The next morning, Wayne awoke to a face-patting service.
Crookshanks lay on his chest, rhythmically tapping his cheek with soft paw pads.
"Awake, awake, stop that."
Yawning, Wayne lifted the large ginger cat onto the bedside, only then noticing Jerry snoring away on his pillow.
The poor Niffler had practically combed the entire castle last night to find Crookshanks.
Dawn hadn't broken yet, and both roommates slept soundly with no signs of waking.
Wayne considerately cast a Silencing Charm before conversing with Crookshanks.
"Where's Black now?"
"Meow meow!"
"You don't know? Wasn't it you who stole the password note for him?"
"Meow!"
"Oh, hiding now, that's normal. What about Scabbers?"
"Meow meow meow!"
"No, we can't touch him yet. Wait until Black shows up, then you can take him over. Whether he lives or dies is up to fate."
"Meow~!"
"Alright, alright, there's a reward. I've recently acquired quite a bit of dragon blood and dragon milk. Want to try some?"
"Meow~!" Crookshanks leapt into Wayne's arms, waiting for the boy to feed her.
...
After petting the cat for a while, Wayne finally got up, carrying Crookshanks to the entrance hall near the Great Hall to restock the vending machine.
Upon his appearance, a group of girls immediately swarmed him, all inquiring about fashion cards.
Before he left, he'd left behind three hundred packs of 648, along with a similar quantity of other card packs—all now completely sold out.
He'd underestimated the purchasing power of the girls.
But the boys couldn't be overlooked either. This batch of card packs included wand skin cards.
In his past life, those who played CS would empty their wallets for a single gun skin. Wand skins would surely have the same effect.
Especially those 'noble' young masters from Slytherin. Offer them a wand engraved with their family crest, and they'd surely be tempted.
After a while, Astoria arrived. Spotting Wayne, she dashed over and buried herself in his arms, murmuring:
"Wayne, you're finally back. It's been almost a month."
Wayne smiled and patted her head. "Things were more complicated than expected. I also made a detour to Paris for some excitement, so I returned later than planned."
"You have to spend this weekend with me."
"Only Saturday. Sunday is for Cho and Hermione."
A passing young wizard overheard Wayne's blatant time management and nearly knelt to beg him for lessons.
...
Astoria was easy to placate. Soon, she was all smiles, sitting at the Hufflepuff table and feeding the boy.
Though Hermione and Cho knew his trip was for serious business, Wayne had initially said he'd return in half a month. Being delayed twice as long left them slightly annoyed.
This was normal. If they hadn't reacted at all to his prolonged absence, it would have signalled trouble in their relationship.
After two evenings of effort, Wayne managed to soothe them both.
Meanwhile, the other students were buzzing with curiosity about where Wayne had disappeared to for a month.
But no one could pry concrete details from him, and wild speculation ran rampant.
Still, a few were in the know.
Hagrid, upon hearing of Wayne's return, eagerly invited him for afternoon tea.
Clearly, his intentions lay elsewhere.
But Wayne went anyway.
The moment he arrived, Hagrid enthusiastically served tea and snacks—likely from the kitchens, given their style.
"Wayne, yeh went ter th' Romanian dragon reserve, didn' yeh?"
The boy gave him a puzzled look. "Didn't I write that in my letter?"
Hagrid lowered his head sheepishly.
"I wuz so busy lookin' at th' photos that, well… somehow th' letter got all wet, an' I ain' read it yet…"
Wayne sighed.
Obviously, your drool got the better of you.
He pulled out another stack of photos—group shots, solo portraits, and several of him as a dragon rider.
The photos turned out quite well. Ho-Oh truly had a talent for photography, finding excellent angles that not only made it look handsome but also made the giant lizards appear less ugly.
Wayne was 'considerate' enough to describe what it felt like riding various dragons, which types offered smoother rides and which ones were more uncomfortable for one's backside.
Hagrid was practically drooling all over the table.
To stop himself from crying with envy, Hagrid forcibly interrupted Wayne's sharing session and asked, "What's happened ter Norbert? 'E's changed so much, I can hardly believe it…"
"It's because of Ho-Oh's flames. You'll be even more surprised when you see it yourself by year's end."
"Year's end?" Hagrid scratched his head, looking puzzled. "Wha' d'you mean by that?"
Wayne smiled faintly, leaving Hagrid with that hook before rising to take his leave. If he told Hagrid, who'd grown up eating Veritaserum, it would be tantamount to telling the entire school.
Watching the young boy depart, Hagrid felt utterly miserable.
...
In Potions class, Snape's lips curled upwards involuntarily when he spotted Wayne entering the classroom, which struck the boy as rather odd.
However, the old bat soon reverted to his usual icy demeanour, making Wayne almost think he'd imagined it.
"Today we shall be brewing the Courage Potion..." Snape drawled, his gaze flickering. "Lawrence, enlighten us on the effects and ingredients of the Courage Potion."
The entire class instinctively looked up, astonished. Normally, Snape treated Wayne as if he were invisible – having him answer questions was something that hadn't happened in ages.
Though equally perplexed, Wayne stood and replied:
"The Courage Potion temporarily boosts bravery and confidence while improving mental state. However, as its ingredients contain stimulants, improper dosage may lead to overconfidence, excitement, or even agitation."
For once, Snape actually praised him: "A comprehensive answer. Five points to Hufflepuff."
The entire class now stared at Snape as if he were a ghost.
This couldn't be the real Snape – either someone using Polyjuice Potion or under the Imperius Curse.
The real Snape would never give Wayne points!
This was harder than him awarding points to Harry – at least Harry sometimes transformed into Harriet, and students had noticed Snape softened slightly when Harriet attended class.
Oblivious to their shock, Snape continued questioning Wayne: "The ingredients? Enumerate them as well."
Steeling himself, Wayne recited: "One dragon's blood grass, two shimmering insects, two grams of dragon bone powder..."
As he spoke, realisation dawned, and he looked at Snape with an amused smirk.
Snape's aged face flushed slightly. After Wayne finished, he awarded another five points before writing the brewing instructions on the board for students to practise.
"Is he mad? Actually giving you points?" Norman, paired with Wayne, dared whisper only after confirming Snape was across the classroom.
"Perhaps Snape needs a favour from me?" Wayne chuckled lightly, tossing two shimmering insects into the cauldron. The greenish liquid instantly turned blue.
Norman speculated, "Maybe he wants you to slip him a few golden cards through back channels."
Wayne was utterly impressed by his train of thought: "You think someone like Snape would play games?"
"Then maybe he wants to borrow money?" Norman said uncertainly. "I've noticed many people butter others up before asking for loans. Didn't Snape just do that?"
"Perhaps." Wayne shrugged and continued brewing his potion.
Before class ended, Snape inspected everyone's potions, awarding ten points to Wayne and Norman's group before dismissing them.
The students had grown numb to it, simply assuming he was having one of his episodes and would deduct the points back once he recovered.
Just as Wayne was about to leave with his classmates, Snape called him back.
Wayne asked calmly, "Professor, is there something else?"
"I heard you visited the reserve in Romania?" Snape inquired.
"Did Professor Dumbledore tell you?" Wayne countered.
Snape tacitly confirmed it, then said, "The school recently requires a batch of dragon bones and blood. Teeth and scales would be welcome, too. I trust you'll wholeheartedly support the cause of education, won't you?"
Sometimes the person who understands you best isn't your closest ally, but perhaps your greatest detractor.
Snape didn't actually know what Wayne had done at the reserve, yet he felt absolutely certain this brat would have returned with his pockets overflowing.
Having been fleeced nearly bald himself, he refused to believe Wayne would spare those innocent dragons.
If there truly was nothing... he'd willingly let the Marauders hang him from the Whomping Willow again!
"Is this for your needs or the students'?" Wayne asked unhurriedly. "Since when has Hogwarts been wealthy enough to provide students with pure dragon blood and bones?"
Snape replied shamelessly, "The improvement of my personal abilities directly benefits my teaching. The distinction seems negligible."
Wayne gave a thumbs-up, admiring his ability to justify this, then made a money-counting gesture.
You deserve to be strung up on a lamppost.
Snape cursed under his breath before reluctantly producing two vials of potion.
Wayne took them, uncorked the lids and sniffed.
One was a clear potion, the other a Wit-Sharpening Potion. His face immediately twisted in disdain.
"Is this it?"
"Exactly what else do you want?" Snape said through gritted teeth. "My reserves are depleted."
All his accumulated potions had gone to settling debts with Wayne. There simply weren't any quality ingredients left to brew with.
"One more vial of Felix Felicis. Delivery before term ends."
Ultimately, Snape clenched his jaw and agreed. He'd practically become this brat's personal potioneer - how many vials of Felix had he handed over since their acquaintance began?
Wayne produced pre-portioned dragon blood - roughly three pints - along with an entire dragon leg bone and over a dozen scales.
Snape immediately gathered them like treasured artefacts. His trained eye recognised these as materials sourced from a pure-blooded dragon.
"Get me that Felix soon. I've got uses for it."
These days, Wayne enjoyed sipping Felix Felicis while studying magic and alchemy, maintaining a perpetual state of inspired brilliance.
The youth waved dismissively and headed for the classroom door.
Just as his foot crossed the threshold, Snape's smug voice called after him:
"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for failing to use proper address when speaking to a professor."
Wayne froze mid-step, turning back with a sigh. "You're truly shameless."
The twenty points earned in class had just been revoked. The man's audacity knew no bounds.
"Takes one to know one," Snape sneered.
He'd learned from the best. Without matching Lawrence's underhanded tactics, there'd be no keeping the boy in check.
Still, he dared not deduct more points. Pushing Lawrence too far might yield unpredictable consequences.
Wayne mentally noted another grievance against the old bat, biding his time for retaliation.
He needed to write to Madam Greengrass urgently. The Paris security conference concluded this afternoon, meaning Scrimgeour would return to Britain tomorrow - perhaps even tonight.
The conference's humiliations were merely appetisers. The main course hadn't even begun.
...
Next morning, every subscriber to the Daily Prophet and Wizarding Weekly found themselves drawn to the magazines' cover headlines:
"Europe's Weakest! Can Aurors Still Protect Us?"
"Auror Office Director Lines His Pockets - Equipment Disparity Causes Four Defeats"
Most had considered the dull conference irrelevant to their lives - until these explosive headlines demanded attention.
As they read on, outrage spread like wildfire, with curses hurled at the Ministry and Scrimgeour alike.
British wizards nursed inherent superiority. They believed themselves the world's preeminent magical nation - home to Merlin, Hogwarts' four founders, and the century's greatest wizard, Dumbledore.
When Grindelwald ravaged the continent, Britain remained untouched, fostering an arrogant conviction that magical supremacy belonged to the Isles.
Now this conference had ground their pride into the dirt.
Four matches - singles and team events alike - ended in utter humiliation.
Losing to Germany was understandable; they were no weaklings.
But Romania? What fresh absurdity was this?
How many wizards does that country even have!
So what if their opponents used powerful magical equipment?
Can't Britain afford to buy or manufacture the same?
Reading further, the crowd grew even more furious.
So this equipment was actually purchased from Diagon Alley?!
Both the Daily Prophet and Wizarding Weekly subtly revealed a piece of information: Celia Shop had attempted to cooperate with the Ministry of Magic. The negotiations had progressed smoothly, but were ultimately halted by Scrimgeour.
All fingers pointed squarely at the culprit...
...
The Ministry of Magic.
Fudge's roars were clearly audible even through closed doors to the Aurors standing outside.
"Scrimgeour! I trusted you enough to put you in charge of the Auror Office! Look what you've done?!"
"Not a single victory, three Aurors couldn't even injure their opponents—is this how you manage your subordinates?!"
"In a few years, will they even be able to grip their wands?"
Outside the office, Kingsley and the two other Aurors who'd participated in the matches stood with faces dark as storm clouds.
"Minister, this is a conspiracy targeting us," Scrimgeour stubbornly raised his head, meeting Fudge's furious gaze.
"They only used those devices against us—it was deliberate suppression."
"I don't care about that, the public doesn't care about that, and approval ratings won't listen to your excuses! A loss is a loss!"
Fudge violently tore the newspapers on his desk to shreds.
"If you hadn't rejected that procurement contract, would we be facing this problem now?"
"I was saving the Ministry's budget," Scrimgeour continued, defending himself, seeing no fault in his actions.
"To hell with the budget!" Fudge pointed at his nose and swore. "Bulgaria and Lithuania could afford it, but Britain can't?!"
"Have you seen what the papers are saying? That you and I embezzled the funds!"
Veins bulged on Scrimgeour's forehead, his eyes bloodshot.
"I'll take remedial measures—I won't let the public lose faith in the Aurors."
He now utterly loathed Celia Shop. If they hadn't sold those products to other countries' Ministries, would he be getting cursed at like this?
"Wait for your remedies?" Fudge sneered, turning to grab his overcoat from the rack.
"The Wizengamot will launch a probity investigation. For now, you're only acting head of the Auror Office—you've lost the right to remedy anything."
Scrimgeour's head jerked up, but Fudge ignored him, striding towards the door.
"I'm going to that shop to negotiate a procurement agreement. You can come if you want."
With that, Fudge opened the door, cast a contemptuous glance at the Aurors outside, and marched towards the lift.