Ministry of Magic, Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation.
In the central office, Barty Crouch Sr. was buried in paperwork when a sudden, searing heat flared in his mind. His face twisted.
He looked up. "Jorkins, you may leave for the day."
"Minister?"
The middle-aged woman at the assistant's desk raised her head in confusion. "But I haven't finished organising the files—"
"No need. I've just remembered I need to liaise with the French department head shortly. Your presence would be inappropriate."
Crouch's face flushed crimson. "Out. Now."
"Oh... alright." Though puzzled, Bertha Jorkins—never one to refuse an early departure—left cheerfully.
The moment the door closed, Crouch collapsed onto his desk, no longer able to suppress it.
Tendrils of white smoke billowed from his scalp, coalescing into a hazy figure mid-air.
"What took you so long?" came Wayne's displeased voice from the smoke.
Subordinates were supposed to wait for their superiors—not the other way around.
Did Crouch think he was some easygoing Hufflepuff?
"I was at work," Crouch gritted out. "There were others in the office earlier."
"Lucky it was just one. If this had happened during a meeting, we'd have been in serious trouble!"
Crouch was equally irate. For a moment, he'd thought Wayne was about to attack him—nearly scared him witless.
"Today's Sunday, isn't it?" The smoky figure scratched its head. "Since when did the Ministry become this hardworking?"
"Those who only think about clocking out will never excel at their jobs," Crouch retorted, chin raised. "In my dictionary, the word 'overtime' doesn't exist!"
"Good, good." Wayne nodded repeatedly. "That's exactly the attitude I need from you."
"There happens to be a task I want to assign you."
Crouch frowned deeply. "I'm already overwhelmed with work – not just Ministry duties but also maintaining connections."
"Moreover, you still haven't delivered any news about the Horcrux you promised me."
"Patience. I've only just returned to school," the smoky figure waved dismissively. Crouch immediately caught the significant implication.
"The Horcrux is at Hogwarts?"
"Clever boy." Wayne nodded approvingly. "Indeed, it's here, though only one remains."
"Voldemort would never put all his eggs in one basket."
"What do you want me to do?" Crouch asked in a low voice, his mood slightly improved now that he'd gained useful information.
"Are you overseeing the Triwizard Tournament?" Wayne inquired.
"You know about the Triwizard Tournament?" Crouch stared at the smoke in surprise. "It is my responsibility, though currently my main focus is next summer's World Cup."
"Only after World Cup preparations are complete will we begin organising the Triwizard Tournament."
Wayne nodded before asking softly, "Are you aware that other schools wish to participate in the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Of course," Crouch admitted frankly. "Since the project's revival, Ilvermorny caught wind immediately and tried to join."
"Afterwards, Mahoutokoro, Uagadou and Koldovstoretz also expressed interest in strengthening exchanges. However, due to excessive costs and the tournament's traditional format, the Ministry rejected their proposals."
"Why do you ask?" Crouch sounded puzzled. "Surely you're not interested in such childish games?"
"Wasn't before. Am now." The smoke drifted across to settle on the sofa opposite Crouch.
"My request concerns the Triwizard Tournament," Wayne said calmly. "Use all your influence to expand its scale."
"Preferably invite all seven major wizarding schools."
"What are you planning?" Crouch's heart skipped a beat. "Don't act recklessly – any incidents could cause international disputes."
"That's not your concern," Wayne stated implacably. "Just complete your task... or I'll kill your entire family~"
Crouch's knuckles whitened from clenching his fists.
How could someone threaten mass murder so casually?
"When you return home, I'll send you something," Wayne continued, ignoring his fury. "'Triwizard Tournament' sounds rather provincial."
"After all these years, it deserves a new name."
"What about... the Holy Grail War?"
The voice faded to near inaudibility as the smoke dissipated completely.
Crouch collapsed weakly into his chair.
Seven schools... Could that brat truly not understand the implications?
...
At Hogwarts, Wayne toyed with a golden cup.
"Gardevoir, prepare some juice," the youth commanded. Soon, Gardevoir returned with a large pitcher of apple juice.
He carefully poured the juice into the freshly polished cup before draining it in one gulp, smacking his lips afterwards.
"Doesn't taste any different..."
[Holy Grail (Legendary): A sacred artefact originating from religious legends, actually formed from highly condensed magical power, currently sealed.]
[Unsealing Method: The chosen warriors must complete the ritual of war, with the final victor unsealing the Holy Grail.]
[Effect: The wielder may utilise the Holy Grail's vast magical power to fulfil wishes within its capabilities.]
Hmm, the effect is straightforward enough.
Basically, it means having people fight to the death while he reaps the rewards, claiming the ultimate prize.
Through magical detection, the cup indeed bore powerful seals. Wayne attempted brute force, but the seals didn't budge in the slightest.
Wish fulfilment—that effect is rather broad.
At the legendary tier, the things it could achieve would be even more extraordinary.
It's just that the process is extremely complicated.
After reviewing the Holy Grail War's rules, Wayne realised it wasn't as simple as gathering seven people for a fight. Contracts had to be signed beforehand, followed by multiple rounds of competition and bloodshed, providing sufficient specific energy to gradually break the seals.
After much deliberation, he concluded that riding the momentum of the Triwizard Tournament would be more suitable.
Wait, no—this time, it should be called the Holy Grail War.
As for what wish to make, he hadn't given it much thought yet. That was still far off.
No wonder Wayne had looked displeased earlier. The reward was excellent, but currently useless to him.
In other words, this draw had yielded him almost nothing.
No wonder his mood had soured.
...
By evening, Wayne summoned Ho-Oh back.
With Fawkes absent recently, Ho-Oh had been playing with Thunderbird Mia, causing frequent thunderstorms.
"Take this to Crouch. Go and return quickly."
With a soft cry, Ho-Oh vanished with the Holy Grail.
...
A new week.
Hermione was no longer present in Divination class, and Trelawney only mentioned it in passing.
"Her inner eye is weak. Leaving was for the best."
The students, however, were far more excited than she was.
"You're absolutely brilliant!" Lavender Brown exclaimed with fervour, addressing the bewildered classmates. "Have you forgotten? In the very first lesson, the professor said someone would leave us forever—she was talking about Hermione dropping Divination!"
At this, the students' gazes towards Trelawney shifted dramatically, especially the girls, whose eyes sparkled with admiration.
Even Trelawney herself seemed taken aback.
"Is that what it meant?"
"Wasn't it?" Lavender gushed. "You're far too modest—everything you say comes true!"
"O-of course," Trelawney replied awkwardly, changing the subject. "The path of Divination often reveals things in advance. In time, you too may achieve this. Now, open your textbooks..."
She had only said this out of habit—not about Hermione, but about every Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Since her arrival at Hogwarts, this 'prophecy' had never failed...
Today's lesson no longer involved tea leaves but palmistry. Trelawney merely had the students memorise the meanings of each line before letting them practise.
Wayne was troubled—without Hermione, he lacked a partner.
But as soon as Trelawney finished speaking, Padma shyly approached, extending her hand. "Wayne, could you read mine?"
"Me too, me too!"
Suddenly, several more girls squeezed forward, extending their delicate hands and chattering noisily.
Looking at the rows of fair arms, Wayne thought Hermione not attending Divination class... might actually be a good thing?
Ron stared wide-eyed. "When will I ever get this kind of treatment?"
Harry mused thoughtfully, "Maybe if you were remade with even seventy or eighty per cent of Wayne's looks, you'd definitely manage it."
Ron: "..."
...
After class, a thoroughly satisfied Wayne left the tower and ran into Hermione outside the Transfiguration classroom.
The young witch was brimming with excitement. "Arithmancy was absolutely the right choice – this is real divination, completely different from Trelawney's nonsense."
"Every number and letter holds so much meaning. I tried the professor's method and it's astonishingly accurate."
Sitting at her desk, Hermione pulled out a large chart to explain to Wayne, using her own name as an example. Her enthusiasm made it clear she genuinely adored the subject.
She only put her materials away when Professor McGonagall appeared.
After lunch, Wayne sought out Professor Sprout.
"Something the matter, Wayne?" The Head of House smiled at the boy – it was rare for him to approach her voluntarily.
"Professor..." Wayne sighed. "I just wanted to ask – is forgetting to greet a professor really such a serious offence?"
"Of course not," Sprout replied, puzzled. "Most professors wouldn't mind. Students are busy, after all – oversights happen."
"Even Minerva would only deduct a point or two at most. Nothing to worry about."
"But Professor Snape..." Wayne recounted last week's incident with an aggrieved expression, detailing Snape's retaliatory behaviour.
He'd come to tattle.
Quite apart from his naturally uncompromising disposition...
The frustration from yesterday's disappointing prize draw demanded an outlet.
If he was unhappy, why should others get to smile?
By the time Wayne finished speaking, Professor Sprout's expression had darkened completely.
"This is utterly unacceptable! Snape is clearly targeting you!"
The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Wayne's pitiful account, coupled with Snape's prior misconduct, had ignited Sprout's fury.
"Don't worry – I'm a Head of House too. If he targets you, he targets Hufflepuff."
"Go back to your dorm, Wayne. I'll handle this."
With that, Professor Sprout stormed off towards Greenhouse Four with purposeful strides.
...
For the entire afternoon, the usually busy Professor Sprout wandered the castle with no scheduled classes. She lingered specifically between the library and the Great Hall.
Any Slytherin student who failed to greet her was stopped, subjected to a stern reprimand, docked twenty points, and given detention.
Within hours, several had fallen victim to her campaign.
The worst offenders were Crabbe and Goyle, caught roughhousing in the corridors – they earned themselves double penalties and detention.
Soon, Professor Sprout's uncharacteristic behaviour drew attention from other staff.
"Pomona, don't you think your punishments are somewhat excessive?" Professor McGonagall murmured during dinner. "It's just forgotten greetings – you've never cared about such formalities."
"Hmph." Sprout's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You know me, Minerva. I've always delighted in children's lively spirits."
"Greetings or lack thereof never mattered to me."
"But when certain individuals use such trivialities to bully others? Well, if I didn't respond, people might think Hufflepuff has no Head of House."
Professor McGonagall paused.
Understanding dawned. Someone had provoked their usually even-tempered colleague.
Recalling that all the punished students that afternoon were from Slytherin, Professor McGonagall couldn't help but glance at Snape, whose face was as dark as storm clouds.
Lupin observed with great interest, too. During his school days, Sprout had already been Hufflepuff's Head of House. Truth be told, he'd never seen this kind-hearted woman lose her temper before.
With all his colleagues' eyes fixed on him, Snape found it impossible to pretend nothing was happening.
He said grimly, "Did Lawrence tell you this?"
Sprout didn't back down: "Never mind who told me, is it true or not?"
"That's because of those photos he circulated!" Snape suppressed his anger, mentally cursing Wayne with every insult imaginable.
Tattling to parents? How unsporting!
Not that he played fair either...
"Minerva, does taking photos of a Boggart violate any school rules?" Professor Sprout turned to ask.
"Well..." Professor McGonagall looked extremely awkward, unsure how to respond.
From their exchange, she'd now pieced together what had happened.
She'd seen that photo too. It was rather... well.
But Sprout wasn't wrong - Wayne had photographed a Boggart, not Snape himself.
"I can confirm there's no such rule in the school," Lupin suddenly interjected, a smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps Mr Lawrence merely wanted to document the Boggart's transformation process when taking those photos."
Then he added meaningfully to Snape: "Severus, you are a professor after all. You should be fair in your dealings."
"Don't abuse your authority for personal grudges next time."
Snape nearly choked on his own rage, glaring daggers at Lupin.
What's it to you?
Wait - if Lupin hadn't deliberately guided Neville, would he have been humiliated?
In that moment, Snape grasped the key point and lowered his head resentfully.
Outnumbered two to one, the situation was unfavourable. He had to bide his time.
People always said he was the most protective Head of House, but clearly that title belonged to Sprout!
Little did Snape know, the badger's retaliation had only just begun.
The next day, when Crabbe and others learned their detention details, they were utterly dumbfounded.
Sprout had assigned them... fertiliser duty?
The entire Greenhouse Four served as a small fertiliser storage facility, where each punished student had to work for a full day.
The stench was nearly enough to knock someone unconscious.
When the first batch of students returned to their dormitories, the smell alone woke their roommates.
Upon hearing the news, Snape rushed to Greenhouse Four, where he found Crabbe and Goyle adding water to piles of fertiliser.
These two had it worse - they were sentenced to two consecutive days.
"Professor!" The two dim-witted boys burst into tears at the sight of Snape.
But Snape showed no intention of standing up for them. Instead, he asked directly: "Is there any finished fertiliser here?"
"Yes, over there," Crabbe said hoarsely, pointing to several rows of sealed wooden barrels.
Snape approached and opened one, the fumes making his eyes water uncontrollably.
Yet he couldn't suppress a smile.
Crabbe and Goyle gaped in astonishment.
Did the professor actually... enjoy this smell?
"Lupin... just you wait," Snape clenched his fists.
'If I can't deal with Lawrence, I'll certainly deal with you.'
'Adding fertiliser to the Wolfsbane Potion might actually improve its effects!'