Wayne never expected that the future legendary manufacturer—the Firebolt Company—would have such a destitute past.
They couldn't even afford to pay the Goblins' wages.
"Lawrence, you don't understand the situation," Wallow lamented bitterly once they'd grown familiar.
"Now, the Goblins' wages are almost exceeding material costs, yet they're still unsatisfied, threatening to strike every day and demanding raises. If not for their craftsmanship, we'd have fired all the Goblins and done it ourselves long ago."
"They take advantage of their skills to act as they please," McKay added indignantly.
Though wizards dominate the magical world, that doesn't mean they excel in every aspect. In many areas, magical creatures and beings hold the advantage.
Take Goblin craftsmanship, for instance. They can produce artefacts and weapons that leave even wizards in awe, such as Gryffindor's sword, a masterpiece of Goblin work.
Even on the Firebolt, components like footrests, brackets, and twig-binding rings are crafted by Goblins. Their parts not only achieve unparalleled precision but also possess many unsolved mysteries, allowing the broomstick's stability and acceleration to surpass other products by a wide margin.
This is why, despite knowing the Goblins' greed, Wallow and McKay had no choice but to grit their teeth and employ them.
In less than two short years, wages had already been raised twice for these greedy creatures. Yet the Goblins remained unsatisfied, frequently threatening to strike. Wayne delved deeper into the specifics.
The company employed ten Goblins in total. The two most skilled among them demanded an annual salary of a thousand Galleons each, working four days a week with three days off, plus holidays. The other eight earned between five hundred and seven hundred Galleons annually. All in all, they were taking home more than the average Ministry of Magic employee. Particularly, the two most skilled—they were wealthier than even Mr Weasley.
Wayne pondered for a moment. "Bring those two master craftsmen here."
Wallow and McKay exchanged glances before McKay finally stepped out. After all, Wayne had only just become a shareholder. A simple request to speak with the employees wasn't something they could refuse.
Soon, McKay returned with two diminutive Goblins in tow. Both appeared quite elderly—no wonder their craftsmanship was the best.
Wayne wasted no time in delivering a bombshell.
"From now on, your wages will increase by ten per cent—but this is the last time. No matter what happens in the future, your salaries will never rise again."
This declaration not only enraged the two Goblins but also caused McKay and Wallow to pale.
Wayne raised a hand, signalling for them to stay calm, then continued,
"When I say your wages won't increase, I'm referring to the total payroll allocated for all Goblins. But how much the two of you earn will depend entirely on your own abilities."
The two elder Goblins perked up, as if struck by an idea.
Wayne chuckled. "If you have what it takes to take the others' wages for yourselves, that money is yours to keep. However, the one condition is that the production of the Firebolt must not be affected. As long as that's upheld, you're free to do as you please."
"Young wizard, are you serious?" One of the Goblins breathed heavily, his eyes turning red.
By Wayne's terms, even if the others' wages remained unchanged, the ten per cent increase to the total payroll alone was a substantial sum.
"As a new shareholder of this company, my word carries some weight, doesn't it?" Wayne glanced at Wallow.
Wallow and McKay nodded repeatedly.
"Deal!" The other Goblin, fearing Wayne might retract the offer, was eager to seal the agreement.
"Not so fast." Wayne pressed a hand down. "We're not done yet."
"From now on, each of you will also hold two per cent of the company's shares, making you part-owners. For every ten thousand Galleons earned, you'll receive two hundred."
The two Goblins nearly drooled at the prospect.
Wayne coaxed them further. "Now that you're part-owners, what if the Goblins under you demand higher wages…?"
"Over my dead body!" One Goblin snarled. "No one's taking a Knut from me!"
"And if they threaten to strike again?" Wayne spread his hands helplessly.
"Anyone who dares will be beaten to a pulp!" The two Goblins declared in unison.
"Excellent." Wayne nodded in satisfaction. "You've already grasped the mindset of ownership."
"Young master, you truly understand us Goblins." One elder Goblin marvelled at Wayne's scheme—a transparent ploy, yet one that their nature left them powerless to resist.
The two Goblins left in high spirits, and even after the door closed, those inside could hear them berating their lazier counterparts.
Snape, Wallow, and McKay stared, utterly dumbfounded, at Wayne's masterful manoeuvring.
Especially Wallow and McKay, they were practically ready to kneel before the young man. These two were exceptionally skilled in technology. Wallow specialised in the spells for flying broomsticks, while McKay was responsible for the design and production of the broom's aerodynamics and materials. But when it came to managing the company and expanding profits, they were utterly clueless.
Snape also looked at Wayne with a complicated expression.
'Damn, it seems that all the cunning of every Hufflepuff student has been concentrated in this kid.'
"Mr Lawrence," McKay said eagerly, "Do you have any other suggestions for the company's operations? Please, say whatever's on your mind—we'll follow your lead without question!"
With just a simple move, Wayne had completely won over the two who had initially been wary of him.
"It was just a passing thought," Wayne waved his hand dismissively. "Didn't I already promise you? I won't interfere with the specifics—you can rest easy."
Wallow and McKay exchanged bitter smiles.
'Now it's us who want you to interfere.'
Wayne wasn't just trying to reassure them—he truly had acted on a whim, just as he had with his investment in the Firebolt. This small amount of money couldn't even earn him points. The investment bank he owned made more in a single day than this place did in a year.
As for the profit share promised to the Goblins, Wallow and McKay insisted they would cover it themselves.
After reviewing the blueprints in the office for a while, Wayne asked them to customise five unique Firebolts for him, using special woods and materials—he'd pay for them, of course.
Then, he left with Snape, who was already growing impatient.
Every Firebolt would have a unique serial number, and his own would be labelled 001.
As for the others, they were gifts for Hermione, Cho, and Fleur.
...
"Professor, thanks for today," Wayne handed Ho-Oh's tears to Snape.
The old bat hadn't been much help, really—just made it easier for him to get through the door. But since he'd promised, Wayne wasn't about to renege.
Snape carefully tucked the vial away, his expression immediately turning cold as he began shooing him off.
"Alright, Lawrence. I expect our next meeting will be at the start of the term."
"Tch, your face changes faster than a dog's," Wayne muttered.
As Snape was about to enter his home, the young man suddenly added, "Professor, I'd advise you not to get your hopes up too much."
Snape stiffened.
"With Ho-Oh's power, what you want simply isn't possible—not now, at least. You should focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past."
After a long silence, Snape finally rasped, "How would I know unless I try?"
"If it were really possible, Professor Dumbledore would've come to me long ago," Wayne shook his head. He understood Snape's obsession—he just didn't want him wasting his effort.
"Fine, you won't listen anyway. Next time, remember to clean up the bloodstains properly. If the Aurors show up, you'll be in trouble."
With that, Wayne took a step forward and vanished on the spot.
Snape remained frozen in place, hand still gripping the doorknob, for a long while before finally pushing the door open and disappearing into the darkness.
He wouldn't give up.
Even if it was impossible, this was the purpose that would keep him going for the rest of his life.
...
The next day, Wayne visited the Firebolt company again.
He handed over some Muggle books on aerodynamics to the pair and then truly stepped back, leaving everything to them.
...
Time slipped silently by, and before they knew it, it was mid-August. Only two weeks remained until the start of the term.
The twins had been sending urgent letters lately, urging him to stop dawdling and come over quickly. Watching that owl named Errol deliver letters every day, Wayne was worried the poor thing might drop dead in his house.
The letters mentioned that Harry had already arrived, spending his days helping the family with farming and playing Gnome Toss together.
So after informing Hermione and Cho, Wayne set off.
He had the driver drop him off at the village of Ottery St Catchpole in Devon, carrying his suitcase as he stepped out alone.
The Burrow sat on the outskirts of the village, near a small pond.
Even from a distance, the lopsided house was visible, leaning more precariously than the Tower of Pisa, undoubtedly held up by magic.
Harry, who had been playing with a Puffskein by the window, spotted Wayne approaching from afar and immediately shouted.
Soon, the entire household came rushing out to greet him.
Even Percy, who wasn't exactly on the best of terms with Wayne, emerged, offering a friendly smile.
Standing behind Mr and Mrs Weasley, the twins grinned wildly, clearly delighted. The Burrow was their territory, after all. They still hadn't settled the score with Wayne over that incident with their report cards.
"Oh, dear, you've finally arrived," Molly said, pulling Wayne into a hug. "Welcome to The Burrow."
"Hello, Wayne," Mr Weasley greeted warmly.
"Good day," Wayne replied politely, presenting his gifts. "Mrs Weasley, this is some Australian wool yarn—excellent quality."
He handed over a large bundle of yarn, and Mrs Weasley beamed, promising to knit him another jumper by Christmas.
Gift-giving required tact. Just because the Weasleys weren't well-off didn't mean he could shower them with expensive presents. That would only come across as charity, souring friendships. Something practical like yarn struck the perfect balance—useful and heartfelt.
Then, Wayne pulled a television out of his pocket.
"Oh, I know this!" Mr Weasley exclaimed excitedly. "This is the thing that shows little people moving inside—is it called a microwave?"
"Er, no, it's called a telly," Wayne corrected with an awkward but polite smile. "Fred and George mentioned you're fond of Muggle gadgets."
"Thank you so much, Wayne!" Mr Weasley hoisted the television eagerly but hesitated. "It's not too expensive, is it?"
Wayne waved it off. "Didn't cost a thing—home-produced."
Mr Weasley assumed he'd made it himself and relaxed completely.
Harry, meanwhile, twitched his lips.
Bloody rich bloke.
Laughing and chatting, everyone headed inside. Mrs Weasley went to prepare dinner while George and Fred dragged Wayne upstairs to their room.
Harry and Ron followed.
They knew exactly how many traps the twins had set up in their room since the morning owl post arrived.
The twins' room was on the third floor, sharing the level with Ginny's.
"Welcome to George and Fred's secret den," George said, gesturing grandly.
Wayne chuckled and turned the doorknob.
The mischievous grins had just appeared on the twins' faces when Wayne grabbed one of them—not caring which—and shoved him inside. A bag of flour poured down from above, coating the entire figure in white.
Only when all the dust had settled did Wayne step through the door under the stunned gazes of the others. He glanced around the room, which was filled with books, cauldrons, and a few small contraptions. Then he grabbed the flour-covered figure and tossed him onto the bed.
The previously intact bed split open down the middle, swallowing the person whole. The other twin was then flung uncontrollably toward a chair, landing squarely on it, before ropes emerged from who knows where and bound him tightly.
After finishing all this, Wayne clapped his hands and said with a smile, "Your binding technique still needs work. I'll teach you a few tricks another day. Got any more pranks? Bring them all out at once."
"Bloody hell!" Fred, trapped beneath the bed, kicked the boards open and scrambled to his feet, too furious to even brush off the flour still clinging to him.
"Wayne, how did you know about these traps?!"
"Unfair! You must've learned some kind of Divination!" George, tied to the chair, shouted. "Teach us! Then we won't have to worry about getting caught by professors during nighttime strolls!"
Harry sighed. "I knew it. There's no way Wayne would ever come out on the losing end."
Even Snape couldn't get the better of him—there was no way the twins' hastily cobbled-together traps would work. And indeed, that was exactly how it played out.
Wayne tapped the cauldron on the floor lightly with his wand, and it immediately transformed into a plush executive chair. He sank into it comfortably and said with satisfaction,
"I got bored with these kinds of tricks back in primary school."
His infamous reputation at Westminster Abbey Primary School hadn't come from nowhere—it had been earned through the tears of countless teachers and students.
The twins exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
"Wayne, it's such a shame you're not in Gryffindor!"
"Alright, now that you've used up all your moves, it's my turn."
Ignoring the question, Wayne pulled two biscuits from his pocket and, before either twin could react, shoved them into their mouths.
BANG!
In an instant, the twins transformed into monkeys, startling Ginny, who was passing by at the time. She shrieked, "Mum! George and Fred are keeping weird creatures in the house again!"
"The effect's not bad," Wayne mused.
Watching the two monkeys screech and flail, he then fed each of them a sip of potion, restoring them to their original forms.
"That was brilliant," Ron said, eyes shining.
He'd never seen the twins so thoroughly humiliated before. Right now, he had only one thought:
Why didn't Wayne come sooner and put these two in their place a few more times?
"Is this one of your new inventions?" the twins asked eagerly, completely unfazed.
They knew when they were outmatched in pranks and mischief—they took their loss in stride, showing not a hint of displeasure. But the effect of these biscuits had them itching with impatience.
"Specially customised for the two of you. Without taking the antidote, the effects will last a full day."
Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You two haven't forgotten our bet, have you?"
Their faces fell in unison.
Harry and Ron watched them curiously.
Wayne explained the reason to these two bystanders, at which point Ron nearly laughed himself to tears.
"Hahaha! Howler monkeys! George, Fred, serves you right!"
The twins looked utterly miserable. They'd been on tenterhooks for the last two days of the holiday, thinking Wayne had forgotten since he hadn't mentioned it.
Turns out he'd been saving it for a grand finale!
Then they turned to Ron, who was doubled over laughing, and pounced on him viciously.
If we can't take on Wayne, we can still deal with you, you sneaky bastard! Die!