Wayne settled back into his seat, silently reviewing whether he'd committed any recent misdeeds. After a brief moment of reflection, he immediately straightened up with righteous confidence.
He'd been exceptionally well-behaved since the start of the new term—aside from his little 'free shopping' excursion in the Forbidden Forest, he hadn't done anything wrong.
There was no way the old man had kept him behind to settle scores. So what was there to fear?
Dumbledore observed his sudden shift in demeanour with mild puzzlement.
What was this little fellow thinking, suddenly sitting up straighter and puffing himself up with such boldness?
Suppressing his curiosity, Dumbledore spoke.
"Mr Lawrence, regarding the Philosopher's Stone, do you have any thoughts of your own?"
"What aspect do you mean?" Wayne tilted his head. "Didn't Hermione cover most of it just now?"
"So you also believe Professor Snape is after the Philosopher's Stone?" Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied, instead posing another question.
Wayne shook his head. "No. Even though Professor Snape looks about as trustworthy as an Azkaban escapee... he's not stupid enough to try stealing something from you."
Dumbledore fell silent, unsure how to respond.
That was certainly a... novel way of expressing trust. Snape would probably be overjoyed to hear Wayne's confidence in him.
"Yet the evidence suggests someone is indeed targeting the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said, deciding to set aside the complicated dynamics between this particular student and teacher. "Who do you think is the most likely culprit?"
The portraits of former Headmasters, feigning sleep, cracked open their eyes—they, too, were curious whether Wayne would guess correctly.
"Isn't it Quirrell?"
To everyone's surprise, Wayne answered almost without hesitation.
Even Dumbledore was momentarily taken aback. "You knew all along?"
Honesty was the ultimate trump card.
Since this didn't involve any conflicting interests or risk provoking Dumbledore's suspicion, Wayne's strategy was straightforward: speak the truth and adapt to any situation with unwavering candour.
The boy spoke with ease. "It's painfully obvious. He's the oddest professor in the school, and despite all the student complaints... You still haven't sacked him."
"And the Troll that suddenly appeared in the dungeons—why was Quirrell the only one who 'discovered' it?"
"Everything points to Quirrell being up to no good. If he's not after the Philosopher's Stone, he's eyeing some other Hogwarts treasure."
Working backwards from the conclusion, Wayne laid out his reasoning with perfect clarity.
Phineas Nigellus, hanging on the wall, couldn't hold back any longer.
"Brat! If you knew all this, why didn't you report it to Dumbledore?" he snapped. "Look at that little Gryffindor witch earlier! I may not care for those lions, but at least she has the school's best interests at heart."
For once, Phineas was speaking in Gryffindor's defence.
Wayne turned and gave him a look usually reserved for idiots. "If even a first-year like me can see it, you think the Headmaster wouldn't?"
"Professor Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster in history—unlike some, who were the least popular."
Listening to their exchange, Dumbledore's cheeks tinged pink.
Enough praise, enough... this is getting embarrassing.
"You—how dare you insult a former Headmaster!" Phineas spluttered, hopping mad. "I'll have you—"
Wayne pointed at the portraits. "Headmaster Fortescue! Headmaster Dippet! Are you just going to stand by while a Hufflepuff student gets bullied right in front of you?"
The two Headmasters of Hufflepuff origin, whose names were called out, flew into a rage, leaping into Phineas's portrait frame to deliver a flurry of kicks and punches, with others soon joining in to help.
There were those from Gryffindor, from Hufflepuff, and Wayne even spotted a Slytherin Headmaster sneaking over to land a couple of stealthy kicks.
"Ahem."
Dumbledore hastily drew the curtains, muffling the sounds from within the portrait. He felt rather weary.
Every time he conversed with Wayne, the boy's unpredictable behaviour would inevitably derail the conversation, sending it careening off course.
"Mr Lawrence, since you've already uncovered the truth, I shall speak plainly – there are matters upon which I require your assistance."
"Go ahead, I'm listening."
Wayne regarded the old man warily, refusing to commit outright. He absolutely would not become Harry's babysitter.
Of course, dealing with Voldemort and babysitting Harry were two entirely different matters.
Wayne had already made an enemy of the noseless freak. Even if he didn't actively seek trouble, the Dark Lord would come looking once resurrected.
But that didn't mean Wayne needed to wipe Harry's backside, play nursemaid, or participate in any Chosen One training programme.
"I'd like you to remain silent about this matter – even stand aside..." Dumbledore said. "It's true I identified Quirrell's issues long ago, yet took no action."
"Firstly, because he'd yet to act. Even I cannot condemn someone based solely on conjecture."
"Secondly... because Quirrell's opponent wasn't meant to be me, but Harry."
"Harry?" Wayne feigned appropriate confusion.
"Precisely." To persuade the youth, Dumbledore spoke candidly: "This is Harry's destiny. In time, he'll face his fated adversary."
"And this encounter with Quirrell represents Harry's first step towards that growth."
"So I ask you to observe events unfold without intervening overmuch. Excessive assistance would only foster dependency."
Indeed, Dumbledore wasn't requesting a babysitter – quite the opposite. He needed Wayne to remain passive.
The boy's development had far exceeded expectations.
Having single-handedly dealt with over a dozen Scourers, Wayne could undoubtedly handle Quirrell and that wisp of soul alone.
This year's elaborate arrangements were designed to cultivate Harry's courage – the courage to confront He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Should Wayne participate, Harry would be reduced to a mere spectator cheering from the sidelines.
"But..." Wayne hesitated unconvincingly, "Harry is my friend after all..."
He might as well have said, 'Show me the money.'
Dumbledore's eyelid twitched.
The little fox.
"What do you want?" Dumbledore abandoned pretence.
"Nothing much." Wayne smiled bashfully, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Below the trapdoor guarded by Fluffy the Three-Headed Dog – that's where the other professors' challenges are, yes?"
"Correct." Dumbledore nodded slightly.
"Could I... perhaps participate?" Wayne asked with feigned shyness. "I'd like to contribute to the school."
His task panel still had one mission pending.
The final reward would reflect Quirrell's degree of wretchedness – the existing challenges were too lenient. They needed intensifying.
Dumbledore considered briefly... then finally nodded. "Exercise restraint. Harry is your friend, after all."
"Don't worry," Wayne nodded excitedly.
Seeing him so cheerful, Dumbledore felt a twinge of regret.
No, he had to go and check personally once Wayne had set everything up.
With matters settled, Wayne didn't linger. After saying goodbye to old Dumbles, he stepped out of the office.
"Squeak!"
Hearing the noise from his pocket, Wayne froze, then pulled Jerry out, a sense of foreboding creeping over him.
He expertly scratched Jerry's belly, and out tumbled Galleons, keychains, a ring, and finally, a pigeon-egg-sized ruby.
Wayne was sure the gem wasn't his. So, it must have been taken from the Headmaster's office just now?
He gave Jerry a deadpan look.
Truly a Niffler capable of stealing someone's marriage certificate.
He hadn't even noticed when it had slipped out, let alone managed to pull off the heist right under his and Dumbledore's noses.
No choice—Wayne had to steel himself and head back to return the ruby to Dumbledore.
Old Dumbles wasn't angry at all, chuckling as he looked at Jerry. "No matter. I have so many treasures that if you hadn't returned this, I might never have noticed it was gone."
"You hear that?" Wayne said to Jerry. "You can come here often."
The Niffler nodded vigorously.
Dumbledore: "…"
...
After all that fuss, Wayne finally made it back to the Common Room.
The room was packed, with everyone discussing Snape's rampage earlier that day.
No one knew where he'd gotten hold of a portrait Wayne had drawn, but after that, he'd gone completely mad.
All four houses—yes, even Slytherin—were targeted. Anyone who rubbed him the wrong way lost points.
By the end of the day, every house's score had plummeted.
Gryffindor had it worst. Rumour had it Snape had practically camped outside the Fat Lady's portrait, docking points from every student who stepped out.
Wayne listened for a bit before losing interest.
His Potions class wasn't for several more days. By then, Snape's temper would have cooled, and the point deductions wouldn't land on him.
Pushing open the dormitory door, Wayne looked up and instinctively blurted out a curse.
"Bloody hell!"
The spacious room revealed Toby and Norman floating near the ceiling, both pressed against it.
Their expressions were dreamy, muttering incoherently, drooling slightly, and letting out creepy giggles.
Wayne glanced at his glass jar—the lid was off, but the Billywig inside lay limp at the bottom, utterly drained.
Wayne's eye twitched violently.
Seeing the exhausted Billywig, he understood everything. How many stings had they taken?
Without hesitation, he levitated both of them with a Charm and turned straight for the door.
Billywig venom caused dizziness and levitation—small doses were manageable, but too much could leave someone floating for days. In severe cases, victims might never come down.
Had Toby and Norman gone mad, squeezing a Billywig dry like this?
Seeing Wayne stride purposefully out, trailed by two... unidentified objects, the Hufflepuffs in the Common Room gasped in shock.
"What's wrong with Toby and Norman?" Hannah asked.
"Poisoned. I've got to take them to Madam Pomfrey."
With that hurried explanation, Wayne slipped through the open wooden door, leaving everyone bewildered.
On the way to the second-floor hospital wing, many young wizards witnessed the scene, with some even maliciously speculating whether the two had been beaten up by Wayne.
"Madam Pomfrey, we've got a case of poisoning here."
Wayne knocked on the office door and entered without waiting for a response. "...Poisoned?"
Madam Pomfrey looked at Toby and Norman in surprise. "What happened?"
"Billywig sting."
Understanding dawned on Madam Pomfrey's face, followed by displeasure. "Why on earth would those insects be in the school?"
Wayne looked up at the ceiling. 'Don't ask me—I know nothing about it.'
After examining the two patients, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Why did you only bring them now?"
Wayne's heart skipped a beat.
Was it too severe? Could Madam Pomfrey not treat it? They might need to rush them to St Mungo's.
Then he heard her continue, "Any later and I'd have been off duty."
Wayne: "..."
She instructed Wayne to help the two into the hospital wing's ward, which was now empty—Neville and Seamus had already been discharged.
Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and ropes flew out from a cupboard, securely binding Toby and Norman to their beds. She then turned to Wayne.
"It's not too serious, but I don't have the corresponding potion here. They'll have to wait until tomorrow for treatment.
"Even with the potion, it'll take a week for them to recover fully."
Wayne nodded. "Could you write a note for the other professors, please?"
Madam Pomfrey quickly scribbled one, and Wayne took it back to the Common Room. The badgers crowded around, concerned about their housemates' condition.
To prevent further curiosity, Wayne brushed them off with a vague excuse, claiming he didn't know much either.
Yet his fears were soon realised.
Hufflepuff didn't tolerate idleness. An older student, after consulting some books, quickly reached a conclusion.
"It's from Billywig stings."
He declared with absolute certainty, "The book says excessive toxin intake causes exactly those symptoms."
Most took it as a warning, but a few badgers grew intrigued.
It seemed... rather interesting.
...
Word spread quickly, and soon students from other houses knew what had happened.
"George, I reckon these insects are fascinating—real potential here," Fred said, eyeing his brother.
George smacked his fist into his palm. "My thoughts exactly, Fred. Looks like it's time for another trip to the Forbidden Forest."
The Celia Store completely ignited the twins' entrepreneurial spirit. Seeing many students showing interest in Billywigs, they decided to catch a few to sell.
The twins were always quick to act. That very night, they sneaked into the Forbidden Forest and managed to find several.
Upon returning to Gryffindor Tower, the Billywigs sold out instantly at two Galleons each.
Then, the little lions were promptly sent to the hospital wing.
Far from deterring the other young witches and wizards, this only spurred them on. Getting stung by a Billywig became the most popular challenge at Hogwarts. Every day, students were being sent to the hospital wing—some even using it as an excuse to skip classes.
The Gryffindors were the most reckless, with the young lions competing to see how many stings they could endure.
The worst cases exhibited symptoms nearly identical to Toby and Norman.
Wayne watched in stunned disbelief.
As more and more students called in sick, the professors finally noticed something amiss. Professor McGonagall almost thought it was a flu outbreak, but upon investigation, she discovered the truth.
She nearly fainted from sheer frustration.
That evening, Professor McGonagall sternly announced a new rule: no student was permitted to keep or capture Billywigs. Anyone caught doing so would not only lose House points but also face detention, cleaning the library shelves.
As for the twin troublemakers, they were already escorted by Filch, gleefully earning themselves a fortnight's detention.
...
Lying in bed, Wayne couldn't believe how absurdly things had escalated.
No wonder there aren't many people around.
At the same time, the system's notification chime softly rang out.
[System Event: 'I Want to Be Immortal' completed. Reward: +1500 points. Due to low event influence, no additional critical reward.]
Wayne: "…"
No.
He genuinely hadn't meant to cause trouble!