"What do you mean, Lawrence?"
Malfoy turned around. Wayne's voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but perfectly audible.
The eleven-year-old's face darkened with a chilling expression. "Am I to take this as a challenge to the Malfoy Family?"
Wayne remained unfazed, shrugging like a little bear. "Isn't what I said the truth? I thought we'd landed a big client, but turns out they're just buying the most ordinary map. Got my hopes up for nothing."
Ordinary?
Malfoy looked blankly at the parchment in his hand.
The exquisite serpent design, green borders flecked with golden light, dusted with gold powder.
Wasn't this the most expensive edition? Had he bought the wrong one?
"Lawrence, what exactly do you mean?" Malfoy pressed again. "Do you have something better?"
"Of course."
Wayne looked at him in surprise. "The Sacred Twenty-Eight are the nobility of the wizarding world. Shouldn't everything they use be custom-made?
"After all, even as a Muggle noble, everything in my household is specially commissioned."
"Who says it isn't?" Malfoy bristled. "The Malfoy Family are nobility—of course, we use only the finest!"
"My father's walking stick was custom-made by a master alchemist," Malfoy added, though with a twinge of shame.
Come to think of it, though most of their possessions were top-tier, they weren't bespoke.
Damn it, being outdone by this Muggle.
"Lawrence, don't just spout nonsense," Malfoy snapped, flapping the map in agitation. "You never mentioned a custom version. How much? I'll take it."
"Ah, my mistake then." Wayne offered a perfectly measured apologetic smile. "We do indeed offer bespoke editions, tailored to the client's requirements. Different tiers naturally use varying materials."
Draco declared haughtily, "Only the highest grade, of course!"
Wayne beamed. "That'll be two hundred Galleons."
Malfoy nearly leapt out of his skin. "You might as well rob me!"
"Hear me out on the materials first before judging," Wayne soothed, launching into his... persuasive sales pitch:
"The top-tier version isn't made from ordinary parchment, but dragonhide. The ink is premium-grade giant squid ink—not only fade-proof, but also exuding a subtle fragrance.
"The map will be embossed with the Malfoy family crest and Slytherin's emblem, all inlaid with the finest Unicorn tail hairs."
Finally, Wayne asked, "Still think it's expensive?"
"Too cheap," Malfoy blurted instinctively, then immediately corrected himself.
"No, not expensive. Perfectly reasonable. Don't you dare inflate the price now!"
"We're both nobility—you among the wizarding aristocracy, I among the Muggles. Nobles don't engage in price gouging."
Wayne's imperious delivery reassured Malfoy.
This was exactly the right attitude!
"I'll take the premium map. Here's fifty Galleons deposit." Malfoy produced all the coins he had. His termly allowance was only a hundred Galleons, and having spent considerably already, he was running short.
But Wayne mustn't find out about this, or he'd look down on him again. The only excuse was the deposit, so Malfoy planned to write home that very night to ask for money. Asking his father would inevitably lead to a lecture, so Malfoy decided to get the money from his mother, Narcissa, instead.
To Malfoy's surprise, Wayne didn't even reach for the money. Instead, he glared at him angrily.
"What do you mean by this?
"A transaction between nobles requiring a deposit? You're insulting me! Take your money back and come to me for the map in two days!"
With that, Wayne didn't wait for Malfoy to respond, rapped on the barrel a few times, and slipped back into the common room.
He seemed genuinely furious. Goyle suddenly snickered.
"Master Malfoy, isn't this bloke daft? Turning down free money—no wonder he got sorted into—"
"Shut it!" Malfoy snarled, silencing Goyle with a murderous glare.
"What do you know? This is a transaction between nobles. Don't sully Lawrence with your common thinking! As if the Malfoy Family would ever renege on a hundred Galleons!"
Malfoy had been completely taken in. Wayne's earlier words about nobility had struck him like a blade to the heart.
This was how true nobility ought to behave.
The mere prestige of the Malfoy name had earned Wayne's trust—how could fools like Goyle possibly grasp the nuance?
Shooting his two dim-witted companions a disdainful look, Malfoy strode off.
Now he wondered if calling Wayne a 'Mudblood' had been too harsh. Even a Muggle-born noble was still a noble and shouldn't be insulted. Right, he decided—from now on, he'd call him Lawrence.
...
Meanwhile, inside the common room, Wayne was nearly doubled over with laughter. Cedric stood beside him, utterly dumbfounded.
"So you're telling me you sold the map for a hundred Galleons with just that spiel?"
Earlier, when Wayne had returned, Cedric had only casually asked why Malfoy had come looking for him.
But after hearing Wayne's explanation, Cedric felt his entire worldview crumbling. Could anyone be that stupid?
"Stop laughing," Cedric said flatly. "You didn't even take a deposit. Aren't you afraid he'll change his mind once he thinks it over?"
"You still don't understand what Malfoy truly wants." Wayne barely managed to stifle his laughter, shaking his head at Cedric with pity.
"You don't get it. Those pure-bloods don't care about money—or at least, not small sums. What they care about is exclusivity and that sense of superiority.
"I'd bet even old Malfoy himself would fall for that line if he heard it."
"I don't believe it," Cedric retorted stubbornly. "There isn't a wizard alive who doesn't care about money."
"Then let's bet on it."
"Fine, let's."
Cedric's competitive streak flared, and he agreed to the wager.
If the deal went through, he'd have to jump onto the Hufflepuff table and perform a hip-swaying dance.
If it fell through, Wayne would be the one performing.
But even if he won, Cedric was still green with envy. Wayne had already made over a hundred Galleons, and there was surely more to come.
With that much money, how much Chudley Cannons merchandise could he buy?
"Cedric," Wayne suddenly said, "do you want to learn how to make maps?"
Cedric was taken aback. "What do you mean? Are you going to teach me?"
"If you want to learn, I'll teach you."
"Wait, seriously?" Cedric was startled. "Wayne, aren't you afraid I'll start selling maps too once I learn?"
"Would you?" Wayne countered.
"Of course not," Cedric shook his head.
Not only were he and Wayne good friends now, but even if they weren't, he wouldn't dream of stealing someone's business.
"There's a condition," Wayne stated his purpose. "Once you learn how to make maps, you'll have to work for me. You'll get twenty per cent of each map sold."
Wayne's current stock was running low, especially the most basic maps, which were nearly sold out. He'd have to stay up tonight to replenish them.
While extensive practice could improve his alchemy skills, too much repetition was pointless.
At this point, Wayne had already mastered all the spells and alchemical principles involved in map-making. Continuing to produce them would just be a waste of time.
Rather than that, it made more sense to outsource the work layer by layer, freeing himself up to study other magic.
His goal was to earn points, not money. For small sums, he could just exchange some gold at Gringotts.
Originally, Wayne had considered asking Hermione for help, but the young witch had only just started school and was still far from meeting his requirements.
In that case, little Cedric seemed like a good fit.
As for whether Cedric might turn on him after learning the ropes—
Wayne had plenty of other ideas up his sleeve. The maps were just a test. If Cedric betrayed him... he'd only stand to lose more.
"I'm in."
Hearing Wayne's terms, Cedric agreed without hesitation. Twenty per cent might not sound like much, but over the course of a school year, it could amount to dozens of Galleons—far more than his pocket money.
Most importantly, he'd get to learn a lot from Wayne, which was what Cedric truly valued.
By now, he fully recognised that the young wizard before him was a prodigy—barely enrolled yet already wielding more and stronger magic than he did.
"First, let's assess your foundation."
Wayne posed a few questions to test Cedric. After some back-and-forth, he nodded.
"You've got some skill, but not much."
Cedric, sitting opposite him, was speechless. Couldn't you at least be a bit more tactful?
I'm still your senior, you know. A little face, please?
Wayne took out a piece of parchment, wrote down the necessary spells, and handed it to Cedric.
"Learn these first. I'll handle the rest. Any problem?"
After a glance, Cedric nodded. "Give me about a week, and I should have them down."
"Good. Hurry up, though. If everyone else starts making them too, your skills won't be worth much."
"I'll try," Cedric sighed. "You have no idea—Wotley's gone mad. Training's gone from twice a week to five times. I can barely keep up."
Wayne waved a hand. "That's your call."
...
In the following days, though business wasn't as booming as on the first day, Wayne still sold a fair number of maps daily.
Since that night, Malfoy's attitude toward Wayne had improved noticeably, even nodding in acknowledgement occasionally. The moment the money from home arrived, it was handed over before it could even warm his hands.
Of course, Wayne didn't disappoint him. Looking at the exquisitely crafted map made of dragonhide, now enhanced with anti-spying and anti-theft features, Malfoy—who had initially winced at the cost—instantly felt it was worth every Knut. He proceeded to flaunt it shamelessly in front of the other pure-bloods.
Wayne couldn't have been happier about it. Thanks to this free advertising, he received five more custom orders, along with over a dozen ProMax editions—all from Slytherins.
Wayne intended to split the earnings with Hermione and Cho, but both flatly refused. The sales were entirely due to Wayne's efforts and had nothing to do with them. Seeing their resolve, Wayne didn't press further.
Cedric, who had witnessed the entire transaction firsthand, looked as though he was constipated. With a dark expression, he leapt onto the Hufflepuff table and began posing dramatically, swaying his hips in exaggerated motions, leaving the younger students utterly dumbfounded.
Even Professor Sprout couldn't tolerate it. She promptly docked him two days' worth of house points and assigned him to fertilise the plants in the greenhouse.
Under Cedric's indignant glare, Wayne, like everyone else, burst into laughter, nearly doubling over.
...
By Friday, as Wayne was eating breakfast, an owl delivered a letter to him.
Puzzled, he opened the envelope:
Wayne,
I've recently found quite a few of the materials you've been looking for. Fancy joining me for afternoon tea tomorrow? Of course, it'd be even better if you brought the Phoenix along.
Seeing the signature—Hagrid—Wayne chuckled. This wasn't an invitation for him; it was an invitation for Ho-Oh.
Still, Wayne had no intention of refusing. He'd used up a fair amount of materials lately while practising his artefact-making and could do with a restock.
Sensing a pair of eyes fixed on him, Wayne glanced up. Sitting at the staff table, Snape wasn't eating—just staring straight at him.
Over the past few days, he'd tried hinting repeatedly, hoping to get his hands on some Phoenix materials from Wayne.
But the little brat was utterly uncooperative. Even after docking him points several times, Wayne only seemed happier.
Honestly, was he mad?
Snape was baffled. Since when did students not fear point deductions as punishment? And why did this one seem to relish it?
During Potions class that afternoon, Snape 'experimentally' docked Wayne another fifteen points. The Hufflepuffs barely batted an eye.
By now, most students knew Snape's greatest disdain was reserved for Harry, with Wayne coming in a close second.
No one was quite sure when the two had crossed swords, but Snape made a point of finding excuses to dock Wayne's points every single day.
Not that Wayne cared. The House Cup was meaningless anyway, and coming in last was impossible—not with Gryffindor around.
Oh, wait. Gryffin-damn-dor. Their points were already obliterated.
When Snape saw Wayne grinning like a blooming flower, he finally gave up.
...
"...Lawrence," he said after class, having detained Wayne alone, "what will it take for you to hand over those materials? Have you used them all to make those ridiculous maps?"
Wayne's map-selling venture hadn't escaped the professors' notice. Aside from Professor Flitwick's praise, the other teachers had nothing but good things to say—largely because they didn't know the maps could track Filch's movements.
Lately, fewer students were late to class, and those who were certainly had nothing to do with getting lost.
It saved the professors a great deal of hassle.
So while Snape kept docking Wayne's points, the other professors kept adding them right back. Back and forth, the points added far exceeded those deducted.
"Professor," Wayne said with a shy smile, "I have indeed collected quite a lot of materials recently—tears, feathers, droppings. I have plenty of each."
Snape's breathing grew heavier. All of them were excellent ingredients.
"You have no use keeping them, and selling them would be a terrible waste. Hand them over to me, and I'll share a portion of the potions brewed with you." Snape coaxed persuasively, "And I won't deduct points from you for two months."