As an eternal LSP (CN shameless pervert), Wayne took his promises to girls quite seriously, completely unlike how he'd forget things immediately when dealing with Tom.
After finishing the day's classes, he went straight to the Headmaster's Office on the eighth floor.
"Hi, you're back again."
The gargoyle greeted him cheerfully.
"You're looking particularly glossy today." Wayne's compliments came effortlessly.
"I think so too! Dumbledore just polished me last night." The gargoyle said happily, "That set of tools you sent works wonderfully."
"The Headmaster personally maintains you?" Wayne asked curiously. "Shouldn't the house-elves handle this?"
The gargoyle made a disgusted face: "I dislike them touching my pure stone body."
Wayne shrugged. He struggled to picture Dumbledore wiping down statues with a cloth late at night.
"Is the Headmaster in?"
"He is. The password's Liquorice Wand—oh, I've said it for you."
With a strange cry, the gargoyle moved aside to reveal the passage behind it.
Dumbledore had already known someone was coming when Wayne was chatting with the guardian statue, so he wasn't surprised by the arrival.
"It's rare for you to seek me out voluntarily. What brings you here today?"
"Headmaster, it's like this..."
Wayne stated his purpose directly, prompting an involuntary smile from Dumbledore.
"Miss Chang, is it?"
"Ravenclaw girls are always so charming, aren't they?"
"Certainly." Wayne shook his head earnestly. "But Gryffindor girls are quite lovely too."
Dumbledore laughed heartily. "You're quite right. Every house has excellent children."
"However..." He adopted a troubled expression. "I understand your feelings, but this goes against school regulations..."
"Headmaster." Wayne gave him a knowing look. "Old Abe mentioned he still has plenty of your secrets he hasn't told me yet."
At this address, Dumbledore's eyelid twitched.
'Damn these generational titles...'
That day at the Hog's Head, Aberforth had downed two bottles of Firewhisky and, grateful for Wayne's significant help, kept calling him "little brother."
And Wayne had actually reciprocated, addressing Aberforth as "older brother."
Just like that, they'd become peers.
"You dare threaten the Headmaster, boy!"
Phineas couldn't resist chiming in: "Rules are rules. Turning a blind eye occasionally is one thing, but asking Dumbledore to violate them for you openly? Even if I agreed, the other headmasters wouldn't!"
Rarely did his words not provoke disgust from the other Heads of House, but this was indeed rather inappropriate. Once unwritten rules are brought into the open, even headmasters must adhere to them.
"Headmaster Black." Wayne turned calmly. "You'd better hope I don't encounter your descendants. Otherwise, I'll teach them a harsh lesson."
"You're overthinking it." Phineas Black smirked, his thin moustache quivering.
"My descendants are all locked up in Azkaban. You couldn't find them if you tried. That disgrace to the family will never see daylight again."
At this, Dumbledore's smile faded slightly.
"Is this something to be proud of?" Wayne looked genuinely puzzled. "Doesn't this mean... the ancient Black Family's lineage is about to end? Soon, the Sacred Twenty-Eight will need renaming to the Sacred Twenty-Seven."
Whoosh!
All the headmasters turned to stare at Phineas, their gazes full of pity.
Phineas stood frozen.
Indeed... with his family line coming to an end, what was there to boast about?
Just like that, the briefly emboldened Phineas retreated into self-pity again.
Even the Hufflepuff headmaster eyed Wayne strangely.
'This young man's words were like knives - each one striking straight to the heart.'
"Ahem!"
Dumbledore cleared his throat, redirecting Wayne's attention.
"Mr Lawrence, this does violate school rules. I'm afraid I can't help you."
Wayne's expression immediately darkened.
'You crafty old bastard. After all the help I've given you, not to mention training the Chosen One, this is how you repay me?"'
'I'll go to Nurmengard for advanced studies this summer!'
Dumbledore seemed oblivious as he continued speaking:
"However, the sweet reserves in the Headmaster's Office are running low. Someone needs to replenish them at Honeydukes..."
Wayne immediately changed his expression: "Headmaster, let me help you with that. It wouldn't be right to trouble the professors with such a small matter."
The speed of his expression change was remarkable.
Old Dumbledore thought to himself, 'Has this boy learned a face-changing charm or something?'
"And the money..."
"Don't mention money!" Wayne said solemnly. "It's just some sweets. No need to stand on ceremony."
Both wore satisfied smiles as Dumbledore took out two pieces of parchment and began writing swiftly.
One was a note of permission for Wayne, the other a shopping list.
Just looking at the quantity of sweets listed made Wayne's teeth ache. It wasn't the cost that pained him—it was the thought of Dumbledore's teeth. Was he treating sweets as proper meals?
No wonder Wayne rarely saw him in the Great Hall.
Taking the parchment, Wayne thought for a moment before handing Dumbledore a business card.
The old wizard looked puzzled.
"What's this?"
"Oh, it's the dental clinic run by Hermione's family. I thought you might want to visit sometime. Being the Headmaster, Mr Granger might even give you a discount."
Delighted, Dumbledore accepted it.
"Wonderful! I've always been curious about Muggle dentists. Poppy's potions... not that they're bad, but the taste is rather... unique..."
Truth be told, Mr Granger was equally curious about wizards' teeth.
Wayne silently recalled how, during his last visit to Diagon Alley with Hermione's family, Mr Granger had nearly spent two Galleons to buy a set of "wizard's teeth."
He'd stopped him just in time.
Those weren't wizard teeth—they belonged to a Goblin.
Both having obtained what they wanted, Wayne didn't linger and soon took his leave.
...
Exiting the office, Wayne had intended to head to Ravenclaw Tower to share the good news with Cho, but unexpectedly encountered someone.
A white-haired girl stood before a portrait, staring intently.
Wayne approached.
"The Scandalous Witch of the Plantagenets Marisa Mankiewicz was a twelfth-century witch with... questionable mental stability. Her favourite pastime was dosing Muggles or wizards with her homemade love potions, draining them dry before moving to her next victim. Records show nearly five hundred fell prey during her hundred and forty years."
Startled by the voice behind her, the girl turned—then became engrossed in Wayne's explanation.
By the end, her pale cheeks had flushed pink. She'd only been curious about the painting, never expecting such a scandalous history.
"Thank you."
The girl turned, murmuring softly, "H-hello. I'm Astoria Greengrass."
"I know you, and you should know me too."
Wayne lowered his head, studying Astoria.
The girl was too short, barely over 1.4 metres, and extremely thin – a gust of wind could knock her over.
It was then that he noticed Astoria's hair wasn't naturally white. It should have been golden like her sister's. The whitening could only be due to severe malnutrition... or life-force depletion.
Given the Greengrass family's status and Daphne's obvious affection for her younger sister, neglect was impossible.
That left only one explanation... the blood curse.
Wayne remained silent while Astoria grew increasingly nervous. The introverted girl felt dizzy under his gaze.
"Um... Wayne Lawrence."
The girl's voice stumbled: "My sister admires you very much. She says you're the most talented young wizard Hogwarts has ever seen... and... and very handsome."
Wayne suddenly asked: "And what do you think?"
"I feel the same," Astoria blurted out instinctively.
The corridor fell silent. When Astoria realised what she'd said, she nearly fainted from embarrassment.
Wayne waved his hand, creating a gentle push against her back to steady her.
"No need to be nervous. You and your sister have excellent taste – I happen to agree." Wayne's narcissistic remark actually helped Astoria relax slightly.
"She told you about the Unicorn matter? When are you available?"
"Next weekend?" Astoria asked cautiously. "This weekend, my sister's taking me around the school."
"I'm free anytime." Wayne neither agreed nor disagreed.
Astoria produced a Galleon, presenting it with both hands: "I know the rules. Please accept this."
Wayne: "..."
This looked suspiciously like a gang leader collecting protection money...
"Let's make this one free. Even if I charged, it wouldn't be this much." He pushed her hand back.
Astoria smiled sheepishly: "I only have Galleons on me."
'A little rich girl, huh?'
Wayne's gaze softened further. After offering some encouragement, he headed for Ravenclaw Tower.
Watching him leave, Astoria smiled.
Just as her sister said, he really was a good person.
...
"The professor agreed? That's wonderful!"
When Cho heard the news, she was overjoyed. Now they could appear openly in Hogsmeade.
"I had to pay dearly to satisfy the Headmaster's appetite." Wayne produced Dumbledore's dessert list. "How do you plan to compensate me?"
Seeing the extensive catalogue of sweets, Cho's cheeks flushed. She automatically moved closer.
Compensation? She was getting used to this.
But this time Wayne surprised her, tilting his face slightly at the last moment.
"Mmm..."
Two minutes later, he only released her when the breathless girl began struggling.
Cho collapsed against Wayne's chest, gasping for air as she complained weakly: "Wayne, you're bullying me."
"Don't be ridiculous. It's my first kiss too – fair exchange." Wayne added mentally: Today.
Another year passed, and the young girl had matured a little more... Though harvest time was still some way off, there was no harm in sampling the fruits early.
His roguish demeanour made the girl laugh, and she playfully pummelled him with small fists until someone emerged from Ravenclaw's entrance, prompting them to hastily separate.
As mealtime approached, the two descended together towards the Great Hall.
...
The first week of term swiftly came to a close on Friday.
Nearly every year group had now experienced Lockhart's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
The consensus was unanimous.
Unbearable.
These weren't Defence Against the Dark Arts classes - they were theatre workshops.
The students forcibly recruited to perform on stage particularly wished they could perish together with Lockhart. Yet the young wizards watching from below found it rather entertaining.
Though it was all recitation, this was far more amusing than listening to a professor drone on. And given Lockhart's exacting standards for scripts, they did glean some useful knowledge.
Only those eager to wield their wands felt bitterly disappointed.
Overall, it hadn't quite reached the threshold for another uprising.
At least it hadn't toppled Snape from his throne as the most detested professor.
Since the term began, Snape's temper seemed even fouler, his favouritism towards Slytherin now utterly shameless.
Were it not for Wayne securing a hundred points for Hufflepuff at term's start - preventing Slytherin from overtaking them - the other two houses would have been left completely in the dust.
Friday afternoon's final lesson for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw remained Potions class.
Snape produced an anti-allergy potion for students to practise, ignoring Wayne to instead target other pupils.
Any substandard work earned house point deductions - whether from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw mattered not, as he lost nothing either way.
Wayne frowned.
What madness possessed the man?
Yet Snape's actions remained technically permissible, leaving Wayne no grounds for open objection.
Perhaps he should sneak out tonight to beat the man senseless, then frame Dumbledore for it?
As Snape loomed over Toby and Norman's workstation, poised to deduct points, an inexplicable chill ran down his spine. Following his instincts, he locked eyes with Wayne.
His emerging smirk vanished instantly. With a derisive snort, he resumed patrolling the classroom.
...
After the lesson, young wizards grumbled about Snape's harshness.
"He treats us like machines! No human could possibly measure so precisely."
Susan, having lost two house points, sulked miserably until Hannah comforted her:
"Never mind. Let's visit the kitchens and persuade the house-elves to slip something into Snape's food."
"If he's hospitalised, he can't deduct points from anyone."
"Good thinking. My family knows a particular poison - I'll write to my aunt tonight."
Seeing Susan actually considering this, Wayne hastily intervened.
"Your aunt heads the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Asking her for poison is practically turning yourself in!"
"Do you know any poison recipes then, Wayne?" Susan gazed at him hopefully. "Nothing too lethal - just enough to incapacitate him for a few months."
Wiping imaginary sweat from his brow, Wayne said, "Leave this to me. I'll find a way to divert Snape's attention."
The group trusted Wayne implicitly. At his words, they nodded in unison, expressions brightening with anticipation.
...
Back in the common room, several Quidditch players were gathered, discussing this year's team selection.
Seeing Wayne return, Wotley quickly waved him over.
"You're just in time. Who performed best in Flying Class last year, apart from you?"
"Our lineup seems pretty complete. Are we still recruiting?" Wayne asked curiously.
"Just reserves," Cedric said with a smile. "Train them this year, and when Wotley and the others graduate next year, they can step right in."
Three members of Hufflepuff's Quidditch team were seventh-years this year. After graduation, the team's overall strength would drop significantly, so early preparation was indeed necessary.
"Cadwallader and Shabee," Wayne casually named two students.
From what he remembered, both had scored well in their flying exams.
Wotley nodded. "Alright, we'll see how they fare during Sunday's practice."
Hufflepuff had never started preparing for the new season this early before. It was all Wood's fault. When Wotley learned Slytherin had also upgraded their brooms, the pressure mounted instantly.
One might say: doubt Wood, understand Wood, become Wood.
Sometimes you really don't want to get caught up in the competition, but when everyone around you is twisting themselves into pretzels over it, you've got to at least put on a show.
Wayne didn't pay much attention to the Quidditch team's competitive antics.
He returned to his dormitory and took out Tom Riddle's Diary, along with the special ink he'd prepared.
After tormenting Tom for so long, he felt a bit guilty.
Today, he'd give him a little treat.