"We can see Gryffindor students are extremely enthusiastic, even preparing a cheer squad - though it's just one person."
After an awkward pause, Lee Jordan hastily fabricated an excuse before refocusing on the match.
"Hufflepuff are fielding two Firebolts today - one for Seeker Diggory and another for Beater Henderson. What luxurious equipment."
"Damn rich kids. Why couldn't Wayne be in Gryffindor? Or at least date another Gryffindor girl?"
Loud booing came from the stands as Hermione brandished her wand at Jordan, seemingly contemplating which hex to use.
"Jordan! Commentate on the match, not the brooms! They're not paying you sponsorship fees!" Professor McGonagall's irritated voice carried across the pitch.
"No problem, Professor, I'm not jealous at all. Not one bit."
"Hufflepuff's Hawke with the quaffle - dodges a Bludger - shoots? No, it's a pass! Valentine scores easily. Hufflepuff takes first blood."
Wood smacked his glove in frustration, having been completely distracted by Hawke's feint.
"Hufflepuff are marking Potter closely today. Henderson, on his Firebolt, seems glued to Harry's side. The two appear quite friendly, engaged in intimate conversation," Lee Jordan continued.
Intimate his arse.
Harry cursed internally. Henderson was driving him mad.
"Potter, you still haven't answered my question. I think Professor Snape's teaching standards are excellent. His advanced classes would be very educational, don't you agree?"
"I couldn't disagree more," Harry snapped, suddenly accelerating his broom. But Henderson ignored the Bludgers entirely, sticking close. He suddenly swung his bat, making Harry jump.
"That's a foul!"
"I know, I'm just stretching my arms. By the way, Malfoy is also a very polite student. Why do you have such a poor relationship with him?"
Harry's mood worsened further.
Praising Malfoy to his face—what difference was there between that and cursing him outright?
Harry roared angrily, "Whose bloody idea was this? Using such underhanded tactics—how are you any different from Slytherin?"
"Stay away from me! Let Diggory, the Seeker, come and face me properly!"
Instead of getting angry after being verbally lashed, Henderson actually looked thoughtful.
"Are you saying all of Wayne's ideas are underhanded?"
Harry's expression changed dramatically, nearly falling off his broom. "Wait, you're saying this was Wayne's idea? He's not even on your team!"
"But Wayne is our coach," Henderson replied with a mischievous grin. "Don't worry, Potter. After the match, I'll be sure to pass along your evaluation of Wayne's tactics word for word."
"Brother, I was wrong." Harry instantly changed his tune, adopting a pleading expression. "I admit I spoke too loudly just now and didn't express myself clearly."
"What I meant was... this tactic is too effective. So effective that I don't even want to play anymore."
Having witnessed Ron's Troll-worthy state, Harry now had a crystal-clear understanding of Wayne's capacity for holding grudges.
He would rather lose this match and endure Wood's scolding than let Wayne hear what he'd just said.
On the other side of the pitch, Cedric pretended to search for the Golden Snitch, frequently flying past the three Gryffindor Chasers while cracking jokes that had them giggling uncontrollably.
Wood roared from the goalposts, but to little effect. It wasn't until Fred forcefully sent a Bludger his way that Cedric's smugness was temporarily checked.
But before long, he was back at it again.
In the stands, Wayne remarked, "I knew I wasn't wrong about him. Cedric really has the makings of a first-class pretty boy."
"Your idea is downright diabolical," Toby said, watching as the score climbed to 80-10, giving a thumbs-up.
"Angelina, look at the score!" George roughly shoved Cedric aside and shouted, "If we keep playing like this, do you want Wood nagging you for a month?"
The Chasers quickly realised they'd been duped and glared venomously at Cedric before steering clear of the playboy.
Fred flew over as well. "Who taught you to play like this? Was it Wayne?"
"What are you talking about? I've no idea," Cedric replied with a smile before suddenly accelerating on his Firebolt.
He knew this was about as far as they could push it. Hoping to overturn the deficit in one match completely was unrealistic—if they didn't catch the Golden Snitch soon, they risked a complete collapse.
"80-30! Gryffindor is mounting a comeback!" Lee Jordan announced loudly. "In terms of individual skill, apart from Diggory and Henderson, the rest are no match for Gryffindor. I reckon the gap will narrow soon—maybe even reverse!"
Listening to the commentary, Harry forced himself to calm down, tuning out Henderson's incessant chatter as he focused entirely on searching for the Golden Snitch.
Soon enough, he spotted a glint of gold hovering beneath one of the goalposts. Harry accelerated, Cedric accelerated too, and so did Henderson.
The three Firebolts erupted into golden and crimson streaks of light. Henderson desperately tried to block Harry's path, attempting to force him to slow down. But his own exaggerated movements allowed Harry to dodge nimbly, causing Henderson to fall behind.
Just then, a Bludger came flying towards them. Only then did Henderson remember—
Ah, right. He was a Beater.
"Potter, watch out for the Bludger!"
Bellowing the warning, Henderson swung his bat with all his might, sending the approaching Bludger flying away.
Harry thought Henderson was bluffing and didn't bother looking back, instead pressing himself flat against his broom to reduce air resistance.
Suddenly, a tremendous force struck him. Harry felt a sharp pain in his back as his broom shuddered violently.
The Firebolt's speed plummeted. Henderson caught up and grabbed Harry before he could fall, bringing them both safely to the ground.
Henderson couldn't help but grumble, "I told you, didn't I? Watch out for the Bludger."
They'd been too close, and he'd swung with full force—hitting Harry was bound to cause injury. He'd only wanted to slow Harry down, not kill him.
Harry's face was deathly pale as he gasped, "I—I thought you were bluffing."
Cheers erupted from the other side of the pitch. Cedric raised his right arm triumphantly, two fluttering wings sprouting from his fingertips. The rest of the Hufflepuff team rushed towards him like madmen.
"Two hundred and fifty to forty. Hufflepuff wins this match with an 'Outstanding' tactical play."
Lee Jordan offered a somewhat dejected congratulations. After this match, Gryffindor hadn't just lost a game—their lead in points had dwindled to mere dozens. Their once-secure position for the championship was now precarious.
Wood punched himself twice in frustration, but he couldn't spare time for anger. He landed to check on Harry's condition.
The other Gryffindor players gathered around, too. No one blamed Henderson—this was within the rules of the game, and he'd even given a warning.
They ought to be thanking him.
"Make way, make way!" Madam Hooch pushed through the crowd and crouched to examine Harry. She quickly delivered her verdict: "Just a broken rib. Nothing serious. Take him to the Hospital Wing."
At that moment, a melodious song suddenly filled the air, lifting everyone's spirits.
Amidst the clear, ringing cry, a burst of flame descended, enveloping Harry. The pain vanished instantly.
"It's Ho-Oh!" Harry leapt to his feet under the astonished gazes of the crowd, looking towards the Hufflepuff stands.
Ho-Oh circled above Wayne's head before flames erupted, and both boy and bird vanished on the spot.
...
Wayne didn't go straight to find Newt. Instead, he first headed to Devon to visit Nicolas Flamel.
Ravenclaw's Diadem had been left there for over two months now, and he hadn't heard any updates from Nicolas.
He wasn't worried that Nicolas couldn't handle it—he was concerned the old man might pocket it.
This was a legendary wizard's diadem. For an Alchemist like Nicolas, the temptation would be unimaginable.
The old man was pleasantly surprised by Wayne's sudden appearance.
"What brings you here?"
"Tomorrow, I'm going to the Romanian dragon reserve with Newt. Thought I'd drop by to see you first."
Wayne chuckled as he found a seat. "Where's Grandma Perenelle?"
"She's taking her afternoon nap. Probably won't wake for another hour." Nicolas instructed Nabby to serve the boy some tea and snacks before asking, "What are you doing at the Romanian dragon reserve?"
Wayne recounted everything from the Holy Grail War to the tournament events for Nicolas.
After listening, the six-hundred-year-old wizard remained silent for a long moment before finally remarking:
"You certainly know how to stir things up."
"What about that Holy Grail? Let me have a look."
Wayne took a sip of tea. "It's still with Professor Dumbledore. You can ask him if you're interested."
"But are you free to handle it now? Has Ravenclaw's Diadem been purified?"
Nicolas's expression turned slightly awkward.
Wayne noticed the change immediately. "Did the purification fail, or do you need more time to study it?"
"Couldn't resist the temptation, I suppose." Nicolas gave an embarrassed smile. "I destroyed the soul fragment inside a month ago, but there are some unanswered questions. Come with me."
The elderly wizard stood and led Wayne out of the parlour into the laboratory.
The diadem occupied the most prominent position. Unlike its rust-covered state when first delivered, it now gleamed as if newly forged, resting beside a basin of emerald-green potion.
"Separating the Basilisk venom wasn't overly difficult, though its potency diminished after extraction. It took a full week of soaking to eradicate the soul fragment completely."
As he spoke, Nicolas handed the diadem to Wayne. "But its effects... proved rather disappointing. You may try it yourself."
Without comment, Wayne placed the diadem upon his head and casually picked up a book to read.
The effects became immediately apparent, explaining Nicolas's disappointment.
"It's like taking a Brain Elixir. Sharper focus, slightly quicker thinking."
"Precisely." Nicolas nodded. "This has nothing to do with wisdom."
"I wonder if we're simply misusing it."
Wayne experimented further, finishing the first chapter of Turbid Potions before removing the crown.
"Perhaps this is simply Ravenclaw's Diadem's true function?" Wayne speculated. "If it possessed greater power, Voldemort wouldn't have dared turn it into a Horcrux."
"Maybe its legendary status stems merely from having belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."
He felt no particular disappointment.
Even if this artefact ranked as epic—or at most legendary—he'd acquire better items eventually.
What truly interested him was the diadem's historical significance and collectable value.
In this regard, he and Voldemort shared similar tastes for commemorative objects.
Nicolas, however, held a different perspective.
Godric Gryffindor's sword had demonstrated remarkable properties—surely Ravenclaw's signature artefact couldn't be this mundane.
Some secret must lie undiscovered.
Seeing the old wizard's troubled expression, Wayne suggested, "If you're determined to solve this, I've thought of a more efficient approach than solitary research."
"What might that be?" Nicolas regarded him curiously.
"Ask someone who'd know." Wayne smiled meaningfully.
Nicolas looked at him as if he were an idiot.
"You wouldn't know about this," Wayne said nonchalantly as he pocketed the Ravenclaw's Diadem, though Nicolas still noticed, making the old man bristle with anger.
"Ravenclaw's house ghost is Helena Ravenclaw – Rowena's daughter. However, she goes by the Grey Lady now. Voldemort got the information about the diadem from her."
This shocking revelation drew in Nicolas. "Ravenclaw's daughter became a ghost?"
"Absolutely genuine. Once I go back and ask her, it'll be far more reliable than your wild guesses here."
"Fine, I'll await your good news."
Nicolas dropped the matter, saying cheerfully.
By afternoon, the elderly lady had risen, and Wayne spent some time chatting with her. After dinner, he headed straight to Newt's place.
...
The next morning, Wayne came downstairs for breakfast.
Newt sat at the dining table, while Tina was nowhere to be seen.
"How are we getting there later?"
Wayne picked up a slice of bread, spreading peanut butter on it as he asked, "Do you have local entry permits? We're not smuggling ourselves in, are we?"
Newt's hand froze while pouring milk.
Just then, Tina walked into the dining room carrying a bundle. "If he didn't have entry permits, he wouldn't dare visit the dragon reserve so openly."
"Though the Romanian Ministry of Magic has one condition – he can't bring his suitcase along."
Wayne clicked his tongue.
No need to guess – another victimised country.
"No worries. If you can't bring the case, I can," Wayne said with a smile, seeing Newt's dejected expression.
Newt looked even more glum.
Tina stuffed the bundle unceremoniously into Newt's hands. "These are heat-resistant cloaks and gloves. Remember to wear them later."
She admonished, "Wayne, keep a close eye on Newt. Don't let him charge headfirst into danger like last time up north, when he nearly got swallowed by an Ironbelly."
"Don't worry," Wayne thumped his chest. "With me around, senior won't face any danger."
"Good lad." Tina smiled kindly before turning a stern gaze on Newt. "Listen carefully – you're to follow Wayne's lead once you're there. If I hear you've caused trouble again... you won't be going anywhere else, ever."
Faced with Tina's iron will, Newt could only meekly agree while Wayne snickered beside him.
The two hurried through breakfast and stepped outside.
A carriage stood quietly by the entrance.
Wayne asked curiously, "What creature will pull it? Thestrals?"
"I don't have Thestrals, but something better." Newt shook his head, putting fingers to his lips and whistling sharply.
The backyard soon stirred with movement as a slender magical creature came flying over.
Upon seeing it clearly, Wayne's eyes lit up.
"Big kitty!"