Dumbledore never anticipated that during his brief absence – labouring tirelessly for the wizarding world's future – someone would already covet his office.
After all, this was the Headmaster's Office, one of the school's most central and significant locations.
How could just anyone waltz in? Even Professor McGonagall needed passwords or announcements for entry each time.
Yet he'd forgotten about Wayne entirely.
"I'm here on vital business," Wayne declared with solemn gravitas. "With Dumbledore away, the Sorting Hat must be lonely. Someone's got to keep it company, prevent depressive episodes. What if next term's sorting ceremony goes awry?"
"Fair point," conceded the gargoyle.
It racked its stony brain – Dumbledore hadn't forbidden Wayne's entry before leaving, which logically meant permission.
Rumble~!
The gargoyle heaved its bulk aside, clearing the passage.
"In you go then. Honestly, you might as well take the Sorting Hat with you. Return it when Dumbledore's back."
"I'll think about it." Wayne didn't enter immediately but asked curiously, "What's the current password?"
"Rainbow sherbet," the gargoyle answered without hesitation.
"More desserts, huh?" The young man frowned. "Mate, haven't you gotten sick of them after all these years?"
"I've been sick of them for ages!" The gargoyle nodded vigorously. If it had tear ducts, it would probably be weeping by now.
"For decades, Dumbledore's cycled through nearly every sweet imaginable."
"Let's change it then." Wayne patted the gargoyle's head. "How about 'spicy hot pot' for the password?"
"What's that?"
"An Eastern dish – salty, spicy, delicious."
"Sounds brilliant! Let's do that!"
Wayne stepped into the passageway.
With his chosen password, this place finally felt somewhat like home.
The gryphon-shaped brass knocker on the wooden door offered no resistance as he pulled it open.
The evening sunlight streaming through the windows cast a glare across the desk.
Quills and parchment lay scattered about – clear evidence of Dumbledore's hasty departure.
Whatever clue he'd discovered must have been urgent indeed.
Usually seated across the large desk, Wayne now settled into the Headmaster's throne.
"Ah~"
"It's this comfortable?"
Wayne leaned back contentedly, closing his eyes.
The portraits of former Headmasters, roused by his entrance, grew restless.
"You brat! How dare you sit there!" Phineas Black hopped about furiously. "Get out! That seat's for the Headmaster! Who do you think you are?"
"Relax," Wayne drawled lazily. "If even you were qualified to sit here, why shouldn't I?"
"You insolent—! Who are you mocking?"
Wayne's silent smile made Phineas nearly explode with rage.
"Lawrence, didn't you know Dumbledore was away?" Armando Dippet frowned.
"Mr Dippet." Wayne greeted him cheerfully. "Did you watch your own funeral? Quite the spectacle! The newspaper photos made the food look absolutely mouthwatering."
Black lines seemed to appear across Dippet's portrait.
Having died just last year, this was precisely the sorest subject the boy could have raised.
"Don't change the subject. This is the Headmaster's Office," Dippet said sternly. "Have you urgent news for Dumbledore?"
"No need. I'm just here to read and use the Pensieve."
"Then you should wait for Dumbledore's return, Wayne," urged a Hufflepuff Headmaster. "Go back now. Don't worry – we won't tell him."
He shot a warning glare at the fuming Phineas.
"Don't expect me to collude with you, Dippet! I'll absolutely inform Dumbledore about this boy forcing his way in!" Phineas declared with admirable backbone... before promptly fleeing.
No doubt he'd scurried off to hide in his portrait at Black Manor to avoid a thrashing.
Several Hufflepuff Headmasters continued their appeals, but Wayne simply smiled and drew the curtains, silencing them all.
If Dumbledore had entrusted the school to him, didn't that make him the unofficial, unrecognised acting Headmaster?
He couldn't go out showing off, but he had to enjoy the Headmaster's privileges.
For example...
Wayne snapped his fingers, and several dishes with bread appeared on the table.
The House-elf reserved for the Headmaster's use might not match Gardevoir's culinary skills, but this was 'exclusive' food in a certain sense, and Wayne found it quite delicious.
He also ordered a butterbeer, enjoying both fine drink and food simultaneously.
This butterbeer was far poorer compared to Madam Rosmerta's craftsmanship.
Tap tap!
Wayne's fingers drummed on the table, and a House-elf apparated instantly, bowing nervously.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, is there anything unsatisfactory about the meal?"
"I'm not Dumbledore." Wayne's voice startled the House-elf, who quickly looked up.
"Mr Lawrence?"
"You know me?" Now it was Wayne's turn to be surprised.
He'd visited the kitchens many times and knew numerous house-elves, but had never seen this one before.
"My name is Coren, Mr Lawrence," the House-elf said cautiously. "Many of my companions have mentioned you. You're a very good person."
Wayne was delighted.
Being called a good person was the highest praise for a standard Hufflepuff, and he was no exception.
"Professor Dumbledore has been rather busy lately. Memorise my magical power signature. From now on, if I place an order, don't make it so sweet. As for butterbeer, just buy it directly from the Three Broomsticks."
"Oh, right," Wayne remembered something important. "Put it on the school's account."
"Yes, understood. Do you have any more specific requirements for the dishes?" Coren asked attentively.
Dumbledore was a great wizard, and Wayne's reputation circulated widely among the House-elves.
Moreover, Wayne could freely enter the Headmaster's office and order meals here.
In Coren's mind, he instinctively assumed Wayne must have Dumbledore's permission to do this.
"Try this recipe book—see if you can learn it?" Wayne produced the cookbook Gardevoir had studied and handed it to Coren.
"I will definitely master it," Coren declared firmly without even looking.
Providing suitable meals for their masters was a House-elf's duty—no matter how difficult, he would learn.
...
After seeing off this dedicated house-elf and finishing his meal, Wayne began browsing through Dumbledore's collection.
He'd borrowed a few books before, but taking too many at once felt somewhat impolite.
Though he could finish each book in just a day or two, he usually returned them to Dumbledore weeks later to avoid appearing too frequently.
Now, however, he could simply copy everything using the Book-Copying Quill.
With dozens of quills working simultaneously, Wayne searched for the most precious treasure here.
Not the Sorting Hat.
Not the Pensieve.
But the memories.
The Pensieve had existed at Hogwarts since the school's founding, even predating the institution itself.
Yet ultimately, it was merely a vessel.
Its true value lay in being used by successive Headmasters, preserving incredible memories and secrets.
But after scouring every visible corner, Wayne found nothing.
He could only give up reluctantly.
Continuing to rummage would be impolite—better to ask Dumbledore directly upon his return.
Before leaving, Wayne also took the Sorting Hat, planning to let his two roommates keep the old hat company.
...
The next day, Saturday.
After a week of hard work, the students finally had a chance to relax.
Some slept in until the sun was high in the sky, and after breakfast, they roamed the campus, burning off their pent-up energy.
Many brought Flying Potions to the Quidditch Pitch, taking advantage of the teams' absence to enjoy some aerial fun before official training began.
Others chose to fish by the Black Lake, spending the entire day there.
Very few, like Hermione, buried themselves in the library right at the start of term.
But it was precisely because the little witch was so studious that Wayne could spare precious time to accompany Cho.
"What were you doing last night? You were gone the whole evening," Cho asked curiously as they strolled along a forest path.
"I was reading in the Headmaster's Office. Got so absorbed that before I knew it, it was curfew."
"But the Headmaster isn't even at school. How did you get in?"
"I have connections in the Headmaster's Office. Very solid ones."
As they chatted, the pair arrived at Hagrid's Hut.
Wayne had received an invitation from Hagrid that morning, thanking him for his help with lesson planning.
To avoid the so-called "thanks" being rock-hard rock cakes or lethally sweet chocolate cakes, they made sure to eat a full meal beforehand.
"Ah, there yeh are!"
Hagrid had just emerged from the Forbidden Forest with his crossbow when they arrived, his hound Fang trotting beside him.
The moment Fang spotted the boy, he abandoned his master and bounded over, circling Wayne excitedly with his tail wagging.
"Daft creature!"
Hagrid chuckled, tying Fang up before ushering the two inside.
Noticing the complete absence of food on the table, Wayne and Cho exchanged a subtle glance of relief.
"Found somethin' interestin' in th' forest. Thought yeh'd like it. But don' go tellin' anyone, or yeh'll be in big trouble."
"In the Forbidden Forest..." Wayne eyed Hagrid. "What magical creature did you find this time?"
"Look." Hagrid pulled a small pouch from his satchel and emptied its contents onto the table.
Cho didn't recognise the round little creature, but Wayne's face lit up with delight.
"A Golden Snidget?"
"Golden Snidget..." Cho thought for a moment, then gasped. "No wonder it looks so much like a Golden Snitch!"
The Golden Snidget was an extremely rare, specially protected bird with a plump body and an unusually slender beak, classified as XXXX in danger level...
Not because it was dangerous, but because capturing or harming one carried severe penalties.
These birds were incredibly fast fliers, and in the early days, people loved chasing them on broomsticks—a pastime that eventually evolved into Quidditch.
Later, when it became clear the Snidget was being hunted to extinction, the Golden Snitch was invented as a replacement. Since then, the Golden Snidget had become a protected species, with reserves established worldwide.
"There are Golden Snidgets in the Forbidden Forest?" Wayne examined the still-sleeping bird, then wrinkled his nose.
"Why does it smell like alcohol?"
"Didn' wanna hurt it, so I didn' tie it up. Jus' gave it some strong vodka t' keep it docile."
Wayne gave a thumbs-up. What a brilliant idea.
"Just this one? Are there any more?"
"One was hard enough t' get," Hagrid said defensively. "Took me ages, even with the Centaurs' help."
"With just one, it can't reproduce, though." Wayne clicked his tongue regretfully.
"I'll do me best t' find yeh a male, then," Hagrid chuckled.
Cho reached out and cradled the still-unconscious Golden Snidget in her hands.
"Be careful," Wayne warned. "Golden Snidget wings are extremely fragile. They fracture easily if you're not careful."
"I'm a Seeker, of course, I know. Just like the Golden Snitch's wings." Cho rolled her eyes prettily before carefully examining the Snidget.
"It really does look like a Golden Snitch. So cute." She gently poked its little belly, eyes crinkling happily. "So soft~"
"Make sure no one else finds out, alright? I trust yeh can keep this secret, eh?" Hagrid reminded them again.
"Don't worry about it." Wayne's collection of illicit creatures was extensive enough—one more Golden Snidget wouldn't make a difference.
"Which is faster in flight—the real Golden Snitch or this?" Cho wondered aloud.
"The Snitch, obviously," Wayne answered without hesitation.
"Brooms improve, so does the Snitch's speed. It might get even faster in a few years, especially with how powerful the Firebolt is."
"But the Snidget has its own advantages—it's more agile. Doesn't just hover stupidly in place like the Snitch does."
Wayne carefully put the Snidget away and smiled at Hagrid. "I really like this gift. Thanks."
"After all yeh've done for me, this ain't nothin'."
Seeing Wayne pleased made Hagrid happy too, and he shared amusing stories from his recent teaching experiences.
Though framed as gratitude, Hagrid's efforts in catching the Snidget also carried another purpose—he wanted to consult Wayne again.
While the young wizards enjoyed the cute creatures he introduced in each lesson, Hagrid himself wasn't satisfied.
In his mind, only tall, mighty beasts truly counted as magical creatures. The rest were just... tiny.
So he wanted Wayne's advice on when he could finally introduce the creatures he wanted to teach about.
"Well..." Wayne pondered for a few seconds. "I could have Mia help you once."
The fed hand is seldom bitten.
Having just received a gift, Wayne couldn't very well refuse.
"Reckon' really?" Hagrid beamed. "Introducin' the Thunderbird to the students'd be brilliant!"
"Some conditions, though—students still can't get too close, and Mia's wishes must be respected."
Wayne laid down the rules firmly. "If Mia gets angry, I won't stop her."
"Course I will, don' worry—I'll make sure everyone follows 'em," Hagrid nodded obediently.
"Prepare plenty of fish—Mia loves those."
"Anythin' else? Got any special weather ye'd like for the class?" Hagrid asked earnestly, notebook ready.
"Don't worry about that. Mia isn't that fussy."
Among Wayne's companions, Mia had the strongest desire to perform. She'd been thrilled for ages after showing off at the Quidditch pitch last time.
Having her teach a class and bask in the students' admiration? Mia would never say no.
...
The two stayed until mealtime, when Wayne politely declined Hagrid's invitation to stay for dinner and brought Cho back to the castle.
After the meal, Cho felt rather sleepy and returned to her dormitory for an afternoon nap.
Wayne, meanwhile, brought forward Harry and Malfoy's lesson, teaching them alongside Astoria and Daphne.
In the familiar classroom, Wayne cleared the surrounding obstacles as usual and expanded the interior space.
"Let's not rush into learning new spells today. I want to see how much you've improved over the summer."
"Especially you, Astoria." Wayne tapped the little rich girl's head.
"I know," the rich girl replied reluctantly. The next second, her gaze turned fierce towards Harry.
'Anyone who stands between me and my meal shall perish!'
"???"
Harry looked utterly bewildered.
What was going on? How had he offended Astoria?