"Are you sure Ron said that?"
After a few seconds of silence, Wayne asked with a calm expression.
"Yes," Harry said uncertainly, but affirmed, "Wood and George all heard it."
The others nodded in confirmation.
"Pfft!" Cedric couldn't hold back a laugh, though under Wayne's death glare, he forced it back down and waved his hand.
"I... I just remembered something happy."
"What happy thing?"
"I... I became a Prefect!"
"Get lost," Wayne impatiently shooed Cedric away.
"Do two things for me, and I'll agree to let Hermione lend the Firebolt to Harry."
"No problem," Wood immediately agreed. "As long as it's within our power, anything!"
"First, give Ron a good thrashing," Wayne said through gritted teeth. "See if he dares spout nonsense again."
"Preferably, make sure he can't get out of bed tomorrow!"
"This..." The twins exchanged glances and fell silent.
Seeing their hesitation, Wood gritted his teeth. "Fine. Fred, George, I won't make this difficult for you. I'll handle it this time."
"If anyone's to blame, let Ron blame me."
"No, Wood, you've misunderstood," George shook his head as Fred sighed in agreement:
"We just think Wayne's condition is too lenient. It feels somewhat... unfair."
"Our dear Ronnie, how could he possibly compare to a Firebolt? Maybe... add a few more beatings?"
"George, he's your own brother," Harry protested on behalf of her friend.
"First of all, I'm Fred," Fred said solemnly. "Secondly, Wayne is our good mate too. How could any self-respecting Weasley let a brother suffer? Don't worry, Wayne, we'll give Ron proper hospitality."
"Exactly."
Wood was deeply moved by this display of fraternal loyalty and pressed further: "And the second condition?"
"The second one's even simpler," Wayne smiled. "During the match against Hufflepuff, have Ron eat a Gender-Swap Mint and cheer for you."
The uncontrollable mental image made several of them shudder.
"Lawrence," Wood said with an expression more grimace than grin, "isn't that a bit... inappropriate?"
"Professor Snape ruled that only Harry can use Gender-Swap Mints. No one else is allowed."
Ron becoming a girl to cheer for Gryffindor... no, that wouldn't be cheering, it'd be psychological warfare.
This wouldn't be punishing Ron - it'd be punishing them.
"Don't worry about the professors, I'll handle them. I guarantee Gryffindor won't lose any points."
"So, do you agree or not?"
The twins were even more decisive than Wood, answering on Ron's behalf.
They left in high spirits, with Harry quickly following after them.
Before departing, Wood asked Wayne to pass a message to Cedric – thanking him for speaking up earlier but warning that he wouldn't go easy during the match.
...
The next day, Ron took two days of sick leave due to "localised discomfort."
The twins were truly generous souls. Though Wayne had only asked for one day, they'd exceeded expectations.
For the entire following week, Ron would clutch his backside and flee at the sight of Wayne. During shared classes between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, he'd always choose the seat farthest from Wayne, even if it meant separating from Harry.
The only ones truly suffering were Slytherin.
They were the only house without Firebolts. Though the Nimbus 2001s were luxurious, everything depended on comparison.
"Malfoy?" Marcus Flint looked expectantly at their house's golden goose. "Lawrence is showing off his wealth. Can you tolerate this?"
"Show him the Malfoy family's true standing."
Malfoy's expression darkened. "Flint, don't think I don't know what you're scheming. Challenging Lawrence? You're not even worthy."
"If you want a Firebolt, buy it yourself. Stop stirring trouble here. Who do you think you are?"
With that, he strode out of the Great Hall, ignoring Flint's alternating pallor and flush.
He wanted a Firebolt too, but Malfoy knew his father wouldn't spend that much. Last time, acquiring the Nimbus 2001s had nearly cost him a broken leg.
And using him as a pawn?
Flint should look in the mirror. With intelligence on par with Crabbe and Goyle's, his thoughts were written plainly across his face.
Meanwhile, Astoria was surrounded by girls asking why Cho and Hermione had brooms while she didn't.
"Enough!"
The repeatedly provoked Astoria finally screamed. "Stop dreaming! Even if I got a Firebolt, I wouldn't let Slytherin team use it!"
She pushed through the crowd and ran off.
Daphne warned the others coldly, "No gossiping. My sister simply didn't bring her broom to school. If I hear otherwise, there'll be consequences."
The girls fell silent, especially Pansy Parkinson, who'd been about to sneer but froze under Daphne's icy glare.
Since the term began, Daphne had changed dramatically – becoming fiercely assertive. She'd even disciplined several older students. Combined with her connection to Wayne, no one in Slytherin dared provoke the sisters now.
...
By October, temperatures plummeted below ten degrees. Each morning, damp, cold fog enveloped the castle. A minor flu outbreak quietly filled the hospital wing.
Cho fell victim, too. After drinking Wayne's potion, steam billowed continuously from her ears.
"Why train so hard?" Wayne dabbed her fevered brow tenderly. "You've mastered the Warming Charm. Why not use it?"
"Because it's not allowed during matches," Cho said, steam rising from her as she spoke. "I need to get used to it beforehand. It's fine."
Cho smiled. "Hermione said you're less likely to catch another cold right after having one, so that's actually a good thing."
Wayne couldn't help but laugh at her. He honestly didn't understand why Quidditch drove people so mad.
Wood was dragging Harry—who'd acquired the Firebolt—to practice five times a week. Cedric had set aside his textbooks and was now poring over tactical manuals, discussing strategies with Henderson.
Cho, too, seized every opportunity to fly and adjust to her suddenly much faster broomstick.
Looking at it this way, the Slytherins were actually the most normal ones.
"Meow~!"
At that moment, a ginger cat came darting over, its plump body wobbling as it leapt into Wayne's arms.
"Meow~!"
"What brings you here?" Wayne hefted the hefty orange cat in his hands—proof that size truly mattered when it came to ginger cats.
Crookshanks had grown two sizes larger since Hermione first bought her, now resembling a literal ball of fur.
The cat meowed affectionately, nuzzling against the boy's clothes.
Hermione's fears had indeed come true. Though she was Crookshanks' owner, the ginger feline clearly preferred Wayne. Whenever he was around, Crookshanks would abandon the young witch without hesitation to snuggle into Wayne's embrace.
It infuriated Hermione so much that she'd always end up squishing Crookshanks' chubby cheeks in frustration, though there was little she could do about it.
The cat meowed a long string of sounds—Cho couldn't understand, but Wayne did. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
A strange black dog?
Had Black already reached Hogsmeade...
Crookshanks possessed a remarkable ability: she could distinguish between ordinary animals and Animagi, which was exceptionally rare.
Among the countless pets in the castle, only Crookshanks had seen through Scabbers' disguise.
After spending so many years as a rat, Peter Pettigrew had undoubtedly maxed out his Animagus proficiency.
Unless one pressed a wand directly against Scabbers or used cheats like the Legilimency Spell, neither Wayne nor even Dumbledore could match Crookshanks' sharp instincts.
"Then go play with it," Wayne said, stroking the cat's soft fur without much further reaction.
His days were already packed spending time with the girls—he had no energy left to champion Black's cause.
Sending a cat as his representative would suffice.
"What did Crookshanks say?" Cho asked curiously.
"She said she met a dog and wants to be friends with it."
Cho nodded in understanding. "That's good. Then Weasley's rat should be safe now, right?"
Lately, tensions had been brewing between Hermione and Ron precisely because Crookshanks kept eyeing Scabbers. Ron was powerless to control the cat.
"Who knows?" Wayne chuckled and picked up the towel again. "Dry yourself off properly. A good night's sleep should do the trick."
...
The next day, Wayne brought Crookshanks to the Great Hall.
Hermione was furious. She snatched the plump cat and began squishing her. "Crookshanks! You ran off again yesterday! What's so great about Wayne, huh?"
"Like owner, like pet," Wayne teased. "If the owner likes someone, how could the cat not?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she didn't reply, her hands gentling slightly.
She frowned worriedly: "Class is about to start. I need to put Crookshanks back first."
"No need. Professor Lupin probably won't mind."
Considering Lupin's temperament, Hermione agreed with Wayne's suggestion, and the two headed to the third-floor classroom.
The other students had arrived early, too. Currently, Lupin's lessons are unanimously considered the most lively and interesting, with the added bonus of minimal homework.
As long as students completed their assigned tasks during class, they only needed to write a three-inch summary essay. Those who failed had slightly more work, but it was still far better than other professors' requirements.
Unexpectedly, it wasn't Lupin who appeared before the bell rang, but Snape.
The students stared at him in astonishment, their eyes seeming to say: "Have you come to the wrong classroom?"
Snape strode to the lectern, his expression indifferent, yet his voice dripping with schadenfreude: "Your Professor Lupin is feeling unwell today. I shall be taking his class."
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked.
"Potter, after all this time, you still haven't learned to raise your hand before speaking? Five points from Gryffindor!"
Snape glared coldly at Harry.
Harry then raised his hand and repeated: "What's wrong with him?"
"Raising your hand doesn't mean you can ask irrelevant questions. Another five points from Gryffindor." Snape drawled lazily.
Harry rose angrily, only to be firmly pulled back down by Neville.
If Harry kept talking, Gryffindor would lose all its points.
"Professor Lupin has left no record of what you've covered so far."
"Excuse me, sir, we've studied Boggarts, Red Caps, Grindylows, and Fwoopers, and were about to learn about Hinkypunks—"
"Silence." Snape's cold gaze fell upon Hermione. "Lawrence, why didn't you restrain her? Five points from Hufflepuff. Hmm? You've brought a pet to class, too? Another five points."
He was on a rampage—an absolute rampage.
By the time the bell finished ringing, Snape had already claimed twenty points.
And he'd been perfectly equitable—both houses had received his "generosity."
After battling Lawrence for so long, Snape had gained rich experience in these skirmishes. Targeting Lawrence was one thing, but targeting his little girlfriends...
Snape hadn't tried it. Not because he didn't dare, but because he saw no need.
Yes, that was it!
"Whatever you say, such unprofessional teaching invariably lacks methodology."
"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor we've ever had!" Dean Thomas boldly declared, with other young wizards murmuring agreement.
"That's because you're forgetful!" Snape roared. "Lawrence! Tell me when I covered the key points about Grindylows and Hinkypunks!"
"March of our first year, sir," Wayne stood to answer. "When you were substituting for Quirrell."
"Indeed." Snape scanned the now-silent class. "I can't help but suspect that all your brains have been eaten by brain slugs—except Lawrence's."
"Forgotten first-year material, have you? And now you're lapping up the same content in third year?"
"I pity you all!"
Hermione hung her head in shame. She'd merely found Lupin's teaching more engaging than Snape's—what harm was there in reviewing?
"Now, turn to page three hundred and ninety-four," Snape said.
The classroom was filled with the rustling of pages turning—it was the final chapter of the book.
Though everyone felt Snape's teaching methods were even more disorganised than Lupin's, no one dared to challenge him now.
"Werewolves," Snape tapped the textbook. "Can anyone tell me how to distinguish a Werewolf from a real wolf?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air.
"Granger."
"Werewolves differ from real wolves in several minor ways. Their snouts are smoother and more human-like, their bodies are larger, and they tend to walk upright."
"Reasonably comprehensive," Snape nodded noncommittally, offering no house points. He glanced at the dazed students and snorted. "What are you waiting for? Write it down!"
As everyone scribbled notes, Snape continued:
"Werewolves are not Animagi, nor are they products of Transfiguration. This is an infectious condition, also known as lycanthropy. Even in their human form, you possess the ability to identify whether someone is a Werewolf."
"First, their hair. Werewolves have thicker body hair than ordinary humans, sharper nails, and an unconscious stoop when walking."
"Second, their habits. In the days surrounding the full moon, Werewolves grow noticeably weaker."
Here, Snape glanced at Wayne. "But now, if they've taken the improved Wolfsbane Potion, the pre-transformation weakness won't occur. They'll only experience forty-eight hours of debilitation after transforming."
Hermione's quill hesitated briefly before resuming its rapid scratching across parchment.
"Remember, not every Werewolf scratch leads to infection. Two prerequisites must be met."
"One, it must occur during a full moon. Two, the Werewolf's saliva must enter the victim's bloodstream."
"So if you're merely scratched, there's still hope. A salve made from Silver Dust and dittany will suffice for healing."
"Next, the weaknesses of Werewolves..."
For this lesson, Snape seemed to have summoned a lifetime of teaching expertise, analysing Werewolves inside and out. Even students who disliked him had to admit the content was remarkably thorough and helpful.
When class ended, Snape assigned their homework.
"Everyone will write me an essay on how to identify and kill a Werewolf, each filling two rolls of parchment, to be handed in on Monday morning."
"Lawrence, see Professor McGonagall after class."
Wayne and Hermione left the classroom, still able to hear Harry and Ron loudly complaining about Snape behind them.
Hermione seemed preoccupied, and Wayne guessed she'd already learned the truth. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear.
The young witch looked up in surprise. "Dumbledore knows, too?"
"Actually, all the professors know. Now you and I do as well." Wayne winked. "So you really don't need to worry."
"Hmm." Hermione exhaled deeply, a smile returning to her face. "You'd better go see Professor McGonagall now. See you in the Great Hall later."
"Off I go."