They eventually found Lee Jordan hiding inside a suit of armour on the fifth floor.
"Filch went berserk—chased me from the fourth to the eighth floor! I ducked into a secret passage back to sixth, and he still found me."
In the kitchen, Lee Jordan was enthusiastically talking while munching on a sandwich. Escaping from Filch's grasp seemed no less triumphant than surviving the Battle of Camlann to him. Combined with his unique racial flair, the whole scene felt like listening to a rap performance.
The house-elves had thoughtfully prepared a large round table for them, laden with food and drinks.
After finishing a sandwich, he spoke with a tinge of concern:
"Though I can't shake the feeling Filch might know it was me. What if he comes after me later?"
Fred reassured him, "Not might—definitely.
"There are only a few troublemakers like you in the school, and you're the most unruly. Filch absolutely knows."
"Damn it." Lee froze, trembling with anger. "So you two deliberately set me up?"
"Don't worry," Cedric comforted after finishing his lemonade. "As long as he doesn't catch you red-handed or have proof, he can't punish you."
Fred scoffed dismissively. "Exactly. After all these years hanging with us, you still don't know the rules?"
"Because of hanging with you two, I've had way more detentions!" Lee shot back indignantly before asking the burning question.
"What's actually in that corridor? Did you see it?"
At this, the group perked up. "I'm telling you—you won't believe it—"
Lee's jaw dropped so wide you could've stuffed a pear in it. "A Three-Headed Dog? A trapdoor?"
Then he turned to Wayne, who'd been stuffing his face. "You're saying Wayne took down the Three-Headed Dog?"
"Didn't take it down," Wayne corrected. "Just held it off for a bit."
"That was us holding you back," Cedric cut in. "The way you were going, you wouldn't have stopped till it was dead."
"How the hell did you train your magic to be that strong?" George said, awestruck. "Compared to you, my first-year self was utter rubbish."
"We still are," Fred quipped mercilessly, not even sparing himself.
"With just those few moves earlier, he could've turned all four of us into Muggles."
Cedric's eye twitched. Fine, mock yourselves, but why drag me into it? As if being top of the year means nothing.
"Any tips, then?" Cedric couldn't help asking.
"Honestly, I can't teach you this," Wayne shook his head. "Magic is an innate talent—you can refine it, but improving it is nearly impossible.
"To get stronger, you either master more spells or develop a deeper internal understanding of magic."
He wasn't brushing them off; this was the truth.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald's strength came from both nature and nurture. Even during their school years, they displayed extraordinary talent, which, combined with relentless effort, led to their terrifying prowess.
Talent was the foundation—only with that could hard work yield results. The clearest example was Hermione.
While Harry spent his first year messing around and charging into trouble, Hermione already knew countless spells. Yet after Lupin's guidance in the third year, Harry's magical power surpassed hers and kept widening the gap.
That was the difference talent made.
Cedric's talent was decent, but only by normal standards. By the system's grading, his overall rating was just B-tier. He was just well-rounded and diligent, which kept him firmly at the top of their year.
The twins were slightly worse, and their focus was more on having fun than honing their skills.
"Can't stand freaks like you," Fred muttered.
The group dropped the topic and dug into their midnight snacks in silence.
Half an hour later, Wayne and the others finally left the kitchen, each heading their separate ways. However, after watching Cedric enter his dormitory, Wayne stepped out of the Common Room once more.
The fourth-floor corridor had already been checked off, earning him fifty points. Tonight's little excursion had already netted him over a hundred points. Wayne wasn't venturing out again to farm more points.
Instead, he wanted to visit the Restricted Section of the library to see if he could find any books he needed. He had purchased a beginner's guide to alchemy from Flourish and Blotts, which also served as the Alchemy textbook at Beauxbatons Academy.
Thanks to Nicolas Flamel, Beauxbatons was far ahead in the field of Alchemy, allowing young witches and wizards to study the subject as early as their third year.
At Hogwarts, however, one had to pass their OWLs before they were even eligible.
More advanced books weren't mass-produced—Alchemy was, after all, a highly specialised discipline, not suited for widespread dissemination.
Wayne could only take his chances in the Restricted Section, hoping to find what he needed.
...
Just as he turned back and reached the second floor, Dumbledore and Snape had arrived at the fourth-floor corridor.
Observing the seemingly unchanged oak door, Snape placed his wand on the handle, sensing for any disturbances.
Then, in a voice dripping with malice, he spoke.
"An Unlocking Charm. It seems your warnings have had absolutely no effect, Dumbledore."
"That's understandable, Severus," Dumbledore replied, unperturbed by the blatant disregard for his warnings.
His tone was as casual as if he were chatting with a friend about a mischievous grandchild. "Weren't you the same back in the day? Oh, and there was that one time when you got caught by Po—"
"Silence!" Snape snapped, cutting him off sharply. "Must you always dwell on the past in your old age? Were those truly pleasant memories? They should have been expelled! And so should any little wizards who dare trespass here!"
"It hasn't come to that yet," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, producing a key to unlock the oak door.
"Let's first see how far they've gotten, shall we?" Snape sneered but didn't step forward first.
That dim-witted dog only recognised Hagrid and Dumbledore—anyone else would be met with immediate aggression.
Only after Dumbledore entered did Snape follow behind.
The Three-Headed Dog began to snarl in fury, but upon spotting the familiar white beard, it immediately lay down, all three tongues lolling out in a whimper.
"This is—" Snape's eyes narrowed.
His wand emitted a bright light, illuminating the injuries on the Three-Headed Dog's body.
Dumbledore remarked meaningfully, "It seems our young wizard is quite capable indeed."