Watching Wayne's retreating figure, Hermione felt suspicious.
She had a nagging feeling this guy was up to no good, but without proof, she could only continue eating in silence.
There were no classes in the afternoon, so the young witch planned to spend the rest of the day in the library finishing all her homework, leaving the weekend free to preview upcoming lessons.
Over the past week, Hermione's academic prowess had become undeniable—she'd managed to earn Gryffindor points in every class (except Potions).
But the pressure on her remained immense, and the reason was Wayne.
From their usual classroom performances, the two seemed evenly matched. But Hermione knew Wayne was holding back a lot. During Transfiguration class, she could only slightly alter the colour and texture of the matchstick. Although Professor McGonagall was pleased, she also told Hermione that Wayne had succeeded on his first try.
Hermione knew full well that her current performance was entirely due to her hard work and a decent memory.
But what about Wayne?
This guy only read miscellaneous books when he was with her in the library and often slipped away to play Wizard's Chess or Exploding Snap with his classmates.
He seemed even more carefree than Harry and Ron.
Last time, she'd caught Wayne performing a wandless Healing Charm for Cho—a skill many adult wizards couldn't master.
It was the sheer crushing weight of pure talent that was truly disheartening. Hermione knew she'd have to work even harder to keep up with Wayne's progress.
He hid it all too well.
If Wayne knew what Hermione was thinking, he'd surely cry foul. 'He wasn't hiding anything!'
Since arriving at Hogwarts, Wayne had never considered lying low. The wizarding world was relatively peaceful, and displaying more talent would earn the professors' favour.
It might even mean lighter punishments for future mischief.
The main thing was... the first-year curriculum covered so little. Any halfway decent student could master it, like Hermione now.
It hardly showcased his talent.
'Was he supposed to go straight to the professors and perform a five-spell combo?'
Unaware that Miss Granger had already labelled him a sneaky schemer, Wayne headed to the Potions Classroom in the dungeon after lunch.
A week was enough for the young wizards to get a sense of their teachers, especially Snape, a professor with such 'distinctive' qualities.
By twelve-fifty, the classroom was already packed with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students.
No one dared make a sound, and many kept glancing nervously at the door. Wayne shared a table with Hannah. Truth be told, he wasn't particularly worried. He wasn't a Potter, nor was he a Gryffindor—Snape had no reason to target him.
At precisely one o'clock, Snape's footsteps crossed the threshold without a second's delay.
He strode in briskly, his speed stirring a faint breeze that made his robes billow like a bat in flight.
"Put away those useless wands," Snape's voice was low and magnetic, yet carried an icy edge. The students obeyed without hesitation.
Like Professor Flitwick, Snape produced a register and began roll call. Each young wizard answered promptly and cautiously, terrified of drawing reprimand for the slightest delay.
"Punctuality is fundamental to potion-making. I'm pleased—no one is late."
Snape spoke deliberately. Though he claimed to be pleased, more than one person detected something else in his eyes—
Disappointment?
"You are here to learn the precise science and exact art of potion-making. As there will be no foolish wand-waving, many of you will scarcely believe this is magic.
"I do not expect you to truly appreciate the delicate art of cauldrons simmering at a slow flame, the heady fumes rising in spirals of fragrant steam... Nor can I truly make you understand the liquid magic that courses through one's veins, intoxicating the senses and ensnaring the mind... But I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death!"
It was an extraordinarily compelling opening, leaving many students spellbound with anticipation.
Wayne discreetly curled his lip when Snape wasn't looking.
'Admittedly well-delivered—I'd rank his oratory second only to Grindelwald in the wizarding world.'
Brewing glory. Stopping death.
One might think Snape was about to teach them how to make the Philosopher's Stone. If he could truly halt death, why hadn't he saved Lily? Ah, best not voice that—he'd likely receive a Killing Curse from Snape's wand tip the moment those words left his mouth.'
"Lawrence!" Snape suddenly barked.
Wayne blinked in surprise but instinctively rose to his feet.
"If I were to concoct a herbicide potion, besides powdered lionfish spine and flobberworm mucus, what else would I require?"
"Juice of horklump, sir."
"How many methods exist for preparing a Wit-Sharpening Potion?"
"Three: extraction, decoction, and pulverisation into powder."
"Where would you procure a bezoar?"
"A cow's stomach, though many cultivated artificial versions exist nowadays."
"The preparation steps for porcupine quills in a Boil-Cure Potion."
"Cut into three-centimetre lengths, with diagonal incisions made every centimetre."
"Tch." Snape ceased his interrogation. "It appears you're somewhat more deserving of your reputation than Mr Potter."
The other young witches and wizards gaped in astonishment. They understood every individual word spoken.
Yet strung together...
Quarantine chamber, okay?
"Why are you staring at me? Are the answers written on my face? Take notes, immediately!" Snape's sudden outburst sent students scrambling for their parchment. "You as well—must I invite you to sit down?"
"How kind of you, Professor," Wayne muttered, seating himself. 'Who knew what had possessed Snape to single him out? This wasn't random—it was absolutely targeted.'
Those questions had all been advanced material, completely beyond the first-year curriculum. A deliberate ambush.
Unbeknownst to Wayne, Snape had heard from Professor McGonagall about the boy's extraordinary talent—summoning a Patronus upon first grasping a wand.
This particular spell held profound significance for him, ensuring Wayne's name stuck in his memory.
Today's test had been a whim—an attempt to humble Wayne while deducting House points from Hufflepuff.
Thanks to outstanding performances from him and Cedric, Hufflepuff now led Slytherin in House points.
To Snape's regret, Wayne had passed the trial. Why couldn't he have failed spectacularly like that dunderhead Potter?
With a flick of his wrist, Snape made the Boil-Cure Potion instructions appear on the blackboard. "Ingredients are in the cupboard. Work in pairs. Should I discover anyone wasting materials..."
"...I shall have them consume the excess."
A collective shudder ran through the young wizards.