Hearing Wayne so thoroughly dismiss Lockhart, Sprout nearly laughed aloud.
"Lawrence, you're quite amusing," Lockhart said with a hollow chuckle. "Your luck truly is better than mine."
"That wasn't luck!" Sprout suddenly turned stern. "Professor Lockhart, you do realise how dangerous Scourers are, don't you?"
"Of course," Lockhart replied, his smile returning. "I've encountered them before—quite thrilling indeed. Perhaps my next book will cover Scourers."
"In which country did you encounter them?" Wayne interjected.
"Well, um... a very small one. It was so long ago, I'd need to recall the details properly," Lockhart hedged.
"If the Whomping Willow is fine, then my assistance isn't needed. Pomona, feel free to consult me anytime. Don't stand on ceremony—we're colleagues, after all."
With that, Lockhart breezed out without so much as glancing at Professor Sprout's stormy expression.
"Professor, Professor Lockhart seems... rather unreliable," Wayne said, subtly stoking the flames.
Professor Sprout sighed. "Finding a wizard willing to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts is difficult enough as it is."
"I think Professor Snape would be excellent," Wayne said with a smile. "He's been applying for the position for years. Why don't you put in a good word for him with Professor Dumbledore? It might just work."
Professor Sprout gave him an odd look. "Lawrence, I'm aware your relationship with Professor Snape is... complicated, but really—"
"I'm just considering Professor Snape's best interests."
"Well, that's entirely unnecessary."
...
With Wayne's help, the two prepared the flowerpots, soil and dozens of fluffy earmuffs in various colours before the other students arrived.
Soon, the badgers and snakes filed in.
Malfoy's voice carried loudly across the crowd, his face alight with glee. Harry and Ron might have escaped punishment, but Mr Weasley being investigated was absolutely cause for celebration. Malfoy was certain his father was already popping champagne at home.
"Lawrence." Spotting Wayne, Malfoy strode over cheerfully. "Heard you donated five Nimbus 2001s to Hufflepuff."
"Indeed," Wayne nodded.
"What a coincidence," Malfoy said, tilting his chin up. "I donated six Nimbus 2001s to Slytherin and became this year's Seeker."
Wayne gave a thumbs-up. "Truly worthy of the Malfoy Family's young master—such impressive resources."
Malfoy's lips twitched uncontrollably at the praise, though he still clarified: "I didn't join the Quidditch team just because I donated brooms. I genuinely have the skill."
"Right, right. I believe you."
Malfoy then brought up the tutoring sessions. Hearing he'd brought the money, Wayne perked up immediately and scheduled it for Saturday evening. His depleted vault desperately needed replenishing.
During the holidays, after drawing the late-game powerhouse Gathering Storm, Wayne had attempted another hundred draws. The Leaky Cauldron's back courtyard remained unchanged, especially during the new term when the steady stream of students provided decent points—enough to cover his final shortfall.
The results, however, nearly made Wayne swear aloud.
Not only had he failed to obtain any new rune talents from the purple rewards, but the gold reward was merely an S-tier template card—practically worthless.
A hundred draws down the drain left him so heartbroken he couldn't even muster the energy to tease the little witches for days, leaving Cho and Hermione puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour.
But with Malfoy's fifteen hundred Galleons incoming, Wayne would soon have his chance to redeem himself.
No sooner had he bid farewell to one generous patron than another appeared—a wealthy young lady.
Daphne Greengrass commissioned a custom map as a gift for her sister, which Wayne readily agreed to.
Then, recalling something, he asked, "Didn't you say your sister adores Unicorns? Let me know when she's free—I'd be happy to show her some."
Daphne had indeed helped him quite a bit, and Wayne also wanted to see how Astoria's curse differed from Nagini's.
"Are you really okay with it?" Daphne asked, pleasantly surprised.
"Of course."
"Then I'll go ask my sister."
"Alright, let me know once you've confirmed the time, and I'll make the arrangements."
They hadn't spoken much more before the class bell rang. Professor Sprout looked at the young wizards with a smile and said, "Today, we'll be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who can tell me what properties Mandrakes possess?"
Many of the little badgers raised their hands—Herbology was their forte. Sprout called on Hannah.
"Mandrakes, also known as Mandrake roots, are a powerful restorative. They can be used to return transfigured or cursed individuals to their original state."
"Excellent, ten points to Hufflepuff," Sprout said generously. "Remember, everyone, Mandrakes are highly beneficial herbs, but they are also dangerous. Their cries can even be fatal."
Several young wizards grew visibly nervous, prompting Sprout to reassure them, "Don't worry. The Mandrakes we have here are still very young. Even if you hear their cries, you'll only feel unwell for a short while."
Relieved, the students gathered around a row of deep trays, though all they could see were small greenish-purple seedlings.
"Everyone, take a pair of earmuffs," Sprout instructed.
A scramble ensued—no one wanted the pink fluffy ones. Wayne, however, simply transfigured a piece of chocolate from his pocket into earmuffs and put them on.
Professor Sprout also donned her earmuffs, rolled up her sleeves, and seized a clump of leaves, yanking it forcefully from the soil.
What emerged wasn't a root but a very ugly baby, with leaves sprouting from its head. The little creature wailed and squirmed, growing even uglier.
Only after Sprout stuffed the Mandrake into a new pot did the noise cease.
Next, she divided them into groups of four to repot and fertilise the Mandrakes.
Wayne called over Hannah and his two roommates.
Norman was in charge of pulling them out, Toby prepared the pots, and Hannah handled the compost and soil. Though Sprout made it look easy, the Mandrakes were far from cooperative, thrashing violently and nearly biting Hannah.
Wayne wasn't about to indulge them. Blocking Sprout's line of sight with his body, he subtly aimed his wand from his sleeve.
"Stupefy!"
Bang!
The Mandrake instantly went limp. The other three stared at him, dumbfounded, exchanging silent glances.
'Is this really okay?'
"Relax, it's just putting them to sleep for a bit. As long as we don't get caught," Wayne said, confident in his expertise in making things—or people—nap.
Although Hannah and the others were still uneasy, the method undeniably accelerated their progress.
...
By the end of class, their group had repotted fifteen Mandrakes—the highest count—earning Hufflepuff another ten points.
This was the last lesson of the day, with two hours left until dinner. Wayne decided to kill some time in the library.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione was already there.
She was buried in a thick Transfiguration book, her nose practically pressed to the pages.
On the first day of term, not many students bothered with the library.
Wayne led the little witch to a good spot near the window and had a lovely nap in the sunlight.
He was gently nudged awake by Hermione just before dinner.
"Thank goodness, I finally found you."
As soon as he stepped into the Great Hall, Wayne was pulled aside by an excited Harry, who produced a letter he'd written.
"Quick, have a look. Anything that needs changing? I want to send it out as soon as possible."
Wayne took the parchment and skimmed through it.
"Nothing wrong with it. Just add a bloody fingerprint for extra emotional impact."
"Do I have to?" Harry shuddered, looking apprehensive.
Wayne shrugged indifferently. "It'd definitely be better with one, but without it, it's just a bit less convincing."
Hearing this, Harry steeled himself for the sake of helping Mr Weasley. "Ron, I can't do it myself. You'll have to help me."
"Alright." Ron, who had followed them, gave Harry a grateful look—this was all for his dad, after all.
Ron transfigured his wand into a blade and made a cut on Harry's thumb.
Fortunately, since the car had been reinforced, his wand showed no signs of damage—a small mercy amidst the misfortune.
Soon, Harry pressed a bloody fingerprint onto the letter and nodded in satisfaction. It now looked far more intimidating.
Not wanting to waste so much blood, he pressed it firmly onto both letters.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry suddenly noticed Wayne staring at him oddly and asked in confusion.
Wayne looked pained. "When I said bloody fingerprint... I meant you could've just borrowed some animal blood from the kitchen or Hagrid. I didn't mean you had to use your own."
Harry: "Why didn't you say so earlier?!"
Suppressing a laugh, Wayne cast a Healing Charm on Harry and urged him to send the letter tonight—they might even see the results in the Daily Prophet by tomorrow.
The two then hurried off to find an owl.
...
After dinner, Wayne returned to his dorm.
His two roommates were in the common room, frantically catching up on homework with the other badgers, so the dorm itself was perfectly quiet.
After a moment's thought, he opened the wooden box and took out the tattered notebook. Since he had nothing better to do, why not chat with his old schoolmate and strengthen their bond?
Before opening the notebook, Wayne pushed his Occlumency to its limits, ensuring even Dumbledore wouldn't detect anything amiss.
Sure, he mocked Voldemort for failing to conquer a school, but that was just banter.
Voldemort might seem low-tier, but his talent and power were far from poor—Dumbledore himself had admitted as much.
Voldemort was the culmination of Dark Magic, pushing it to unprecedented heights. Grindelwald, for all his ruthlessness, never earned such high praise from Dumbledore.
Grindelwald's terror lay more in the danger and seduction of his ideology. Though his combat prowess was formidable, how much of that was due to the Elder Wand, Wayne couldn't say.
So, when facing the diary, he had to be fully prepared.
Wayne adjusted his mindset, trying to adopt the perspective of an ordinary second-year student like Toby or Norman.
Occlumency wasn't about emptying one's mind entirely—it was about thinking normal thoughts, the kind a Legilimency Spell could safely read. Otherwise, it would be obvious something was wrong – even an idiot could tell.
After trying for ages, Wayne realised he'd failed. Playing the fool wasn't so easy to imitate.
He had no choice but to adopt Hermione's perspective, disguising himself as a studious, highly motivated good student.
Wayne flipped open the cover and naturally began writing down key points from today's Transfiguration lesson that Professor McGonagall had mentioned.
He used ordinary ink rather than the enhanced version – no sense letting Tom taste sweetness straight away, and it might give him away too easily.
At first, everything seemed normal, but after writing three lines, the previous words began fading until they disappeared completely.
Wayne frowned as if deeply puzzled by this bizarre phenomenon. Soon, new writing appeared on the blank page.
[Hmm, buttons into beetles – you must be a second-year at Hogwarts.]
The words floated on the page as if alive. Wayne's expression changed, and he hurriedly turned the page.
He continued taking notes on the next page, but the writing vanished just as quickly, with new words surfacing again.
[Hello, don't be afraid. This is just a memory. My name is Tom Riddle, and I was once a student at Hogwarts too.]
[If you don't believe me, you can check the Trophy Room – my awards should still be there.]
After hesitating, Wayne finally wrote:
"You were really a Hogwarts student? I've heard magical objects that can communicate are either very advanced or Dark Artefacts."
Seeing Wayne willing to engage, Tom, in the diary, was delighted, the words appearing faster now.
[I'm no Dark Artefact. This diary was made to commemorate my school days.]
"That's really impressive, making something like this as a student."
[Not at all. I noticed you have a profound understanding of inanimate-to-animate Transfiguration – you must get excellent grades?]
Wayne allowed some pleased emotion to show, his writing speeding up.
"Of course, I'm the teachers' favourite. Last year's exams were straight Os across all subjects."
[How fortunate I am that someone equally brilliant found me. I was always the top student too – what a coincidence.]
Tom and Wayne were like a playboy meeting a manipulator, constantly engaging in a push-and-pull dynamic.
To quickly gain Wayne's trust, Tom adopted an adoring "you're amazing" attitude towards everything he wrote.
Meanwhile, Wayne absorbed all the flattery without offering anything useful in return.
Eventually, Tom – desperate to understand the current situation – cracked first.
[Could you tell me how you acquired me?]
The corners of Wayne's lips curled slightly.
'Couldn't hold out, could he?'
Seventeen-year-old Tom was still too young.
After consideration, Wayne wrote: "It was inside a battered old Transfiguration textbook. I bought it as a collector's item but found this notebook tucked inside."
"Thought I'd put rubbish to good use by taking notes in it."
Tom fell into prolonged silence. Rubbish?
He'd actually been called rubbish?
Tom Riddle, who'd always sailed smoothly through life, had never suffered such humiliation before. But to gather more information, he chose to endure for now!
[That's wonderful. If a student who dislikes studying found this diary, I'd be in real trouble.]
From the crooked handwriting, Wayne could tell that Tom was insincere and nearly laughed aloud.
Just then, the dormitory door swung open as Toby and Norman entered.
Seizing the moment to end this first encounter, Wayne scribbled hastily in the diary: "My friends are back. Let's talk another time. Goodbye, Tom."
Without waiting for a reply, he snapped the diary shut and returned it to its box.
Rule One of Player Handbook: Don't appear overly eager during initial contact. Sever the connection at the right moment to leave them yearning.
Only then could one maintain the upper hand in subsequent interactions.
Tom Riddle might know magic, but he understood neither men nor women~