With rising excitement, Newt traced the path upstream, casting the spell several more times to map Nagini's trail.
Unfortunately, the clues vanished upon reaching a snowy plain.
The heavy snowfall had buried all traces, and the temperature here was markedly lower.
Even the Nifflers and Snifflers could no longer assist.
Though disappointed, confirming Nagini's survival—and her presence somewhere in this vast forest—was already an unexpected boon.
Newt resolved to remain in the woods indefinitely. His case contained enough supplies to sustain him.
Come spring, when the snow melted and life returned, Nagini would awaken from hibernation. Finding her then should pose no difficulty.
Newt climbed into his case and wrote another letter to send via owl, informing Wayne of his discoveries.
Watching the owl gradually disappear into the distance, Newt fell into deep thought. Though he hadn't asked, that didn't mean he wasn't curious.
Ever since that conversation, he had been wondering—why did Wayne know about Nagini? And how did he know her whereabouts?
Moreover, what could a fully transformed Maledictus possibly do if Voldemort went there?
Unless...
A bold guess formed in his mind, but Newt still didn't dare jump to conclusions.
...
Hogwarts.
Quirrell suppressed a smirk as he returned to his office.
Removing his turban, he stood before the mirror once more, eagerly rousing Voldemort to report his progress.
"Master, today I managed to extract quite a bit of useful information from Flitwick and Sprout."
"Sprout's trap is most likely Devil's Snare."
"As for Flitwick, it's probably related to Quidditch or Flying Charms—nothing too difficult."
"Well done," Voldemort's voice was weak and strained. Without the replenishment of magical artefacts, his strength had been steadily waning, and he still had to waste energy teaching those wretched little wizards, especially the first-years.
Fearing another report from Wayne, Voldemort made sure to personally oversee every lesson for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.
And then there was his nemesis, Harry Potter. Voldemort's mind was already fraying at the edges.
Seeing Harry carefree and utterly inept at magic somehow infuriated him.
'You're my sworn enemy!'
'If you're this pathetic, doesn't that mean the one you defeated is even worse?'
Driven by this twisted logic, Voldemort, through Quirrell, had taught Harry quite a bit.
To Voldemort's grim satisfaction, Harry showed remarkable talent in Defence Against the Dark Arts—not as good as that little brat Lawrence, but still far ahead of the others.
"Any leads on the other professors' challenges?" Voldemort pressed.
Quirrell's smile faltered slightly. "Snape is... very wary of me. There's no chance he'd reveal any secrets..."
"As for McGonagall... Master, her gaze is terrifying. I'm afraid she might see right through me."
"Useless!" Voldemort spat in disgust. "You don't fear Dumbledore, yet you cower before McGonagall?"
Quirrell's face twisted miserably.
Plenty of Hogwarts graduates didn't fear Dumbledore. But those unafraid of Professor McGonagall? Far fewer.
Back in his school days, it was only under McGonagall's relentless demands that he had managed to graduate, leaving him with lingering psychological scars.
He couldn't help but feel guilty under her scrutiny.
"I don't care how you do it. Get me all the information."
"Before dealing with Dumbledore's defences, I don't have the strength to assist you," Voldemort hissed coldly.
Quirrell hastily agreed.
Still, inwardly, he wasn't overly worried.
Based on the known two challenges, the difficulty of the obstacles set by these professors was quite average—one might even say simple.
He had only been pretending to be a waste, not actually being one. As long as he dealt with the initial Three-Headed Dog, the rest would be a breeze.
...
After three consecutive days of gloomy rain, March arrived.
Spring seemed to come all at once.
More and more young wizards began to venture outside the castle, many of them having been cooped up all winter and finally getting the chance to burn off their pent-up energy.
The thick jumpers and coats could now be packed away into trunks, saved for the coming winter.
What excited everyone even more was that the Quidditch match was finally about to resume! The first match would be Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, both teams having secured victories in the first round.
This made the upcoming match particularly crucial.
The winner would gain a significant advantage heading into the finals after the term ended in June.
For Gryffindor, as long as they defeated Hufflepuff, unless they were short several players, victory against Ravenclaw in the final would be almost guaranteed.
Naturally, Hufflepuff had no intention of being a stepping stone and was bound to fight back fiercely.
Thus, as soon as March began, the tension between the two houses became palpable.
This left Gryffindor's lions feeling somewhat unsettled. Where had the good-natured Hufflepuff gone? Why were they suddenly so aggressive?
Such situations weren't unheard of—after all, the two houses faced off every year.
However, it was only this year that Hufflepuff displayed such relentless aggression. On several occasions, when the lions glared at the badgers, they were met with equal defiance, refusing to back down.
What Gryffindor didn't know was that this was all due to the butterfly effect brought about by Wayne.
'We nearly drove out a professor and even defeated Slytherin—why should we fear Gryffindor?'
'Just because you lot love being the centre of attention?''
Gradually, the usually docile and honest badgers were beginning to resemble honey badgers in temperament.
They had discovered their strength—numbers!
As long as they stood together, Hufflepuff need not fear any other house.
The tense atmosphere persisted until Wednesday of the match week, when it came to an abrupt halt.
Shocking news spread like wildfire: Snape would be refereeing the next match!
When Harry heard this during practice, he nearly fell off his Nimbus 2000.
"This isn't funny, Fred," Harry grumbled, rubbing his backside. "April Fools' is still a month away—what's gotten into you?"
"Look me in the eye, Harry. I'm not pulling a prank," Fred said seriously.
Harry looked up and saw Fred's expression was grave, with no trace of humour.
"It's true. I just ran into Malfoy—he and his cronies were bragging about it everywhere. He'll probably come looking for you soon."
Sure enough, before long, Malfoy stormed onto the Pitch with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, bursting into laughter at the sight of Harry.
"Potter! How lucky—Snape's refereeing the next match. Care to guess how many points Gryffindor will lose by?"
"Don't rise to it!"
Seeing the twins clench their fists, Wood quickly stepped in.
"Do you want Snape to ban you from the match? That'll only make him happier. Let's head back to the Common Room first."
Wood abandoned the training session and led the group back to the Common Room.
Along the way, Harry kept his head down without saying a word. When they entered the Common Room, everyone noticed his face was deathly pale, and his body was trembling slightly.
"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked with concern.
"N-no, I'm fine," Harry replied weakly.
Even though Hermione had told him that Dumbledore believed Snape wouldn't steal the Philosopher's Stone, that didn't mean Snape wasn't still trying to kill him.
Besides, Harry had always suspected that Dumbledore might have misjudged Snape—what if Snape was just exceptionally good at hiding his true nature?
But right now, he didn't have the energy to worry about the Philosopher's Stone. His priority was staying alive.
"Maybe you should withdraw from the match, Harry?" suggested Angelina Johnson, the Chaser. By now, the whole school knew Snape had it out for Harry and would seize any opportunity to dock him points.
"No, I can't," Harry said stubbornly. "If I back out, Snape will be thrilled—and so will Malfoy."
The more he spoke, the more determined he became.
"I'll do my best. Before Snape can target me, I'll catch the Golden Snitch!"
Wood gave Harry an approving pat on the shoulder.
"That's the spirit, Harry. We'll help share the pressure."
"Maybe we don't need to worry so much," Ron muttered, immediately drawing everyone's attention.
"Our opponents are Hufflepuff, right?"
"Right."
"So, will Wayne be playing?" Ron asked.
Wood stroked his chin before shaking his head. "I don't know. Wotley keeps their training sessions tightly under wraps—we haven't been able to observe them."
"But if it were me, I wouldn't pass up the chance to field a flying prodigy like him."
"That makes things easier, then," Ron said, relieved, as he explained to the group. "Have you all forgotten? Snape hates Wayne, too.
"Not as much as he does, Harry—he doesn't go after him all day—but whenever Snape docks Wayne points, he takes a huge chunk at once."
"And remember that clash between Hufflepuff and Slytherin last time? Snape might use this as a chance to get back at him."
When Ron finished, the room fell silent. Harry's expression brightened considerably.
The twins, however, were staring at Ron with strange looks.
Ron glanced down at himself. "What? Do I have something on me?"
"No, you're not our brother," George said warily, while Fred even pulled out his wand.
"Our brother couldn't possibly be this clever. Confess! Where have you hidden the real Ronnikins?"
Ron scowled. "Piss off! Don't make fun of me—go bother Percy instead."
The twins burst into laughter, and Harry gave Ron a grateful pat on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Ron. I feel a lot better now."
Hermione, who had been sitting nearby doing homework, opened her mouth but then hesitated, unsure of what to say. She wasn't entirely sure about the nature of Wayne and Snape's relationship either.
Snape had given Wayne the precious Potential Elixir, yet every time they met, they exchanged cold, mocking remarks. This strange, contradictory behaviour left the young witch thoroughly confused.
Oh well.
Hermione decided not to say anything. If this helped ease Harry's worries, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.
...
Meanwhile, in the Hufflepuff Common Room, the badgers had also received the news that Snape would be refereeing the match.
At first, they were just as concerned, but Wayne managed to reassure them. "Just play normally. Snape dislikes Harry more than he does me."
Wayne spoke with great confidence. As the most popular young wizard in the school, no one could question this fact.
"Cedric will ride my broom tomorrow, and the other broom can go to Henderson."
"Shouldn't it go to a Chaser instead?" Wotley asked in confusion, as Henderson was Hufflepuff's Beater.
"The priority is keeping an eye on Harry. His dynamic vision is sharper than Cedric's, making it easier for him to spot the Golden Snitch."
Wayne instructed, "Old Ced, don't rush to find the Golden Snitch right away. Just stick to Potter and mess with his head. If we can do that, we've already half-won."
Harry's temper wasn't exactly good—one might even call it poor. This became increasingly apparent as time passed.
Though Harry was also a friend, this was a battle between two houses, and Wayne naturally sided with the badgers.
"Understood," Cedric nodded seriously.
...
Time flew by, and soon it was Saturday.
Wayne followed the team to the changing room first, giving everyone a morale boost before returning to Hufflepuff's high stands.
The badgers' enchanted banners, fireworks, and massive posters occupied nearly half the Pitch, not just from Hufflepuff's efforts but with help from two other houses as well.
This left the Gryffindor students looking rather grim, their cheers noticeably quieter.
It wasn't anyone's fault.
Among the four houses, Slytherin was undeniably the least popular. With Snape's favouritism and their so-called blood purity ideology, they barely acknowledged the other houses.
Next came Gryffindor.
Gryffindors didn't discriminate, but they were disruptive and lacked boundaries. Loud, boisterous students naturally weren't very well-liked. Though Ravenclaw had lost to Hufflepuff in the last match, it was clear they'd held back, making the defeat less humiliating.
With Penelope and Cho, two stunning beauties, leading the charge, Ravenclaw naturally sided with Hufflepuff.
As for Slytherin...
Though they'd been thoroughly thrashed last time, compared to their arch-rivals, it was nothing! Many declared they'd gladly take another beating if it meant Gryffindor suffered a humiliating defeat.
Amid this atmosphere, both teams and Snape made their entrance. Seeing the sea of Hufflepuff crests and cheering banners, the Gryffindor players' hearts sank.
Snape, however, was in high spirits.
Though he was here to protect Potter, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself! On one side... was the insufferable Potter. On the other... was Wayne's house team. Such a dilemma—who should he let win?
A whistle blew, and the match began.
Lee Jordan's enthusiastic commentary rang out: "The match is officially underway! Angelina Johnson has the Quaffle—she scored four times against Slytherin last game. What brilliance will she show us today?!"
Snape's expression darkened.
Lee Jordan continued, "She passes! Spinnet takes it—what a brilliant give-and-go!"
"Wait, the whistle's blown! Did the referee make a mistake?"
Lee Jordan sounded puzzled, but seeing Snape hand the Quaffle to Hufflepuff's Keeper, he completely lost it. "That was a perfect attack! A misjudgment! An absolute misjudgment!"
"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall hissed under her breath. Though she, too, was displeased, commentary had to remain impartial.
"Sorry, Professor," Lee Jordan muttered reluctantly before continuing his commentary. But then Snape proceeded to blatantly favour Hufflepuff, awarding them three penalty shots in a row against Gryffindor.
Finally, Lee couldn't hold back.
"My grandmother could referee better than this!"
The stands erupted in laughter, even the usually subdued Gryffindors joining in. Snape shot a venomous glare at Lee Jordan, mentally noting to retaliate in the next Potions class.
Still, he reined himself in slightly, easing up on Gryffindor—only to turn his torment onto Hufflepuff instead.
For a while, the match's rhythm was entirely under Snape's control. He dictated who had an easy time and who didn't.
Both sides found it unbearable, the game constantly interrupted by the shrill sound of the whistle.
"Bloody Snape," Toby growled through gritted teeth. "Rigged! This has to be rigged!"
"Don't get worked up," Wayne frowned, equally frustrated. The match was disjointed, utterly devoid of excitement.
Perched on his broom, Snape smirked smugly, disallowing yet another Hufflepuff goal.
Then, abruptly, he shuddered. A strange sense of foreboding crept over him.
His gaze darted around—first to the teachers' stand, where Quirrell was conspicuously absent—then to the Hufflepuff section. His face darkened instantly. Now he knew why he'd felt uneasy.
Because, for Merlin's sake, Lawrence was pointing his wand straight at him!