Wayne couldn't help but feel a little sentimental.
Unknowingly, he had already spent nearly two months at Hogwarts. Time flew when one was busy.
These past two months at Hogwarts had been the most fulfilling of his life—far more interesting than any Muggle school.
Perhaps because of the approaching holiday, from this week onward, the professors' lessons began incorporating Halloween themes in one way or another.
...
Transfiguration Class.
Professor McGonagall handed each student a rat, instructing the young witches and wizards to transform it into a pumpkin.
Wayne glanced at his rat, which looked rather listless, and poked Ron in front of him with his wand.
"What is it, Wayne?" Ron turned around, puzzled.
"I think my rat's a bit dim. Mind lending me Scabbers?"
"Scabbers is a pet, not a prop." Ron immediately tensed up. "Besides, he's back in the dormitory—I didn't bring him."
"Oh." Wayne looked disappointed. "How about next time? I'll rent him—one Sickle a day."
At such an exorbitant price, Ron was visibly tempted.
One Sickle a day would amount to nearly two Galleons a month—an absolute fortune for him.
But after weighing his bond with Scabbers, Ron still refused, though it pained him.
Harry asked curiously, "Wayne, why are you so interested in Scabbers?"
Wayne replied matter-of-factly, "Rats usually live one to three years, but Scabbers has been alive for over a decade. Of course, I'd want to study such a long-lived rodent."
"Oh."
Harry realised the oddity too.
He hadn't noticed until Wayne pointed it out—how had Scabbers lived so long?
Seeing the curiosity in his friend's eyes, Ron quickly defended, "Scabbers is a wizard's pet—it's different!"
Harry shrugged. "But you've said before he's just an ordinary rat, no magical creature bloodline."
"Well—" Ron faltered. "Maybe Percy fed him some potion? You know, Scabbers used to be Percy's pet."
"Fine, I won't push if you're unwilling," Wayne said dismissively. "But if you ever need money, come find me—just remember to bring your rat."
With that, he began fiddling with his own lethargic rodent.
...
Herbology Class.
This week's Herbology class wasn't held in the greenhouse.
Braving the cold wind, Professor Sprout led the young witches and wizards to Hagrid's vegetable patch.
It was a pumpkin field, where the pumpkins were ripe for harvesting. Each vine bore two or three pumpkins, painting the ground in golden hues.
The students' task wasn't just to harvest them—they first had to enlarge the already sizable pumpkins further.
Professor Sprout pulled out vials of potion from a large basket she'd brought, distributing one to each student.
She then explained:
"This is Engorgement Potion—it increases the size of the pumpkins."
"Be careful to apply it only to the centre of the stem. This ensures even growth, but do not use too much."
"Wait for the expansion to finish before adding another drop."
Professor Sprout warned, "Last class, a Gryffindor poured half a vial onto a pumpkin. Two students were nearly crushed—be very cautious."
A chuckle spread through the field.
Anything handled by Gryffindors always took a bizarre turn—they were used to it by now.
Wayne uncorked his vial and sniffed it, his expression darkening.
"What's wrong?" Hannah, who'd been drooling over the pumpkins, noticed Wayne's change and wiped her mouth.
The young girl had already gained two dress sizes since arriving at Hogwarts two months ago.
"Nothing, just thought this potion was quite good," Wayne forced a smile.
Of course, it was good—he'd brewed it himself.
No wonder Snape had suddenly asked him to make a simple Swelling Solution that day. Turned out he'd been used as cheap labour.
Wayne silently added another black mark against Snape in his little notebook.
He was usually the one exploiting others—he never thought he'd be exploited by Snape. One day, he'd hang him from a lamppost.
As the class neared its end, the pumpkin patch was now crammed full, each pumpkin two or three times its original size, as large as millstones.
Pumpkins treated with Swelling Solution were still edible, but the texture turned poor, and they weren't filling.
Luckily, these pumpkins were just for Halloween decorations and wouldn't end up in the young wizards' stomachs.
Well, except maybe Hannah, who might not resist taking a bite.
Professor Sprout awarded five points each to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for no disruptions in class.
Such was the power of a control group.
With Gryffindor setting such a shining example, simply behaving well had become a point-worthy achievement.
"Mr Lawrence, a moment, please," Sprout called out to Wayne amidst the crowd.
"Professor, what is it?"
"Help me take these pumpkins to the storeroom," she said, already levitating half of them effortlessly.
Wayne followed suit, levitating the other half without even drawing his wand.
"A perfect Levitation Charm. Ten points to Hufflepuff," Professor Sprout said, beaming. "That's on Flitwick's behalf."
Lately, Wayne had stopped answering questions in class—or rather, even when he did, the professors rarely awarded him points.
Because whenever they looked at Wayne, they couldn't shake the feeling of a graduate returning to first-year lessons.
Giving him points just felt... odd.
Professor Sprout had seized the chance to compensate him a little. A few pumpkins were hardly beyond her control.
...
After storing the pumpkins, Wayne bid farewell to his Head of House, grabbed a quick lunch, and headed to the Potions Classroom.
His earlier good mood vanished instantly. Snape always knew how to douse everyone's happiness with cold water.
All the professors had refrained from assigning homework over the Halloween weekend—even Quidditch practice had been cancelled.
Except for him. After class, he'd assigned three essays, each corresponding to the three potions they'd recently studied.
Though Wayne was exempt from writing them, Snape had given him another task: ensuring every Hufflepuff's essay passed flawlessly.
The moment Wayne reached for his wand, Snape had flitted away like a bat.
...
The last day of October—Halloween Eve.
Waking up that morning, the corridors were thick with the scent of roasted pumpkins, and the ghosts were livelier than usual.
In the Hufflepuff Common Room, the Fat Friar gave an impromptu sermon, urging the young wizards to join the Church and embrace the Almighty God, though few showed interest.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick declared they were ready to make objects fly.
After watching him send Neville's toad zooming around the classroom, the students were practically itching to try.
Each was given a feather, and the young wizards waved their wands, murmuring incantations.
"Wayne, what are you writing?" Hermione asked, having successfully levitated her feather for a few seconds before letting it drift gently down, satisfied. Only then did she notice that Wayne, beside her, wasn't practising magic but writing a letter.
"Oh, my clothes have gotten a bit small. I'm planning to order two more sets from Twilfitt and Tattings. Do you need to? If you don't know your measurements, the shop will send over a set of magical measuring tapes. You can just send them back along with the money and tools."
At eleven or twelve years old, it's precisely the age when children shoot up in height.
After two months at Hogwarts, Wayne had grown three centimetres, making his previously well-fitted robes noticeably shorter.
"I don't need to," Hermione shook her head, lecturing Wayne like a little housekeeper. "Buying new robes after just two months? You might as well order them a size larger from the start. You'll save quite a bit of money that way."
"Ah," Wayne finished writing his final request, tucked the letter into his pocket, and shook his head regretfully. "But I'm so poor, I've only got money left. There aren't many places to spend it at Hogwarts. Are you going to deprive me of this small pleasure?"
Hermione was momentarily speechless.
Only then did she remember Wayne's status.
That scoundrel had only mentioned being orphaned when they first met, completely omitting the fact that he was an earl!
In the Muggle world, Hermione would have to address Wayne as 'my lord'.
"Just show off then," the little witch huffed, ignoring Wayne. Hearing Ron repeatedly mispronouncing the spell behind them, she irritably reminded him: "Mind the pauses – it's Win-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."
Having so many mistakes pointed out, Ron flushed with anger. "If you're so clever, why don't you try it then!"
Without hesitation, Hermione rolled up her sleeves, revealing slender white wrists, and performed the precise swish and flick exactly as Professor Flitwick had taught.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Her feather rose from the desk, steady and swift, hovering four inches above Hermione's head.
"Oh, well done!" Professor Flitwick beamed with delight. "Everyone, look! Miss Granger has succeeded. Five points to Gryffindor!"
Ron didn't utter another word for the entire lesson.
By the time Seamus set his feather alight to mark the end of class, Ron's mood had soured completely.
"No wonder everyone can't stand her," Ron grumbled to Harry. "She's an absolute nightmare."
Harry caught sight of Hermione nearby out of the corner of his eye and quickly tried to cover for Ron. "Hermione gets along fine with Wayne, doesn't she? They're both geniuses."
"There are different kinds of genius," Ron continued, digging his own grave. "Wayne's far more brilliant than Hermione, but he never acts all high and mighty like she does."
"Look at how popular Wayne is—even Malfoy greets him first! But Hermione? She always looks down her nose at me!"
'Maybe because you're too short?'
Harry thought this privately, but had already given up on saving Ron. He's beyond help—just waiting to die now.
To Harry's surprise, Ron only plunged further down his path of self-destruction, rambling incessantly.
"No wonder I've hardly seen Wayne with Hermione lately. He's always with that second-year Ravenclaw girl."
"What's her name again? Cho Chang, right? She's so gentle."
Harry nodded absently in agreement. He'd noticed Cho, too, and often found himself stealing glances at her.
His heart would pound wildly each time—until he spotted Wayne beside her, cooling his ardour instantly. What could he possibly compare to Wayne?
"Levicorpus!"
A furious voice cut through their conversation.
Ron suddenly felt the world spin upside down as he was flung backwards and hung suspended from a courtyard pillar.
Hermione's hair practically bristled with rage. "Ron Weasley, is gossiping behind people's backs fun?"
"You could learn a thing or two from your three older brothers! Basic human decency!" With that, Hermione stormed off, leaving Harry frozen in place.
He'd never seen Hermione so livid—it was like witnessing an enraged Professor McGonagall.
This was the connecting garden between castle wings, bustling with students. The sudden outburst startled everyone, but many couldn't help laughing at Ron's undignified predicament.
"Was that a wandless spell? That first-year Granger girl just now?"
"That's her. What spell was that? Never seen it before."
First years these days are terrifying. First Lawrence, now Granger."
"Fancy the library? I want to learn that spell—looked brilliant."
Under the crowd's pointing and snickering, Ron's face turned scarlet. Harry tried to help him down, but couldn't reach Ron and didn't know the counter-charm.
After three agonising minutes, the spell wore off. Ron came crashing down, and Harry barely caught him.
"Ron, you alright?"
Mortified beyond words, Ron shoved Harry away and fled the garden in disgrace.
...
Evening soon fell, and the castle was adorned anew.
The Great Hall was filled with a dazzling array of Halloween decorations. The usual starry ceiling had been replaced with grinning ghostly faces, while thousands of bats fluttered along the walls and overhead. Countless dark clouds swirled and danced above the dining tables.
The brass candlesticks had been swapped out for floating pumpkins enchanted with the Levitation Charm, their flickering candlelight peering through the carved-out eyes and mouths. The effect was more charming than frightening.
Dumbledore, beaming, waved his wand without a word, and golden plates were instantly laden with a feast as sumptuous as the one at the start-of-term banquet. Roast chickens, lamb chops, steaks, pork knuckles—every delicacy imaginable was present.
The Hufflepuff badgers cheered and piled their plates high. Although the school never left anyone hungry, with meat dishes aplenty, the variety was never as extravagant as it was tonight.
Wayne helped himself to a whole chicken, two large grilled ribs, and a generous portion of beans. Before eating, he glanced over at the Gryffindor table and spotted Hermione seated there with a steak on her plate. Satisfied, he turned his attention elsewhere.
Quirrell was up to something tonight, but that had nothing to do with Wayne. He might as well enjoy the show. As long as Hermione was safe, all was well.
As if reading his thoughts, Hermione looked up and met his gaze. The boy flashed her a broad grin, but the young witch rolled her eyes, leaving Wayne utterly baffled. What had he done to upset her this time?
At the neighbouring table, Cho noticed Wayne and raised her goblet of pumpkin juice in a silent toast, which he returned with a smile from across the hall.
Hermione only grew angrier, viciously sawing her steak into shreds with her knife and fork.
Nearby, Harry gulped and ventured cautiously, "H-Hermione—"
"What?!"
"Er... have you seen Ron?" Harry hadn't been able to find Ron all afternoon—he hadn't even shown up for Herbology class.
"How should I know where he is?" Hermione snapped. "Maybe he's in the library learning basic manners."
"Ron?" Neville, his mouth full of food, suddenly looked up at their conversation. "I saw him in the second-floor bathroom not long ago. But he was crying—his voice kept hitching. Did something happen?"
"Nothing," Harry said with a strained laugh, resolving to find his best mate after dinner.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall was jovial. Dumbledore's hearty laughter rang out incessantly, his wizard hat now adorned with a blinking bat courtesy of Professor Flitwick. Professor Sprout had even painted red streaks on her cheeks for the occasion.
Even Professor McGonagall, in a rare moment, raised her goblet and urged Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, to drink.
The only one dampening the mood was Snape, his face as cold as ever, utterly indifferent to Halloween—or any holiday, for that matter.
Just as everyone was immersed in the festive cheer, the doors burst open with a bang. Quirrell sprinted into the hall, his face twisted in terror.