Two days passed in a flash. King's Cross Station buzzed with renewed energy as Platform Nine and Three-Quarters came alive once more.
Wayne entered the platform, politely returning greetings from numerous young wizards along the way.
Near the rear carriages, two girls waved at him with bright smiles.
"You two look like you've put on weight."
The boy's single remark instantly wiped the smiles off their faces.
Hermione glared. "You get one chance to rephrase that."
Wayne obliged smoothly. "My apologies, perhaps my eyesight's failing me."
The girls gave a light huff but let it slide.
Once aboard the train, the trio settled into an empty compartment.
With girls' innate urge to share, they soon chattered animatedly about their holiday adventures. Hermione even produced small gifts she'd brought back from France—chocolates for each of them.
Wayne examined his. Hmm, locally produced.
"Squeak!"
The chocolates were wrapped in gold foil, their shimmer catching the attention of a certain Niffler. Jerry wriggled out of Wayne's pocket, immediately drawing Cho and Hermione's notice.
"A Niffler!" Cho exclaimed delightedly, snatching the creature by its scruff just as it reached for the shiny wrapper.
"Squeak!" protested the Niffler.
"He's heavy," Cho frowned, bouncing the squirming creature in her hand. "Wayne, where did this Niffler come from?"
"Newt gave him to me."
"So adorable," Cho cooed, stroking its soft belly while Hermione couldn't resist poking it with a slender finger.
"If you like him, you can keep him," Wayne offered.
Cho considered briefly before declining. "As much as I love Nifflers, they're far too mischievous. I don't fancy Marietta and the others constantly barging in to retrieve lost jewellery."
Women, Nifflers, and dragons—three creatures sharing one irresistible weakness for shiny objects.
Cho could already imagine the chaos a Niffler would unleash in her dormitory.
Besides, if Wayne kept it, she'd have more excuses to visit him.
Not that she'd voice such thoughts aloud.
When Cho refused, Wayne simply shrugged. Now that he had the suitcase, keeping a Niffler was no trouble—just ensure its belly stayed full.
When Newt was mentioned, Hermione and Cho naturally asked Wayne about his experiences in America. Their faces turned pale upon hearing about the Scourer attack.
"America is that dangerous? Aren't the Scourers wizards too? Why would they treat other wizards as enemies?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
"Hatred is just passed down through generations like that," Wayne replied, finding nothing particularly strange about it. Hadn't humans done enough killing amongst themselves?
However, when the two girls learned he had brought back a Thunderbird, they immediately forgot all about the Scourers.
"That's a Thunderbird!" Hermione barely contained her excited voice, afraid other students might overhear.
"In many North American myths, Thunderbirds are considered divine beings!"
"I'll take you to see my bird once we're back at school," Wayne said with a grin, ruffling Hermione's fluffy hair—it felt nice under his fingers.
The train eventually arrived at Hogsmeade station as darkness fully descended. Stepping off the platform, the students boarded the Thestral-drawn carriages and made their way en masse towards the castle.
After being away for over half a month, Wayne was in high spirits upon his return.
Compared to his home in London, he far preferred the atmosphere of Hogwarts. Wayne had once read a theory that a person's mentality wasn't just shaped by experience but also by certain hormones secreted by the body.
So even if one were reborn, if their physical development hadn't reached a certain stage, their mentality might still retain some childishness.
Wayne thought there might be some truth to that.
Because he had now perfectly blended into his age group.
...
Back in the Common Room, Wayne ignored even Cedric's greeting and stormed over to the resident geniuses with a dark expression.
"Alright, you two, you didn't even get me a Christmas present?"
Toby and Norman looked baffled. "We did send gifts."
"I just finished unpacking all my presents the other day—yours weren't there. What exactly did you send?"
"Impossible!" Toby jumped up. "I bought you the latest gaming console! How could you not have received it?"
Norman chimed in, "Toby got the console, I got the game cartridges—we sent them together!"
Seeing how worked up they were, Wayne doubted they were lying. These two weren't clever enough to deceive him anyway. Had he made a mistake?
Wayne began questioning himself, but he genuinely hadn't received any console or games. Suddenly, it dawned on him. "How did you send them?"
"The post office," Toby scratched his head. "Norman and I bought the gifts after leaving school, and without owls, we just used the Muggle post office to mail them to you."
Wayne facepalmed.
Case closed—it was indeed his fault. He hadn't bothered checking his family's mailbox.
He'd wronged Toby and Norman.
"My bad," Wayne apologised sincerely. "I'll write home and make sure they retrieve the console."
The geniuses still looked disappointed. "Would've been better if you'd brought it to school. I wanted to try those new games too."
Wayne stared at them blankly. "After a whole term, you still don't know electronics don't work here? And even if I did bring it, where would I plug it in?"
The two masterminds considered this and quickly dismissed the console issue.
"Cedric, where's Wotley?" Wayne looked around but couldn't spot the Quidditch Captain anywhere.
Cedric, who had been listening to the trio's conversation, now understood why Wayne was looking for Wotley and struggled to suppress his laughter.
"Don't hold your breath for Wotley's gift this year. He nearly had to sell his arse just to buy his girlfriend a new robe," he said.
"We were just saying on the train that he won't be visiting Hogsmeade this term—even if he goes, he can't afford anything."
"Come on," Cedric patted Wayne's shoulder, "let's get some food. Stop obsessing over gifts—it's not like you're short of Galleons."
As they left the Common Room, Wayne deadpanned, "Then give back the present I gave you."
"No chance." Cedric immediately jumped back, clutching his chest protectively. "What's mine stays mine. What's it got to do with you?"
His signed player photograph wasn't going anywhere.
Wayne squinted at Cedric disapprovingly.
What had happened to the upright, kind-hearted badger of Hufflepuff? When had he learned to be this shameless?
...
Great Hall.
After the quiet holidays, the school buzzed with life again, filled with the chatter of voices.
Students' holiday adventures became their main conversation topics.
Malfoy was boasting about his trip to Romania with his father to see dragons, claiming they'd even taken photos together, though he'd conveniently "left them at home".
Blaise Zabini flaunted his experience watching professional Quidditch matches, as his seventh stepfather happened to be a professional player.
Quite the character, that one.
Blaise's mother was famously beautiful—and infamous. Not just for her looks, but for her multiple marriages, where husbands would mysteriously die shortly after the wedding, only for her to remarry quickly.
Counting the current one, that made eight. Amidst all the chatter, eyes kept drifting to the staff table.
Dumbledore sat at the centre in magnificent purple robes embroidered with sun and moon patterns—perfectly normal.
What wasn't normal was the Headmaster's current activity: knitting socks with surprising dexterity, much to everyone's astonishment.
"Albus, since when did you pick up this hobby?" Professor McGonagall couldn't help asking.
"A recent holiday development," Dumbledore chuckled. "Mr Lawrence gifted me the wool and tutorials. Fancy a pair?"
McGonagall hesitated before replying, "Very well. White, please. Red would be too garish."
"I'll take a pair too," piped up Professor Flitwick.
Dumbledore beamed. "Splendid! Everyone gets socks, though you'll have to be patient."
Just then, Snape arrived at his seat looking thunderous. Undeterred, Dumbledore cheerfully asked: "Severus, what colour would you like?"
"No, thank you," Snape snapped. His mood had soured further when Wayne immediately accosted him earlier.
Knowing the boy would demand his potions, Snape had made a quick escape.
Preparing that many potions took time—his entire holiday had been spent either tormenting Potter or brewing for Wayne, with no rest at all.
Meanwhile, at the Hufflepuff table, Norman and Toby were complaining about their sleep patterns.
"Can you believe it? I've started getting homesick for my dorm bed," grumbled Norman. "At school, I sleep through till morning, but at home I keep waking up at night."
Wayne lowered his head somewhat guiltily. "Well, you'd better get a good rest tonight, then."
As most students had arrived, Dumbledore rose to his feet with a cheerful smile and waved his hand grandly.
"Let the feast begin!"
Just like the start-of-term banquet last semester, the empty plates were once again filled with an abundance of food.
The students dug in without hesitation. Such lavish feasts were rare in a year, and none of it should go to waste.
Once thoroughly satisfied, the students began to leave gradually. A battle awaited them back in their dormitories.
The holidays had indeed been enjoyable, but many had forgotten about the homework looming over them.
Apart from a handful of diligent students, nearly everyone would be pulling an all-nighter.
Wayne had completely forgotten about the assignments, but it wasn't a big deal. The badger tradition was to shrug it off—if it couldn't be finished, so be it. Deduct points as you please.
"Mr Lawrence!" Dumbledore suddenly called out loudly, causing everyone still in the Great Hall to turn their eyes towards Wayne.
"If you have no other engagements, please accompany me to the Headmaster's Office."
Cedric whispered, "What trouble have you gotten into now?"
"I just got back to school—when would I have had the chance?" Wayne was equally puzzled but made his way to the High Table and followed Dumbledore upstairs.
"Thank you for the Christmas gift, Mr Lawrence. I enjoyed it very much," Dumbledore said, his light footsteps putting Wayne somewhat at ease.
This meeting with the old man probably wasn't about anything bad.
The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a passage. The two entered, and the Headmaster's Office looked just as it always had, with little changed.
Upon seeing Wayne, Fawkes the Phoenix let out a delighted cry and landed on his shoulder, much to Dumbledore's visible envy.
"Fawkes really likes you. I'm almost jealous."
"He just likes Ho-Oh, that's all."
With a thought, Ho-Oh was summoned. Seeing that the legendary bird had grown even larger, Dumbledore's gaze deepened.
The two birds flew out the window, and the office fell silent once more—until the Sorting Hat spoke up.
"Hey, Lawrence, notice anything different about me?"
Wayne looked at it and offered a white lie. "Much shinier than before, like a brand-new hat."
"All thanks to you," the Sorting Hat said cheerfully. "The care kit you sent works wonderfully. Next term's Sorting Ceremony, I'll stun the world."
"Well, good luck with that."
Even a hat had such lofty ambitions. Now that was more inspiring than anything.
Dumbledore waited patiently for Wayne to finish his exchange with the Sorting Hat before getting down to business.
"Just three days ago, I received two letters."
He produced the envelopes. "These are letters of recommendation from Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny, submitted in the school's name. They're jointly nominating you for the Order of Merlin."
"And they hope I'll lend my support as well."
Wayne's eyes widened in surprise. "The Order of Merlin?"
"You didn't know?"
Dumbledore found Wayne's reaction rather odd.
"Ah." Wayne shrugged. "I think I know why."
With no other choice, Wayne recounted the events in the reserve once more. This was likely Madame Maxime's way of repaying him, securing him a medal. Ilvermorny's involvement carried the same significance—after all, he had salvaged diplomatic relations between two nations.
Dumbledore listened, regarding the young man with admiration.
"I've said this many times before, yet find myself repeating it once more—Mr Lawrence, you are undoubtedly the most outstanding student this school has ever produced."
"I've grasped the situation's details and shall speak on your behalf shortly."
"Shortly?" Wayne looked at him quizzically.
"Indeed." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Cornelius will be arriving presently—this matter concerns you as well."
"Like myself, he's received correspondence from both Ministries of Magic, yet remains thoroughly perplexed."
"Please bear with us momentarily."
Wayne raised no objections, presenting Dumbledore with the bread and pastries Jacob had asked him to deliver.
Upon receiving these, the elderly wizard appeared profoundly moved.
"He's my best Muggle friend and a kind, upright man. If he had any talent for magic, he'd surely be sorted into Hufflepuff."
Wayne pondered for a moment. Since the school was Dumbledore's domain, it was only right to mention the Thunderbird he'd brought back beforehand. Even if he didn't mention it now, it would surely come to light eventually.
"Professor, here's the thing..."
After Wayne finished speaking, Dumbledore looked at him in astonishment.
"To have a Thunderbird willingly follow you—even Newt never managed that in his day. Wayne, you truly surpass the master."
"So, may I keep the Thunderbird in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Of course," Dumbledore replied with a playful wink. "But do try not to get caught by the professors when visiting it. Unauthorised entry into the Forbidden Forest is against the rules."
Wayne responded with complete confidence: "Don't worry, Professor, I've got experience."
Dumbledore's hands paused mid-motion. This youngster was clearly an old hand at this.
Bang~!
At that moment, the flames in the fireplace suddenly flared and changed colour as a short, portly figure with a beer belly stepped out.