At this moment, Wayne was in a state of ecstasy.
[Pet Card: Gardevoir (Female, Shiny, Locally Adapted)]
[Gardevoir: Your perfect majordomo, possessing elite Auror-level combat prowess (with growth potential, extremely high ceiling). Upon Mega Evolution, she reaches professor-tier for five minutes, with a 12-hour cooldown. All abilities have been optimised according to this world's laws.]
Compared to Ho-Oh, Gardevoir's quality was undoubtedly lower.
One was a legendary beast, the other merely a relatively rare Pokémon. However, the Ho-Oh he obtained was still an egg requiring time to mature—who knew how long it would take to reach its final form?
Whereas Gardevoir appeared in its fully evolved state from the outset, capable of automatic Mega Evolution, making it quite a decent combatant.
Moreover, its late-stage combat potential could continue to improve.
The disparity within the gold tier was inherently vast. Taking template cards as an example, both S-rank templates and SS-rank cards fell under the gold classification.
Thus, Wayne understood why Gardevoir was classified as gold-tier. More importantly, this was precisely the majordomo he desperately needed right now.
All Psychic-type Pokémon were undoubtedly highly intelligent beings, possessing immense psychic power and rapid knowledge absorption.
Coupled with telekinesis and teleportation, Gardevoir alone could manage this pocket dimension with impeccable order.
Who needs House-elves? Ugly things! Piss off!
With a thought, the golden card shattered.
Before him appeared the elegant, blue-haired, white-gowned shiny Gardevoir.
"Gardevoir!"
Like a noble maiden, Gardevoir gave a slight curtsy, her eyes brimming with affection.
Needless to say, affinity had already reached maximum.
"Gardevoir, I look forward to working with you," Wayne said with a smile.
"Gardevoir!"
"Come, I'll show you the books of this world. Your main task from now on will be to care for the creatures here."
Wayne truly was a scoundrel—before even finishing their conversation, he was already eager to train Gardevoir.
In the study, he placed numerous books on magical creatures along with Newt's notes on the table.
"How long will it take to read through these?"
Gardevoir flipped the pages with telekinesis, her eyes glowing blue. "Master, one day will suffice."
A clear yet affectionate mature female voice resonated in Wayne's mind—Gardevoir's racial ability, telepathy.
Hearing it would only take a day, Wayne marvelled again. Truly worthy of psychic abilities; it was like cheating.
It had taken him at least half a month to fully digest these books. "Then do your best. I'll fetch you some food."
With that, Wayne climbed out of the trunk again. Turning a corner from the common room, he arrived at the kitchens.
Several Hufflepuff students were feasting inside and greeted Wayne warmly upon seeing him.
"Minky, could you prepare some vegetarian dishes for me? Thank you."
Wayne addressed a familiar House-elf. Upon hearing his request, the elf named Minky bowed so deeply that his head nearly touched the floor.
"Please wait a moment, Mr Lawrence."
During Christmas, Wayne had given each kitchen House-elf a new apron as gifts alongside other presents, which had moved them deeply.
Seeing Minky serving Wayne, the other House-elves stared enviously, wishing they could take his place.
Truthfully, Wayne hadn't intended to win them over—he simply found their tattered aprons off-putting, which made even their cooking seem unappetizing.
Fortunately, unlike certain game depictions where House-elves cooked with their feet, they used magic here. Otherwise, Wayne would have revolted long ago.
In less than five minutes, Minky returned with a vegetable salad and buttered corn, which Wayne brought back to his dorm.
Through their inexplicable mental connection, he summoned Gardevoir.
Whoosh!
Gardevoir appeared instantly in the dormitory, confirming Wayne's understanding.
Like the Phoenix and House-elves, Gardevoir's Apparition wasn't restricted by the castle's wards. Now he had another travel option beyond summoning Ho-Oh each time.
Returning to the trunk together, Wayne accompanied Gardevoir through dinner before giving her a tour of the various magical creature habitats, concluding their orientation.
The process went smoothly. With telepathy, even the Mooncalves, Thunderbirds, Kneazles or Streelers could sense Gardevoir's goodwill.
Particularly the Kneazles—though Wayne provided better lodgings and ample food, cats held grudges and refused to be petted. Yet Gardevoir quickly befriended them.
Though slightly miffed, Wayne was pleased by Gardevoir's competence.
...
Saturday morning.
In the Great Hall, Wayne enthusiastically served his two roommates. "These sausages are excellent—I had Minky prepare them specially. Try some!"
The pair were flustered by his sudden attentiveness, hesitating with their cutlery. "Wayne, what's gotten into you?"
"I'm alright. I just felt bad about letting the Billywig sting you and wanted to make it up to you."
Wayne blinked. There was no way he could admit he'd used their ten years' worth of romantic luck in a lottery draw, could he?
Norman was deeply moved. "That was my request and had nothing to do with you. Could you lend me the Billywig for a couple of days? I'm very interested in studying this creature."
"No problem," Wayne agreed readily. "Just don't touch its wings. They were injured and have only recently healed."
Halfway through their meal, Cedric appeared in the Great Hall looking listless, dressed in his Quidditch robes and carrying his flying broomstick, followed by the rest of the team.
"Have you all gone mad?" Wayne exclaimed in surprise. "It's nearly minus ten degrees outside! You're still training?"
Flying at over a hundred miles per hour on broomsticks in that biting cold wind would surely freeze their teeth off.
"Ask Wotley," Cedric said weakly as he grabbed some sausages and a sandwich. "No idea what Wood said to him yesterday, but this is the result."
Wayne looked past several people to spot Wotley, who was currently engaged in an intense staring contest with Oliver Wood at the Gryffindor table.
Their next match was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, but this level of intensity seemed premature—the match wouldn't be until after Easter holidays in March.
"Tsk, glad I didn't agree to join the team," Wayne shook his head, silently mourning his housemates' plight for a second.
"By the way, could you do my Herbology class and History of Magic homework for me?" Wayne said around a mouthful of sausage.
He'd be busy helping Cho familiarise herself with her future work for the next two days and wouldn't have time for assignments.
"Are you dreaming, Wayne? I can barely finish my own work," Cedric rolled his eyes. As a third-year student taking five electives, he was constantly swamped.
"One Galleon," Wayne said without looking up.
Cedric scoffed. "Do I look like someone who only cares about profit?"
"I'll lend my broom to the house team too."
The model student's expression immediately brightened with enthusiasm. "You read me perfectly! Need any other subjects done?"
Wayne pushed the shameless git away with a look of disgust.
"Wayne, are you going to the library?" The young witch Hermione appeared at the Hufflepuff table, arms laden with books.
"Not today," Wayne shook his head. "I've got other things to attend to."
Though unspoken, Hermione understood he likely meant matters concerning the suitcase. Though she longed to join, with unfinished homework and no leads on who Nicolas Flamel was, the young witch reluctantly nodded.
"Then I'll go with Cho."
...
In the library, Hermione was buried in a book larger than her torso, feverishly turning pages.
After two hours of fruitless searching, Cho couldn't help but advise, "If you can't find anything, why not just ask Wayne? Why waste so much time on this?"
"No," Hermione said stubbornly. "I can't rely on Wayne for everything. I need to prove I'm capable too."
Currently operating on sheer determination, Hermione's attitude baffled Cho. Their thought processes and approaches to problems were simply too different.
Cho believed that since there was a simple way to get answers, it was fine to take advantage of it without any negative consequences, especially since it was Wayne, their closest friend. The time saved could be used for other, more meaningful things.
Hermione, however, felt she had to be independent. What if one day Wayne couldn't help her, or even encountered something he couldn't solve himself? She had to rely on her own efforts.
Cho didn't quite understand but respected her stance. Still, she persuaded, "You look like you're about to fall asleep. Maybe switch to another book for a change of pace?"
Hermione was about to argue when Cho delivered the knockout blow. "Frowning like that all the time will make you age faster, you know."
Even a twelve-year-old girl dreaded the word 'old'.
Hermione took the advice gracefully, returning 'Twentieth Century's Major Historical Events' to its shelf and browsing for something else to lighten her mood.
Then she remembered Wayne's recommendation before the holidays—books on Alchemy. The young witch hesitated before pulling out 'Modern Alchemy: Fundamentals and Primer'.
It might be a bit advanced, but as leisure reading, it should be fine. Returning to her seat, Hermione opened the book. The first page was the preface.
Modern Alchemy is developed upon the principles established by the renowned French alchemist, Monsieur Nicolas Flamel. We extend our deepest gratitude for his extraordinary contributions…
"Nicolas Flamel."
The young witch froze.
The clue she had been desperately searching for over two months had just appeared—and so simply? She recalled Wayne's regretful expression when she'd mentioned not having any books on Alchemy.
Hermione let out an exasperated laugh, though a sweet warmth bubbled in her chest. 'Hmph, I don't need your help anyway.'
France. Alchemy.
With these two crucial leads, finding concrete information on Nicolas Flamel would be easy.
After reading Flamel's biography, Hermione almost instantly realised what lay beneath the fourth-floor trapdoor.
Excited, she shared her discovery with Cho.
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Cho was equally stunned. Upon learning its effects, even she couldn't help but feel tempted.
Eternal life. The creation of gold.
Whoever possessed the Philosopher's Stone would hold the two most vital things in life: longevity and wealth.
"No wonder Snape is after it," Cho murmured.
Having spent so much time with Hermione, she had instinctively assumed Snape was the one targeting the Stone.
"We should go find Wayne."
The two young witches abandoned their homework and hurried out of the library.
But Wayne had already taken his case into the Forbidden Forest, and it wasn't until evening that they spotted him in the Great Hall, eating dinner.
When Hermione finished explaining her deductions, Wayne's expression remained unchanged, though inwardly, he mourned for Snape.
'This is what you get for never playing the good guy. Now, every accusation gets pinned on you.'
He didn't defend Snape. Only when the truth came to light would Hermione realise her mistake—and that was the best way for her to grow.
"What do you plan to do now?" Wayne prompted gently.
"Tell Harry and Ron first," Hermione said after a moment's thought. "They're in the know, too. I'd like to hear their opinions."
"Alright, then tell me the results tomorrow." Wayne stretched lazily; he was quite tired after spending the entire day reading with Gardevoir.
Seeing Wayne's exhaustion, Hermione felt a pang of sympathy and decided not to disturb his rest.
...
By the next day, Wayne was full of energy, while the young witch looked utterly drained.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I spent the whole night reading about Nicolas Flamel's achievements. He's truly remarkable," the girl said, her large eyes filled with admiration. "Six hundred years—just imagine how much knowledge he's accumulated. He's practically witnessed history itself."
Wayne thought for a moment before saying, "If there's a chance, I could take you to meet him."
"Really?!" The young witch shrieked, prompting Wayne to quickly cover her mouth. Although the Great Hall was nearly empty, it was still not appropriate.
Hermione, too, realised her outburst and blushed furiously. "Sorry."
"It's fine." Wayne patted her head and continued, "Nicolas Flamel is Newt's friend. He's already agreed to take me to visit him this summer. I can't bring you along on the first visit, but if the conversation goes well, I might mention you."
At this point, the envy in Hermione's eyes was practically overflowing.
Newt, Nicolas Flamel—these were living legends, and Wayne got to meet them. How incredibly lucky.
"What's that look for?" Wayne grumbled, a hint of jealousy in his voice. "They might be impressive now, but in a few decades, you'll probably be proud to be known as mine—"
His voice trailed off into a mumble, and Hermione's ears turned pink.
Both fell silent for a long moment before Wayne hastily changed the subject.
"By the way, have you told Harry and the others about the Philosopher's Stone?"
"I did," Hermione sighed. "Once they heard about its effects, they immediately started fantasising about what they'd do with the gold it could produce."
"Ron's even picking out which Quidditch team he wants to buy," she added, exasperated.
Honestly, what useless boys.
"Well, that's a normal reaction, isn't it?" Wayne didn't see the issue—Ron had grown up poor; anyone in his place would want a piece of that. "So, what's your plan?"
"I'll take it step by step. For now, I'll keep an eye on Snape. If he makes a move, I'll report it to Professor McGonagall immediately."
"Why not just go straight to Dumbledore and tell him all your suspicions?" Wayne countered.
Hermione's face instantly paled, and she shook her hands frantically.
"No, no! I've broken too many school rules already, and investigating the secret on the fourth floor… I'd be punished for sure."
Such a Gryffindor way of thinking—completely missing the bigger picture.
Wayne shook his head helplessly and reasoned, "Hermione, which do you think matters more—the safety of the Philosopher's Stone or a student breaking a few school rules?"
"If—hypothetically—Snape succeeded, wouldn't you feel guilty?"
The girl's expression twisted in conflict as she considered Wayne's words. Finally, she made up her mind.
"You're right. I have to tell Professor Dumbledore. It's my duty as a student of this school."
Wayne smiled in satisfaction.
It seemed his advice had worked—Hermione hadn't let Harry and Ron drag her intelligence down.
True to her decisive nature, the young witch immediately grabbed Wayne's hand and marched towards the eighth floor.