Early the next morning, Harry hurriedly told Wayne about his dream.
"Were you hatching the egg, or watching a toad hatch it?"
Wayne double-checked.
"Not me—there was a toad in the dream, and it was hatching an egg."
"That just means your dream had a proper conclusion."
Wayne patted his shoulder. "Maybe it's because I mentioned toads yesterday—you know how thoughts influence dreams. It's perfectly normal."
"But..." Harry still felt something was off.
The dream felt too real, almost like another life of his.
Ordinary dreams would be completely forgotten within three to five hours of waking, or their details would fade, but the dream he'd had a few days ago remained vividly clear in his memory.
He'd experienced this peculiar sensation once before—that time, he'd actually dreamt of attending school.
"If all else fails, you could consult Professor Trelawney's opinion. Dream interpretation is part of Divination."
Wayne offered another suggestion. Harry considered it and found it reasonable, deciding to ask after class tomorrow.
Professor Trelawney's popularity had soared recently. At the start of the term, she'd accurately predicted that Norman and Toby would suffer financial losses.
Now it seemed not just those two had lost money—hardly any students in the entire school had escaped this misfortune.
After every Divination class recently, crowds of students would beg Trelawney to predict their gacha luck for the day.
Combined with Trelawney's habit of speaking in cryptic riddles, those who got accurate predictions would loudly spread the word, while those who didn't would make excuses for her. Many young wizards had practically deified her now.
...
On Monday, while Harry and Wayne attended Divination class, Fudge arrived at the school with Scrimgeour.
They didn't approach Wayne directly; instead, they sought out Dumbledore first.
In the Headmaster's office, the elderly Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised at the sudden visit from two senior Ministry officials:
"Cornelius, Rufus, what matter could bring both of you here together? Has Sirius Black been captured at last?"
"Well, it's nothing to do with that damned fugitive," Fudge frowned, though the name Black no longer provoked the intense reaction it once had.
Nowadays, apart from the newspaper reserving a regular column about Black, few people discussed the matter.
Had Black not broken into Hogwarts not long ago, many would have assumed he'd fled to another country.
"It's like this..." Fudge explained the situation from beginning to end, hoping to enlist Dumbledore's help in persuading Wayne to agree to his request.
After listening, Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, looking slightly surprised.
He had also seen the news but hadn't paid much attention to it. Such childish antics weren't worth his time.
Dumbledore simply hadn't expected Wayne to be involved in it.
"Cornelius, I am merely Lawrence's Headmaster. I have no authority to make decisions on his behalf."
Facing Fudge's request, Dumbledore calmly refused: "All I can do is provide a venue for your discussion. After class, I'll have Mr Lawrence come to see you."
The old headmaster subtly glanced at Scrimgeour, who had remained silent since entering.
Knowing Wayne as he did... nine times out of ten, this matter was aimed at Scrimgeour. If he played the good Samaritan now and ended up on Wayne's bad side, would his old bones survive the fallout?
Offending Wayne for Fudge and Scrimgeour... he'd have to be mad to do that.
When he refused, Fudge's disappointment was palpable, his frustration evident as he glared resentfully at Scrimgeour, the source of all this trouble.
"Very well, I'll wait here for Mr Lawrence then."
With that, Fudge sat opposite Dumbledore, and the two engaged in casual conversation while waiting for Wayne's class to end.
...
Meanwhile, after Divination class, Harry waited until the other students had left before approaching Trelawney. Wayne also stayed behind, curious to hear how she'd spin her predictions.
"My Inner Eye is not for calculating your gacha fortunes," Trelawney said with a frown before Harry could speak. She'd nearly been driven mad by these young wizards lately.
Harry quickly explained: "Professor, I wanted your help interpreting dreams, not gacha fortunes."
"Dreams?" Trelawney perked up. "Do tell."
Harry recounted several of his dreams. After listening, Trelawney closed her eyes in deep contemplation before suddenly opening them wide, staring at him in horror.
Harry grew uneasy under her gaze: "Professor, what does it mean?"
Trelawney sighed, adopting an unusually gentle tone: "Nothing, child. You're simply overtired lately."
"Oh," she added suddenly, her voice softening further, "eat whatever you crave these days. Be kind to yourself."
Harry: "???"
Wayne nearly laughed aloud. Trelawney then turned to him: "Child, is there anything you wish to know?"
"Thank you for your kindness, Professor, but I feel everything's fine."
Trelawney said cryptically: "Appearances deceive. Be cautious—bloodshed approaches you."
Wayne didn't argue, simply thanking her, which pleased her further.
As Wayne and Harry walked to Transfiguration class, Harry remained preoccupied with Trelawney's words.
"What did she mean by 'eat whatever you crave'... Am I dying?"
"Perhaps it's literal?" Wayne comforted. "Maybe she thinks you're too thin and wants you to nourish yourself."
"Impossible."
Harry shook his head vigorously: "The professor must have a deeper meaning. I just haven't grasped it yet."
Fear breeds fear. Harry was now terrifying himself, conjuring all manner of dreadful scenarios.
Wayne sighed helplessly and quickened his pace. "If you dawdle any longer, you'll truly be running out of time. Transfiguration class is about to start."
Harry's expression changed.
Compared to Trelawney's prophecies, Professor McGonagall was far more terrifying.
The two hurried along and finally stepped into the classroom just as the bell rang.
Professor McGonagall had already arrived. Harry darted to the seat Ron had saved for him, while Wayne moved to join Hermione—only to be stopped by the professor.
"Mr Lawrence, you're excused from this lesson. Dumbledore is waiting for you in his office."
Wayne looked puzzled but nodded anyway. He gave Hermione, who was already pouting, a reassuring glance before turning to leave the classroom.
Upon reaching the eighth floor, the gargoyle didn't bother with pleasantries this time, immediately jumping aside to reveal the entrance to the office.
Inside, Fudge, who had been mid-conversation, turned at the sound of the door, as did Scrimgeour.
When the latter saw the boy who entered, his eyes widened dramatically.
"It's you?!"
Fudge exclaimed in surprise, "You've met Mr Lawrence before?"
Scrimgeour remained silent, but his mind flashed back to the security conference in Paris a few days prior. In a room full of adults, a handsome youth like Wayne had stood out conspicuously—especially since they'd been seated directly opposite each other. The boy's delighted grin every time the British Aurors suffered a defeat had left a particularly vivid impression.
"Minister Fudge, long time no see." Upon seeing the two men, Wayne immediately understood why Dumbledore had summoned him. He ignored Scrimgeour entirely, greeting Fudge with a smile.
"Mr Lawrence, please sit."
Dumbledore gestured, and an additional armchair appeared in the seating area.
"Thank you, Professor." Wayne nodded to Dumbledore and took his seat.
"So it's Minister Fudge who's looking for me today?"
"Correct. I'm merely providing the venue—feel free to pretend I'm not here."
Dumbledore swiftly declared his neutrality, winking at Wayne with the air of an amused spectator.
Still oblivious to the tension, Fudge smiled gratefully at Dumbledore before saying, "So Mr Lawrence already knows Rufus here. He was pretending to be uninformed earlier."
"Hold on." Wayne interrupted. "I wouldn't say I know this esteemed Head of the Auror Office. We merely crossed paths in Paris, where I had the pleasure of witnessing his... remarkable facial gymnastics."
Scrimgeour's expression darkened. Wayne pointed at him. "See? There he goes again."
Fudge's smile faded as he sensed the hostility. "Rufus, what's this about?" he asked quietly.
"He attended the Paris conference," Scrimgeour said grimly. Since Wayne's entrance, several pieces had clicked into place. He gave a cold laugh. "Mr Lawrence here made a special trip just to mock me."
Wayne feigned surprise. "You figured that out?"
"I travelled all that way just for you. But it was worth it—I even took several photos of you hanging your head in shame."
Dumbledore discreetly summoned a honey lemon ice lolly onto the plate before him.
Ah...
Pure bliss.
"Just because I halted the previous collaboration?" Scrimgeour's chest heaved with anger. "Boy, you've got quite the influence. No wonder this year's security conference included such an unexpected segment."
"You must have pulled quite a few strings, didn't you?"
"Not really." Wayne's tone was breezy. "I simply thought it necessary for you to realise there are still many who recognise quality in this world. Refusing me was the Ministry of Magic's loss, not mine."
"Mr Lawrence, this is all a misunderstanding."
Fudge, now understanding the situation, quickly intervened: "Rufus wasn't targeting you personally. He was merely trying to save the Ministry some funds. It was purely professional, with no ill intent—"
"Is that so?" Wayne sneered. "Then why did Madam Greengrass inform me that Mr Scrimgeour intended to exploit a struggling business, waiting until my shop couldn't hold on before swooping in with a lowball offer?"
Fudge looked embarrassed; he'd forgotten Wayne's mother-in-law was among those in the know.
"Misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding."
"Let bygones be bygones, Mr Lawrence. We've come today to purchase a batch of equipment sincerely. How about we proceed with your original quoted price?"
"Apologies, but with technological upgrades, prices have risen."
Wayne toyed with his fingers. "Eight hundred Galleons per set. Non-negotiable."
The previous price negotiated with the Ministry had been five hundred Galleons per set. He'd been merciful, increasing it by only three hundred rather than doubling it.
"Minister, this is extortion!"
Scrimgeour fumed. "With hundreds of Aurors and Hit Wizards needing equipment, the Ministry simply doesn't have that kind of budget!"
"Mr Lawrence, isn't this price rather steep?" Fudge also grew uneasy.
"You've seen the results, haven't you?"
Wayne's fingers tapped rhythmically on the coffee table. "Equipment that multiplies an Auror's combat effectiveness and safety several times over—is eight hundred Galleons truly expensive?"
Fudge was tempted but still hesitant.
Though Ministry funds weren't his personal concern, the amount still mattered. Squeezing nearly a hundred thousand Galleons from an already strained budget was no simple matter.
Wayne showed no urgency, snapping his fingers to summon a cup of tea, which he sipped leisurely while awaiting Fudge's decision.
"Deal. I'll take a hundred sets."
Ultimately, Fudge accepted Wayne's terms, deciding to cover the shortfall by deducting all Auror bonuses for the coming year.
"When can we expect delivery?" Fudge asked.
"Before Christmas," Wayne said airily.
"Too slow!"
Scrimgeour's face darkened. "The Aurors can't wait that long. Three months."
Wayne ignored him, smiling at Fudge instead. "Out of respect for the Minister, let's move it up to before next term begins."
"That's the fastest possible timeline, given the existing orders from Germany, France, Lithuania, Poland... quite a queue of nations ahead of you."
Fudge immediately straightened with visible satisfaction at these words.
Yet Scrimgeour remained displeased, rising to his feet in an attempt to project intimidation.
"Wayne Lawrence, the equipment you produce now falls under the category of strategic resources. To prevent it from falling into the hands of Dark Wizards, I believe your shop should be placed under Ministry of Magic supervision, with every magical item's distribution registered and tracked."
"Minister, what do you think?"
Dumbledore's previously relaxed expression changed as he straightened in his seat.
Fudge hesitated upon hearing this.
The corners of Wayne's lips curled into a faint smile as he too rose to his feet.
"Mr Scrimgeour, I don't quite understand your meaning... Are you throwing your weight around?"
"Of course not," Scrimgeour declared with righteous severity. "This is for the safety of both Aurors and the public..."
He added pointedly, "Should relations with other nations ever become strained, your actions would be tantamount to aiding the enemy and treason..."
"Scrimgeour!" Dumbledore said sternly. "You're exaggerating."
"Dumbledore, don't forget what you just said."
Scrimgeour didn't even glance at him, keeping his gaze fixed on Wayne. "This falls under the Auror Office's jurisdiction. Even you have no authority to interfere."
Wayne laughed even harder then, his mirth bubbling over into outright guffaws that made him double over.
The portraits of former Headmasters on the walls discreetly opened their eyes.
"Aiding the enemy, treason... quite skilled at slapping labels on people."
"No, Rufus doesn't mean it like that, he—"
Before Fudge could finish, Wayne moved.
Crack!
To everyone's shock, he slapped Scrimgeour across the face, then followed with a powerful kick.
The Head of the Auror Office went flying like a cannonball, crashing through a row of bookshelves as tomes rained down around him.
Wayne strode over and planted his foot on Scrimgeour's face, forcing the man to spit out several teeth in humiliating fashion.
"I came today just to see what nonsense you'd spout next, but you've truly outdone yourself."
"What absolute rubbish, daring to accuse me of treason."
"You! Are! Nothing!"
As he spoke, Wayne ground his foot mercilessly, fresh blood now streaming from Scrimgeour's face.
The young man looked disdainfully at the scattered teeth and blood, then suddenly laughed again.
"Professor Trelawney's prediction was quite accurate – there really was bloodshed today."
The hall fell into complete silence.