Realising he'd just been made a fool of, Snape erupted in fury.
Three spells shot towards Wayne almost simultaneously. Non-verbal incantations, multiple castings, spells travelling faster than usual—these techniques alone were proof of Snape's formidable skill.
With the help of his Dynamic Perception, Wayne deftly flicked his wand, deflecting all three curses into the office floor, where they exploded into moderately sized craters.
"Tsk, such destructive power, Professor! I'm just a child, you know!"
Even as he taunted, Wayne's wand unleashed two spells of his own. Standing tall, he had fully entered combat mode, exuding an overwhelming presence.
Sensing the potency behind the incoming spells, Snape's expression darkened. He channelled his magical power, swirling his robes in tandem with a Shield Charm to block both curses.
"Only Dumbledore would see you as a child!" Snape spat. "To me, you're nothing but a monster!"
With a sweeping gesture, Snape summoned a distant cupboard, sending it hurtling towards Wayne with a whoosh. Wayne clenched his fist, and the airborne cupboard shattered mid-flight. The splintered wood harmlessly bounced off their Shield Charms before clattering to the ground.
"Expelliarmus!"
Two streaks of red light collided mid-air, crackling violently as arcs of electricity flickered between them. The duel had reached a stalemate—what some might call a 'spell-lock'.
'Where does this brat get so much magical power?!' Snape thought, gritting his teeth as he poured his full concentration into maintaining the upper hand.
"Professor, show me more of your strength!"
Wayne stepped forward, tilting the balance in his favour. The converging point of their magical clash began inching steadily towards Snape.
Blessed with the talent of an Innate Saint, even when their magical reserves and disarming proficiency were evenly matched, Wayne's spells still carried an edge over Snape's.
Hiss!
The wooden fragments on the floor suddenly transformed into several serpents. One serpent forcibly disrupted the spell-lock by hurling itself into the clash, disintegrating upon impact. The others slithered menacingly forward.
Wayne raised his wand high, tracing an elegant arc like a conductor mid-performance.
With his motion, a net of crackling lightning descended from above.
The office had become a battleground of relentless intensity—spells ricocheted in all directions, leaving craters of varying sizes in their wake. The occasional roar of a phantom beast punctuated the chaos.
Powerful magical energy radiated from both combatants, their robes billowing as if caught in an unseen wind.
Snape had long abandoned his initial superiority complex, now treating Wayne as a genuine equal. Without resorting to Dark Magic or certain high-powered offensive spells, he realised subduing this boy in a short time was impossible.
As for Wayne, he too held back, keeping Thunderlord's Decree sheathed and his most formidable spells in reserve. This was a test of his baseline capabilities.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three blazing fireballs erupted from Snape's wand, only to be dispersed by Wayne's magical surge, scattering into a shower of sparks.
"Hmph!"
Snape blew sharply across his clenched fist, and the scattered flames coalesced once more, morphing into a massive, three-headed serpent.
"You scared me there, Professor. I thought you were about to unleash Fiendfyre," Wayne chuckled, sending several spells flying.
First, he forced the fiery serpent back, then golden light unfurled like silk, wrapping around the flaming beast.
"Finite!"
'He even knows Finite?!' Snape's heart skipped a beat.
While not traditionally strong enough to extinguish Fiendfyre, Finite was still a remarkably advanced counter-spell, capable of dispelling multiple enchantments at once when cast with enough magical force.
But casting it against Fiendfyre, even partially, was practically unheard of. It usually took several skilled wizards working in tandem to subdue such cursed flames.
For a student to hold it back—even briefly and alone—was nothing short of extraordinary.
Yet the once-indomitable fiery serpent was utterly suppressed before vanishing without a trace!
A flicker of eerie blue light passed through Wayne's onyx-black pupils.
"Silent Fear!"
The silent mental magic took effect instantly. Snape's raised hand froze mid-air as the image of that day in Godric's Hollow flashed before his eyes—digging through the ruins to find Lily.
"No!"
Tears streamed unbidden down his face as Snape let out a heart-wrenching cry. But as the most formidable double agent, he quickly realised this was Wayne's attack.
Summoning immense willpower, he broke free.
Yet in a duel between masters, even a second's hesitation could be fatal. By the time he regained focus, Wayne was already before him.
"Protego!"
"Lumos!"
Bang!
...
Ten minutes later.
Snape pressed a cold towel against his right eye, the other glaring daggers at Wayne.
"You're a wizard, not a Troll! Who taught you to throw punches in a duel?!
"That's a foul! I protest!"
"Hiss—"
The outburst tugged at his injuries, making him wince in pain. Seated comfortably on the plush sofa, Wayne couldn't help but grin. The outcome was undeniable.
First-year Wayne had defeated the renowned Half-Blood Prince, Professor Snape.
Yet Snape felt cheated.
Wayne had ambushed him with an invisible, unheard-of mental assault. After barely breaking free through sheer will, Snape—ever the veteran—instantly cast a Shield Charm to brace for the impending attack.
But once again, Wayne defied expectations.
He'd used an overpowered Lumos, the sudden blinding light slowing Snape's Shield Charm just enough for a solid punch to land.
In short, utterly dishonourable!
"Professor..." Wayne smirked at Snape's black eye.
"You're a Slytherin—ruthless in pursuit of your goals. How can you not grasp such a simple principle?
"Winning is everything. I'd wield a wand in one hand and a sword in the other if needed. Wasn't that how Godric Gryffindor fought? Yet he was hailed as the greatest duellist of his age."
"The Sorting Hat must be going senile..."
Snape scoffed, flicking his wand to restore the office before applying a potion to his eye. "That you ended up in Hufflepuff would shame Helga herself."
"Now that's uncalled for," Wayne frowned. "Lose with dignity—no need for personal attacks."
"Hmph!"
Snape couldn't out-argue him and chose to remain silent, pulling out several vials of potion to reduce the swelling around his eyes.
The effects were soon evident.
Yet a faint bruise remained, clearly not fading by today.
After some effort, he sat back down opposite Wayne. The atmosphere was somewhat stifling.
Neither spoke first. Snape was still calming his thoughts.
Only today had he gained a direct understanding of Wayne's talent—no, more accurately, his strength.
To describe a wizard who could fight him to this extent merely as 'talented' would be downright disrespectful.
Wayne Lawrence, a newcomer to the magical world, was already a true powerhouse.
Snape was certain that even Voldemort in his early days hadn't displayed such monstrous prowess as Wayne.
This boy...
Could he be Merlin reincarnated?
Opposite him, Wayne was also deep in thought, reviewing his duel with Snape and identifying his shortcomings.
His victory had relied on multiple factors.
First, Snape had refrained from using many inconvenient Dark Magic spells, such as his signature Laceration Curse.
Second, he had benefited from the element of surprise—Snape had been caught off guard by Dread.
If they fought again, with Snape prepared, the same trick wouldn't work. After all, the first time always hurts the most; one grows accustomed afterwards. Then, victory would depend purely on raw skill.
Wayne realised he had been somewhat wasteful with his magical power.
There had been more elegant ways to counter his opponent's spells, yet he had chosen the most direct, brute-force approach. Still a bit reckless.
One by one, Wayne listed his flaws, only snapping out of it after a long while.
"Professor."
"Hm?" Snape looked up, meeting the boy's gentle, almost shy smile.
Damn it.
Had his eyes been damaged in the fight? Since when did Lawrence do 'shy'?
"There's an old saying: 'Better to resolve grievances than to perpetuate them.' I don't have any major conflict with the students of your house."
"Let's end things here. If this drags on, the Headmaster won't be pleased."
These past few days, Dumbledore had been preoccupied with who-knew-what, leaving disciplinary matters to Professor McGonagall. But Wayne knew when to stop.
When a mischievous student occasionally behaves, professors feel gratified. But when a well-behaved child acts out just once, it leaves a lasting stain.
This was a lesson Wayne had quickly grasped after becoming the 'Scourge of Westminster Church.' Everything required moderation.
The school and Dumbledore wouldn't forget his 'sacrifice.'
Even Snape stared at him in surprise. "You truly mean that?"
"Of course." Wayne transformed into the picture of an obedient, thoughtful child. "I have some Slytherin friends, too. I wouldn't want them caught in the middle."
Snape's eyelid twitched.
Friends...
More like your personal ATMs, no?
He'd heard whispers about Wayne's Celia Store.
Especially the products marketed to Slytherins—all branded as 'exclusive custom-made items for nobility.'
The prices were, predictably, exorbitant.
"That would be for the best," Snape said slowly, tightening his robes.
Whatever Wayne's motives were for proposing peace, it was the best outcome for Slytherin students.
Because they truly stood no chance against him.
Snape could already envision Wayne dominating Hogwarts for the next seven years. He glanced at the wall clock and abruptly stood up.
"Follow me."
...
"So this is the Slytherin Common Room?"
Following Snape, Wayne entered the Slytherin Common Room, looking around curiously.
The walls, the chairs, even the statue that opened the door—all were serpentine in design.
The Slytherin Common Room was located at the bottom of the Black Lake. Legend had it that before the school was established, this place had been a dungeon for prisoners.
Wayne's first impression upon entering was the cold.
The common room was spacious, roughly the same size as Hufflepuff's.
Despite the roaring fireplace, the pervasive greenish hues gave off a chilling effect, making one feel physically cold.
It was baffling why Slytherin had chosen a prison cell as the dormitory for his students.
"Professor Snape!"
Upon Snape's sudden arrival, the few young wizards in the common room immediately sprang to their feet, greeting him respectfully.
Noticing the bruise around his eye, they looked puzzled.
Only then did they spot Wayne behind him, their eyes flashing with disbelief. Why had the Head of House brought Lawrence here? Was it to let them vent their anger?
"Marins, fetch all the male Prefects. Daphne, you go and get the female Prefects," Snape ordered coolly.
The two students whose names were called hurried into the respective dormitories.
Soon, six Prefects from three different years arrived hastily, trailed by a crowd of their housemates.
Upon seeing Wayne, they glared at him furiously. Some, emboldened by Snape's presence, even opened their mouths to curse.
"Silence!" Snape shot them a frigid look, cutting off their words.
Faced with their Head of House, they dared not resist.
Malfoy, mingling in the crowd, also watched Wayne curiously, wondering why Snape had brought him to the common room.
After surveying the room, Snape announced slowly, "This chaos must come to an end.
"We are Slytherins, not brainless brutes like Gryffindors. Meaningless matters shouldn't waste your time and energy. I brought Lawrence here to put an end to this ridiculous commotion."
Snape motioned for the six Prefects to step forward while the other students retreated, clearing space for them.
"You six shall be Lawrence's opponents. Regardless of the outcome, this ends here."
His words made the Prefects' eyes widen involuntarily.
"What, lacking confidence?" Snape asked with a sidelong glance.
"No, Professor! We will defend Slytherin's honour!"
Snape gave a noncommittal hum. "See that you do. Everyone else, step back."
In truth, he knew perfectly well that even doubling the number of Prefects wouldn't make them a match for Wayne.
But that was precisely his intention.
Slytherins obeyed strength.
Unless thoroughly defeated, they'd scheme endlessly against you. That was how Voldemort had earned respect and fear in his day. He wanted Wayne to do the same—to end the trouble once and for all.
Swish!
The remaining spectators among the Slytherins retreated to the walls, silently cheering on their Prefects.
These Prefects represented Slytherin's current strongest fighters. Unlike other houses where Prefects were appointed, Slytherins were elected by the students through duels—undoubtedly the most powerful in their year.
Though Wayne had defeated many Slytherins recently, none had been Prefects.
Only Selwyn, Nott, and Travers felt uneasy. After all, when Wayne had beaten them, he hadn't even drawn his wand.
Could six Prefects manage it?
The six glared at Wayne, who remained amiably smiling, their lips curling coldly.
At Snape's command, spells of various colours filled the Common Room!
...
One minute later.
As six Prefects dangled from the ceiling, the room fell silent.
Snape's eyelid twitched. This habit of hanging people—where did he pick it up?!
Wayne leisurely tucked away his wand and turned to him. "Will this suffice, Professor?"
With a cold snort, Snape—though prepared—still felt irked. He waved his wand to lower the Prefects. "Convinced now?"
"Y-yes. Lawrence, Slytherin won't trouble you or other Hufflepuffs again."
Daniel Avery, the seventh-year Prefect and Head Boy, no longer regarded Wayne with hostility.
Only reverence remained.
"I merely had the advantage of talent," Wayne said modestly. "You're all future pillars of the wizarding world. Today, I specifically asked Professor Snape to help resolve this misunderstanding.
"After all, I'm a Hufflepuff—I enjoy making friends.
"When I was sorted, the Sorting Hat told me of Hufflepuff's virtues. As a Hufflepuff, one gains loyal friends." He slowly extended his hand, his smile disarmingly warm. "Would you... like to be my most loyal friends?"
Snape's mouth twisted, his emotions beyond words. Was that how the phrase was meant to be interpreted?
Sorting Hat, you've done irreparable harm!