That morning, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall smiling but left with a stony expression.
Today's newspaper featured another Rita Skeeter article: "Nocturnal Incontinence and Violent Assaults – Dumbledore's Best Kept Secrets."
The piece described in vivid detail how often Dumbledore needed nighttime bathroom visits, claiming he frequently became incontinent after failing to find the lavatory, then magically cleaned the evidence.
It also alleged that furious parents had stormed the school to physically assault him over dissatisfaction with his teaching quality.
Normally, such claims would be dismissed outright – who could possibly attack Dumbledore?
If such people existed, Slytherin parents would have torn him apart years ago.
But Rita Skeeter had included photographic evidence: a picture of Dumbledore with a bruised and swollen face!
As everyone knew, photographs couldn't be altered...
During breakfast, students from every house and school discreetly glanced at the High Table, trying to spot injuries on Dumbledore's face.
Unfortunately, the old wizard had already healed. However, observant individuals noticed something different – Dumbledore's beard had become noticeably shorter.
Professor McGonagall, for instance.
She caught up with the grim-faced headmaster in the entrance hall. After ensuring they were alone, she whispered, "Albus... is any of that newspaper story true?"
"Minerva..." Dumbledore's composure cracked instantly. "You know Rita Skeeter better than that."
"Of course I do," Professor McGonagall said bitterly. "That woman wrote an article about me, I still remember vividly. It took me two weeks to talk myself out of retaliation."
"Otherwise you'd be visiting me in Azkaban right now."
A decade earlier, Rita Skeeter had published an exposé on Professor McGonagall's personal life.
It had dredged up her entire romantic history, including intimate details about her rumoured relationship with a superior during her Ministry of Magic days.
Professor McGonagall had nearly lost her mind with rage, seriously contemplating murdering Rita Skeeter before turning herself in.
Ultimately, she'd restrained herself.
"Isn't this enough?" Dumbledore sighed helplessly. "The newspapers are all lies."
"But that photo..." Professor McGonagall hesitated. "It looked quite convincing."
Dumbledore's breath caught.
What could he say? That he'd been beaten up by Wayne?
Would his old face still have any dignity left?
Damn that Snape, fighting dirty!
Though the newspaper hadn't revealed its source, Dumbledore was ninety per cent certain this was Snape's revenge for him artificially inflating prices.
As for the remaining ten per cent, out of respect, he reserved it for Wayne.
What if the boy had played dirty, wanting to see them fight while he watched the show?
"Minerva, I was indeed injured." Dumbledore took a deep breath and decided to tell the truth.
Professor McGonagall's expression changed instantly. "Who? Who in this world could injure you like that... Could it be You-Know-Who? No, wait—the one in Nurmengard?!"
By the end, even Professor McGonagall didn't notice how her voice had distorted.
Mentioning You-Know-Who barely fazed her, but the latter possibility sent chills down her spine.
Seeing how far McGonagall's imagination had run, Dumbledore found himself torn between laughter and exasperation. He quickly reassured her:
"Relax, it's nothing like that."
"You-Know-Who hasn't returned, and Nurmengard's tower remains undisturbed. I was indeed injured, but it was just superficial wounds from exploring a secret site."
Secret site—the Gaunt shack. No issue there. Being injured there—also no issue.
As for who did the injuring... such details weren't worth mentioning.
Hearing it was exploration-related injuries, Professor McGonagall visibly relaxed. "That's good then. I'll file a complaint with the Daily Prophet immediately, demanding they retract the article and issue an apology."
"No need." Dumbledore shook his head. "A retraction would only make me look guilty. With Rita Skeeter's name attached, anyone truly intelligent won't believe it anyway."
"Ah, Headmaster, Professor McGonagall." Wayne suddenly appeared from nowhere, grinning cheerfully.
"I read in the paper that you got beaten up by a student's parent. Looked absolutely brutal. Which parent was brave enough to do that? You alright?"
Dumbledore: "....."
Very well, he took back his previous words.
Intelligent people also enjoy watching a spectacle!
...
Several days had passed since Rita Skeeter's two articles. The criticism against Hagrid and Moody hadn't caused much of a stir, whereas discussions about Dumbledore remained persistently lively.
Unintentionally, Snape had helped divert attention from Hagrid and reduced quite a bit of trouble for Dumbledore.
However, the old man showed no gratitude—his counterattack came swiftly.
The students suddenly received a teacher satisfaction survey.
In the Hufflepuff common room, the seventh-year Prefect distributed the parchment: "Everyone must fill this out. Don't hold back—all responses are anonymous."
"Just write your most honest opinions. Rate objectively, and don't worry about displeasing the professors."
Wayne took his copy and started filling it out without much thought.
The three Heads of House naturally received full marks. For other subjects he hadn't attended much, he left them blank, only giving Hagrid a 7 (out of 10) and Trelawney a 4.
As for Snape...
He set down his quill, leaned over to check the scores Norman and Toby had given, then glanced at other students' responses before settling on an average—three.
He felt rather touched. The badgers were still too kind-hearted—with Snape's performance, they'd actually given him three points.
If this were Gryffindor, that number would definitely have room to drop further.
Wayne guessed correctly. At that very moment in Gryffindor Tower, Fred and George were rallying everyone to score "fairly."
"I can't do it!" Harry glared at the rating column in frustration. "Why is one the lowest? I want to give zero!"
His words garnered unanimous agreement from many, who reluctantly gave Snape a one.
If possible, they wouldn't have given him even that.
Only Hermione thought Snape's teaching standards were passable despite his attitude, awarding him a seven.
Once everyone had finished, the Prefects collected the parchments.
By the next morning, the results of the teacher evaluations were posted on the noticeboard.
Professor Flitwick scored highest at 9.5, followed by Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, both above eight.
Of course, none of that mattered. Who cared about such obvious outcomes?
Everyone's eyes went straight to the bottom, where a familiar name drew knowing smiles—except from Slytherin.
Snape—4.3.
Well, well, well.
The score was slightly questionable, but not by much. Likely, the Slytherins had dragged it up through sheer effort.
What delighted everyone most was the announcement accompanying the results: the highest-rated professor would receive a month's salary as a bonus, while the lowest-rated would have three months' pay deducted.
"Snape's coming!"
At someone's shout, the crowd of young wizards gathered around the noticeboard scattered like startled birds.
Soon, Snape arrived on the first floor and saw the notice. He let out an ambiguous cold laugh.
As if he cared about a professor's meagre salary?
It wasn't even enough to cover what Lawrence had swindled from him in one go.
Right now, Snape couldn't be bothered with Dumbledore's petty retaliation. He just wanted to steady his mind for the second use of the Resurrection Stone.
But he didn't care - someone was happy about it.
Sirius mercilessly mocked him, only to get thoroughly beaten up by Snape.
...
In the blink of an eye, February arrived. The temperature gradually rose as spring breezes swept through the castle, bringing life back to everything.
Little had changed within the castle walls. The imagined scenario of Snape wildly deducting house points in retaliation never materialised.
He acted as if he hadn't seen anything, conducting his classes the same as always.
In fact, he picked fewer fights than usual, appearing distracted and increasingly gaunt, as if completely drained.
According to reliable information from an Outstanding fourth-year Hufflepuff student, this was likely due to malnutrition from having his salary docked, leaving him without money for meals.
Additionally, throughout this month, Dumbledore had rarely been seen in the castle. People spotted other school headmasters more frequently than him.
But hardly anyone paid it any mind.
After disappearing for nearly an entire term last year, one month this year was comparatively brief.
As February progressed, Harry suddenly had an epiphany - remembering his status as a champion - and frantically began researching the golden egg's secret.
Every night, Gryffindor Tower echoed with piercing screams. To support him, Ron and others gritted their teeth and endured listening alongside him, yet still made no progress.
However, before the tournament arrived, there was another major event.
Valentine's Day on February 14th.
The Yule Ball had sparked numerous romantic pairings. Recently, the castle was filled with a pink-hued atmosphere, as frequent public confessions took place.
Pity there were no hotels nearby nor freedom to come and go - otherwise they'd have made a fortune.
Wayne had started receiving love letters again recently. Not proposals to become his girlfriend, just requests to share a meal on Valentine's Day and discuss life ideals through the night.
But he was under strict surveillance now - even his meals were inspected by Hermione and others for potential love potions.
They had no doubt those girls were capable of such madness.
Yet one person's arrival caught Wayne completely off guard.
"Sakura, were you waiting for me?"
Fresh from Astronomy class, Wayne descended the tower with friends when Sakura suddenly pulled him into a third-floor classroom.
"Mhm," Sakura responded softly, fidgeting with her robes.
"W-Wayne, I need to ask you a favour." Her voice was so quiet it made Wayne tense up, instinctively lowering his own voice:
"Er... illegal stuff is fine too, but it'll cost extra."
Seeing the boy's conspiratorial expression, Sakura couldn't help laughing, her nervousness easing.
"Of course it's nothing illegal."
"Then why whisper?" Wayne immediately straightened up, voice returning to normal volume: "Go on, if it's within my power, I won't refuse."
Sakura's face flushed: "Um... Valentine's Day... c-could you spend it with me?"
Wayne stared blankly: "You want to go on a date with me?"
The girl's face turned crimson enough to drip blood, the blush extending down her neck. But she didn't look away, maintaining eye contact.
"Yes."
"I want to experience... what Valentine's Day feels like."
"After much thought, you're the only close male friend I have."
"Can you help me?" Sakura asked cautiously. "If not, just pretend I never came to you today."
"I can," Wayne nodded, "but probably not for the whole day. You know my situation."
Hearing his agreement, Sakura couldn't help but smile. "I understand. Just an hour or two would be enough."
"It won't be that short," Wayne considered. "Wait for my message—I'll arrange the time."
"Mm!"
...
Back in the dormitory, Wayne contacted Fleur.
He'd already spent Valentine's Day with Hermione, Cho, and Astoria once before—it wasn't much different from usual—so this year was mainly for Sakura.
When Fleur learned Sakura had approached Wayne, she showed no surprise, merely rolling her eyes at him.
"Whatever happens, you must return by evening."
"Of course," Wayne assured her. "Sakura just wants to experience what a date feels like. It's not like we're actually dating."
Fleur scoffed. "Do you even believe that?"
Wayne had no reply.
If Sakura didn't have genuine feelings for him, she wouldn't have made such a request. Naturally, he had no intention of refusing either.
With debts already piled high, adding one or two more made little difference when five shares weren't enough to begin with.
Both sides understood this tacitly.
Not wanting to indulge Wayne's feigned innocence, Fleur gave a soft humph and closed her book.