Wayne was thoroughly displeased.
He knew the trial was today, but the scheduled time was ten o'clock.
And now?
It wasn't even half past seven yet!
A full three hours early.
He'd only casually checked the day's auspices after his morning 'workout' before planning to return home, yet the divination revealed the trial's rescheduling. If he didn't leave now, he'd miss seeing old Dumbledore again.
Recently, Dumbledore had been appearing and disappearing unpredictably, spending most of his time outside Britain. Getting an audience with him wasn't easy at all.
Harry wasn't a concern—the boy would undoubtedly be fine. The real issue was missing this chance to question Dumbledore.
Wayne had known the original timeline might shift, but after Fudge's frank discussion with him, any changes should have been communicated. Receiving no owl post, he'd assumed the matter was dropped.
Who could have predicted Umbridge would inadvertently ruin his plans?
What wretched luck.
Wayne fixed the pink toad with undisguised revulsion. "Do you think the Ministry of Magic is some flea market where you can change schedules on a whim?"
The youth then surveyed the assembled crowd with a sneer:
"A simple case of underage magic outside school—something that could be resolved with questioning at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—and you've dragged the entire Wizengamot into it. Making such a spectacle over trivial matters."
"Do you think the Ministry has nothing better to do?"
Amelia Bones nodded in agreement.
Upon learning the inquiry had become a public trial, she'd voiced objections, but with Fudge supporting Umbridge's insistence on using Courtroom Ten, her protests proved futile.
Several elderly jurors immediately echoed Wayne's sentiments.
"Quite right, is tormenting people amusing?"
"I was summoned to the Ministry at half six—my dog wasn't even awake!"
"Arbitrarily changing procedures—since when does a mere Undersecretary wield such authority? And this one aspires to join the Wizengamot?"
"Mr Lawrence speaks for us all! Fudge, explain yourself!"
The jury's verbal assault rallied behind Wayne, leaving Fudge sweating profusely under the barrage.
Umbridge, as the primary target, looked positively livid, her toad-like face collapsing into trembling jowls.
Dumbledore merely gave Wayne an approving nod and smile, refraining from joining the onslaught.
This wasn't his area of expertise; it was better to let Lawrence handle it.
When it came to aristocratic insolence and bullying, eight Dumbledores couldn't match one Lawrence.
He had to admit, watching Umbridge's thunderous expression did lift his spirits.
Sometimes it took a villain to handle another villain.
Harry watched with barely contained excitement, itching to mutter some insults himself before remembering his precarious position.
Freshly escaped from one predicament, he couldn't afford recklessness now.
"Enough!"
Umbridge finally erupted, her sudden shout startling the assembly.
This only provoked greater outrage from the affronted jurors.
Who did she think she was? A mere Undersecretary—even Fudge addressed these 'senators' with deference. How dare she raise her voice?
Ignoring the uproar, Umbridge fixed bloodshot eyes on Wayne. "Lawrence, you're neither a Ministry of Magic employee nor a Wizengamot member. If the Ministry takes action, it has no obligation to inform you—nor do you have any right to be here!"
"Very well, very well."
Fudge looked approvingly at Umbridge.
They'd found the perfect scapegoat. Based on these words alone, he could guarantee this woman had no future left.
Wizengamot members regarded her with the awe reserved for martyrs.
Did she truly not understand what the surname Lawrence represented in modern times?
Life, wealth, status.
These things that most people spend their lives chasing could be effortlessly obtained just by currying favour with Lawrence.
Yet Umbridge genuinely didn't know.
Her world revolved solely around the Ministry and her superiors—the only people who could help her climb the career ladder faster.
As for Wayne, while she knew he held special status and considerable fame, she had no concrete understanding of his actual standing.
Wayne smiled.
Instead of responding, he turned to Fudge. "Minister Fudge, do you also believe I've no right to be here?"
"Of course not!" Fudge immediately shook his head, delivering a swift betrayal. "Mr Lawrence, you're the Ministry's special consultant. Attending trials falls within your privileges."
"Did you hear that, Madam Toad?" Wayne raised an eyebrow at Umbridge. "If you're unfamiliar with regulations, go memorise them properly instead of embarrassing yourself in public."
Umbridge wasn't listening anymore. She stared at Fudge, unable to believe he'd thrown her under the carriage!
Hadn't they agreed to oppose Dumbledore and Lawrence together? How could he surrender first?
Fudge responded with a 'keep calm' look.
Suppressing her fury, Umbridge even abandoned her usual carefully crafted girlish voice. "Whatever your status, the trial's concluded. You may leave."
Wayne ignored her completely, addressing Dumbledore instead. "Professor, would you mind waiting a moment?"
Only after Dumbledore nodded did Wayne approach the bench of judges. An invisible force shoved Umbridge aside, clearing space.
"The trial may be over, but since I'm here at the Ministry, I might as well settle some business."
Wayne spoke casually, as if he owned the place.
Yet no one found this inappropriate—it seemed perfectly natural.
An elderly man rose shakily. "Mr Lawrence, is there something the Ministry can assist with?"
Umbridge was stunned.
She recognised this man—her former superior's father, from an affluent pure-blood family.
She remembered him perpetually looking down his nose at everyone, especially half-bloods or Muggle-borns.
Why was he being so deferential to Lawrence!
"Nothing major." Wayne frowned. "Don't you even serve refreshments at meetings?"
Fudge: "..."
After some commotion, Wayne had not just tea and milk before him, but an array of sandwiches too.
The boy ate while talking, making many present suddenly hungry—they glared at Umbridge.
"Professor Dumbledore, have you withdrawn from the Wizengamot?" Wayne asked between sandwich bites.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, I was removed."
Fudge's expression flickered with momentary discomfort before quickly smoothing over.
"So that means the position of Chief Warlock is now vacant?" Wayne turned his head to look at the jury again.
Someone quickly caught his drift. A man in his sixties stood up and said, "Mr Lawrence, we've been troubled by this matter too. A nation cannot be without its Chief Warlock for even a day!"
"I was planning to visit you after today's trial. Your timing couldn't be more perfect."
How obliging.
"Mr Higgs, you're too kind," Wayne said with a smile. "You can come to see me anytime. How about a drink after work?"
Higgs was overjoyed and nodded eagerly.
Everyone looked at him with envy.
That old fox got there first.
Though he only looked to be in his sixties—younger than Dumbledore—he was actually Dumbledore's senior.
Everyone knew why he'd been looking younger lately.
Hadn't he just latched onto the right patron?
"I propose Mr Lawrence be made Chief Warlock!"
"Seconded! The only reason Mr Lawrence declined to join us before was that Dumbledore still held the position. Now's the perfect time!"
"I won't accept anyone else for the role!"
Harry stared dumbfounded at this dramatic turn of events.
How had this courtroom transformed from a solemn tribunal into Wayne's promotion ceremony?
As the excited clamour continued, Wayne pretended to be modest, pressing his hands down. "You flatter me. I'm still just a boy. But to avoid disappointing everyone, I'll reluctantly accept the position of Chief Warlock."
"Minister Fudge, what do you think?"
The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was roughly equivalent to the Speaker in Muggle society, serving as a check on the Minister for Magic's power.
Old Dumbledore had never exercised this authority, making the position seem relatively insignificant.
However, since it was intended to provide balance, the Minister still retained considerable influence over the appointment.
Fudge: "..."
'If you've all already decided, why bother asking me?'
Under the weight of countless stares that seemed ready to devour him, Fudge reluctantly nodded.
"Of course, no problem. You're the people's choice."
"Thank you for your trust, Minister," Wayne said, subtly raising three fingers. Fudge's face immediately lit up with joy.
Only Dumbledore noticed this exchange between them and sighed inwardly.
With Wayne's cunning mind entering the Ministry, combined with his uniquely advantageous resources... it was like a wolf among sheep, free to do as he pleased.
At least Voldemort didn't have this kind of brain, or his headaches would be a hundred times worse.
At that moment, an old man actually removed his own hat and robes, modified them slightly with transfiguration, and hurried over to drape them over Wayne.
"Mr Lawrence, the weather's rather chilly. You must take care of your health."
Now it was Wayne's turn to be speechless.
He hadn't even had the chance to drape robes over Dumbledore yet, and someone was already doing it for him.
But Wayne didn't refuse. He smiled at the old man and discreetly passed him a small vial, making the elder's wrinkled face bloom like a chrysanthemum.
Wayne conjured a small gavel and struck it heavily, bringing silence to the room.
He glanced sideways at the dumbstruck Percy. "Mr Weasley, this Chief Warlock is about to convene his first Wizengamot session. You'll be taking the minutes."
"Yes, alright," Percy replied dryly.
Dumbledore watched with amusement, in no hurry to leave. He pulled Harry aside to see what Wayne would do next.
"...Madam Greengrass."
Wayne glanced at his mother-in-law before asking, "Does the Wizengamot have any backlogged issues requiring attention?"
Suppressing a smile, his mother-in-law rose and adopted a solemn tone. "Mr Lawrence, the Wizengamot does indeed have many matters requiring your decision. The most pressing issue is the recruitment of new members.
"Cornelius Fudge has nominated Dolores Umbridge to join the Wizengamot, filling the vacancy for the fiftieth seat."
Wayne snorted. "Umbridge? That toad-like woman?"
"What standing does she have to share an organisation with me?"
"Rejected! Overruled!"
Instantly, Umbridge's eyes turned red. "How dare you! On what grounds do you veto me? The Minister has already approved!"
Wayne looked down at her imperiously. "On the grounds that I'm the Chief Warlock. Even Minister Fudge answers to me in matters of the Wizengamot.
"This is internal Wizengamot business. The Minister's reach doesn't extend here."
"Quite right, Dolores," Fudge chimed in unexpectedly from among the jurors. "My apologies, but my hands are tied."
"This is a dictatorship!" Umbridge shrieked hoarsely.
Without Wizengamot membership, she'd remain a glorified civil servant—a high-ranking but powerless figure nobody would respect.
"Fair point," Wayne mused, stroking his chin. "We shouldn't practise unilateral decision-making."
"Let's put it to a vote then. Those opposed to Umbridge joining the Wizengamot, raise your hands now."
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Arms shot up instantly. All forty-three present members—several were absent—raised their hands.
Umbridge stared dumbfounded, recognising several she'd previously courted for support.
But why...?
"See now?" Wayne's lips curled slightly. "Democratic enough for you?"
Umbridge trembled violently while Percy quivered with excitement.
Power!
This was the influence he craved!
When would he ever command such authority, where a single word summoned unanimous obedience?
Jealousy surged through Percy's heart.
Why couldn't he be the one wielding such power?
Wayne waved grandly. "Right then. Forty-three against, seven abstentions. Umbridge is barred from the Wizengamot—permanently."
Percy handed the documented verdict to Wayne, who sealed it with his magical signature, making the ruling official.
Tossing the parchment aside, he announced:
"With trivial matters settled, let's discuss weightier issues concerning our world's future."
"The Chief Warlock hereby proposes his first official motion!"