To be fair, Snape was being quite sincere.
As a young Potions Master, his meticulously brewed potions were highly sought after outside the school, with guaranteed quality and consistency.
But Wayne wanted more.
"Professor, what do you think of my talent for potions?"
Snape gave a slight nod and said with a hint of disdain, "Barely passable. Slightly better than those fools."
Coming from Snape, this was already high praise. He had been nitpicking Wayne's every move lately, but he had never deducted points for his potion-making—Wayne followed his instructions to the letter.
Even when the textbook contradicted Snape's methods, Wayne unhesitatingly adhered to his professor's process. Unlike certain fools who treated the textbook as gospel.
Wayne wasn't offended. His potions talent was rated A+, while Snape was undoubtedly an S, if not S+.
Even Voldemort had relied on him to brew certain potions, which spoke volumes about his skill.
Wayne grinned and took a small step back—he didn't want any stray drops of oil from Snape's hair landing on him.
"Professor, I've already mastered everything in the current curriculum. Even the first- and second-year textbooks pose no challenge. I feel like my talent is being wasted."
"You want extra tutoring?" Snape instinctively wanted to refuse.
He was already swamped with teaching—ten classes from first to fifth year. After OWLs, Potions became an elective, so there were only two classes for sixth and seventh years.
On top of that, he had to keep an eye on Quirrell for Dumbledore, leaving him with little personal time.
But those ingredients... he really wanted them.
Especially Phoenix tears. Even in their raw form, they were the finest healing agent, far surpassing dittany.
And if he brewed them into a potion, they could save a life as long as the person still had a breath left.
He had once asked Dumbledore for some, but that damned bird simply refused to cry. What could he do?
"Show me the materials you've collected first."
In the end, Snape couldn't resist the temptation and decided to inspect the goods before making a decision. Wayne was prepared—he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a dragonhide pouch.
Snape gave him a long look.
The Undetectable Extension Charm wasn't overly difficult, but that was relative to top students nearing graduation.
He himself had mastered it in his third year. But Wayne had only been at Hogwarts for less than a month.
Wayne emptied the contents of the pouch onto the table.
A few feathers, an exquisite crystal vial containing a small amount of liquid, and a transparent jar filled with droppings.
Picking up the feathers, Snape smiled in satisfaction as he felt the abundant magical power and the faint warmth against his skin.
But when he saw the liquid in the vial, his expression darkened. "Why so little?"
Wayne's lips twitched. "Professor, this is a lot! It's everything I've collected this week—I didn't keep a single drop for myself. How much more do you want?"
Snape tentatively suggested, "A pint?"
Wayne rolled his eyes. "Just kill me now. A pint of Phoenix tears? These are tears, not drool!"
Realising he might have overstepped, Snape amended, "One more vial of this size, and I'll tutor you for a month."
"No, a year."
"A year?" Snape sneered. "You've got some nerve. Do you have any idea how much those potion companies pay me to tutor their brewers for a single session?"
"How much does it cost to buy Phoenix tears?"
"Two months. Two months at most."
"Until Easter."
After much haggling between the older and the younger, they finally settled on a deadline just before Christmas, with Wayne attending Snape's lessons every Tuesday evening.
In return, Wayne would also have to provide him with two more vials of Phoenix tears of the same quantity. Having achieved his goal, Wayne left in high spirits.
For Neville and Harry, Snape was far from a good teacher—his verbal abuse and dreadful rapport made it impossible for them to focus in class.
But Wayne wasn't fazed. Every time Snape pointed out his mistakes, they were the most critical issues, making the lessons highly efficient.
The time until Christmas would be enough for him to learn a great deal. The only regret was that his innate talent for potions was somewhat lacking.
An A+ talent was certainly respectable, but having experienced the efficiency of learning Charms and White Magic with an SS-tier talent, Wayne knew the gap was enormous.
'System, open the panel.'
Ignoring the other attributes, Wayne scrolled straight to the bottom.
[Points: 6508]
Wayne sighed softly.
It was thanks to Slytherin's deep pockets—otherwise his points wouldn't have grown this quickly.
At least half of those points came from the little Slytherin wizards buying maps.
Oh, and Snape had recently docked him several dozen points, which also contributed significantly. The rest were earned through Wayne's usual rule-breaking and mischief. Quirrell accounted for the bulk of that—now, Defence Against the Dark Arts had become Wayne's favourite class, bar none.
Not for any other reason than the hundred-plus points he earned per lesson—enough to make him grin.
He'd spend all his points tonight, hoping to draw something good.
Earlier, Wayne had considered buying a vial of Felix Felicis to drink before the draw, but the system had reminded him—it wasn't influenced by any external forces, relying purely on the host's own luck. So Wayne abandoned the idea.
...
Having spent so much time haggling with Snape, Wayne was already running late. Rather than returning to the Common Room, he headed straight to the Great Hall for dinner.
There, he found Harry and Malfoy standing like sentinels at the entrance, not going in, just staring intently at each other from two metres apart.
Ron was also glaring fiercely at Malfoy's two lackeys. The tension was so thick you could practically see sparks flying.
"What's going on here?"
Wayne's curious question snapped them out of it.
"Nothing, Lawrence." Malfoy nodded at Wayne, breaking his standoff with Harry. Before leaving, he leaned in and whispered in Harry's ear:
"Don't wet yourself and chicken out."
Though he thought he'd spoken softly, Wayne's sharp hearing caught every word. 'A duel?'
'Wait, no—not a duel. Malfoy tricked Harry and the others, not showing up himself and instead tipping off Filch.'
"Wayne, Malfoy actually greeted you?" Harry finally tore his gaze from Malfoy's retreating figure, staring at Wayne in surprise.
Not just him—even Ron couldn't help remarking: "Malfoy's eyes are stuck up his nostrils—he can't see anyone except pure-bloods. Did his eyes fall out today or something?"
"Maybe he's just acknowledging me since he bought my map," Wayne waved it off. "What were you guys arguing about earlier? Looked like you were about to throw punches."
"Nothing!" Ron and Harry said in unison, exchanging a glance.
Harry quickly added, "He was mocking my scar again, so I fired back. You know how Malfoy's mouth is."
"Alright then, I'm off to eat," Wayne nodded indifferently and walked away without another word.
He couldn't be bothered with trivial matters.
If Harry had brought it up himself, Wayne might have mentioned that Malfoy was probably up to something and warned them to stay cautious if they planned to engage.
But since they didn't say anything, they'd have to figure it out on their own.
The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. Tomorrow was Hogwarts' first open day of the term, allowing third-years and above to visit Hogsmeade for the day.
It was the only all-wizarding village in Britain. Though not as lively as Diagon Alley, it had its unique charm.
Especially the landlady of the Three Broomsticks—many young witches and wizards could spend an entire day there nursing a single butterbeer.
"Wayne, you're here. Need me to pick anything up for you tomorrow?" Cedric asked as Wayne sat down to eat.
"Some ink, and a few products from Zonko's," Wayne murmured.
Every item from Zonko's Joke Shop was on Filch's banned list, so it wasn't something to announce loudly.
Cedric understood immediately and lowered his voice. "What exactly do you want? Give me a list later."
"Don't bother. Just get two of everything."
"That much?" Cedric looked startled. "Trying to get Filch or something?"
"It's for research. You think I'm Fred and George?" Wayne rolled his eyes, tapping his wand on the table and muttering, "I'd like a cup of black tea. Whoosh!"
A steaming cup of tea appeared before him.
Some of Zonko's products were potions, others enchanted trinkets—plenty for Wayne to study.
"I'll do my best," Cedric said, rubbing his hands nervously. Carrying that much contraband would be risky.
"How's your Charms practice going?"
"Nearly there. Got most of it down."
"Good. I'll teach you how to make the map on Sunday."
"Deal."
As they chatted over their meal, Wayne spotted Hermione lugging a stack of books to the Gryffindor table. Once he finished eating, he headed over.
"I'm having tea with Hagrid tomorrow afternoon. Fancy joining?"
Hermione tilted her head in thought.
She could finish her homework in the morning. Originally, she'd planned to drag Wayne to the library, but tea sounded just as good.
The young witch nodded. "Sure. What time?"
"Two o'clock. You'll finish your homework in the morning, and I'll copy mine by noon," Wayne said.
Hermione smacked his arm in mock outrage. "No, you won't! Do your own work!"
"Oh? Then I suppose you'll learn the Shield Charm on your own, too," Wayne replied airily.
Hermione's eyes widened. "You can't back out now! You agreed yesterday!"
She'd spent days coaxing Wayne into sharing some of his advanced spellwork—no way was he reneging.
Or was he?
Watching the little witch's flustered expression, Wayne smirked teasingly, "What if I withdraw my consent? Not allowed?"
"No way!"
"I'm not teaching anymore, absolutely not—unless you let me copy your homework," Wayne began shamelessly haggling.
Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration but could do nothing about it, eventually yielding with an indignant huff.
If it had been anyone else, Hermione would have rather gone without learning the new spell than hand over her homework.
But with Wayne—well, he already knew everything the teachers covered in class anyway. Fine, let him copy.
Satisfied with his spoils, Wayne was promptly shoved away from the Gryffindor table by Hermione.
He then headed over to Ravenclaw's table. Since he'd invited Hermione, he couldn't leave Cho out.
Unfortunately, Cho had Quidditch practice that afternoon.
Wayne looked surprised. "Isn't tomorrow Hogsmeade weekend? Why are you still training?"
Cho sighed helplessly. "The captain said they'll only play in the morning and train in the afternoon."
"Well, good luck then," Wayne said sympathetically, his resolve to never join the Quidditch team strengthening.
He was far too busy breaking school rules—who had time for training?
Cho gave him a pleading look. "If there's anything tasty, save some for me."
Wayne nodded with a smile, though inwardly he scoffed.
'If Hagrid had anything remotely delicious, he'd rip Quirrell's head off and give it to the Troll as a chamber pot.'
"Achoo!"
At the staff table, Quirrell sneezed into his meal and offered an embarrassed smile to Professor Sprout beside him.
Flitwick said kindly, "Professor Quirrell, the weather's turning colder—do take care of yourself."
Quirrell mumbled a timid reply, making Flitwick sigh inwardly. The Quirrell of old hadn't been like this—a young man talented enough to teach at Hogwarts, once an Outstanding graduate.
But ever since he started teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, it was as if he'd become a different person—stammering, jumpy, even reduced to tears by Wayne's taunts. Unbelievable.
...
In the Slytherin dormitory, Malfoy was rooming with his two lackeys.
"Draco, are we really duelling Potter tonight?" Goyle asked.
Malfoy scowled. "Of course! Just wait till I teach that Potter a lesson!"
Crabbe scratched his head in confusion. "But didn't you say you'd report them to Filch and get Gryffindor docked points?"
"Idiot!" Malfoy smacked Crabbe's head.
"Gryffindor's only got a measly dozen points left—what's the point in docking more?"
"Besides," Malfoy lifted his chin haughtily, "I'm the heir of the Malfoy family. If I issue a duel, I can't just back out. That's not how nobility behaves!"
"That Potter, raised by Muggles—how could he possibly stand a chance against me?"
After his long-winded rant, the two still didn't quite grasp it, only asking who he planned to take as his second.
In the end, Malfoy still chose the burlier Crabbe to accompany him.
At least he wouldn't be at a disadvantage in close combat.
Wayne had no idea that his earlier bluffs had spurred a change in Malfoy. Though his sneaky, underhanded nature remained, the moment it involved so-called "family honour," he became a completely different person.
The initial thought of tricking Harry had vanished—this time, the two were going to clash head-on.
But even if Wayne had known, he'd only have treated it as a bit of amusement.
...
After chatting with Cho for a while longer, Wayne noticed her friends arriving. He bid her farewell and returned to the Common Room.
Toby and Norman were playing Wizard's Chess with Hannah, leaving the dormitory empty. Wayne headed to the bathroom for a shower, scrubbing his face three times until it was as pale as could be, before finally opening the system's lottery page.
"System, draw—let's start with a ten-pull to test my luck."