Harry felt wounded. He'd assumed his relationship with Wayne would guarantee him some preferential treatment, however subtle.
Yet their friendship had been overthrown by a single measly Galleon. He was beginning to suspect that with enough gold, Wayne might even storm the Headmaster's Office.
Unfortunately, that would require astronomical sums – far beyond this poor bloke's means.
By the law of equivalent happiness, Harry's misery became Malfoy's delight. The blond flourished his wand excitedly, urging Harry to get ready.
Resigned, Harry took a position ten metres away.
Wayne retreated to a corner, stopwatch in hand.
"Three minutes – begin!"
Whoosh!
The moment the signal came, Malfoy eagerly activated his wand, finding it even more satisfying than his own. Though the spells lacked power, their nonverbal spellcasting allowed instant release with mere thoughts.
Several red streaks shot forth. Harry instinctively dodged, but only avoided one. The rest struck home, bumping his score to three.
Malfoy grew more animated at Harry's pained expression, sending red flashes in rapid succession.
Suddenly, the lights vanished. Malfoy looked questioningly at Wayne, raising his wand as if to say, "Is this thing faulty?"
Harry seized the chance to rub his sore spots – Wayne hadn't lied about cumulative hits stinging.
"Did you think you could cast spells nonstop?" Wayne paused the stopwatch, rolling his eyes. "Didn't you notice the blue groove on the wand?"
Malfoy blinked, looking down. There was indeed a very fine groove, currently emitting a faint glow. He tentatively launched an attack, and sure enough, the groove shortened slightly.
About a dozen more times, and it would reach the bottom.
"This is to simulate more realistic spellcasting conditions. Any other questions? If not, let's continue."
Malfoy shook his head, and Wayne pressed the stopwatch again.
...
What followed was an utterly brutal pummelling.
Even with some restrictions, Malfoy gradually grasped the trick – as long as he maintained a steady casting rhythm, the blue gauge would never deplete completely.
Meanwhile, Harry could only scurry around the room like a headless fly, vividly recalling how similarly helpless he'd felt last year watching Wayne duel with Quirrell – no, with Voldemort.
"Don't just run, Harry," Wayne chided from the sidelines. "Observe Malfoy's movements! Anticipate, anticipate!"
The truth was, when thoroughly overwhelmed, advice simply couldn't penetrate.
Wayne's scolding fell on deaf ears.
Harry could only rely on Malfoy's poor aim and his own agility to minimise the damage. When truly cornered, he'd turn his back to take hits elsewhere.
Finally, three minutes elapsed.
"Stop!"
Wayne called time, but Malfoy kept enthusiastically flicking his wand.
Swish!
Wayne raised his hand, and Malfoy's wand flew from his grip into Wayne's palm.
"I said stop. Didn't you hear?" Wayne's casual glance instantly sobered Malfoy, who hurriedly apologised.
"I got carried away. Sorry."
"Mind it next time." After the warning, Wayne announced, "Harry, your turn."
"Let me recover first." Harry limped over, wincing as he rubbed sore spots.
Dotted with glowing marks, he might as well have been a firefly.
The scoreboard read: 79 points.
Seventy-nine hits in three minutes.
"Are spells really that fast?" Harry complained. "I couldn't react in time."
"That wasn't a reaction – that was pure guesswork," Wayne bluntly corrected. "Combat demands composure. You're panicking during training – imagine facing real enemies."
"As for spell speed..." Wayne drew his wand and casually flicked it. Before their eyes could focus, a chair at the back shattered into dust.
"Still think earlier was fast?"
Harry bristled at the criticism but hung his head in shame, recalling his performance. The moment spells flew, fear had blanked his mind.
Nearby, Malfoy's muffled snicker earned him Harry's glare.
"Malfoy." Harry grinned fiercely. "Your turn now!"
"Scared of you?" Malfoy feigned confidence, positioning himself a full fifteen metres away.
"Begin!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Fresh wails filled the room. Initially, Malfoy remembered Wayne's advice about observing movements.
But he soon discovered the problem:
His eyes could track.
His body wouldn't obey.
Rather than standing dumbly as target practice, he emulated Harry's earlier tactic – chaotic evasion.
Wayne shook his head, unable to watch further.
...
For two hours, they took turns enduring beatings, competing only in pain tolerance.
By the end, even raising their arms sent waves of agony through their bodies.
"Enough for today." When Harry finished his last round against Malfoy, Wayne spoke up.
The scoreboard had long reached its maximum value of 999 – it seemed he'd been too conservative when designing it.
Who knew these two would be so poor?
Both Harry and Malfoy were grimacing, but they stubbornly refused to cry out, neither wanting to lose face in front of the other.
Wayne tossed each of them a potion. "Get your roommates to apply this when you're back. The pain will be gone by morning."
"I'll modify the wands further to simulate actual spellcasting better. For this month, your priority is learning to take hits."
Neither Harry nor Malfoy objected.
They could genuinely feel the difference, from initially flinching at spells to gradually learning to dodge after getting accustomed. Though their skills hadn't improved much, the shift in mentality was undeniable.
The fees were steep, but Wayne was teaching them seriously.
This combat atmosphere was something they'd never experienced in Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
That alone made it worth it.
Wayne restored all the desks and chairs to their original positions before leaving the classroom.
"Same time next week. Let me know in advance if anything comes up."
"Oh, one more thing." Wayne suddenly turned back, smiling at Malfoy.
"Wake up early tomorrow. There'll be quite a show."
Malfoy felt a chill run down his spine and opened his mouth to speak, but Wayne had already vanished.
Harry smirked at him. "Serves you right, Malfoy. Should've kept your housemates' mouths shut."
"Shut it, Potter!" Malfoy snapped irritably. "This has nothing to do with me. It was Flint."
"Same difference," Harry said dismissively. "You Slytherins had it coming."
Malfoy glowered. "Looking for another fight?"
"Bring it on," Harry shot back.
They quickly came to blows before separating just as fast.
Their wounds hurt like hell!
...
Click!
The door to the Hufflepuff Common Room swung open as Wayne entered.
Checking the time, it was just past ten.
Knowing badgers as he did, hardly anyone would be asleep at this hour.
Wayne cleared his throat.
Cedric, mid-game of ten-pin bowling with friends, instinctively sensed trouble and tried to intervene, but Wayne's magically amplified voice already echoed through the dormitories.
"All students still awake – emergency meeting!"
Bang!
Bang!
Within seconds, bedroom doors flew open violently.
Badgers came scrambling out, some even emerging from the bathrooms in slippers with toothbrushes still in their mouths.
Excitement glittered in many eyes, although the first-years looked bewildered.
Upper years and fellow second-year students knew – when Wayne called a meeting, something big was always to follow.
Last year, there'd only been two such gatherings.
The first time, they'd stormed the Headmaster's Office. The second, fifty signed copies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them had been up for grabs.
This time...
Those aware of that morning's events already had suspicions.
"Good turnout," Wayne said, hopping onto a table to survey the crowd. Nearly ninety per cent had assembled.
"You all know what happened this morning?"
He cut straight to the point.
Many nodded.
Wotley stood holding a burlap sack.
"Are we going to ambush Flint? You don't need this many people – our Quidditch team can accompany you there."
Cedric stared at his captain in shock.
'Why does it feel like this guy has awakened some terrifying new hobby?'
"Of course not! This is a personal matter. How could I drag you all into it?" Wayne shook his head repeatedly before declaring loudly:
"Everyone knows my relationship with Hermione. Flint bullying Muggle-born wizards like us – I can't just stand by and watch."
"First thing tomorrow morning, I'm going to blockade the Slytherin common room! What I want to make clear is that this has nothing to do with Hufflepuff – it's entirely my personal action. So please, nobody come to help me!"
Wayne lowered his head, speaking with visible remorse. "If my recklessness loses house points, I sincerely apologise. But some things must be done. If I don't stand up today, won't people think they can freely insult my friends tomorrow?"
"As a Hufflepuff, I absolutely cannot allow this to happen!"
Hearing Wayne's words, many sensitive girls had tears welling in their eyes.
Most had assumed Wayne gathered them to collectively demand justice. Who could've guessed he was actually persuading them not to get involved?
Moreover, he'd preemptively apologised... simply because his actions might cost the house points...
What a kind soul!
No. Unacceptable.
Emilia Grace stepped forward, climbed onto a table, and pulled Wayne into a crushing embrace, burying his face in her... considerable assets.
"Don't talk nonsense," Grace said with unprecedented gentleness. "Didn't you always say Hufflepuffs stand together? Granger is your girlfriend, but she's also Hufflepuff's friend. If she's insulted, how could I stand idly by..."
"Regardless of others, I'm definitely going with you tomorrow!"
"Mmmph! Senior... can't... breathe!" Wayne's muffled protests emerged.
"Exactly, Wayne! We're all your loyal friends. Your business is our business!"
"Count me in!"
"I'm Muggle-born too – one of their so-called 'Mudbloods'. Insulting Granger means insulting me!"
With Grace leading the charge, the girls became impassioned, and the boys needed no encouragement.
As men, they could tolerate being called lecherous or scoundrels... but the one thing they'd never accept was being called disloyal!
Wayne clearly wasn't treating them as brothers.
"Why wait until tomorrow? Let's go today!" shouted a fifth-year, met with roaring approval.
Wayne hastily extracted his head from the senior's ample bosom, his face flushed crimson.
"It's too late today, Flint must be asleep already. There's no point blocking his door now. In that case, I plan to go at eight tomorrow morning. Anyone who wants to join me can wait in the Common Room."
"Agreed!"
Cedric stared wide-eyed at his classmates who had fully transformed into battle mode, then suddenly twitched his nose.
Where was this strong scent of tea coming from?
"Eight might be too late – some Slytherins will already be heading to breakfast by then," suggested the fifth-year Prefect. "How about earlier, say six?"
"Let everyone sleep in on the weekend," Wayne said, shaking his head.
"My target is only Flint. The other Slytherins are still my friends. We'll just call him out when the time comes."
"So how do you plan to punish him?" someone asked.
"Find him a cool place to reflect on his mistakes. An apology once he realises his error will suffice."
"Wayne, you're too kind," a female student said sympathetically, hugging him.
Cedric couldn't help feeling envious.
...
At dawn, the well-rested badgers had already gathered in the Common Room.
Nearly everyone was willing to join Wayne in making a scene.
The more experienced badgers had realised that the larger their numbers, the bigger the disturbance they could create – yet the lighter their eventual punishment would be.
An emperor shouldn't send out hungry soldiers, so Wayne naturally couldn't let everyone help on an empty stomach. He had the house-elves deliver food to the Common Room.
His quick scan of the room gave him a clear picture.
Only a handful were missing. Some preferred avoiding trouble or feared punishment – that was normal. Wayne wouldn't hold it against them, though he might keep more distance in future.
But he distinctly remembered one person who'd vowed passionately yesterday to join him.
That person was absent today.
Wayne asked casually, "By the way, where's Smith? I've finished the quill he ordered from me the other day."
"Which Smith?" Hannah asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes beside him. There were five or six Smiths in Hufflepuff.
"From our year – Zacharias."
"He said he'd be right out," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, who shared a dorm with him.
Yet even after breakfast was finished, Zacharias still hadn't appeared.
"Strange, is Zacharias not coming? He definitely promised yesterday," Ernie Macmillan muttered.
Several had heard this.
Susan's expression darkened, while Toby and Norman stood up angrily.
Now everyone understood, their faces showing disgust.
Had Zacharias Smith made no promises, his absence wouldn't matter.
But this betrayal of his word cut deeper.
"It's fine," Wayne said with a strained smile, stopping his two roommates from storming back to the dorm.
"Maybe he's not feeling well. Macmillan, could you give him this quill? It's what he asked me for on Friday."
"Why bother giving it to him now!" Hannah said indignantly.
"Don't be like that, Hannah. We're all friends here," Wayne comforted her.
Cedric couldn't help adding, "Wayne, even Hufflepuff produces the occasional bad egg."
The words carried considerable weight, yet no one stepped forward to refute them. Instead, nods of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Just look at Lawrence—even after you went back on your word, he still spoke up for you and remembered to gift you that quill.
What magnanimity.
By comparison, almost no one had a favourable impression of Zacharias now.
"Enough," Wayne said, standing up and drawing his wand.
"As I said last night, this is a private matter. His absence isn't an issue, so let's not dwell on it further. Now, let's move out!"
"Let's go!"
The badgers' roar shook the ceiling as the barrel door swung open. Led by Wayne, over a hundred students marched out with formidable momentum.
Even after Wayne's kindness, Flint still dared to bully his girlfriend.
Utterly shameless!
We Hufflepuffs won't stand for it.
We'll protect the world's best Hufflepuff!