Wayne shook his head. "Before I say, you must make an Unbreakable Vow with me."
At this, Newt's expression finally changed. The Unbreakable Vow was an extremely ancient magical contract. Once sworn, neither party could break the vow, and the violator would perish instantly.
What could be so important that Wayne would be this cautious?
Wayne waved his wand, and the surrounding scenery faded away, leaving the world blank.
No one disturbed Newt as he pondered. A full five minutes passed before the elderly man slowly nodded.
"Very well. Who do you intend to use as the witness?"
An Unbreakable Vow required a witness to guide the magic for it to take effect.
Wayne shook his head again. "No witness needed. I have... another method."
As he spoke, a scroll of parchment flew from his pocket, unfurling before them. With magical power as the seal, lines of text appeared upon the contract.
The contents were simple—neither could disclose today's conversation.
"This is a scroll modelled after the Unbreakable Vow, serving as the witness. You can examine it."
Wayne explained to Newt that he hadn't crafted the scroll himself, but had obtained it elsewhere. It was from a lucky draw—its quality reaching the purple tier.
"I can sense its aura. There are no issues." Newt shook his head quickly. In his youth, he'd signed plenty of Unbreakable Vows.
Now Newt's curiosity was thoroughly piqued.
Though as a Hufflepuff, Newt's inquisitiveness rarely extended beyond magical creatures.
Yet Wayne's series of actions had thoroughly whetted his appetite. What could be so crucial that even securing a witness would be deemed untrustworthy?
Both men left their true names with magical imprints. The parchment spontaneously combusted, and as the last ashes fell, an inexplicable sensation settled in both Newt and Wayne's hearts.
The contract was sealed.
Only then did Wayne relax.
"My apologies, Senior Newt. It's not that I distrust you, but I simply cannot explain the source of this information."
"If others were to know, I'd be in considerable trouble."
Newt instantly grasped his concern. For Wayne to consider even his credibility potentially leak-worthy...
"You're guarding against Dumbledore?"
"'Guard' might be too strong a word." Wayne shook his head. "It's just that the Headmaster schemes too deeply about too many things. I'd rather not get entangled—just want to live my simple, happy life."
Newt nodded silently in understanding.
He, too, had once been propelled forward step by step by Dumbledore—with reluctance, yet an inexplicable willingness.
Wayne's thoughts were entirely reasonable.
"Alright," Newt said with rare impatience. "The Unbreakable Vow has been made. Just tell me already."
"Fine," Wayne chuckled awkwardly. "I want you to help me find a snake in Algeria."
"What snake?" Newt instinctively asked.
Word by word, Wayne enunciated: "The blood-cursed beast, Nagini."
The old man abruptly looked up, his pupils flashing with intensity.
"Don't ask me how I know. I won't tell you," Wayne averted his gaze and continued. "I only know she's currently in the forests of Algeria, completely transformed into her beast form, and has deep ties with Voldemort."
"Voldemort..." Newt murmured, his emotions complex.
Nagini had once been his comrade-in-arms. After Credence was turned by Grindelwald, she chose to help Dumbledore's side to rescue her friend. But as time passed, the blood curse's influence grew stronger, making it increasingly difficult for Nagini to maintain her human form. Eventually, she quietly disappeared, and no one knew where she went.
Though Newt had long anticipated this outcome for his old friend, hearing Wayne confirm it so precisely still filled him with sorrow.
"Thank you, Wayne. Thank you for telling me about her."
"I'm doing this for myself, too," Wayne shook his head. "I have some interest in her, which is why I'm asking you to find her."
"I will," Newt nodded firmly. "Once I've arranged everything, I'll go to Albania."
Wayne thanked him softly. "Then I'll leave it to you."
The pure white light faded, and the two reappeared on the street. Wayne hailed a taxi, waved to Newt, and headed for the airport.
...
After several hours of flying, he returned to London.
As soon as he entered his home, he was greeted by two mountainous piles of gifts in the living room. Christmas had already passed half a month ago, and he wondered if the perishable gifts had gone bad.
Though the festive atmosphere was long gone, unwrapping presents was still a delightful activity.
Barely setting down his suitcase, Wayne eagerly sat between the two piles and began unwrapping gifts, humming cheerfully as he did.
Truly befitting of him—the most popular young wizard at Hogwarts. Just how many people had sent him Christmas gifts?
Nearly every Hufflepuff student had sent something. Though the gifts weren't expensive—mostly sweets and biscuits—they represented their heartfelt sentiments.
As the old saying goes, a leader may not remember who gave gifts, but they'll certainly remember who didn't. With his exceptional memory, Wayne identified three badgers who hadn't sent him anything, and his expression darkened immediately.
Toby, Norman, and Quidditch Captain Wotley. His two supposedly brilliant roommates hadn't sent gifts? How heartbreaking.
And Wotley.
You, with your thick eyebrows and honest appearance, didn't send anything either? Do you even want to get ahead?
Silently noting their names in his little black book, Wayne resolved to settle the score with them later. Then, he turned to the packages that genuinely interested him.
The Weasley twins had sent him a jumper, with a postcard explaining that it was hand-knitted by their mother, Molly.
The material was generous, and the front bore the initials W.L.
"Alright, I'll let them pass this time."
Cedric had gifted a telescope that provided a clearer view of Quidditch matches.
To his surprise, quite a few Slytherins had also sent gifts, mostly flashy and extravagant, clearly expensive at first glance.
Russel, in particular, had gone so far as to gift an Invisibility Cloak.
Admittedly, it was made from Demiguise fur and couldn't compare to the Potter family's, with a shelf life of only three to five years. Still, it cost a whopping three hundred Galleons on the market.
Had the bloke been beaten into submission?
Even at school, he'd been unusually friendly towards Wayne.
Malfoy's gift left Wayne utterly speechless—a pair of boxing gloves. Was this an attempt to cement his title as the Hufflepuff Boxing Champion?
If he ever got the chance to punch Malfoy, Wayne would put them to use.
The remaining gifts were from the professors. Almost unanimously—except for Snape—the three Heads of House had given him their old notes, which Wayne carefully stored away.
As for Dumbledore, he'd gifted a vial of dragon blood. Quite valuable, too.
Then came the girls.
Hermione had sent a book titled 'Extended Applications of Runes', perfectly in line with her character. Cho, on the other hand, had knitted him a scarf, with their initials embroidered at each end.
Penelope, the senior, had gifted a pot of pear-scented chrysanthemums, meticulously cultivated, though they'd wilted slightly from lack of watering over the past few days.
In her letter, she'd sternly reminded Wayne to take good care of the plant, as she'd been tending to it since her first year—a genuine "for personal use" gift from a girl.
After putting away the presents, Wayne found two letters.
Hermione had enclosed photos of herself in Provence, the girl's smile radiant and adorable, quite charming.
Cho's letter was filled with everyday chatter—updates on her recent activities and warm regards.
By the time he'd finished organising everything, it was already late at night. Stretching, Wayne decided to take a hot bath before bed.
As he lay in the tub, a thought struck him: he needed a House-elf to handle trivial chores. The problem was, they weren't easy to come by.
Apart from large institutions like Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, or St Mungo's, most pure-blood families only owned one House-elf—a status symbol in itself.
Buying one outright was out of the question. He'd have to wait and see.
Dobby wasn't bad, but Wayne still harboured distaste for him. Sure, Dobby had ultimately sacrificed himself to save Harry's life, but at his core, he'd betrayed his original master, Malfoy.
That didn't align with Wayne's expectations of a House-elf. What he wanted was absolute obedience.
Not some rebellious, free-thinking heretic who dared defy and even harm its master.
...
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Wayne headed to Diagon Alley. His parchment and ink were running low, and he needed to restock. He also had to visit the apothecary for some ingredients.
Newt had taught him a potion that circumvented the restriction on underage magic during holidays.
By brewing the solution and soaking his wand in it for a full day and night, the Trace would dissolve without damaging the wand.
Truly a legend of Hufflepuff—a man expelled from school yet still thriving, with methods wild enough to match.
For now, Wayne's ability to cast magic outside school was merely exploiting a loophole in the Ministry's system, much like how first-years were left unchecked before term began. The Trace still existed in reality. There would be no such worries in the future.
This time, Wayne didn't Apparate directly into the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron. He wanted to see if everyone was satisfied with his... minor modifications.
Upon arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, the owner, Tom, froze for a moment upon seeing Wayne before stepping out from behind the counter with a warm smile.
"Wayne, it's been a while."
Wayne responded politely, "Hello, Uncle Tom."
Tom looked delighted, affectionately holding Wayne back from leaving and bringing out sweets and milk to treat him.
"It's wonderful that you were sorted into Hufflepuff. Hannah often mentions you in her letters—thank you for looking out for her."
"Without you, Professor Snape would've scared her to tears!"
"Just being a good friend. It's what I should do."
Wayne sighed inwardly—Hufflepuff truly had strength in numbers, especially at the grassroots level.
On the Hogwarts Express, Hufflepuff students even got discounts and rounded-down prices when buying snacks because the trolley witch was a Hufflepuff graduate. She had been working on the train for over a hundred years.
Even bar owners treated you with extra warmth, though that might also have something to do with Hannah.
According to Cedric, many shopkeepers in Hogsmeade were also Hufflepuff alumni, some of whom were even seniors that he knew personally. Visiting them often came with perks, big or small.
It was truly blissful.
Under Tom's enthusiastic hospitality, Wayne ate a slice of cheesecake and finished a glass of milk before preparing to head to the backyard.
"Wait," Tom quickly said. "I'll come with you. The place has changed quite a bit—I'm afraid you might not find your way to Diagon Alley."
As they walked, old Tom grumbled under his breath.
"Some blasted prankster made a complete mess of the backyard."
"I have to give directions to at least a hundred wizards every day. If I ever find out who it was, I'll make sure they regret it."
Wayne's smile stiffened slightly. He forced out, "I read about it in the Daily Prophet. Maybe it was some erudite wizard setting up a challenge for everyone."
"Couldn't you just sense the magical power on the wall with your wand?"
Tom shrugged. "Easy for a genius like you, but drunkards could spend an entire day going in circles."
They arrived at the courtyard, which looked just as it had when Wayne had left. Tom deftly tapped the bricks with his wand, and soon, a passageway appeared.
"Go on, Wayne. Best of luck to you."
"Goodbye, Uncle Tom."
As he stepped into the passage, Wayne's smile slowly faded.
It seemed people still hadn't grasped his good intentions. He'd done this to raise the overall standard of the magical world.
Why couldn't they understand?
Decision made. Once his skills improved, he'd modify that wall further, adding elements like Sudoku and 24-point arithmetic.
No correct answer? No entry!
At the apothecary, Wayne bought the materials Newt had mentioned and pre-ordered two pieces of lightning-struck wood.
Not all wood struck by lightning qualified as such.
Only certain types—holly, hornbeam, black walnut, and a few others—retained magical properties after being struck.
Moreover, they had to be collected within a specific timeframe and properly processed before being sold. Due to their scarcity and limited uses, even the two apothecaries in Diagon Alley didn't stock them, requiring a two-week wait for delivery.
This type of wood was beneficial for Thunderbird growth, so Wayne paid a deposit and bought two pieces to test their effects.
They weren't too expensive—just a hundred Galleons per piece.
As Wayne stepped out of the shop, ready to head back, he spotted a furtive figure emerging from a shadowy corner. He immediately grinned.
"Professor Quirrell, what are you doing here?"
The turbaned Quirrell stiffened. Recognising the familiar voice, his expression first twisted into something vicious before quickly smoothing over. He turned around, forcing a weak smile. "H-hello, Mr Lawrence."
"Happy New Year, Professor. Out shopping?" Wayne continued cheerfully, as though the two were on excellent terms.
"Y-yes, just buying some c-curse-defence supplies."
"Those aren't cheap. Do you even have the money?" Wayne asked 'kindly'. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned you spent quite a bit on medical treatment last term."
Quirrell tensed, stammering, "N-no problem at all. P-please don't worry about me."
"Alright then, I'll be off. See you at school." Wayne waved and turned to walk in the opposite direction.
A cold glint flashed in Quirrell's eyes—he itched to lunge forward and slaughter the boy right then.
Have money? What a joke!
All his savings had been drained by the Dark Lord to purchase items that would restore his power, leaving him utterly penniless.
Quirrell wasn't here to shop—he was heading to Knockturn Alley to find ways to make money.
"Master, why don't we just kill Lawrence? He's rich, very rich," Quirrell suggested to Voldemort.
His head immediately throbbed with pain.
"Fool! This is Diagon Alley—dare you strike here?!"
Quirrell hastily explained, "M-master, I could follow Lawrence to his home—"
Voldemort only grew angrier.
"Are you an imbecile? If anything happens to Lawrence, Dumbledore's first suspect will be you!"
"Enough! Either earn money or steal that dragon egg from the Dark Wizard. Stop wasting my time with your idiocy!"
Quirrell clenched his teeth but didn't dare disobey. He slunk obediently into the shadows.
'Lawrence, you deserve to die!'
'Not only must I play the coward at Hogwarts, but even during holidays, I have to scrape for Sickles.'
'All of this—because of you!''