"T-Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," he gasped before collapsing onto the floor in a dead faint.
Chaos erupted in the Great Hall.
Wayne's eyes gleamed mischievously as he leapt onto his chair and bellowed, "The Troll's coming! Run for your lives!"
After roaring, he landed on the ground, accidentally stepping on Quirrell's head.
"Damn it! Lawrence!"
Quirrell, who was pretending to be unconscious, and Voldemort, on the back of his head, both cursed in unison. Voldemort gritted his teeth silently, suppressing his rage and reminding himself to endure.
Stimulated by this, the Great Hall became even more chaotic.
Many young wizards scurried around like headless flies. Dumbledore had to continuously shoot fireworks from his wand before everyone finally quieted down.
He gave a helpless glance at Wayne, who was still standing on Quirrell's head, and said gravely, "Prefects, immediately escort the students back to their dormitories."
Dumbledore's voice seemed to carry a strange power, and the chaotic situation was quickly brought under control.
The Prefects stepped forward, orderly guiding the young wizards out of the Great Hall, with the first-years trailing at the back.
Only then did they notice Quirrell, who had been trampled on countless times.
"Ah! Professor Quirrell!"
Seeing the nearly misshapen turban, Wayne enthusiastically called out again, "Professor Quirrell has fainted, and his turban is filthy. Let's take him to the hospital wing. Someone should remove that turban!"
"No, no need!"
Quirrell, who had been feigning death, struggled to his feet despite the pain. "I-I'm fine now. Hurry back to the dormitories. It's dangerous here."
With that, he ignored the concerned looks from the surrounding young wizards and limped after the other teachers.
As they left the Great Hall, a young wizard wondered aloud, "How did a Troll that big get into the school?"
"No idea. Maybe it came from the Forbidden Forest?"
"But why was it in the dungeons? Could no one have seen it along the way?"
Wayne was also puzzled by this.
It wasn't surprising that Quirrell could get his hands on a Troll, but how he brought it in was baffling.
"Wayne!" Hermione suddenly caught up from behind, grabbing him and pulling him in the opposite direction.
Harry was with her, both looking extremely anxious. "Ron's still in the bathroom. He doesn't know about the Troll yet."
"What exactly is going on?"
Wayne felt dizzy. This was all backwards. Hermione was perfectly fine, while Ron was hiding in the toilet.
The three of them headed in another direction, sneaking into an empty side corridor as they hurried towards the bathroom.
As they walked, Hermione guiltily explained the whole story.
If she hadn't embarrassed Ron, he wouldn't have hidden all afternoon, too ashamed to show his face, and wouldn't be in danger now.
"Alright, it's not entirely your fault."
"Ron needs to learn to control his mouth," Wayne comforted her.
That brat had dared to spread rumours about him.
Suddenly, he grabbed both of them and pulled them behind a nearby statue.
A set of hurried footsteps approached—it was Snape. He crossed the corridor, disappearing from their view as he hurried up the stairs.
"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "That direction leads to the fourth floor. Where are the other professors?"
"Enough. Don't overthink it. The professors can do as they please. Let's just find Ron quickly."
Wayne urged them on, and the three resumed their journey.
Turning a corner, Wayne immediately wrinkled his nose, his eyes watering. The stench was unbearable!
It was worse than the most foul-smelling potion. He could almost see green fumes wafting through the air.
Revolted, he quickly shut off his Dynamic Perception, feeling slightly better.
Wayne had finally discovered the downside of Dynamic Perception. A single Troll was nearly enough to overwhelm him with its stench—if a dozen showed up, he wouldn't even try to fight before making a run for it.
Hermione and Harry also clamped their hands over their noses. Then, they heard low, guttural grunts and the heavy thud of enormous footsteps.
A massive figure, standing a full twelve feet tall, emerged from around the corner and lumbered into the bathroom, followed immediately by a boy's scream.
"That's Ron!" Harry's face paled as he instantly recognised his best mate's voice. He sprinted towards the bathroom.
With a flick of his hand, Wayne levitated Harry, leaving his short legs flailing helplessly in the air.
"You and Hermione stay here—don't interfere!" Wayne hissed before striding towards the bathroom himself.
The door had already been smashed open, revealing the scene inside. Ron was cowering in a corner, his wand snapped in two and discarded carelessly on the floor.
The Troll advanced step by step, its enormous wooden club raised high.
Wayne lifted his palm slightly, and the club floated out of the Troll's grip before smashing down on its head.
Crack!
"ROAR—!"
The club shattered, and the Troll bellowed in fury, whirling around to face its attacker.
Wayne sighed in exasperation. Wasn't this thing supposed to get knocked out by a single hit? Why was it completely unfazed?
Splash!
Two water faucets burst apart, unleashing torrents of water that surged under Wayne's control, forming a massive sphere that engulfed the Troll and suspended it mid-air.
Hermione and Harry arrived just then, staring in stunned silence at the Troll thrashing helplessly within the watery prison. "Ron, get out of there!"
With one hand maintaining the Orb of Water, Wayne hastily cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself with the other, inwardly cursing his own stupidity for not thinking to block the stench sooner.
At his warning, Ron snapped out of his daze and stumbled over to Harry.
The clear water swirled around the Troll, quickly turning murky as it washed away layers of filth, making the bathroom's odour even more indescribable.
Apart from Wayne, the trio pinched their noses shut, eyeing the bubble around his head with envy and silently vowing to learn that spell as soon as possible.
After two or three minutes, the Troll's struggles gradually weakened until it finally went still.
"Drowned already?" Harry whispered.
"Better keep it submerged a bit longer—just to be safe," Hermione advised cautiously. Wayne agreed, maintaining the Orb of Water.
Trolls were tough—far more resilient than Acromantulas or Centaurs, which was exactly why he'd chosen to drown it slowly rather than engage in a direct fight.
Additionally, he simply thought the Troll was too filthy and wanted it to die a clean death.
'What a kind-hearted Hufflepuff I am,' Wayne thought to himself cheerfully when suddenly loud footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Hermione and the others turned around, and moments later, Professor McGonagall burst into the bathroom, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell.
"Good heavens!" Professor McGonagall clutched her head. "What on earth are you doing?!"
A Troll lay peacefully 'asleep' in an Orb of Water, while the three young wizards simply stared at Wayne.
What the hell was this absurd scene?
Snape's face darkened as he limped forward, his pupils contracting slightly at the sight of the Orb of Water. He subtly glanced at Wayne, who was smiling and greeting Professor McGonagall.
Quirrell also entered, took one look at the Troll, and let out a weak sob before sitting on a toilet, clutching his robes tightly as he wiped away tears.
"Professor Quirrell," Wayne reminded him. "If you need to use the loo, this isn't the most convenient place."
Quirrell's sobbing paused momentarily, then grew even louder.
"That's enough, Lawrence," Snape said coldly. "Are you trying to pickle that Troll?"
At this, Wayne dispelled the magic, and the Troll thudded heavily onto the floor.
"I demand an explanation! What sort of mischief are you playing at?" Professor McGonagall glared at them furiously.
Harry had never seen her so angry before. For some reason, it reminded him of Hermione earlier.
"Isn't it obvious?" Snape sneered, fanning the flames. "The brilliant Lawrence, eager to prove his prowess, dragged along his little girlfriend and two lackeys to pick a fight with a Troll."
Hermione had never realised she could find Snape so agreeable.
Harry and Ron, however, were fuming.
Who were the lackeys? They were Wayne's friends!
Wayne remained unbothered, still grinning. "Professor Snape, you're such a fine man—pity about the mouth."
Snape's face darkened further.
"Professor McGonagall—" Hermione hung her head, her voice subdued. "It's all my fault, because I—"
"No!" Ron cut in. "They were all looking for me. I was the one who ran off and ran into the Troll. Luckily, Wayne and the others saved me."
Professor McGonagall naturally didn't believe such a flimsy excuse. There had to be more to the story.
But seeing the determination in Ron's eyes, she sighed. "Mr Weasley, your recklessness costs Gryffindor five points."
Snape let out a dissatisfied huff. "Professor McGonagall, in this matter—"
He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Wayne subtly raising one finger. Snape quickly held up three in response.
Wayne added another finger.
Snape abruptly changed tack. "Since most of those involved are from your house, I'll refrain from commenting."
Professor McGonagall gave him a puzzled look. She had thought Snape considered the punishment too lenient.
But since even Snape had no objections, the matter was settled. McGonagall truly didn't want to further diminish her house's already meagre points. "As for you, Mr Lawrence—for your bravery and kindness, Hufflepuff gains twenty points."
"Now, hurry back to your common rooms. The other students are still enjoying the Halloween feast."
Wayne gave Snape a look and led the trio out of the bathroom. Before leaving, Ron, heartbroken, picked up his wand that had snapped in two, planning to wrap it up with magical tape later.
Hermione tightly gripped Wayne's hand the whole time. The boy had no choice but to follow them to Gryffindor Tower.
Halfway there, Hermione suddenly spoke up, "I'm sorry, Ron. I was too impulsive this afternoon. I apologise."
"And you took the blame for me just now. Thank you."
She even gave a formal bow, leaving Ron flustered. "No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have said those harsh things. The spells you taught were all correct—I was just too proud."
"Oh, and Wayne likes you more, not Cho Chang from Ravenclaw."
Hermione blushed, and Wayne smacked Ron on the head in exasperation. "Shut up. Why do you keep gossiping about me?"
Having just witnessed Wayne suffocating a Troll to death, Ron meekly lowered his head after the smack. "Sorry, Wayne."
"Consider this matter settled, then. No more bringing it up," Wayne said decisively, and no one objected.
Glancing at the broken wand in Ron's hand, Wayne asked, "What are you going to do about your wand?"
Ron forced a bitter smile. "Make do, I suppose. If Mum finds out, she'll send me a Howler for sure."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Wayne stopped her.
"Here's what we'll do. I'll lend you the money—no need to pay me back."
"But you'll handle my Astronomy and History of Magic homework this term. Consider the money as your payment. How's that?"
Ron nodded eagerly in agreement.
A new wand costs at least seven Galleons, and two subjects' worth of homework wasn't too much. He could finish it in the time he'd usually spend playing Wizard's Chess—it was a steal.
"Thank you, Wayne!"
"No need." The four continued towards the tower. "It's a fair trade."
When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Ron and Harry went in first.
Hermione seemed to have something to say to Wayne and stayed behind. The young witch fidgeted with her fingers, stammering, "About what Ron said earlier… about Cho… don't take it to heart. He was just talking nonsense."
Wayne chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I know. I'm only in my first year—I'm not even thinking about that sort of thing."
"But… is everything really alright between you and Cho? You haven't spoken in ages."
He wanted to shout, 'You're both my wings, and one day I'll become a twelve-winged Seraph!'
But considering his age and physical development, shouting it would be pointless.
"Of course it is," Hermione protested awkwardly. "I've just been really busy lately. The day after tomorrow… I've already made plans to go to the library with Cho."
"Good. I'll take you both somewhere nice then."
Wayne didn't care whether Hermione had actually made plans with Cho in advance or was just trying to fix things later.
As long as the two didn't make too much trouble, forcing him to expend too much energy dealing with it, he was fine.
"Thank you… for today." Hermione hugged Wayne.
The scent of shower gel drifted into his nose—unfortunately, it was over too soon.
Before he could savour it properly, Hermione muttered the password and hurried into the Gryffindor common room.
...
Headmaster's Office.
Snape limped to sit before Dumbledore.
"No movement on the fourth floor yet. Quirrell hasn't gone there."
"You've worked hard, Severus. Is the leg injury serious? Should you visit Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"Don't trouble yourself. I can handle it." Snape carefully produced a small crystal vial.
With trembling hands, he dripped precisely two drops onto the bloody wound, standing it upright immediately afterwards, fearful of spilling more.
A miracle occurred – upon contact with the wound, the injuries healed rapidly, disappearing completely within seconds.
Dumbledore observed curiously: "Is this Ho-Oh's tears? The effect is indeed far stronger than Fawkes'."
"This is merely the most basic application." Snape's expression grew complex. "You don't understand what these tears represent."
Dumbledore obliged: "What do they represent?"
"Hope."
Snape tightened his grip on the vial, storing it solemnly before asking: "You're aware of what happened in the bathroom?"
Dumbledore nodded: "Minerva just left. Mr Lawrence performed an impressive Orb of Water Charm."
"Wandless magic," Snape pointedly added.
"Feeling afraid?" Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "Stop testing me, Severus. I've always maintained complete trust in Mr Lawrence."
"There's something you don't know – perhaps it will ease your doubts. Mr Lawrence treats the Restricted Section as his second dormitory, yet shows little interest in the Dark Magic tomes."
"He won't become the next Dark Lord."
'What about White Lord?'
Snape nearly voiced the question, but considering the old man's complexities, he changed tack.
"If you rate him so highly, what about the Potter boy—"
Dumbledore's smile faded into silence.
After a long pause, he finally spoke: "This is Harry's fate. No one can take his place."
"And I... can only provide what assistance is possible."