"YOU STOLE THE CAR! I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY EXPEL YOU! YOU PROBABLY DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT HOW YOUR FATHER AND I FELT WHEN WE REALISED IT WAS GONE—"
The moment Mrs Weasley's voice rang out, every Weasley in the school froze as if hit by a Full Body-Bind.
Ron had shrunk under the table, only his bright red forehead visible—but even that couldn't stop the Howler from continuing its tirade.
"AFTER RECEIVING DUMBLEDORE'S LETTER LAST NIGHT, YOUR FATHER WAS SO ASHAMED HE NEARLY DIED. WE DIDN'T WORK SO HARD TO RAISE YOU JUST FOR YOU TO GO RISKING YOUR LIFE WITH HARRY!
"YOUR FATHER WILL FACE DISCIPLINARY ACTION AT WORK, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU CAUSE ANY MORE TROUBLE, WE'LL PULL YOU OUT IMMEDIATELY."
With these final words, the Howler exploded into ashes, scattering across the floor. The Great Hall remained eerily silent, as though everyone had been stunned by the terrifying voice.
Wayne quietly lifted the Muffliato Charm from Cho and Hermione, then raised a box and deliberately announced loudly:
"Wotley, come take a look!"
Many snapped out of their daze at his booming voice, and the twins shot grateful glances at Wayne. Thankfully, Wayne's distraction spared them further embarrassment—though it did little to improve their mood.
Several boxes were opened by a bewildered Wotley, who let out a high-pitched shriek.
"N-Nimbus 2000s?"
Five brand-new Nimbus 2000s lay before him, an utterly staggering sight. The little badgers, hearing his cry, quickly crowded around.
...
Soon, the entire school knew.
Lawrence had generously donated five Nimbus 2000s to Hufflepuff House. Though the latest model was the Nimbus 2001, those in the know understood the difference was negligible.
The Hufflepuff Quidditch team nearly dropped to their knees to kiss Wayne's feet in gratitude.
While the brooms were donated to the house, as long as they remained on the team, they could use them for practice at any time.
Students from other houses weren't nearly as thrilled—especially Oliver Wood, captain of Gryffindor.
He'd been planning to dominate this season, only to be hit with this devastating news on the very first day. He immediately retreated into a shell of despair.
"The way Wood was glaring at you, I thought he might charge at you for a fight," Hermione remarked as they walked to the Transfiguration Classroom, describing Wood's mood so vividly that Wayne nearly laughed aloud.
"Tell Wood for me—this little setback is nothing. There's worse to come. Along with the brooms came a letter from the Quality Quidditch Supplies clerk. He mentioned some smug little blond boy bought seven Nimbus 2001s outright."
"Smug... blond..." Hermione's expression shifted as she connected the dots. "Malfoy?"
"Most likely."
Hermione gave a wry smile and pinched Wayne's arm in protest.
"You're terrible. If Wood hears this bad news now, he won't eat for a week."
"Not my fault. Blame Gryffindor for lacking a wealthy alumnus."
Chatting and laughing, they entered the classroom and took seats at the very front.
Professor McGonagall had arrived early. Since none of the students were first-years, she didn't bother transforming into a tabby cat to give them the usual Animagus shock. Instead, a dozen owls perched on the windowsill.
The professor remained stern-faced until all students were seated and the bell rang. Then she declared, "Now, take out your summer homework."
"Don't tell me you left it in your dormitory. If anyone's work is still there, you have fifteen minutes to fetch it. Nor can you claim to have left it at home. These owls are prepared specifically for you."
Wayne turned his head and saw several students wearing expressions of utter despair. The professor had anticipated their excuses!
This series of measures had effectively cut off all possible escape routes.
Neville raised his hand with a woeful expression. "Professor McGonagall, I... I... really did leave mine at home. Could you lend me an owl?"
McGonagall sighed. "Mr Longbottom, your grandmother foresaw this situation and has already sent your homework to me. Please sit down."
Neville looked as if he'd been granted a reprieve and promptly sat.
The reason for McGonagall's sigh, however, was her pity for Neville. His forgetfulness was notorious throughout the school. McGonagall suspected it might stem from the Memory Charms his grandmother had cast on him after he'd witnessed his parents being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse as a child.
It was truly a tragedy.
While Professor McGonagall treated Neville with relative kindness, she showed no such leniency towards the other students.
Justin Finch-Fletchley swallowed hard. "P-professor, what if I told you a Dark Wizard stole my summer homework? Would you believe me...?"
Professor McGonagall gave him a wry smile. "What sort of Dark Wizard would take an interest in your summer homework?"
The class erupted in laughter.
In the end, he admitted he'd only managed to complete—no, write half of it.
After checking the entire class, five students were found to have not done their homework—yes, Wayne included.
"You lot," Professor McGonagall said sternly, glaring at the four besides Wayne. "You have two days. If your homework doesn't appear on my desk by then, you'll be responsible for cleaning the lavatories this term."
They nodded weakly, inwardly relieved they still had a chance to make amends.
Once the homework was collected, the first Transfiguration lesson of the term finally began. In stark contrast to last term—where they'd turned beetles into buttons—this term's first task was to transform buttons into beetles.
The reason transforming inanimate objects into living creatures was harder than the reverse lay in the act of creation: briefly yet genuinely imbuing life into something lifeless.
Soon, the students encountered their first major hurdle. Living creatures were far more complex to comprehend than inanimate objects.
They were utterly unprepared to play the role of creators.
Many waved their wands with blank minds, unable to visualise the beetle's specific details or articulate their requirements.
The results were grotesque at best. Some produced nothing at all.
Seamus flicked his wand repeatedly, but his button merely developed spots. In frustration, his hand trembled slightly—and the button promptly burst into flames.
"Mr Finnigan, control your emotions," Professor McGonagall warned darkly. Every lesson with Seamus required her utmost vigilance to prevent accidents.
Hermione wasn't faring much better. Her button had changed shape, but only into a beetle-shaped button—still lifeless.
As for the professor's instruction to use magical power to construct a real beetle, she hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.
"Don't rush. The more impatient you are, the harder it is to concentrate," Wayne reassured her. "Put the transfiguration aside for now. Study the beetle first—once you understand it better, try again."
With that, Wayne waved his wand, transforming his button into a slowly crawling beetle.
Hermione rolled her eyes prettily.
'This bad guy, does he even know how discouraging this is?'
Still, she obediently followed Wayne's advice, ceasing her practice to instead observe the beetle's intricate details from her desk.
Meanwhile, Wayne fell into deep thought.
Having recently mastered the Meditation Technique to the Master level, he'd gained profound insights. It was time to simplify it for Hermione and Cho's benefit.
While it wouldn't transform them into monstrous geniuses like himself, reaching A-rank would be perfectly achievable.
"Mr Lawrence."
Professor McGonagall's voice startled Wayne from his reverie as she appeared behind him without being noticed.
"Professor."
"Your thesis has passed review." McGonagall's eyes sparkled with approval. "Exceptionally well-written, and quite helpful even to me."
Wayne's brilliance continually surpassed her expectations.
Talent alone made spellcasters powerful, but only genuine scholarly dedication produced papers that could aid ordinary wizards, too.
Clearly, Wayne embodied both qualities.
"All thanks to your excellent teaching," Wayne grinned, shamelessly flattering her while conveniently forgetting yesterday's incident where he'd egged Dumbledore into debating her.
"You little rascal." McGonagall shook her head ruefully. Wayne remained the only student who showed no fear of her.
Truthfully, she'd taught him little—her most valuable contributions being two notebooks containing her ongoing research notes from her professorial years, not her student days.
"Regardless, keep watch. It should appear within the next two issues of Transfiguration Today."
With that, she moved on to inspect the progress of other students.
Hermione, having overheard, appeared more excited than Wayne himself. Even after class, she chattered about someday publishing in Transfiguration Today, too.
...
Neither Harry nor Ron seemed in high spirits today, the Weasley twins equally subdued.
Mrs Weasley had mentioned that their father was undergoing Ministry of Magic investigations, the outcome of which was still unknown.
If he lost his job... what would become of their large family?
Though Wayne knew Dumbledore would ensure Mr Weasley's safety, seeing his two dispirited employees prompted him to offer minor assistance.
"Have you considered one crucial point?"
Wayne summoned the twins and began his... guidance.
"What point?" Fred asked, puzzled.
"While Ron and Harry caused major trouble implicating Mr Weasley, that's not the real issue here."
"Then what is?"
The twins perked up at once. When it came to mischief, the two of them combined couldn't hold a candle to Wayne.
"The key issue is the wall at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters!" Wayne spread his hands. "If that wall hadn't malfunctioned, would Harry and Ron have flown a car to school?"
The twins exchanged glances.
He had a point!
Why was everyone so fixated on the car?
The Daily Prophet's reports were all attacking Mr Weasley - the very man who'd spearheaded the Muggle Protection Act, yet was now neglecting his duties and knowingly breaking the law.
The more sensational the newspaper coverage became, the worse it was for Mr Weasley. But if they could shift the focus...
"I'll fetch Ron and Harry," said George, immediately heading off. Soon, he returned with both boys.
"Harry, you're certain the wall wouldn't let you through?" Wayne asked.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "The guards noticed us, and even some Muggles were staring."
Ron pointed to his own forehead as proof for Harry. "This is from crashing into the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters wall."
"Having witnesses makes it even better," Wayne nodded. "Harry, there's a way we can help Mr Weasley avoid investigation, but it requires some sacrifice from you. Are you willing?"
"Anything to help him," Harry said decisively.
"Good." Wayne clapped his hands. "Now, you'll write to the Ministry in your capacity as the Boy Who Lived, claiming someone's trying to assassinate you."
Harry looked baffled. "Who? Who wants to kill me?"
"Honestly," Wayne said exasperatedly. "That wall was obviously targeting you. Did you think it was meant for Ron? What would anyone target him for? He's practically invisible."
Ron interjected: "That's... fair, but maybe phrase it more politely next time?"
Seeing Harry's dawning comprehension, Wayne continued. "Just write that Voldemort's followers didn't want you reaching Hogwarts, so they sabotaged the platform. And Mr Weasley's car was merely a contingency plan - modified purely out of necessity to protect you."
"Oh, send copies to both the Ministry and the Daily Prophet."
"Will they believe it?" Harry scratched his head.
He didn't mind writing the letter if it helped Mr Weasley. But he was just a young wizard - what credibility did his words carry?
"Harry, you underestimate your influence in the wizarding world and overestimate those journalists and politicians' morals. As long as the story's sensational enough, the Daily Prophet won't care about facts - they'll print anything. Once public panic spreads, the Ministry will have to side with you. They'll recast Mr Weasley as a hero to regain popularity."
He understood these politicians perfectly - they were exactly like his Uncle Hacker.
Classic British governance: never mind what the people need, just check the daily papers and do whatever boosts approval ratings.
These concepts were too sophisticated for Harry's half-educated mind. Though he didn't fully grasp it, Wayne sounded so confident that he nodded anyway. "Alright, I'll write it now."
"Thank you, Harry," the twins said gratefully.
"No need to thank me. This whole mess was my fault in the first place. I was afraid you'd blame me," Harry said, waving his hand dismissively.
"And thank you, too, Wayne."
Though the twins said this, their gazes at the boy were rather peculiar. Such a devious trick... how had he even thought of it?
'We must never cross Wayne in the future, or we might end up getting sold and still helping him count the money.'
"Why are you looking at me like that? This was just a Hufflepuff helping his friends."
"If you say so," Fred said, quirking his lips.
...
Harry hurried off to write letters after finishing his meal, while Wayne went straight to Greenhouse Three for Herbology class.
To his surprise, not only was Professor Sprout there, but an unexpected person had also appeared.
"Pomona, I heard the Whomping Willow was injured. Do you need my help? Though I'm a renowned author and Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, I do know a thing or two about Herbology. If you can't handle it, I might lend a hand."
Lockhart stood beside Sprout, dressed like a preening Phoenix, chattering away without noticing her increasingly poor expression.
What did he mean, she couldn't handle it?
She was the professor of Herbology at the school.
"Thank you for your kindness, but the Whomping Willow is fine now. Yesterday, Lawrence—Lawrence, you're here!"
Before Sprout could finish, she spotted Wayne entering from outside and beckoned him over eagerly, her face lighting up.
Then, she introduced him to Lockhart: "This is Wayne Lawrence. It was his Phoenix that saved the Whomping Willow, so we won't be needing you 'lending a hand' after all."
Lockhart completely missed the irritation in Sprout's tone and instead studied Wayne with interest.
"Ah, Lawrence, was it? I know of you—the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin. I've also received that honour, though I was slightly older than you. But had I wanted to, I might have earned it during my school years, too."
Wayne's expression turned disdainful. He had no fondness for this fraud and retorted bluntly: "Professor Lockhart, leaving aside whether you could've achieved such a feat as a student... Even now, you only have a third-class Order of Merlin, while mine is second-class. Why claim we're the same?"
Lockhart's brilliant smile vanished.