Another new week, and compared to the first, Hogwarts had grown noticeably livelier.
Right after Monday's classes, an announcement had been posted on the Great Hall's noticeboard: Quidditch team tryouts and first-year Flying Classes would begin this week.
When it came to flying, all humans shared an instinctive yearning for the skies.
Muggles conquered the heavens with aeroplanes, while wizards relied on flying broomsticks.
Oh, and flying carpets.
Though those had been banned for sale in Europe. Not that many wizards fancied them anyway.
Flying carpets were too unstable, and being made of fabric, they were a nightmare to maintain, turning grubby after just a short while.
Add to that the Middle Eastern makers' notorious corner-cutting, leading to frequent safety issues, and it was no wonder hardly anyone liked the damned things.
In no time, Quidditch became the hottest topic at Hogwarts. Everywhere you went, you could hear young witches and wizards discussing flying broomsticks and Quidditch.
"I once flew circles around a Muggle helicopter for ages—you know, those things with the spinning blades on top?"
"The Muggles inside were terrified, nearly fell right out!"
Malfoy had told this story several times, each version slightly different, but it always ended with him narrowly escaping danger thanks to his exceptional flying skills.
The other young wizards weren't far behind, tossing around Quidditch terms with practised ease, as if they could pull off the moves themselves.
Even the teachers joined in. Professor McGonagall had her students attempt to transfigure quills into Bludgers during class.
Apart from Wayne, no one succeeded—though Hermione did manage to turn hers into a sheet of cowhide. Furious, the young witch snapped her quill in half after class, only to repair it with a Mending Charm when she remembered she'd need it for the next lesson.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick introduced a new spell: the Acceleration Charm.
"All flying broomsticks are engraved with a permanent version of this charm. The higher the spell's proficiency, the better the conductivity—and the faster the broomstick accelerates.
"Nowadays, the Nimbus company has refined the basic Acceleration Charm countless times. It's their highest trade secret.
"If anyone could develop an even more advanced version, who knows? You might just start your own broomstick company."
His words electrified the young wizards, who waved their wands excitedly, though the snails on their desks remained utterly unimpressed.
"What have you been up to lately?"
While Professor Flitwick was busy instructing another student, Hermione discreetly poked Wayne in the side. She hadn't seen him outside of classes for days—not even at the Hufflepuff table during lunch.
The boy yawned. "Prepping for a business venture. Nearly done."
Hermione eyed him warily. "Business? What scheme are you plotting now?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Wayne said, casually casting an Acceleration Charm. His snail promptly turbocharged past Hermione's, reaching the finish line first.
"Fancy earning some pocket money?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Of course! There are so many books I want to buy," Hermione sighed.
"Help me out in a couple of days, and you'll get thirty per cent of the profits."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It's not something against school rules, is it?"
"Top secret—but no, it's not against the rules."
"Hmph. Fine, keep your secrets." The young witch huffed and ignored him for the rest of the lesson.
Still, as they left the classroom, Hermione hesitated before speaking up. "Malfoy's been badmouthing you a lot lately."
Wayne blinked, then waved it off. "Too busy to care. Don't worry about it—let Harry deal with him."
"Deal with him how?" Harry emerged from the classroom just in time to hear his name.
"By biting Malfoy."
"Ugh, don't be disgusting," Harry grimaced. "Though I wouldn't mind punching him."
Wayne had already heard about Malfoy's gossip.
Hufflepuffs were everywhere—the most sociable house in Hogwarts—and Malfoy hadn't exactly been discreet. It wasn't long before one of the badgers passed the news along. After understanding the whole story, Wayne simply laughed it off.
Only mediocrity escapes envy. Wayne had outshone even Hermione, becoming the prodigy known to every first-year within just a week. Naturally, Malfoy and his pure-blood cronies couldn't stomach it.
They didn't say much, merely claiming Wayne had won the professors' favour by rote learning and advance preparation. But when it came to Quidditch—a sport only pure-bloods had been exposed to since childhood—Wayne would surely be exposed as a fraud.
Just childish jealousy.
If Wayne got angry over such trivial matters, would he ever get anything done?
...
Thursday arrived in the blink of an eye.
With no afternoon classes, Wayne was holed up in his room crafting items for future sales when Toby and Norman burst in, wearing expressions that screamed, "Come quick, there's drama!"
"Big trouble!" they announced.
Playing along, Wayne cocked an ear while continuing his work.
"Longbottom's broken his wrist."
"Potter and Malfoy clashed during Flying Class. While Madam Hooch was away, they chased each other on brooms, clinging together like glue!—Wait, is that the right phrase?"
Wayne's lips twitched at Toby's lamentable grasp of English.
Undeterred, Toby prattled on, "You should've seen it! Potter flew brilliantly, completely outmanoeuvring Malfoy. Pity Professor McGonagall caught them—he's in for it now."
"Not necessarily," Wayne mused. "She might be so impressed that she lets him join the Quidditch team. Didn't their Seeker graduate last year?"
"We're first-years," Norman reminded him. "First-years can't join the Quidditch team."
"They can." Wayne set aside his parchment and regarded them. "In 1853, Coman Fleming made the team as a first-year."
"Fine, you win," Norman conceded glumly. "Right now, I'm more worried about ending up like Longbottom tomorrow. A broken wrist is one thing, but if I snap my neck, I'm done for."
"Don't worry," Wayne reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. "If that happens, we'll visit you in the hospital wing."
Toby looked up, startled. "If his neck's broken, shouldn't we just skip to the funeral?"
Norman: "..."
'Can't you at least pretend to wish me well?'
As the two settled in to browse Quidditch books, another excited shout came from outside:
"Hurry! Potter and Malfoy are fighting in the Great Hall!"