"Mr Lawrence, what grand scheme are you plotting this year to earn yourself another Order of Merlin?" Fudge teased. "If it's you, I'll do my utmost to persuade the committee to upgrade the medal's rank."
"That depends on fate," Wayne replied with a smile, taking a sip of his Butterbeer. "A second-class medal holds little appeal. For a first-class, I might be persuaded to make an effort."
Flitwick and Professor McGonagall coughed awkwardly.
Wasn't that just showing off?
They didn't even have a third-class medal between them, and here he was dismissing second-class honours.
How were professors supposed to measure up?
"Rather challenging," Fudge pretended to lament. "Perhaps you could invent a few more potions?"
"Or perhaps write a few more papers," Professor McGonagall quietly urged. "Lawrence, it's been ages since you last submitted to Transfiguration Today. The editor mentioned you just the other day."
"If you're willing, Charmingly Enchanted would also be an excellent choice," Professor Flitwick chimed in, making his presence known as the atmosphere remained congenial.
During the conversation, Fudge deliberately—or perhaps not—brought up Madam Greengrass, affecting an air of familiarity.
Wayne roughly grasped his intention.
He likely knew about Wayne's connection with Astoria and was trying to ingratiate himself with Madam Greengrass through him.
Before long, Rosmerta arrived with their orders and settled behind the bar, facing them directly.
"What brings you here today?" Rosmerta asked.
Fudge shifted uncomfortably, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers. Only after confirming it was safe did he lower his voice and say, "What else? Nothing troubles me more these days than Sirius Black."
Hermione and Cho, who had been listening quietly, pricked up their ears.
Both were keenly interested in Black's whereabouts. How had he managed to evade the Ministry's extensive manhunt for so long?
"I knew it," Madam Rosmerta said with a sardonic smile, complaining, "You really ought to rein in those Dementors. They've searched my place twice already, scaring off all my customers."
"I despise them too, Rosmerta," Fudge said uneasily. "But it's for everyone's safety. Just bear with it a little longer."
"Only because they think we're easy targets," Rosmerta retorted sharply. "Why don't those Dementors search Hogwarts Castle instead?"
Swish, swish, swish!
The professors and Fudge all turned their gazes towards Wayne, who was quietly munching on a pie.
"Why are you all looking at me?" Wayne felt rather baffled by the stares.
Professor McGonagall wore an enigmatic smile, while Fudge awkwardly wiped sweat from his plump face and said self-deprecatingly, "With Lawrence and Dumbledore around, I doubt those creatures would dare approach Hogwarts even with the Ministry's orders."
"So the rumour is true?" Madam Rosmerta widened her eyes at Wayne. "You really killed over a hundred Dementors?"
She'd heard some students sneaking in for drinks mention it, initially dismissing it as an exaggeration. But now it seemed factual.
"More or less. I didn't keep count," Wayne shrugged.
"Splendid! This round's on me," Rosmerta declared cheerfully, nearly embracing him. "Honestly, I still can't believe Sirius Black turned out to be that sort."
The mention of Black naturally led to reminiscing.
"You don't know the half of it," Fudge said indignantly. "Few realise what kind of man he truly was. He betrayed his own friends!"
"You mean Peter Pettigrew? That posthumous Order of Merlin recipient?" Rosmerta asked, puzzled. "Isn't that common knowledge?"
"No," Professor McGonagall said mournfully. "Remember who his closest friend was?"
"Of course." Rosmerta smiled faintly. "Inseparable as brothers, always cracking me up – much like those Weasley twins. James Potter and Sirius Black!"
The Christmas tree by the fireplace swayed slightly.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "They were the ringleaders of that little group – both exceptionally bright. I'd never seen such expert troublemakers until the Weasleys came along, and... well, never mind."
Mid-sentence, McGonagall remembered another involved party was present and stopped.
But Wayne already felt affronted. "Professor... is that really how you see me?" he said, woundedly.
"Mr Lawrence," Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, "frankly, I thought the Weasleys were unbeatable – until you proved me wrong. You're different. Fewer incidents, but each one nearly gave me heart failure."
Brawls, leading protests against professors, setting the Forbidden Forest ablaze, dangling students from the Great Hall entrance, challenging the Basilisk, slaughtering hordes of Dementors...
Even when Wayne wasn't technically wrong, it was exhausting.
Professor Flitwick tittered, while Hermione and Cho burst into helpless giggles. Rare indeed to see the youth so deflated.
The mood lightened considerably. When laughter subsided, Fudge resumed his revelations:
"What I meant concerns James Potter. He trusted Black beyond anyone – Black was even Harry's godfather. Back when I headed the Department of Magical Catastrophes, I thought they'd always be thus."
Fudge's expression darkened. "But we were all deceived. Few knew the Dark Lord was hunting the Potters. Dumbledore warned them to go into hiding."
"For safety, they concealed their residence using the Fidelius Charm."
"What's the use of that?" Madam Rosmerta asked curiously. Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and suddenly turned to Wayne.
"Mr Lawrence, you should know about this, shouldn't you?"
"Yes, an extremely complex charm," Wayne nodded lightly. "It involves the soul, using magic to conceal a secret within a living person's soul."
"Unless the Secret-Keeper voluntarily reveals it, no one can discover the exact location even if they're standing right in front of it."
"Not even Voldemort could break it."
Hearing that name, several people shuddered.
"Keep your voice down, sir," Fudge said, looking rather unsteady. "We never say that name."
Wayne shrugged indifferently.
"So, the Secret-Keeper they chose was Black?" The clever Hermione had clearly guessed something, her face turning deathly pale.
"Exactly," Fudge nodded gravely. "Just one week after he became the Secret-Keeper, You-Know-Who came knocking..."
"That traitor!" Hagrid roared, fuming. "I met 'im when I went ter fetch Harry, an' I even tried ter comfort 'im!"
"At th' time, I thought 'e was grieving fer James an' Lily, but 'e was really worried 'bout Voldemort!"
Hagrid's voice choked with emotion. "'E gave me 'is motorbike, an' then went after Peter… Yeh all know what 'appened next."
"Keep your voice down, Hagrid!" Professor McGonagall desperately tried to quieten him, as many people were already staring their way.
Thud!
The door of the Three Broomsticks was flung open violently. Everyone turned to see three figures hurrying away.
"Professor Flitwick, I have a question," Wayne glanced over, but didn't pay further attention.
"If... if the Secret-Keeper doesn't reveal the secret but is killed, would the Fidelius Charm still remain effective?"
Professor Flitwick replied, "In that case, everyone else who knew the location would automatically become Secret-Keepers."
"But what if... only one person knew?" Wayne was naturally aware of this 'common knowledge'; he wanted to ask about a more specific scenario.
"An interesting conjecture," Professor Flitwick hesitated. "Perhaps the charm would fail then?"
"A secret remains a secret precisely because someone knows it, doesn't it?"
"Fair point," Wayne nodded. If the opportunity arose, he'd have to test this theory.
Having heard a juicy piece of gossip, Madam Rosmerta left satisfied.
After finishing his meal and the professors their drinks, Wayne walked out with them.
Before parting, Professor McGonagall sternly warned the group.
"Remember, don't tell Potter anything you heard today. That boy's impulsive – I fear he might do something foolish."
The young man and two girls nodded in unison.
Fudge wore a troubled expression. Wayne moved closer.
"Minister, still worried about Black?"
"Yes," Fudge nodded bitterly. "After all this time without catching him, the Ministry's approval ratings have dropped again."
"Apologies, sir," Wayne smiled. "Not the Ministry's approval ratings – just yours personally."
Bang!
Another verbal arrow struck Fudge's heart.
"Minister, I don't believe there's any need for such concern." Wayne chuckled as he observed Fudge's grim expression.
"With all due respect, what exactly is the purpose of deploying Dementors and Aurors on such a large scale?"
"To capture Black and protect the public, of course," Fudge replied matter-of-factly. But Wayne shook his head.
"Wrong."
"Wrong?" Fudge stared at him, perplexed.
Wayne gave him a meaningful look. "It's to make wizards believe they're being protected."
Fudge was visibly shaken.
...
Walking down the street, Hermione was still absorbed in the shocking revelations the professors had shared.
"Black was actually good friends with Harry's father... But why would he betray James Potter?"
"Fear of death, or admiration for power?" Wayne shrugged. "Those are usually the only reasons for betrayal. With Voldemort's influence at its peak back then, such actions aren't surprising."
"If anything, they simply misjudged his character..."
"I can't believe he was a Gryffindor," Hermione fumed.
"Every house has its bad apples—and its good ones," Cho remarked calmly, her words befitting a Ravenclaw.
Suddenly, excited barking erupted from the post office, where a crowd had gathered, cheering loudly.
"Wait, isn't that the big black dog we saw last time?"
Hermione tugged Wayne closer. Hannah was holding a chicken leg, issuing a series of commands to the dog.
Sit. Stand. Shake. Roll over.
Finally, she made the dog perform a backflip before rewarding it with the chicken leg.
"Hannah, you've had two turns already—my turn now!" Another girl quickly took her place, launching into another round of training. Wayne could only watch in silence.
Sirius Black, the proud heir of the Black Family... What sins had he committed to be reduced to this?
The way the dog devoured the chicken leg suggested it had been starving for days.
Just then, Wayne felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Cho looking slightly embarrassed.
"Do you have any more snacks? I want to try too."
Wayne: "..."
...
Meanwhile.
Having stormed out of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry trudged toward the castle with his head down.
Ron and Neville followed closely behind, keeping a watchful eye on him.
Though the distance had made it hard to hear everything, Hagrid's booming voice had carried the most crucial details to Harry's ears.
Now he understood why Mr Weasley had warned him not to seek out Black—and why Malfoy had taunted him for being a coward.
Black was the one truly responsible for his parents' deaths.
Back in the dormitory, Harry rummaged through his bedside drawer, pulling out a photo album buried beneath a stack of books. Hagrid had given it to him two years ago—filled with enchanted pictures of his parents, smiling and moving.
Drip. Drip.
Tears fell onto the album as Harry stared at the red-haired woman smiling tenderly at him.
He turned the page. A long-haired, carefree-looking man stood arm-in-arm with his father.
Upon closer inspection, Harry realised this man bore a striking resemblance to the wanted criminal in the Daily Prophet.
The Black in the newspaper was much thinner, his smile gone, his eyes clouded with darkness.
"Harry, are you alright?" Ron pushed the door open and entered, seeing Harry staring blankly at a photograph as he asked cautiously.
"Malfoy was right," Harry suddenly said.
"What did you say?" Ron's expression changed. "You're not actually thinking of going after Black, are you?"
"Shouldn't I?" Harry retorted. "He killed my parents. I want to avenge them."
"The Ministry of Magic will catch him," Neville said uneasily, fidgeting. "Harry, don't take the risk. You're no match for him—he'll kill you."
"I almost hope the Ministry doesn't find him," Harry said bitterly, glaring at the photograph of Sirius Black smiling brightly. "When the time comes, I'll catch him myself—with my own hands!"
Ron and Neville exchanged glances. They'd never seen Harry like this before.
"Keep an eye on him. Don't let him do anything stupid," Ron whispered, pulling Neville aside.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to find George and Fred. They have some of Wayne's Draught of Living Death," Ron said quickly. "Let him sleep it off. He'll calm down when he wakes up."
"Then hurry back," the chubby boy said fearfully. "I'm not sure I can control him."
...
That evening, Harry didn't appear at the school feast.
Ron hadn't measured the potion correctly—he'd added too much Draught of Living Death, enough to keep Harry asleep for two days and nights.
Wayne cut into his Wellington steak, listening as the young wizards around him discussed the black dog they'd encountered in Hogsmeade.
"It was so clever—I almost thought it was a person! It understood everything we said."
"Maybe it has magical creature blood?" Rolf mused after hearing their description.
"My family keeps a Jarvey, but it's nowhere near that smart," Susan shrugged. "Unless you're talking about something like a Three-Headed Dog—then maybe."
"But how could a Three-Headed Dog's offspring be so small?"
"True." Rolf nodded, jotting down notes about the black dog to ask his grandfather, Newt, later.
"Just one week until holidays," Cedric remarked wistfully. "Time flies. Feels like losing the match was only yesterday."
He turned to Wayne with an invitation: "Fancy hanging out during the break?"
"We'll see," Wayne replied noncommittally. His holidays were always packed, and this time would be no different.
After dinner, as they reached the staircases, Wayne parted ways with the badgers and ascended upwards.
All the way to the eighth floor.
With holidays approaching, he needed to restock from the Room of Requirement.