Ginny had dutifully honoured the bet.
In front of dozens of students in the common room, she loudly read out the most absurd contents from the latest issue of The Quibbler.
Mr Lovegood claimed that Ludo Bagman was actually a Goblin disguised as a human.
The reason given was his striking resemblance—eight parts out of ten—to the Goblins in Madam Parris's garden, complete with photographic evidence.
He then proceeded to introduce several types of Blibbering Humdingers, swearing these creatures were absolutely real.
Ginny's ears turned crimson as she read, but amidst the roaring laughter, she had no choice but to soldier on.
She didn't even correct the typos in the magazine, reciting everything in a monotone.
Yet even so, by the time she finished, not a single person in the common room could sit up straight—even Hermione was shaking with laughter in Wayne's arms.
"Young lady, I salute your courage," Wayne said, giving Ginny a thumbs-up as she stood there looking utterly defeated.
He'd assumed she'd give up after a few lines, yet she'd stubbornly read for a full fifteen minutes.
Too honourable for her own good.
"Happy now?" Ginny tossed the magazine aside, glaring at Wayne with kittenish ferocity, her little fangs bared as if ready to sink them into him.
"Don't be unreasonable," Wayne said innocently. "You proposed the bet, you set the stakes—all I did was provide the prize. How is this my fault?"
"I'm not blaming you," Ginny forced a smile. "I just think I'm unlucky, that's all."
Harry's expression turned odd.
Truthfully, he also thought Hogwarts's loss had been unfair.
The Golden Snitch flying straight into the Seeker's hands? That was like offering a lamb to a tiger.
Seeing Ginny's mix of indignation and gloom, Wayne couldn't help but laugh.
"Alright, alright. I know you got robbed. How about a consolation prize?"
"A prize?" Ginny's eyes lit up, her hand immediately outstretched. "Yes! Why wouldn't I take it?"
"If the match had gone on another half-hour, I'd have scored ten more goals... but a consolation prize is fine too."
Wayne snapped his fingers, and a miniature broomstick flew out of his pocket, rapidly enlarging.
"Nimbus 2004!" Ginny gasped, lunging forward to hug the broom.
"Wayne... this is for me?"
"Consider it your birthday gift until graduation," Wayne said, tapping it lightly.
This was one of two latest-model Nimbus brooms recently gifted by the owner of Nimbus Racing Broom Company.
Times were tough for Nimbus lately. With Firebolt's production capacity steadily increasing, their high-end models couldn't even compete with their own older, discounted brooms.
Wayne was considering whether to acquire some Nimbus shares and merge them with Firebolt for restructuring.
Firebolt could focus on the premium market, while the Nimbus line could drop prices to dominate the mid-range. The remaining family and children's broomsticks could be left for other companies to fight over.
Still, Nimbus wasn't desperate enough yet—the owner hadn't immediately agreed.
Perhaps he'd have Madam Greengrass apply some pressure later.
As head of the Department of Transportation, she could easily make life difficult for any flying broomstick company with a few pointed criticisms.
"More than enough!" Ginny nodded eagerly, clinging to the broom as if it were priceless, all traces of her earlier humiliation forgotten.
Suddenly, Ginny pecked Wayne lightly on the cheek like a dragonfly skimming water, then ran into the dormitory with flushed cheeks.
"Ginny!" Ron stared incredulously at his sister's retreating figure.
He then whipped his head around to glare at Hermione, his meaning obvious.
Aren't you even angry about this?
Hermione rolled her eyes. "If Harry gave you a Firebolt, I wouldn't bat an eyelid if you kissed him. Ginny was just showing her appreciation."
Ron: "..."
If Harry really gave him a Firebolt... maybe that wouldn't be so bad?
Sensing danger, Harry hastily took two steps back, waving his hands frantically. "Ron, put that thought out of your mind. There's no way I'm giving you a Firebolt."
Ron clicked his tongue in disappointment.
"Wayne," Fred said with an ingratiating smile as he sidled up, "we don't want birthday presents before graduation either, you see..."
"Those are your words," Wayne quickly agreed. "I won't give anything this year or next."
"What about the broom...?" George rubbed his hands together sheepishly.
"Don't worry, no brooms either."
The twins: "..."
...
After sitting a while longer, Wayne prepared to leave.
As he exited the Gryffindor common room, he noticed Harry following him.
"Is something wrong?" Wayne asked curiously, wondering why Harry hadn't spoken up inside.
"Wayne, I think something's not right."
Harry touched his scar and lowered his voice. "It's not my imagination. My scar keeps hurting intermittently. Not as badly as when I'm near Voldemort, but it's definitely noticeable."
Wayne's gaze sharpened.
"Your scar's hurting again?"
"Yeah."
"Have you been having any dreams?"
"No." Harry shook his head. "I've been sleeping well lately, no strange dreams."
"I see." Wayne nodded thoughtfully.
Harry watched him ponder before asking, "This must be connected to Voldemort, right?"
"Correct."
Wayne extended his hand, silver-white mist curling from his fingertips into Harry's forehead, bringing immediate relief.
"This is the connection between you and Voldemort. The scar pain likely means you're sensing his growing power."
"What should we do?" Harry grew anxious at the mention of Voldemort's strength. "Can we find him quickly?"
Wayne shook his head. "A Dark Magic master, even a diminished one, isn't easily caught."
"I'll speak with Dumbledore. Don't worry too much—just focus on preparing for your match."
Harry agreed distractedly. Wayne didn't mind whether he paid attention.
When protagonists faced their destined enemies, no advice could deter them.
...
Days passed unnoticed until summer arrived at the castle.
Though champions were exempt from final exams, as a judge, Wayne enjoyed no such privilege—he still had to sit all his subjects' tests.
This year, Cho was in her fifth year. Before O.W.L.s, she needed career guidance from her Head of House.
"When I told Professor Flitwick I wanted to be a professional Quidditch player, he immediately gave me a stack of contacts."
Cho placed over a dozen business cards on the table—managers from various league teams and their Seekers.
These Heads of House had terrifying networks; their decades of teaching produced students in every profession.
Not all remained respectful, but many maintained good relationships.
Particularly Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout—both kind-hearted and popular.
Unlike Professor McGonagall's strictness or Snape's... less savoury qualities, they'd truly nurtured talent across generations.
"Which team interests you?" Wayne examined the names. "The Tornadoes?"
Cho's eyes sparkled. "If I get in, I'd absolutely choose the Tornadoes—lead them back to championship glory."
She'd been a Tornadoes fan since childhood, loyal despite their recent poor rankings.
Sakura, who'd been modifying Clow Cards, suddenly looked up. "The Toyohashi Tengu are the best—they won the league this year!"
"That's just recent luck. No real heritage," Cho countered.
"But the Tengu weren't even in the league before! I believe they'll keep winning—maybe even three consecutive titles!"
The usually close friends debated earnestly.
Comparing Keepers to Seekers, their analysis made other girls chuckle.
But no one worried about fallout.
Neither Cho nor Sakura were petty—if they were, they'd have fallen out after that last Quidditch Match.
Wayne saw that neither of them could convince the other and suddenly interjected, "Sakura, if the Tornados were my team, who would you support?"
Sakura froze for a moment before answering without hesitation, "Well, of course I'd support my own people."
"Wayne, you're not..." Cho looked at him with uneasy suspicion.
The boy nodded. "I've always had this idea—to buy a Quidditch team for fun. Since you like the Tornados, I'll buy the Tornados. It makes no difference anyway."
"Then why not buy the Toyohashi Tengu?" Sakura pouted.
"Because I don't like Tengu," Wayne teased, prompting Sakura to stick her tongue out at him while Tomoyo giggled and quietly comforted her.
"Wayne, I think maybe you should pick a different team," Cho tugged at his sleeve. "The Tornados have been performing too poorly these past few years. They can't even sell tickets properly. If you buy them, you'll most likely lose money."
No matter which world it was, sports were always a money-burning endeavour. Winners took all, while the underdog teams could barely survive, often suffering continuous losses.
A professional Quidditch team not only had to support a large group of players but also required considerable annual expenses for broom upgrades and maintenance.
"Precisely because they're performing poorly, the price is cheap."
Wayne was already very familiar with this kind of operation. He had bought several teams in the Premier League and NBA, all of which had been underperformers.
Just pick a few promising players, and the money would come back, not to mention the increase in market value as the economy developed.
Seeing that he had already made up his mind, Cho didn't press further.
She resolved to train hard over the next two years so that when she became a professional player, she could bring Wayne a championship in her first season.
After dinner, everyone gradually returned to the common room to revise.
Wayne kept Sakura behind.
"Sakura, have you memorised the method for creating the Dream card?"
"Mhm, do you want to learn it?"
Wayne shook his head. "No, I just want to understand how the Dream card works."
Barty Crouch Jr.'s brainwashing project had hit a snag. The sheer volume of information was too much for ordinary dreams to sustain, resulting in fragmented results each time.
Inducing unconsciousness was simple, but making someone dream was a bit trickier.
Dreams were divided into shallow and deep layers. Only by leaving an imprint in the deep layers could the experience feel as vivid as reality.
Wayne had researched a few minor spells for entering dreams, but reaching the deep layers still relied on luck. That was why he thought of Sakura's Dream card—to draw some inspiration.
Hearing that he needed it, Sakura immediately wrote down the Dream card's creation process and accompanying incantations without hesitation.
She also included several other high-difficulty cards, like the Illusion and Erase cards, on the parchment.
Wayne suddenly recalled when they had first met and couldn't help but laugh.
Hearing his laughter, Sakura looked up at him in confusion. "What is it?"
"Remember back at Beauxbatons? I just took the Wind card to study it, and you nearly cried from panic."
Sakura also remembered that scene and blushed. "Th-that's different! We'd just met back then."
"Not really." Wayne ruffled her hair. "I've had my eye on you since that moment."
"You ended up in my hands anyway."
Sakura swatted away the mischievous hand with a reproachful look, then suddenly thought of something and asked quietly:
"What about Tomoyo?"
Wayne's smile froze on his face.