"Yeh're here?" Hagrid looked startled by Wayne's sudden appearance, but waved him inside anyway.
"Had yer dinner yet? If not, yeh're just in time to join me," Hagrid said, setting the tea on the table.
Wayne took a seat. "I have, but I could manage a bit more."
Hagrid produced his infamous rock cakes again, making the young man wonder if the half-giant survived on these alone.
After discreetly casting a Softening Charm, Wayne picked one up and took a bite.
Waiting patiently for Hagrid to finish eating, he finally asked, "Hermione mentioned you have a friend who's... not doing well."
"Aye," Hagrid's expression turned mournful.
"Would that be Aragog?" Wayne pressed.
Hagrid looked startled. "How'd yeh know? I'm sure I never told Hermione or the others… Did I let it slip again?"
Watching the half-giant descend into self-doubt, Wayne sipped his tea. "You don't have many friends who've known you for fifty years. If it weren't Aragog, it'd have to be some other magical creature. Just an educated guess—your secret's safe."
"Aye, that's a relief," Hagrid sighed, but then his face fell again. "Yeh know, for a spider, Aragog's lived a right long time. Death… it was always gonna come. When I went to see 'im before term, he could barely move… poor ol' fella… all from old age."
Wayne nodded quietly, offering no further comment.
After sitting a while longer, Wayne excused himself, citing the approaching curfew, and left the hut.
But barely out of sight, he doubled back and slipped into the Forbidden Forest.
Aragog wasn't just Hagrid's friend—he was a production asset. Many of Wayne's competitively priced goods relied on the Acromantula venom supply chain. Without the elder spider, the colony would scatter across the forest, making venom collection exponentially harder.
Moreover, as a fifty-year-old spider king, Aragog's venom quality was unmatched. After that first regrettable incident where he'd mixed Aragog's venom with common Acromantula stock, Wayne had always harvested it separately.
Sentiment aside, this warranted investigation. And something nagged at Wayne...
Didn't this creature survive until '97? There should be years left. Was this an act to avoid him?
...
The path to the Acromantula colony was second nature to Wayne after annual visits. Soon, he reached the familiar clearing.
Encasing himself in a Fiendfyre shield—charring a dozen overeager spiders that ventured too close—he watched the rest retreat in terror.
Striding into the nest's heart, Wayne called out:
"Aragog! Came to check on you!"
Normally, the spider king would emerge cursing from his burrow. But after prolonged silence—with only skittering hatchlings maintaining a wary perimeter—Wayne grew impatient enough to consider entering the tunnels himself.
Then a frail, wheezing voice rasped:
"Little wizard... must you return so soon?"
Though it sounded deathly, Wayne detected undiminished fury beneath the weakness.
The youth smiled and said loudly, "Hagrid told me you were on your last legs. As an old friend, of course, I had to come see you."
"Or did you fabricate this lie specifically to avoid me?"
Another long silence followed. Wayne heard rustling from behind the bushes as an enormous spider slowly emerged.
"How did you get so old?"
Wayne looked at Aragog with some surprise.
Normally, a spider's age and physical condition could be judged by its size and markings. Though Aragog had been blind in the past, his massive frame and powerful remaining legs had exuded strength.
But now Aragog had lost more than a full size, even his spider hairs were turning white.
This confirmed Wayne's suspicion—Aragog was truly on his last legs.
"Hmph! And whose fault is that, you wicked little wizard?" Aragog growled. "If you hadn't drained so much of my venom, I could've lived another three to five years at least!"
"Now look at me—I won't last much longer. Kill me if you want, but you won't get a single drop of venom from me today!"
After this outburst, Aragog's legs wobbled weakly, and he began panting, though his spirits seemed lifted. He'd been holding those words back for two and a half years!
Previously, he'd endured humiliation to survive. Now that death was near, he'd finally vented everything.
Sensing their patriarch's anger, the surrounding spiderlings grew restless.
Wayne's expression remained neutral, though inwardly he felt somewhat awkward.
So this was his fault...
But he'd given Aragog ample recovery time—visiting only every four to six months. Other spiders could bounce back from this schedule. Why not him?
"You're certain you won't give any?" Wayne drew his wand.
"Hehehe... listen here, boy." Aragog sneered. "Even if you slaughter all my offspring and kill me today, I won't yield."
"In that case..." Wayne's smile vanished as he flicked his wand upward, summoning a bottle of Elixir of Life.
The crimson liquid flew into Aragog's mouth under magical control.
"Poison? What poison could be deadlier than my venom?" Aragog scoffed... but soon, he felt changes occurring in his body.
Like fresh life sprouting from rotten wood!
"What is this, little wizard?" Aragog exclaimed excitedly.
"Something to extend your life." Wayne regarded him playfully. "Want more?"
"Give it to me!" Aragog roared.
Boom!
A shockwave scattered outward, reducing nearby spiderlings to fragments.
The young man said coldly, "Is this how you ask for favours? Or do you think you can take it from me by force?"
"N-no, that's not what I meant."
"Honourable Mr Lawrence, I spoke too loudly just now. My apologies."
Maddened moments earlier by the prospect of continued life, now sobered by his offspring's deaths, Aragog fawned:
"Venom? I've got nothing if not venom to spare."
"However much you need, I'll provide it."
Wayne raised an eyebrow. "But didn't you say you wouldn't give me a single drop, even if you died?"
"Not a drop, but I never said anything about a barrel."
Aragog immediately countered, "After so many successful collaborations, how could I refuse you?"
He emitted several sharp cries, summoning hundreds of Acromantula who obediently formed orderly ranks under his command.
When Wayne produced another bottle of Elixir of Life, Aragog's breathing grew heavy.
Wayne toyed with the crystal vial in his hand. "Such fine things are naturally reserved for one's own people."
"That bottle I just gave you was a gift in recognition of our past cooperation. It should extend your lifespan considerably."
"If you want more... Aragog, that will depend on your performance."
"Then there is only one answer," Aragog said solemnly. "I shall pledge eternal loyalty to you, my esteemed master!"
The older one grows, the more one fears death – and spiders are no exception.
Aragog's obsession was survival at any cost. Now that hope had appeared, he wouldn't relinquish it even if it meant draining himself and all his offspring dry.
Pleased with this attitude, Wayne flicked his wrist, sending the Elixir of Life flying into Aragog's mouth.
An even more intense euphoria than before surged through the giant spider as he felt his body rejuvenating.
After days without eating, he even experienced hunger pangs again.
"Master, I shall produce venom for you immediately," Aragog said, suppressing his feeding urges as he knew what took priority.
"No need." Wayne waved dismissively. "You're still convalescing – the venom quality would be subpar. I'll return in two months."
"Your mercy knows no bounds."
Where the creature had learned such sycophantic phrases was beyond Wayne's concern. Turning to leave, he paused after several steps.
"Don't overindulge," he remarked meaningfully over his shoulder. "You'll need to compensate for any venom shortfall later."
With that, Gardevoir Apparated them both away.
Aragog could restrain himself no longer. His maw gaped wide as he turned on his own offspring – the most nutritious prey in the vicinity.
Yet he remembered Wayne's warning. Once the edge of his hunger abated, he stopped, commanding other spiders to hunt while he contemplated.
A wise spider plans beyond immediate gratification.
Though revitalised, his body remained aged. Without further doses of that miraculous liquid, death still awaited him.
If his memory served, Lawrence should be in his third year now?
What would happen when the boy graduated?
Would that mean certain doom?
Having glimpsed hope, Aragog refused to surrender. His mind churned desperately for solutions...
Wayne had no intention of relocating the Acromantula colony into his enchanted case.
The reasons were obvious – too savage, too unsightly, and too disruptive to the case's delicate ecosystem.
Free-ranging them in the Forbidden Forest sufficed. Natural predators there would maintain equilibrium.
As for post-graduation needs... who said alumni couldn't revisit school grounds?
...
The first week of term passed swiftly, Friday arriving in the blink of an eye.
An uneventful week – perhaps this quiet rhythm was the castle's true nature.
Save for Wednesday's minor disturbance...
Ron had been hauled away by Professor McGonagall for submitting blank holiday assignments. The twins lost thirty house points and earned a week's toilet-scrubbing duty.
That invisible ink proved particularly diabolical – no counter-potion existed yet to reveal it.
Professor McGonagall's experienced eye had immediately recognised the potential hazards.
If young wizards used the excuse of being pranked with invisible ink to hand in blank homework assignments, it would cause utter chaos.
So Professor McGonagall immediately classified invisible ink as contraband, with severe punishments for anyone caught possessing it.
The last Potions class of the afternoon.
Snape looked dreadful, as though he hadn't slept for a long time.
Which was essentially true.
With Wayne's material support, his resources had become plentiful again, allowing him to embark on new research.
However, the direction of his research had shifted.
Lily had been dead for over a decade, so physical body reconstruction became his primary focus.
Next was the far more abstract issue of the soul.
Research on souls had always been scarce in the wizarding world, mostly involving Dark Magic.
The reason Snape looked so haggard was that every night he sought out the school ghosts to discuss matters concerning souls and the experience of death.
He also had to scour the Restricted Section for relevant materials.
Operating at full capacity like this daily left Snape delivering his lectures in a listless manner.
He didn't even have the energy to pick on the students, making this lesson unexpectedly relaxed.
After class, Wayne happened to run into Harry returning from training.
Noticing he was still carrying Hermione's customised Firebolt, Wayne found it strange and quickened his pace to catch up.
"Harry, didn't you receive any special gifts at Christmas?"
Special gifts?
Harry looked bewildered. "What do you mean? I got your present - I really liked that magical photo album..."
"Not mine." Wayne shook his head. "No one gave you a Firebolt?"
Harry looked even more confused, stopping to stare at him oddly. "Are you mad or am I? Who'd give me such an expensive gift?"
"Unless..." He hesitated, leaving the rest unsaid.
Unless he was actually a girl... then Wayne might give him one.
"Must have misheard then," Wayne made an excuse. "I thought someone gave you a Firebolt for Christmas."
"Who'd be daft enough to give me a Firebolt?" Harry couldn't help laughing at the idea.
"If that ever happened, I'd call them Godfather."
Wayne's mouth twitched, but he said nothing more.
Had Sirius run out of money, so there was no Firebolt for Harry?
That didn't seem right...
Unable to figure it out, Wayne grew concerned.
Was he about to die like Aragog, too?
Better send Crookshanks out to check on Sirius.
Without Black, how would Harry inherit the fortune? How would he make money?
...
The next day, Malfoy arrived at their usual tutoring classroom half an hour early, already anticipating Potter's astonished expression when he demonstrated a fully-formed Patronus.
When Wayne and Harry finally arrived at seven, Malfoy couldn't wait to announce:
"Lawrence, I've mastered the Patronus Charm. Can you teach me a new spell today?"
Having missed Harry and Malfoy's earlier confrontation, Wayne was genuinely surprised by this news.
"Show me then."
Malfoy had been waiting for this moment. Drawing his wand, he shot a triumphant glance at Harry's stony face before declaring loudly: "Expecto Patronum!"
Thick silver-white mist erupted forth. Under Potter's gaze, Malfoy found himself growing even more exhilarated.
The emotions were more intense than when he'd first succeeded in casting the spell, and his Patronus took form remarkably quickly, eventually coalescing into a white weasel that bounced about mid-air.
"Excellent, you succeeded on the first attempt," Wayne praised. "Not many students can master the Patronus Charm in their third year. You'll likely get an 'O' in Defence Against the Dark Arts for your OWLs."
Though he'd possessed the system for so long that he couldn't view others' status panels, he could roughly gauge each person's talent level based on performance gaps between individuals.
Take Malfoy - he had talent ranging between A to B in both Dark Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was quite respectable.
Hearing this praise, Malfoy became unbearably smug:
"Potter, shall I impart some secrets to you?"
Harry said coldly, "No need. I'll succeed soon, too."
Wayne suddenly grew curious—what memory had Malfoy used to conjure a Patronus so effortlessly?
Temporarily shelving his morals, he silently cast the Legilimency Spell and met Malfoy's gaze.
His expression immediately turned peculiar.