In the Gryffindor common room, Professor McGonagall made a rare appearance in the students' area.
There was an unwritten rule in the school.
Unless under special circumstances, Heads of Houses didn't enter common rooms, allowing students their own space to relax freely.
When McGonagall entered, the usually boisterous Weasley twins froze for a second before hastily hiding their contraband behind their backs.
The other young wizards stood up nervously.
Sharp-eyed McGonagall ignored the twins' antics and had the students in their dormitories summoned. When most had gathered, she spoke:
"I trust you're all aware how exceptionally hardworking the Hufflepuff students have been recently."
The group exchanged glances.
How could they not know? The library had practically been taken over by Hufflepuffs, who had to be chased out every evening by Madam Pince.
A collective sense of foreboding rose in their hearts.
Surely she wasn't going to make them join this academic arms race?
Indeed... Professor McGonagall continued:
"When others are studying diligently, what right do you have to waste time here?"
"Starting tomorrow, I'll be coming here every evening for an hour to check your progress. Feel free to ask me any questions, even if they're not about Transfiguration."
"If anyone fails any subject in the final exams..." The elder cat-woman's gaze turned sharp.
"Then next term, you'll be doing your homework in my office!"
At this punishment, Neville looked ready to cry.
How could he possibly pass Potions and History of Magic?
However, Professor McGonagall wasn't without rewards. Any student ranking in the top ten of their year would have their summer homework halved, while the top three wouldn't have to do any at all – quite the tempting offer.
As she was leaving, Hermione hurried over to stop her.
After a brief exchange, McGonagall smiled approvingly, patted Hermione on the shoulder, and exited the common room.
"What did you say to Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked curiously.
"Nothing much. Just asked whether the top three could still do their homework if they wanted."
"You're serious?" Ron stared at Hermione as if she were some sort of monster.
"Of course," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "If you don't do any homework over the holidays, you'll forget everything you've learned by term start."
Ron muttered, "Mad... the whole world's gone completely mad..."
...
In Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick had announced his own incentives.
Students who made the top ten would receive a week-long pass for the Restricted Section, along with the chance to learn a spell he'd personally improved.
These rewards were even more generous than McGonagall's – Restricted Section passes weren't easily come by.
Even for specified books, they were hard to obtain.
This immediately sparked everyone's academic enthusiasm. Only Slytherin's atmosphere differed markedly from the other houses.
...
Snape's mood was exceptionally foul, bordering on dreadful.
That damned Lawrence was playing the hero with his invented spells, encouraging Hufflepuff students to study hard and surpass his own pupils.
What sort of NTR plot was this!
In the dimly lit common room, Slytherin's young serpents dared not even breathe loudly. Only a handful of bold students risked glancing up to witness their Head of House's masterful facial contortions.
After a prolonged silence, Snape finally regained composure, his voice dangerously low:
"I don't care what methods you employ. Should anyone fail this examination... pray I'm no longer Slytherin's Head of House next year."
"Humiliate me, and I'll ensure your discomfort."
His icy gaze lingered particularly on Crabbe and Goyle – those two Trolls – until both were drenched in sweat, before shifting to other academically challenged students.
"I expect at least four of our house in every year's top ten," Snape stated flatly. "For each missing name, we'll deduct one Hogsmeade weekend next term."
Thus did Snape perform his pressure-transferring magic, redirecting all Wayne-induced fury onto his students.
One brave soul trembled as he raised a hand: "Sir, what about rewards?"
"Pardon?" Snape inquired with deceptive softness. "Repeat that?"
"Other houses offer incentives for top-ten placements, sir," Russel helpfully clarified, mistaking the question.
"Rewards..." Snape's expression dawned with mock realisation before twisting into fury. "How about rewarding you by stripping your Prefect badge? Or perhaps transferring you to another house?"
"Academic excellence is your birthright! Noble pure-bloods begging for rewards when outperformed by Muggle-borns who've barely touched magic? Have you no shame?"
The venomous tirade left the students shell-shocked beneath the verbal deluge.
Only when hoarse from shouting did Snape reluctantly pause. Seeing the petrified crowd reignited his temper.
"Stop gawping like lumber! Revise!"
...
The four houses' unintended synergy propelled Wayne's business to new heights.
The castle now breathed an air of relentless competition, with assignments piling beyond completion.
Yet two figures floated above the fray, perpetually amused.
First came Professor Sprout.
With diligent Lawrence motivating the badgers, she needn't fret over their studies – merely answering occasional questions sufficed.
'Next term, I must invent reasons to award Wayne more points,' she mused.
Such a kind soul, funding rewards from his own pocket and discounting his painstakingly brewed potions to boost classmates' results.
The perfect Hufflepuff.
The second contented observer was Wayne himself.
With Gardevoir handling production, and the twins, Penelope and Cedric managing sales, he presided as a hands-off proprietor.
As for revision? A single night's cramming would suffice.
His true focus now lay upon the Celestial Dragon's legacy. The vast ocean of knowledge once left him at a loss about where to begin his studies.
After nearly a week of organising, he finally managed to sort out his thoughts.
For the dragon king and his kin, time was the most meaningless concept. Thus, reaching full maturity would require an unimaginable span of years.
In the end, Wayne decided to prioritise improving his physical body.
Once his body had grown strong enough, he would then begin condensing the power of star-forging to form a core of origin and evolve his life form.
Wait—no.
Strengthening his body was itself an evolutionary process.
The inherited memories did indeed contain methods to enhance his physique, and they were remarkably simple.
Just bask in the sunlight more during the day and gaze at the moon more at night.
The sun was also a star, and stars emitted stellar energy that could be absorbed and utilised, gradually transforming his body.
However, Wayne feared overloading himself, so he proceeded with the enhancement at an extremely slow pace. Not that he minded—taking it step by step was fine.
...
The weather grew hotter, and before they knew it, June had arrived.
The first week was the school's examination period.
That night, Wayne had an utterly bizarre dream.
Tom stole Harry's flesh and blood, stood before a large cauldron, raised his hands to the sky and shouted:
"Revive, my beloved!"
Then Voldemort was resurrected, but before he could even comprehend what was happening, Tom hit him with an Avada Kedavra, killing him instantly.
Tom then inherited all of Voldemort's power and Horcruxes, becoming the 2.5th-generation Dark Lord.
When Wayne woke up, he was completely dumbfounded.
The dream was absurd yet followed a bizarrely rigorous logic, leaving him unsure whether it had been a prophetic vision.
With Ho-Oh's protection, he couldn't possibly have been cursed or ambushed.
Moreover, prophetic dreams weren't unheard of in magical history—but Wayne had never experienced one before.
After pondering for a long time, he still couldn't reach a definitive conclusion. Even during the morning's Transfiguration exam, his mind was elsewhere.
Professor McGonagall deliberately walked over to check on him, only to find—unsurprisingly—that Wayne's paper was yet another flawless score. She gave an imperceptible nod before continuing her rounds.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked with concern as they left the examination hall, having noticed Wayne's distracted state earlier.
"Nothing," Wayne shook his head. "Had a nightmare last night, didn't sleep well."
After finishing his paper, he had reconsidered the dream and found it too outlandish.
He decided it must have been his subconscious longing for Tom—thoughts by day, dreams by night.
Over the following days, the young wizards threw themselves entirely into their exams.
Only after the final Potions exam were they truly liberated.
Tossing aside the textbooks that had plagued them for over a month, they began to enjoy the happiest time of the year.
Wayne, too, set aside all other matters to watch the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.
This year truly was Gryffindor's most promising one. They had already defeated formidable opponents in their first two matches, Harry hadn't suffered any mishaps, and their overall strength completely overwhelmed Ravenclaw's.
Wood's voice grew hoarse from shouting as he relentlessly directed the twins to protect Harry while urging Angelina and the other two to switch up their offensive tactics.
Throughout the entire match, Ravenclaw barely managed to fight back.
Faced with the lure of the championship, not even beauty could stop them from giving their all.
Half an hour later, Harry caught the Golden Snitch, securing a resounding victory of 280 to 50 and claiming this year's Quidditch Cup.
After their triumph, Wood was moved to tears, hugging Harry while babbling incoherently.
Over at the Hufflepuff stands, Wotley sighed. "Let's go. Even if we can't win the championship, we still need to secure tomorrow's match."
"Exactly. We can't end on a loss, right?" another graduating teammate chimed in with a laugh.
"Come on, wipe those long faces," Wotley said, playfully punching Henderson on the shoulder.
"We won the championship last year, so it's not terrible if we miss out this time."
"At least my captaincy ended on a high note. Next year, you'll need to support Cedric properly."
"So you're not passing the captaincy to me?" Wayne joked.
"If you join the Quidditch team, I'll hand it over to you in a heartbeat," Cedric replied with a grin. "Being captain comes with a mountain of headaches—I'm not exactly thrilled about it."
"Then never mind. I'll have my hands full next academic year," Wayne said meaningfully.
The group returned to the common room in high spirits, and Wotley even shared some good news—he'd received an invitation to join the Wigtown Wanderers, albeit as a reserve player.
However, the regular Chaser would retire in the next two years, so Wotley wouldn't lack playing opportunities.
Everyone congratulated him—turning a hobby into a career was indeed a fortunate thing.
The next day, the match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin commenced as scheduled.
Several Hufflepuff students soared into the air, dragging a long banner to cheer for their team.
Not to be outdone, Slytherin students drank Flying Potions to float upwards, setting off magical fireworks that formed fierce-looking serpents.
Watching this chaotic spectacle, several professors twitched their eyelids.
Anyone unaware might think Hogwarts' teaching standards had advanced enough to allow students to fly freely.
Dumbledore chuckled as he observed this lively scene.
A mere Second-Class Order of Merlin was far from worthy of such a groundbreaking potion—the judging panel had been far too conservative.
...
The whistle blew, and players from both sides rose into the air on their brooms.
This match held immense importance for both teams.
Wotley and two other graduating students wanted a victory as their farewell gift, while Cedric and the others shared the same ambition.
Marcus Flint, however, sought revenge.
Too cowardly to confront Lawrence directly, he pinned his hopes on defeating Hufflepuff on the pitch, longing to see Lawrence's crestfallen expression.
After exams ended, without even a day's rest, Flint had led his team into rigorous training, arriving early on match day to warm up.
With nearly equal skill, determination, and equipment, the score remained fiercely contested, seesawing back and forth.
Under such circumstances, the Seeker became the decisive factor.
Malfoy once again proved the weak link—unsurprising, given he was the poorest among the school's four Seekers.
By the time Cedric spotted the Golden Snitch, Malfoy was still aimlessly drifting on the opposite side of the pitch.
Lee Jordan loudly declared Hufflepuff's victory, emphasising how Slytherin had suffered three consecutive losses this year—their worst record in twenty-six years.
Ignoring Snape's expression, darker than his grimy robes, Dumbledore rose with a smile and applauded.
Tears glistening in his eyes, Wotley took one last look at the pitch where he'd fought for six years before descending with his teammates to receive the crowd's cheers.
That evening, Hufflepuff held a grand celebration and farewell feast.
Several talented students showcased their culinary skills, preparing signature dishes. Cedric finally redeemed himself with a traditional stargazy pie, though its odd flavour deterred most from trying it.
Wayne even tipped the house-elves ten Galleons to procure plenty of alcohol.
By the end, nearly all seventh-years were drunk, slumped asleep in the common room with tear-streaked faces.
Head throbbing, Wayne staggered up and retreated to his suitcase world, asking Gardevoir to bring Astoria over.
...
"Wayne..."
The wealthy little girl had likely been asleep for hours. Blinking drowsily at the boy, she stretched out her arms.
A clear request for a hug.
Heart melting at her cuteness, Wayne carefully gathered her into his arms.
Though far healthier than when they'd first met, Astoria remained featherlight, like holding a bundle of cotton. Light and fluffy.
Only when the girl was placed on the bed did she realise how bold her earlier actions had been. Blushing, she dared not look at the boy.
Wayne gently ruffled her hair and said tenderly, "Just endure it this one last time. After this, you'll never have to suffer again."
"Mhm." The girl's response was as faint as a mosquito's hum.
Years later, when the pain returned once more, she would loudly declare Wayne a liar.
This wasn't the last time—it was the second-last!
Half an hour later.
Astoria was drenched in sweat. As the last wisp of sacred flame burned away, a tendril of black smoke emerged from her body, coalescing into a skeletal figure that glared resentfully at Ho-Oh before letting out a soundless roar.
Wayne's heart lurched. Almost instinctively, he reached out.
The black smoke seemed drawn to him, seeping into his body. Immediately, he felt a faint but noticeable surge in his magical power.
"Is this because of the Witch's Heart?"
A flicker of understanding crossed his mind. He had a rough idea of the reason.
This magical power was almost entirely converted from Astoria's life force, and the fact that he could absorb it was due to inheriting Morgana's talents.
Still, the amount was too negligible to matter.
Seeing the girl's weakened state, Wayne tenderly wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"I'll have Gardevoir take you back to sleep."