After selling the badges and finishing breakfast, there wasn't much time left.
After handing the remaining badges to Cho and the girls, Wayne hurried off with Hermione for their first third-year lesson – Divination.
Harry and Ron were supposed to join them, but Malfoy was dramatically reenacting Harry's fainting episode for the Slytherins, who were roaring with laughter.
Furious, Harry stationed himself at the Great Hall entrance, waiting for Malfoy to settle yesterday's score.
Crossing the castle grounds, Wayne and Hermione headed towards the North Tower – a place Wayne rarely visited as it was far from the Great Hall. Aside from the Divination Classroom, most professors' quarters were located there.
By the final stretch, Hermione was visibly fatigued.
"You really should exercise more," Wayne said, grasping the young witch's hand to pull her along. "Always cooped up indoors reading – if real danger comes, you'll definitely be the slowest to run."
"Starting tomorrow, why not join Astoria for her morning runs?"
After climbing the last spiral staircase, Hermione took several deep breaths before recovering. "What time does Astoria usually start? I do need more exercise..."
"Seven. Isn't that when you normally get up to read anyway?"
Hearing it conflicted with her reading schedule, Hermione hesitated again. "I'll think about it later."
Wayne exasperatedly ruffled her hair before leading her into the classroom.
The space resembled an old-fashioned teahouse attic more than a classroom, furnished with twenty-odd small round tables.
Everything was bathed in hazy crimson light, with tightly drawn curtains and a copper kettle steaming on the hearth, filling the room with mist that obscured vision.
Students entering surveyed the peculiar decor, including the playing cards and crystal balls in the corners.
Wayne suspected Trelawney had studied in Muggle society.
The tarot readings and astrology parlours he'd seen created exactly this kind of atmosphere.
Mysticism dialled to maximum.
Many girls excitedly found seats while Wayne guided Hermione to a corner.
"Where's the professor?" Lavender Brown craned her neck, eyeing the boiling kettle. "Is this lesson about morning tea?"
"Welcome," a vague voice emerged from the shadows as Trelawney stepped forward.
Her enormous glasses and gauzy, sequin-encrusted shawl created a visually jarring effect.
Several students mentally compared her to the Sorting Hat, suffering renewed psychological distress.
"How wonderful to finally meet you all in the physical plane," Trelawney uttered her incomprehensible greeting as she settled into her chair.
"This subject is the most profound of all disciplines. I must preface by saying it requires innate talent and insight. If you lack such qualities, I can do nothing to help you."
Hermione frowned, while Wayne thought to himself, Well, well...
This was just a disclaimer.
If you fail to learn, it's because you lack talent—nothing to do with me, the teacher.
No wonder she's managed to draw a salary for so many years. She's got some tricks up her sleeve.
Professor Trelawney continued extolling the greatness and unpredictability of Divination, occasionally dropping prophecies that left the young witches and wizards wide-eyed. At the very least, Lavender Brown noted down the days Trelawney predicted she would face misfortune.
"Now, each of you take a teacup, come to me to fill it, and when you've drunk it down to the dregs, shake it three times firmly with your left hand. Then invert the cup and pass the pattern to your partner for interpretation."
After Trelawney's instructions, the students queued up one by one to fetch their tea.
"Do you actually believe in this?" Hermione asked, flipping through Unfogging the Future with a puzzled expression. "That a clump of tea leaves can reveal the fate of the future?"
Wayne gave her a strange look. "If you don't believe it, why did you take this class?"
Hermione flushed.
"Well... It's the only class you chose, so I was curious and signed up too."
"Remember the prophecy Professor Trelawney made at last year's Halloween feast?" Seeing there were still many ahead in the queue, Wayne wasn't in a hurry to get his tea and instead lowered his voice.
Hermione nodded. "I remember. But Professor McGonagall said Trelawney does something like that every year to grab attention."
"I don't know about before, but that time was different." Wayne shook his head slightly. "It was a real prophecy. Dumbledore thought so, too."
Most of the time, Trelawney was indeed a fraud collecting a paycheck, but she had a wildcard streak—no telling when she might produce a genuine prophecy.
He recalled that by the end of this term, she would prophesy Voldemort's return again, and Harry would overhear it.
Wayne's reason for taking this class was simply to increase his chances of witnessing it.
Hearing him say this, Hermione had no choice but to suppress her doubts and dissatisfaction for the time being.
She resolved to study hard and see what was so miraculous about Divination.
Soon, the tea was brought back.
Following Trelawney's method, Wayne and Hermione exchanged their tea leaves and turned to page five of the book to decipher the symbols.
Their progress was slower; at the neighbouring table, Harry and Ron had already begun.
Harry squinted, his glasses nearly pressed against the tea leaves. "A crooked cross—what does that mean again?"
He consulted the book. "'You will suffer pain and hardship.' Wait, there's also something like a sun—that means 'great joy.'"
"So..." Harry combined the two and delivered his final verdict. "You'll be in agony first, then feel amazing?"
Wayne: "..."
Is this Divination class even serious?
He looked down at Hermione's tea leaves, his thoughts now equally derailed by those two idiots.
"What do you see?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Nai..." Wayne nearly blurted out, but caught himself just in time. "Dark clouds... and a bright moon."
"You'll likely be extremely busy in the coming period, and... will encounter something very joyful?" Wayne recited mechanically.
He'd realised he had absolutely no talent for Divination.
The damned system didn't even have that option, for some reason.
Hermione pursed her lips. She packed her schedule full every day; of course, she'd be busy.
And having Wayne accompany her—wasn't that precisely the joyful thing?
"You'll come into some unexpected wealth. Not much, but completely risk-free," Hermione said, interpreting what she saw.
"I'll take that as a blessing," Wayne chuckled. Suddenly, Professor Trelawney's shriek cut through the air.
"It's an eagle, dear—you have a mortal enemy!" Trelawney stared at Harry.
"That's common knowledge," Hermione said irritably. "Everyone knows about Harry's feud with You-Know-Who."
"No, currently I think my enemy is Malfoy," Harry countered. Over the past two days, Malfoy had been relentlessly provoking him, causing him to forget about Voldemort completely.
He looked at Trelawney expectantly. "What about my enemy? Is he going to have terrible luck?"
"No, the omen is yours!" Trelawney cried. "That great black dog, dear child—it's an omen of death! The worst possible omen!"
Harry's heart skipped a beat. He'd seen that black dog on the cover of Death Omens at Flourish and Blotts, and again lurking in a corner of Diagon Alley.
Seamus curiously leaned over to peer into Harry's teacup. "I don't see any dog. I see explosives."
"Er... I see a donkey?" Lavender Brown chimed in.
"..."
The lesson ended in confusion, and the students hurried straight to Transfiguration class.
For their first lesson, Professor McGonagall introduced them to Animagi, just as she had in their first year—transforming into a tabby cat before their eyes and back again.
"What's the matter with you all?" Professor McGonagall asked, puzzled. Usually, this demonstration never failed to elicit gasps and applause.
But today the young witches and wizards were eerily quiet, their minds clearly elsewhere.
The class instinctively glanced at Harry, who kept his head down.
"Professor," Hermione raised her hand, "we've just had Divination, and Professor Trelawney said—"
"Ah," Professor McGonagall interrupted before Hermione could finish. "I see. Just tell me—who has she predicted will die this time?"
"How did you know?"
Now the students' astonished gazes swung towards Professor McGonagall.
"It's Harry!" Ron announced loudly. "Trelawney saw a black dog—said it means death."
"So she's chosen you this year. I rather thought it might be Mr Lawrence." Professor McGonagall allowed herself a small smile.
Wayne looked utterly innocent. Why was he being dragged into this?
Professor McGonagall, having subtly avenged yesterday's Sorting Hat incident, felt considerably better. She explained to the class:
"The truth is, ever since Professor Trelawney came to this school, she's welcomed new students this way every year—enjoying your shocked and frightened expressions. Last year it was Miss Gore, and before that, if I recall correctly, Mr Patil."
"To summarise, Divination is the least precise branch of magic, Potter. From what I can see, you're in perfect health and entirely capable of completing an eight-inch essay."
The students chuckled quietly—it was rare to see Professor McGonagall make a joke.
But their laughter soon died away.
If Potter had to write an eight-inch essay, wouldn't they have to as well?
Regardless, Professor McGonagall's reassurance lifted the heavy atmosphere in the classroom.
She transformed into a tabby cat and back again, this time to particularly enthusiastic applause.
Professor McGonagall nodded in satisfaction before launching into an explanation of Animagi.
When they learned that only seven wizards this century had registered as Animagi, the young witches and wizards gazed at Professor McGonagall with even greater admiration.
But Wayne privately thought the registered number was probably just a fraction of the unregistered ones.
Just Sirius Black's year alone had produced three illegal Animagi. Even if students in other years were less talented, the numbers shouldn't be that low.
After class, the crowd hurried towards the Great Hall. When Wayne arrived, he spotted Cedric selling his handmade maps to the first-year students.
This year, Wayne had entrusted even the most expensive version of the map to Cedric, stepping back completely.
Having more first-years wasn't without its benefits—Cedric had already sold thirty copies just during lunch.
After a morning of struggling, they'd likely experienced firsthand how troublesome the school's staircases could be.
"Just another hundred Galleons, and I'll have repaid my debt to you," Cedric counted on his fingers. "Probably around next Easter? I'm not sure, but definitely this term."
"I'm in no hurry," Wayne replied between mouthfuls of stew, then frowned.
"What's wrong? Doesn't the food taste good?" Hannah noticed his expression.
"A bit. I feel like the house-elves' cooking has gone downhill."
"Maybe you're just tired of it?" Hannah said cheerfully. "No matter, I'll make you something extra tonight. What would you like?"
"How about a roast lamb leg?"
"No problem, as long as the kitchen has the ingredients," Hannah agreed readily before showing her true colours. "But you'll have to let me borrow your Potions homework—class is on Thursday."
...
"Fine, I'll get Hermione's for you," Wayne nodded. For good food, he'd even beat up Snape if necessary.
"Achoo!"
Snape at the head table suddenly sneezed, rubbing his nose in confusion.
Perhaps it was time to trim his nose hairs?
Cedric was still doing his calculations. After repaying Wayne, he had grander ambitions—purchasing a Firebolt.
It seemed every Quidditch Captain wore the same expression when mentioning the Firebolt.
Obsessed. Lewd.
"By the time you've saved enough, the Firebolt might have been upgraded—and become even more expensive," Wayne said bluntly, shattering Cedric's fantasy.
As the boss, he knew better.
Wallow and McKay were already developing a new broom. Their estimates suggested it would take Nimbus Racing Broom Company a decade to catch up to the Firebolt's level—but they had to keep improving.
"I'll earn more after graduation," Cedric said, wiping his drool. "Maybe I'll even be married by then, and we can save up together."
Wayne: "..."
How remarkably far-sighted of you.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Wayne.
"Hypothetically speaking," he asked the model student, "if someone from another house got their hands on a Firebolt, do you think we could still win?"
"Impossible," Cedric scoffed. "That's a Firebolt—one costs more than seven ordinary brooms. Which student could afford that?"
"Well, except you. Even Malfoy couldn't manage it—his father would break his legs."
"You wouldn't actually help other houses buy Firebolts, would you?"
Wayne fell silent.
He... might have already done so.
Hermione had once asked if he'd mind lending brooms to the Gryffindor team. Wayne had shrugged it off.
As for Cho—well, best of luck to them.
Pitying Cedric with a glance, Wayne finished his meal. With no afternoon classes, he planned to return to the dorm and craft more protective brooches.
Just then, an owl swooped into the Great Hall, dropping a letter before him.
"Hagrid?"
Frowning at the signature, Wayne opened it to find an invitation—asking him to visit the hut before lessons.
Hogwarts' lunch break was short, with classes resuming shortly after one. With no choice, Wayne hurried out of the castle towards the hut.
Hagrid stood waiting at the door, beaming as he waved at Wayne.
"Finally made it, eh?"
The half-giant ushered Wayne inside, producing a large sack.
"Picked up these materials recently. Have a look, see if anythin's missin'—jus' say the word if ya need more."
Something was off.
Very off.
While Hagrid often gathered materials from the Forbidden Forest for him, it was always after Wayne placed an order. Payment came in potions or useful gadgets.
This unsolicited offering? Unprecedented.
Casually pushing the materials aside, Wayne said sternly, "You need my help with something, don't you?"
"Well… I—ah… it's jus'… somethin' I need a hand with…" Hagrid's weathered face flushed as he fidgeted.
"That's about the size of it…"