Thousands of miles away at Saint Petersburg State University.
In a large lecture hall, a professor was delivering an impassioned lecture.
"Today, we shall study the ideology of a great being. Though I stand here as your instructor, I myself haven't grasped even a fraction of this great mind's philosophy."
As he spoke, the professor's eyes burned with fervent admiration.
"Most crucial is the foundational understanding of materialist dialectics!"
"We must comprehend what the two-dimensional dialectical analysis matrix entails..."
The lecture hall was packed. Though the nation had undergone upheaval, the transition was recent, and many still yearned for its former glory.
Tom sat among them, his black-framed glasses, fair complexion and handsome features drawing frequent glances from female students.
But Tom's gaze held no interest in women—only knowledge.
After two months of wandering, Tom had completely immersed himself in the Muggle world, avoiding all contact with wizarding society.
At heart, he still scorned Muggle bloodlines.
Yet Tom couldn't deny it.
Intelligence and ideology bore no relation to lineage. The wizarding world had no shortage of fools—perhaps even more.
After all, he'd been outmanoeuvred by a Muggle-born boy, nearly losing his life.
The power gap didn't concern Tom.
He trusted his talent. Even if Young Master Lawrence—bah.
Even if Lawrence was equally prodigious, Tom had discerned the boy's disdain for Dark Magic.
What absurd principles.
The magnificence of Dark Magic remained beyond his comprehension!
Currently outmatched by Lawrence and Dumbledore? In a few years, that would change.
His present task was addressing strategic shortcomings—not against these two, but another version of himself.
A proud being like Tom could never tolerate another Tom, another Voldemort existing in this world.
As for Lawrence?
Hah. Let him keep playing childish games with those brats.
...
"Achoo!"
In the Headmaster's Office, Wayne suddenly sneezed twelve times in succession.
"Apologies, Headmaster. Probably some Potions professor cursing me again." Wayne rubbed his itching nose, casually deflecting blame before continuing.
"I understand your meaning now."
"You can go with peace of mind. Leave the school to me. I promise to lead Hogwarts towards prosperity and make it the finest magical school in the world."
Dumbledore: "..."
No, he merely thought Professor McGonagall was being somewhat too rigid when facing pressure from the Ministry of Magic, and hoped Wayne could offer support during critical moments.
But listening to Wayne's tone, it sounded like he was entrusting an orphan to his care?
"Hand it over," Wayne extended his hand.
"What?" Dumbledore looked at him in confusion. "What reward do you want?"
"I'm not asking for a reward," Wayne replied, equally puzzled. "The Polyjuice Potion. Surely you don't expect me to fund it myself?"
"Besides, I don't have much stock on hand."
"As for Human Transfiguration, I haven't fully mastered it yet—there might be flaws. The Polyjuice Potion would be far more reliable."
"No, that's not what I meant..." Dumbledore was speechless, but quickly seized upon the crucial point:
"Wait—since when have you known Human Transfiguration?!"
This was Grindelwald's signature technique. Though Wayne had shown interest last time, Grindelwald hadn't taught him.
"You didn't know?" Wayne seemed even more surprised than Dumbledore. "I was bored during summer break, so I had dinner with Grindelwald twice. He got into a good mood and taught me."
"I assumed he'd have mentioned it in your letters."
Dumbledore subtly pressed a hand to his chest.
The little thing was beating rather fast today.
Every conversation with Wayne brought him a fresh 'surprise'.
Dumbledore feared that one day he might succumb, embarking on another grand adventure before his mission to vanquish dark magic was complete.
"Wayne..." Dumbledore gave a bitter smile, even his form of address shifting. "Do you realise that if the Ministry of Magic discovers you've gone to see Grindelwald, no country on the European continent will tolerate your presence?"
"Thank you for your concern." Wayne flashed a bright grin. "I guarantee no living... I mean, no one will find out. Professor Lockhart might be useless at most things, but his Memory Charms are genuinely impressive."
"I've learned quite a few useful things from him."
"As long as you know what you're doing." Dumbledore was already exhausted, unwilling to deal with this troublemaker any longer.
If he wanted to go, let him. Grindelwald's tricks wouldn't work on Wayne anyway—the boy was far too cunning.
"Wayne, I'm not asking you to impersonate me at the school," Dumbledore continued. "I'll inform Professor McGonagall. If there are Ministry-related matters, she'll consult with you."
"I see." Wayne's expression visibly fell. "I thought you wanted me to stand in for you temporarily."
"Things haven't reached that point yet." Dumbledore's eyebrow twitched.
If he let Wayne impersonate him for even a short while...
By the time he returned, whether the school still existed would be questionable.
Or perhaps it would have been renamed Lawrence Institute of Magic?
He certainly wasn't willing to take that gamble.
"Fine, I understand." Wayne pouted. "Anything else? If not, I'll head to class."
"Go on."
Dumbledore watched Wayne leave, then, after some thought, still felt uneasy.
He pulled out another roll of parchment and began writing to Grindelwald.
A warning: magical discussions were acceptable, but he mustn't say anything strange.
The wizarding world already had two Toms stirring up trouble in the shadows. If Wayne were corrupted, too, the world might as well end now.
...
When Wayne arrived at Greenhouse Two, the double lesson was already halfway through.
Professor Sprout said nothing more than a smile and a gesture for him to find a spot.
Joining Norman and Toby, Wayne eyed the small specimen before them. "Puffapod lesson today?"
"Yeah, here—give me a hand." Norman had Wayne steady the pot while he snipped the Puffapods, with Toby catching them in a bucket of nutrient solution.
Puffapods were plump pink pods filled with glistening beans.
These beans bloomed upon contact with solid surfaces, so they had to be coated in liquid before storage.
Ron accidentally knocked a few beans loose, and enormous flowers immediately sprouted across the floor, filling the room with fragrance—though Professor Sprout didn't look pleased.
"Weasley, be gentler."
"Sorry, Professor." Ron's nose flushed crimson with embarrassment.
Harry looked sheepish, too.
If he hadn't told Ron about his nightmare last night, Ron wouldn't have been distracted.
Crouching to resume handling the pods, Ron muttered, "It was just a dream. How could you possibly be attending a Muggle university?"
"Even if you hadn't come to Hogwarts, you wouldn't be old enough."
"I know." Harry nodded, replying quietly, "But it felt so real. I even remember the content—something called Methodology."
"Never heard of it." Ron shook his head vigorously. "I reckon the Dementors' effects haven't worn off yet. But with the pin Wayne made today, you should sleep better."
"Maybe." Harry didn't argue.
After fastening the pin, he did feel much more comfortable.
No wonder it was a custom piece worth ten Galleons—it packed quite the punch.
...
After two classes, they handed their collected Puffapod pods to Professor Sprout and left the greenhouse.
The crowd headed towards the Great Hall, but along the way, a few students veered off, making for the castle gates instead.
"Thomas, are we really doing this?" Seamus asked nervously, though his feet betrayed him as he trailed behind Dean Thomas.
A handful of others joined them—some from Hufflepuff, others from Gryffindor—all wearing expressions of nervous excitement.
The third year had plunged them headfirst into adolescence. It wasn't just hormones that were restless—the latent urge to court danger lurked deep within.
Armed with a weapon, the desire to use it arose.
Each of them now wore a pin and felt invincible.
Having spent so much money, not testing it out felt like a waste.
So, like-minded young wizards banded together, ready to pick a fight with the Dementors.
"We're just testing it. If it doesn't work, we'll leg it straight back. The Dementors won't dare enter the school. Then we'll demand answers from Wayne."
"And if it does work... heh heh heh!"
Dean Thomas let out a sinister chuckle.
Back on the Hogwarts Express, he hadn't fainted like Harry, but his trousers had been soaked—thankfully unnoticed.
Dean hadn't forgotten.
Today was about reclaiming his dignity.
They reached a side gate leading to a vegetable patch, rarely used except by Hagrid. Yet, dutiful as ever, two Dementors stood guard.
Even from a distance, the sight of those cloaked, hooded figures made the temperature plummet.
But soon, the chill faded. The pins on their robes emitted a faint silver glow, dispelling both the cold and their instinctive fear of the Dementors.
"Wayne's stuff really works! Get closer!" Macmillan called, pushing past Dean and charging forward.
"Grrk—sssk!"
The Dementors noticed them but didn't move.
Warned by both the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore, they weren't bold enough to enter the school and feed on the students' happiness.
Besides, they weren't that hungry—freshly fed from Azkaban.
Their guttural noises were just warnings to keep away.
But this time, the students—who'd usually bolt at the sight of them—charged forward eagerly.
The closer they got, the brighter their pins shone. The Dementors tensed.
"Hsss!"
"Hsss!"
"What're they saying?"
"Dunno, but I feel brilliant right now."
"Yeah, let's mess with them!"
The previously timid Seamus let out a howl and charged forward, leaving the Dementors utterly stunned.
Were these young wizards here to pick a fight?!
They were the ones who usually tormented wizards – when had they ever been bullied like this?
The two Dementors grew furious, floating menacingly towards Seamus and the others.
When the distance closed to just two metres, almost simultaneously, the badges on the young wizards' chests erupted with dazzling light, blindingly bright even in daylight.
Then, the white light coalesced into a ring of stars encircling them.
At the sight of this stellar ring, the Dementors recoiled as if encountering their natural predator, desperately retreating.
Though the energy hadn't condensed into a corporeal form, its positive charge already surpassed that of many fully-formed Patronuses.
Of course, the Dementors were terrified!
"HAHAHAHA! Serves you right!" Seamus, Thomas and the others burst into maniacal laughter.
With the protection of the stellar rings, they chased the two Dementors around like schoolyard bullies.
"We should've brought Colin along to photograph our heroics!" Thomas shouted regretfully, accidentally letting a cornered Dementor slip past.
"No matter, we'll get him next time! Let's enjoy ourselves today!" Macmillan replied excitedly.
Just then, the stellar rings began fading. The white light flickered, dimming noticeably with each breath until it became barely perceptible.
The cold crept back in, dragging unpleasant memories to the surface. Their triumphant grins froze.
Joy doesn't disappear – it merely transfers ownership.
Though they couldn't see it.
Now it was the Dementors' turn to laugh!
"So short-lived?!" Thomas went pale, especially in the trouser region...
"RUN!" Justin Finch-Fletchley, being the slowest, had lagged behind and was least affected.
His warning snapped the others from their stupor. Seeing the Dementors advancing rather than fleeing, they scrambled towards the castle in blind panic, their terrified sobs echoing behind them.
...
Half an hour later, Professor McGonagall's office.
"Insane! You're all completely insane!"
The elderly cat-woman's furious roar penetrated the door, startling eavesdropping students into retreating lest they be caught in the crossfire.
"Using protective charms to provoke Dementors! Leading them straight to the castle! Why don't you just fly to the moon while you're at it!"
McGonagall massaged her temples, dizzy from recalling the scene – young wizards fleeing for their lives with Dementors in pursuit. Had Professor Flitwick not intervened...
She dared not imagine the consequences.
Initially assuming the Dementors had breached protocol, McGonagall had been ready to pen a scathing letter to the Ministry of Magic. Upon learning the truth, she realised she'd be writing to parents instead!
"One month's detention for each of you, disciplinary records marked, and... all house points revoked!"
She'd considered deducting fifty points per offender, then remembered the term had just begun – there were no points to deduct.
"Furthermore, your parents will be summoned!"
At the mention of parental involvement, the miscreants visibly wilted.
"Professor McGonagall," Dean Thomas pleaded, "we'll accept any other punishment, just please don't call our parents..."
If his family found out he'd caused such serious trouble, a beating would be unavoidable.
"This is a notification, not a negotiation!" Professor McGonagall glared at the students who still wanted to argue, pointing at the door. "Now, go to the hospital wing immediately, and report to Mr Filch this evening!"
Her anger stemmed from these young wizards treating their own lives so carelessly, daring to provoke the Dementors.
They needed to learn their lesson!
As the dejected students shuffled out of the office, Professor McGonagall collapsed into her chair, picking up a small medicine bottle and expertly tipping several pills into her mouth.
Dumbledore had only just left when this serious incident occurred.
Thankfully, nothing worse had happened; otherwise, she wouldn't have known how to explain it.
Remembering the students' admission that many others had also purchased Lawrence's badges, McGonagall hastily added another rule to the school regulations.
"No provoking Dementors without authorisation!"
Thus, those seemingly absurd school rules often concealed even more outrageous reasons behind them.
...
Meanwhile, Wayne, who'd been sleeping through History of Magic class, suddenly woke up, utterly bewildered.