on the dining table, freshly prepared.
"Thanks, Uncle. Let's eat together, then," Wayne chuckled.
His uncle was shrewd to the core—a proper political elite—but had always been nothing but good to him.
Mentioning his holiday dates in a letter had been enough to bring Humphrey all this way.
Humphrey didn't get up. "You go ahead. I'll eat after the news."
Wayne moved beside him, puzzled. "You deal with this stuff daily. What's the point of watching the news?"
Humphrey looked at his nephew in shock. "Wayne, how can you think that?
"Even Prime Minister Hacker, an LSE graduate, knows journalists are better informed than the Cabinet."
"During that last diplomatic incident, the ministers only found out through the news. How could I not pay attention?"
Wayne: "..."
Only in Britain could such people hold power and keep things running smoothly till the next century. Truly a nation with deep reserves.
...
The Burrow.
The Weasleys drove back to Ottery St Catchpole.
During dinner, Molly suddenly remembered the exam results.
"Dearest, you haven't shown me your report cards yet. Hand them over."
Percy complied readily—top of his year, unsurprisingly—and received a hug.
"You'll make Head Boy for sure, Percy."
This delighted him; becoming Head Boy and smoothly entering the Ministry of Magic after graduation was his dream.
"Fred, George—don't even think of sneaking off. Hand them over. And you, too, Ronnie."
The twins and Ron, who'd been edging towards the door, grimaced. Their results weren't bad compared to most.
But with Wayne and Percy setting such high standards, producing them now meant—
Ten minutes later, the Burrow echoed with three voices howling for mercy, accompanied by Ginny's cheers.
Mr Weasley shook his head and went for a stroll after dinner.
Molly never let him interfere when disciplining the children, and he knew better than to try.
His involvement would only add one more voice to the chorus of wails.
Better to remove himself and chat with the elderly Muggle at the village outskirts.
...
Malfoy Manor.
Narcissa kept pushing dishes towards Draco, eyeing her son worriedly. "Hogwarts food is simply dreadful. Look how thin you've gotten."
Malfoy curled his lip dismissively. "I don't want to get that fat, like Crabbe and Goyle. Everyone calls them Trolls, and I think it's quite fitting."
Lucius Malfoy frowned disapprovingly. "Even if you think so, don't say it out loud. They're your allies—don't make your subordinates resent you."
"Got it," Draco Malfoy replied. "Dad, can you give me more pocket money next term?"
Lucius looked displeased. "You've already spent quite a lot this year. Do you need that much for school?"
"Why are you being so harsh?" Narcissa shot her husband a glare. "Draco's just asking for money—are you that stingy?"
Lucius had no choice but to relent in the face of his wife's disapproval. "Fine. Next term, I'll give you five hundred Galleons. That should be enough, shouldn't it?"
Draco shook his head. "Not enough. At least fifteen hundred."
Lucius nearly spat out his French onion soup. "How much?"
"Fifteen hundred. At least fifteen hundred," Draco repeated.
Even Narcissa was startled by his audacious demand. "Son, what do you need all that money for?"
Draco explained in detail.
"Lawrence—that Mudblood who just received the Order of Merlin?" Lucius mused thoughtfully.
Yesterday's front-page headline in the Daily Prophet had been all about Wayne, the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in history—enough to catapult him to the top of the trending charts.
"Dad," Draco said irritably. "We're nobles—there's no need to speak so crudely."
"You have no idea how terrifying Lawrence is. He's completely different from other Muggle-borns."
Recalling the scene in the Forbidden Forest, Draco shuddered.
Lucius was taken aback—this was the first time Draco had ever disagreed with him regarding Muggle-born wizards.
"Son, I'll cover the money for you," Narcissa said, seeing Lucius remain silent. She took Draco's hand. "But only for this year. If I don't see any progress, I won't give you any more."
"There are plenty of other ways to deal with Potter."
"Thanks, Mum." Draco flashed Narcissa a wide grin. Immediately after, he brought up his idea of donating gold to the Ministry of Magic in exchange for the Order of Merlin, which made Lucius laugh in exasperation.
"Your father doesn't even have an Order of Merlin, and you're already eyeing one?"
"Dad..." Draco still seemed reluctant to let it go.
"Don't call me Dad—I don't have a son like you!" Lucius was genuinely angry, saying such words in front of Narcissa.
Sure enough, Narcissa's expression darkened visibly.
'Not your son? Are you implying I've been unfaithful?'
Draco tentatively ventured, "Then... godfather?"
Lucius: "..."
Taking a deep breath, Lucius said, "Narcissa, why don't you go attend to your business? I'd like to have a heart-to-heart with Draco."
Narcissa shot her tactless son a glare before leaving the dining room. Soon, the same kind of wailing heard at The Burrow echoed from within.
...
Two days passed in the blink of an eye.
Yesterday, Wayne spent the entire day setting up basic defensive and alarm measures for his house. No one with ill intent could see his house, let alone enter it.
In truth, it was because his ties to the Muggle world ran too deep—otherwise, Wayne would have preferred living in a castle in the countryside, where studying magic and raising magical creatures would have been far more convenient.
Early in the morning, the driver picked Wayne up by car and headed for Privet Drive.
...
Harry was in a foul mood. Since returning to the Dursleys', his life had plummeted from heaven back to hell.
Even the fish and chips he'd grown sick of at Hogwarts now seemed like a luxury. Last night's dinner had been nothing but pumpkin soup and two slices of dry bread.
On top of that, the Dursleys had forbidden him from letting out his owl, Hedwig, which meant he couldn't even send letters to his friends.
The thought of enduring this for another two and a half months filled Harry with despair.
Then he remembered—Wayne had said he'd come today to help him out. He just wasn't sure how reliable that promise was.
Wayne's magical talent was undeniable. At school, he commanded respect and had followers flocking to him.
But this wasn't school—this was the Muggle world. He couldn't just wave his wand and threaten the Dursleys, could he? That would be illegal.
Harry couldn't fathom what Wayne's plan might be.
Ding-dong!
Ding-dong!
At nine o'clock sharp, the Dursleys' doorbell rang.
"Who the hell is knocking this early?!" Dudley bellowed through a mouthful of his fourth hamburger.
"Don't be cross, darling, I'll see to it," Petunia soothed, but Vernon was already at the door, swinging it open.
Outside stood two burly men in black suits. At the forefront was a boy in a morning coat and sunglasses.
Even with half his face obscured, it was clear the boy was strikingly refined.
"Who are you?" Vernon frowned, not recognising any of them.
The two men said nothing, simply pushing the half-open door wider and shoving Vernon aside to make way for the boy.
"I don't make a habit of standing in doorways to talk."
Ignoring Vernon's furious cursing, the boy strode in as if he owned the place and settled into the centre of the sofa, wrinkling his nose. "Why is it so filthy in here?"
Dudley, terrified by the two hulking men, had already scrambled under the table and was trembling as he watched.
Hearing the commotion downstairs, Harry rushed out of his cupboard and gasped in delight at the sight of the boy.
"Wayne!"
Vernon, still pinned against the wall and struggling, froze. So this was someone Harry knew?
His rage surged even hotter.
"How dare you barge into my house—I'll call the police, you freaks—mmph!"
Before he could finish, one of the men clamped a hand over his mouth.
Dudley shrieked, only to be silenced by a single, menacing glare.
"Harry, come here." Wayne paid no mind to the chaos, beckoning Harry over before calling out to the hallway, "You—what's-your-name, May? Get in here, too."
A sweaty, balding middle-aged man hurried in upon hearing Wayne's call.
Upon seeing this old balding fellow, Mr Dursley's eyes widened. The burly man released him.
"Mr Mason!"
Of course, Mr Dursley knew this man—he was a renowned construction magnate whose drilling company had recently been in talks with Mason, attempting to secure orders from his firm.
They had even arranged for Mason to dine at his home by the end of the month. Yet Mason paid no attention to Mr Dursley, instead fawning obsequiously as he approached Wayne, bending his waist nearly to its limit.
"Lord Lawrence."
"Hmm." Wayne waved a dismissive hand. "Mr Dursley here just asked who I am. Why don't you enlighten him?"
"At once, Lord." Mason simpered, utterly unbothered by Wayne's earlier failure to recall his name.
He strode over to the dumbstruck Mr Dursley, his demeanour instantly turning haughty. "This is Lord Lawrence, the current heir of the Lawrence family—an ancient and prestigious noble lineage with a storied history."
"Dursley, you should consider it an honour that Young Master Lawrence has graced your home today."
In the past, Mason might not have grovelled so shamelessly before Wayne.
Many aristocratic enterprises operated discreetly, with little overlap with his own dealings. But since the beginning of the year, the Lawrence family had surged forward, becoming Britain's largest property developer while expanding into Europe and America.
Not only that, Wayne also had an uncle who had risen to become the Cabinet Secretary—the most senior civil servant in the British government.
Mason's company had also received investment from the Lawrence family, meaning he was now effectively Wayne's employee.
Faced with his employer, he would gladly kneel and lick Wayne's shoes—what was a little sycophancy in comparison?
In Britain, in London, the Lawrence family could now be described with a single phrase: untouchable power.