There was nothing actually wrong with the paper – it was practically flawless. But it was precisely this perfection that struck Damocles as odd.
He'd recently made a point of reviewing Wayne's previously published papers on the improved Wolfsbane Potion and the Flying Potion, which had been wildly innovative. This methodical, by-the-book approach was completely different.
Wayne brushed it off with a casual excuse. Dumbledore's style was indeed quite distinct from his own. But the content itself was all his original work – the superficial formatting hardly mattered.
Damocles didn't press the issue, having only mentioned it in passing out of curiosity. Seeing the paper's high level of completion actually pleased him more. Barely stopping to chat, he hurried off with the manuscript.
A week later, The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers' internal journal published Dumble— well, Wayne's paper.
Such specialised publications barely caused a ripple. Beyond Society members and some potions enthusiasts who subscribed, ordinary people paid no attention to professional academic fields. Most people never brewed another potion after leaving school, simply purchasing whatever they needed from shops or placing orders.
However, the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Weekly were different. The day after the internal publication, the two most influential newspapers reprinted the article in their major regional editions worldwide—using identical headlines:
"Landmark Moment: The Werewolf Era Approaches Its End"
The impact was immediate.
Werewolves had a far worse reputation in the wizarding world than Vampires or Trolls. In this world, Vampires lacked the ability to turn others through the Embrace, existing solely as a separate race. Even if attacked, one wouldn't become a Vampire.
While Trolls frequently appeared in fairy tales, most people would never encounter them in their lifetime. The majority of Trolls lived deep in remote mountains, far from civilisation, posing little threat.
Only Werewolves—if bitten by one on a full moon—could devastate not just an individual but an entire family. Wizarding parents often frightened disobedient children with warnings like, "If you don't behave, a Werewolf will come bite you," a tactic that never failed to silence them.
Previous versions of the Wolfsbane Potion merely preserved a Werewolf's rationality during transformation, but the bite still spread lycanthropy. The new formula, however, prevented transformation altogether, effectively cutting off transmission.
Of course, people still hoped for a potion that could completely neutralise the Werewolf virus.
...
At Hogwarts, after reading the papers, students finally understood what Wayne had been working on—and envy was rampant. While they struggled to grasp their daily lessons, his new potions grew increasingly groundbreaking.
Overnight, Wayne became the castle's most sought-after figure. Greetings followed him everywhere, and starry-eyed admirers clutched notebooks, begging for autographs.
"My father says Lawrence is definitely getting another Order of Merlin—maybe even First Class," Malfoy boasted to his Slytherin peers. "Naturally, to honour Lawrence's contributions, my father's been instrumental. He's called in favours with old friends to secure the award."
Blaise Zabini sneered at his preening. "So proud of grovelling to a Mudblood, Malfoy?"
His jealousy curdled into something venomous. Why should that Mudblood hog all the glory? Surely Damocles had done the research, only for Lawrence to buy the credit.
Mark Belby shared the sentiment. As Damocles' estranged nephew, he still name-dropped the man for clout.
"Say it to Lawrence's face if you're so bold," Malfoy retorted coldly. Before he could deliver a cutting remark, two spells shot past him, slamming Zabini and Belby into the wall with twin shrieks.
Astoria stepped forward, wand raised, her pretty face icy. Daphne flanked her, equally stern. The spells had been theirs.
"First warning, Zabini. Belby." Astoria's voice could have frosted glass. "One more slur against Wayne, and I'll have my mother dismantle your families' shops."
Astoria continued casting jinxes as she spoke, causing the two boys' front teeth to elongate, their lips to burn, and their entire bodies to itch uncontrollably.
Swarms of bats appeared from nowhere, flapping against their faces.
The sisters were practically using them as test subjects for jinxes, casting spell after spell until the boys were alternating between laughter and wails of pain.
The surrounding Slytherins paled in fear, backing away hastily to avoid the bats, putting considerable distance between themselves and the spectacle.
Only when satisfied with their miserable state did Astoria give a pleased hum.
Wayne had taught her the principle of "three strikes."
The first offence warranted a light punishment as a warning.
The second required inflicting real pain—cutting off their family's wealth and tormenting their minds.
If there was a third time? Then it was time for permanent solutions—scattering their ashes and digging up their ancestors' graves. That would ensure no fourth offence.
Astoria was nothing if not obedient.
The wealthy little witch happily dragged her sister off to report their success to Wayne. After they left, several older students tried to free the two boys but failed, forcing them to seek out Snape.
In the middle of brewing Felix Felicis for Wayne, Snape flinched at the knock, ruining his sliced Bubotuber pus.
Assuming it was Lawrence causing trouble again, his expression darkened further upon seeing his own students.
"If you don't have a valid reason, you'll be serving detention tonight."
After they stammered out their explanation, Snape took several deep breaths to suppress his fury before snarling:
"If they're injured, take them to the hospital wing! Why come to me?"
"But..." one student ventured timidly, "the Greengrass sisters ambushed them..."
"You dare tattle to me after badmouthing others?" Snape slammed the door shut. "Get lost! If Lawrence kills someone, take it to Dumbledore—don't bother me!"
The students exchanged bewildered glances. How were they supposed to take them to Madam Pomfrey if they couldn't even get them down?
Too afraid to knock again, they slunk away in defeat.
Inside, Snape cursed Zabini and Belby's stupidity while reorganising his ingredients.
Fools. After all this time, they still couldn't recognise the gap between themselves and Lawrence, yet expected him to fight their battles.
If he had that kind of power, would he still be brewing potions for others?
...
Meanwhile...
Astoria finished recounting the incident with visible pride, blinking expectantly for Wayne's praise.
"Good girl." Wayne patted her head, smiling as her face lit up. He then pulled out a notebook and flipped through it.
"Hmm, these two are already on my list. So this counts as the second offence. Next time they badmouth me, tell me—I'll handle it."
Astoria froze. "What was the first offence?"
"The first was because they didn't send me gifts," Wayne explained patiently.
"Then I didn't punish them enough just now! Wait here—I'll go tell Mother to shut down their family's shops!"
She made to stand, but Wayne pulled her back into his arms. "No need. We can settle everything together later. No point troubling your mother over such trifles."
Astoria nodded obediently and fell silent.
The two of them spent the afternoon in leisurely idleness.
At some point, the wealthy little girl dozed off in his arms, and Wayne took out Ravenclaw's notes to study.
The magical system of a thousand years ago was vastly different from today's. Back then, there were hardly any convenient spells like those used now.
Many relied on runes and even more peculiar magical scripts for casting, making them exceedingly difficult.
This could be considered what is now referred to as ancient magic, though the timeframe isn't as distant as one might imagine.
Having trained under Nicolas and studied ancient magic, Wayne found the notes relatively manageable.
However, the notebook leaned more towards being a collection of musings. It might explain the usage of a Water-Making Spell before abruptly jumping to some magical trap, making it rather challenging to follow.
This also proved, in a way, that Ravenclaw was indeed an eccentric figure—far from the dignified, elegant, and wise persona of legend.
By the afternoon's end, Wayne had only managed to flip through a dozen or so pages.
His chest was already damp with drool when the wealthy little girl finally stirred at sunset.
Noticing her 'handiwork', she gave an embarrassed smile.
...
On Saturday, the students welcomed another round of the Quidditch Match.
Today's match was the main event: Mahoutokoro versus Hogwarts.
Both teams had won all four of their previous matches, with the most surprising result being Mahoutokoro's victory over Durmstrang.
Sakura had dominated Krum throughout the entire match, ultimately catching the Golden Snitch.
Both rode Firebolts—Krum's issued by his national team, while Sakura's was a gift from Wayne after Valentine's Day.
In terms of flying skill and technique, there wasn't a significant gap between them, but Sakura's dynamic vision and reaction speed were slightly faster than Krum's.
That minuscule difference secured her victory, as she caught the Golden Snitch with just half a broom's length lead.
Thus, Hogwarts was treating today's match with the utmost seriousness.
Neither Harry nor Cedric were playing anymore. The Seeker position had been given to Cho, while Cedric, not being a professional Chaser, had voluntarily stepped aside to make way for others.
"You actually became a Chaser?"
In the changing room, Wayne, who had come to cheer for Cho, looked at Ginny, already dressed in her team robes, with surprise.
"Don't underestimate Ginny," Angelina said happily, wrapping an arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Ginny's always been brilliant at flying. During tryouts, she scored all fifteen goals."
"Giggs couldn't do a thing against her."
The Hufflepuff Keeper's face flushed slightly as he silently polished his broom.
Ginny also snorted. "Don't look down on me, Wayne. I'll definitely score at least ten goals today."
"And what if you don't?" Wayne asked, amused.
Ginny declared loudly, "If I don't, I'll read the latest issue of The Quibbler out loud in front of everyone!"
The entire team in the changing room gasped in unison.
This girl was being far too harsh on herself.
Though none of them had read The Quibbler, they all knew about some of its outrageous claims.
For instance, that Fudge was actually a Vampire, or that the Ministry of Magic was secretly controlled by some mysterious, unseen hand.
Publicly reading such things would be social suicide.
Wayne's interest was piqued. "Well, if you do score ten goals, I'll give you a Nimbus 2004."
"Deal," Angelina agreed on Ginny's behalf before she could even respond.
After Wood left, Angelina had become Gryffindor's captain. Given Ginny's performance, she was sure to be a key player next year, and a good broom was essential.
"Deal," Wayne waved his hand, exchanged a few words with Cho, then headed to the opposing Mahoutokoro changing room to cheer for Sakura.
Both sides were dear to him, so the best he could do was show no favouritism.
Though deep down, Wayne still hoped Hogwarts would win.
Ten minutes later, with Madam Hooch's whistle, the match officially began.
This game had drawn significant attention not just within the school, but also from professional team scouts and managers outside.
A prodigy capable of defeating Krum—even if by luck—must possess considerable skill, making the trip worthwhile for them.
Not long after the match started...
Wayne suddenly saw Fudge, looking frantic, barging onto the staff stands with several Aurors, speaking urgently to Dumbledore.
Soon, Dumbledore's expression grew grave, even tinged with anger!