Two days after Fleur brought the news, word of the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship's revival appeared at Hogwarts.
On the noticeboard in the Great Hall, alongside posters for Quidditch team tryouts, was the announcement for the Potions Championship.
This time, each school would have three spots for participants, and the event would last a month.
It would begin on the second Monday after New Year's Day.
The location was Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France.
Many students had heard of the other two European magical schools but had never visited either.
Several Slytherins had mentioned that their parents had once considered sending them to Durmstrang.
That place was a treasure trove for learning Dark Magic, and the school only accepted pure-blood wizards.
However, their definition of "pure-blood" was relatively lenient—as long as both parents were wizards, that counted.
However, in Britain, the concept of pure blood required tracing back at least five or six generations before anyone was satisfied.
Suddenly, many students grew interested.
A delayed start to the term by a month, plus the chance to meet young witches and wizards from other countries and schools—it was practically a publicly funded holiday.
Books about other magical schools in the library were nearly all checked out within a day.
Rumour had it that the most comprehensive one, The Developmental History of Magical Schools, had a waiting list stretching all the way to Christmas.
Wayne, of course, didn't need to fight for books like everyone else.
The private library he had specially built contained almost every book from the Hogwarts library.
...
After class, Cho and Hermione immediately dragged him into the enchanted suitcase.
By the small lake, Hermione cradled a thick book, reading up on Beauxbatons.
"Beauxbatons is located in a valley on the southern side of the Pyrenees Mountains. It is a beautiful castle surrounded by gardens and fountains..."
"Most students come from France, the Netherlands, Belgium, Portugal, and other countries. There, students take O.W.L.-level exams in their sixth year rather than their fifth."
"At the very centre of Beauxbatons Castle lies a grand magical fountain. It is said that prolonged use of its waters for bathing or washing one's face enhances beauty and youth..."
By the end, Hermione's excitement was palpable.
"Ah—"
Wayne, lying with his head on Cho's lap, opened his mouth, and the girl gently placed a peeled grape inside.
"Wayne, is the magical fountain real?"
Only after he finished eating did Cho ask.
No girl, regardless of age, could resist the allure of beauty.
Hermione set the book aside, staring eagerly at the boy.
"It does have some effect."
Before Wayne could finish, both girls were practically holding their breath.
"Don't rush," the boy adjusted his head, settling more comfortably.
Cho was still too slender—her long, delicate legs weren't the most comfortable pillow.
In that regard, Hermione had the advantage. The know-it-all's legs weren't thick either, but they were pleasantly plush.
"Nicolas told me the fountain's waters do have a slight effect, but it's barely noticeable. At best, the water is purer and gentler on the skin. It's essentially just an alchemical product. If I wanted to, I could craft one myself."
Wayne spoke with effortless ease, without a trace of exaggeration in his words.
What others found incomprehensible was genuinely simple for someone like him who'd inherited Nicolas Flamel's true teachings.
"Wayne..." Hermione said with rare coquetry, moving to his side and resting his head upon her lap.
"I don't care about beauty treatments. I just think the world could use more variety."
"Having another beautiful fountain would be nice, wouldn't it?"
"Pfft!"
Both Wayne and Cho burst into laughter – neither had ever seen Hermione being so blatantly disingenuous before.
"Oh, stop laughing! Just agree already."
Hermione grew genuinely flustered, even going so far as to plant a kiss on Wayne's cheek despite Cho's presence.
This was unprecedented – she'd always reserved such physical affection for private moments with Wayne. Never before had she been so brazen about it in front of others.
Hermione's urgency outstripped Cho's for good reason – some racial disadvantages simply couldn't be overcome.
While they were all young now with smooth, glowing skin full of vitality, Hermione had read enough studies to know the truth: Caucasians aged faster than East Asians. By their twenties or thirties, they'd face risks of enlarged pores and roughened skin.
She refused to become some haggard woman that Wayne wouldn't even glance at later in life.
Though puzzled by Hermione's intensity, Wayne acquiesced, seeing her so invested.
"I recall Nicolas has some unfinished prototypes. I'll fetch one and modify it."
Hermione cheered, throwing herself into Wayne's arms.
Cho rolled her eyes at the pair, giving Wayne's side a discreet pinch before asking: "Besides you, who are the other two contestants?"
"No idea." Wayne rubbed his waist absently. "Doesn't matter who goes – they're just making up the numbers."
...
In the Headmaster's Office, Snape and Dumbledore were also discussing the selection of participants.
"Severus, any student recommendations?"
Dumbledore inquired that the teaching professor's input was essential for the competition.
"Lawrence for certain. The other slots can be anyone." Snape echoed Wayne's sentiment exactly.
To those who'd reached certain heights in their field, everyone else might as well be monkeys.
The school had competent students, but competent monkeys remained monkeys – he saw no meaningful distinction between them.
Dumbledore fell briefly silent at Snape's dismissiveness.
The logic was sound...
But procedural fairness mattered too sometimes.
Their selections needed to command respect from others.
After hearing Dumbledore's requirements, Snape's impatience became visibly apparent.
"Then let interested applicants compete in preliminary trials."
"And keep the under-fifth-years away. If they haven't made Advanced Potions, they'll just waste my ingredients."
Dumbledore nodded, approving the approach.
...
The next day, Dumbledore announced the selection rules in the Great Hall. Nearly all fifth and sixth years in the Advanced Potions class signed up.
The so-called advanced class served as the professor's gatekeeping mechanism.
After OWLs, students needed sufficiently high marks to pursue further studies in any subject. The minimum requirement for the Potions class was an E, and fewer than fifty students across both years achieved this standard.
Other professors had varying requirements.
Many students found their workload lighter in the fifth and sixth years.
Take Wotley, for example—he only chose Herbology, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts.
His ambition was to become a professional Quidditch player, where flying skill mattered far more than magical prowess.
As for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he picked it because the professor changed every year, meaning summer homework was practically non-existent.
...
That evening, all registered students gathered in the Potions Classroom.
Wayne had been teasing Astoria in the Great Hall when a Slytherin hurried over.
"Lawrence, Professor Snape wants to see you."
The messenger didn't dare come within ten metres of Wayne.
"What does he want?" Wayne looked up, surprised, momentarily pausing his torment of the little girl.
"I don't know," the Slytherin messenger shook his head quickly. "The professor didn't say anything."
"You'd better go. If you make him wait, he'll take points," Astoria urged, seizing the chance to escape.
Wayne had been making her pull all sorts of embarrassing expressions, and the poor girl was on the verge of tears but too afraid to resist. The more fragile and pitiful she looked, the more it amused him.
"Relax. However many points he takes, the righteous Professor Lockhart will just add them back," Wayne scoffed, but he went anyway.
...
"Professor, you wanted me."
He knocked perfunctorily before stepping inside.
Snape glanced at him but said nothing, instead addressing the students gathered around their cauldrons.
"You have two hours to brew a Shimmering Potion. The two with the highest quality will receive the competition rules."
A student frowned. "Professor, why only the top two? Aren't there three spots?"
"Lawrence is the third," Snape replied coolly, flicking his wand to send the ingredients for the potion flying to each student.
A murmur of shock rippled through the room as everyone stared at Wayne and Snape.
Many students looked furious.
The classroom buzzed with outrage, and Wayne's sharp ears caught Percy muttering curses under his breath about Snape.
By all conventional logic, this was the perfect moment to stand up and show off—to put them all in their place.
But Wayne couldn't be bothered.
It was beneath him.
"Silence!"
Snape's icy voice cut through the noise, his imposing presence silencing them instantly. The students fell quiet but still glared, demanding an explanation.
"If the competition didn't require three participants, none of you would be wasting my time here tonight."
When it came to biting remarks, no one at the school could match Snape. Now, he held nothing back.
"What makes any of you think you deserve to compare with Lawrence?"
"If any of you have had a signed—no, even a mere mention of your name—in The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers' internal publications, I'd gladly grant you a spot."
"But given the troll-like capacity of your brains, I shouldn't expect much."
"The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers? That's impossible!" a girl blurted out.
"Miss Bell, that 'impossible' is precisely the point."
A magazine flew out from the classroom bookshelf and landed in front of the girl, quickly flipping open to its middle pages.
"On the Improvement Directions and Specific Measures of Werewolf Potions"
The first author listed was none other than Wayne Lawrence.
"Now, do you understand the gap between you?"
The surrounding students crowded around to look at the magazine, their expressions a mix of complex emotions. No one dared voice any objections now.
"Why did you call me here?" Wayne ignored them, asking Snape in a low voice.
"I have other matters to attend to. You'll oversee the assessment. Give me the final list later."
Snape glanced at him, then picked up a book from the desk and left the classroom without another word.
Wayne found himself staring awkwardly at the sea of students. He'd been press-ganged into service.
"Let's get started. We're finishing this within an hour and a half," Wayne amended Snape's original timeframe gloomily.
"Wayne, didn't the professor say two hours just now?" a Hufflepuff prefect couldn't help asking.
"I'm pressed for time. If you can't complete it in ninety minutes, an extra half hour won't make a difference." Wayne gave them an encouraging look. "Do your best. I believe in you."
The students: "..."
What could they do? Snape had delegated all authority to Wayne. Even if they wanted to protest, no one would listen.
...
After ninety minutes, Wayne called time and began inspections. He walked down from the lectern, making a circuit of the room.
Out of forty-four students, only thirty had completed their Shimmering Potions. Among those, twenty were clearly substandard at first glance.
A perfect Shimmering Potion should be fluorescent silver, resembling flowing mercury with a viscous consistency. Those twenty failures weren't even silver-automatic poor grades.
Of the remaining ten, he eliminated six more based on viscosity and uniformity of fluorescence distribution. This left four students - one from each house.
"Miss Bell, you're eliminated," Wayne announced after further scrutiny.
"Why?" The Ravenclaw girl named Bell didn't dare make a scene, only venturing a timid question: "Our completion levels seem roughly equivalent, don't they?"
"You added the lotus seeds too late," Wayne pointed out. "Your potion has too many bubbles. The efficacy hasn't fully developed - it doesn't meet standards."
Bell thought back and realised Wayne was absolutely right. She'd added the lotus seeds a minute too late.
"I see," she conceded regretfully, thoroughly convinced.
The other students regarded Wayne with admiration. To identify exactly which step went wrong just by observing the potion's state? That was seriously impressive.
"Russel, Henderson - you two are in."
Wayne finally confirmed the selections. Henderson was Hufflepuff's Beater, while Russel represented Slytherin. Percy, Gryffindor's sole hope, had been eliminated.
"Don't look at me like that. If you disagree, take samples of all three potions and test them yourself. Yours is objectively inferior to theirs." Wayne preempted Percy's protest.
Percy's nose flushed red with anger as he bottled samples from all three and stormed out.
Russel grinned from ear to ear. At least he hadn't disgraced Slytherin. If neither selected student had been from their house, Snape would surely have taken it out on them later.
After informing Snape of the final selections, Wayne hurried off towards Ravenclaw Tower.
Tonight, there was still a date with senior Penelope...
...
The next day.
When the selection results were announced, Slytherin and especially Hufflepuff held their heads high with pride—Hufflepuff had actually secured two spots.
See? They were the real house of academic excellence.
Meanwhile, news spread about Wayne's article being published in The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers' internal journal.
This made everyone sigh again—how could the gap between students be so vast?
That evening, Professor McGonagall gleefully awarded Hufflepuff twenty points to commend Wayne for having his article published in Transfiguration Today.
The students were utterly numb.
Particularly the gifted students who read Transfiguration Today, after reading Wayne's article, shared a single feeling.
Bewilderment.
The content was utterly perplexing, completely inconsistent with the principles Professor McGonagall usually taught.
Professor McGonagall explained: "Mr Lawrence didn't write this for beginners like you, but as a professional thesis for me and fellow scholars."
"You'll only begin to understand it when you can perform sixfold transfiguration or large-scale group transfiguration."
Hearing this requirement, the geniuses who once took pride in attending the Transfiguration Club all fell into a state of self-doubt.
Through these two articles, Wayne firmly established his reputation in academic circles.
...
In the following days, owls delivered countless letters from scholars worldwide.
In learning, there's no hierarchy—the accomplished are teachers.
Scholars tend to be purer souls, unconcerned with age or status differences.
They recognised the substance in Wayne's article.
Many letters sought clarification on specific details or raised questions from their reading. Wayne devoted considerable time daily to responding.
This was how Dumbledore had made his name, too, though much later in life than Wayne.
Thus, almost imperceptibly, a month passed since the term began...
In the dormitory, Wayne was scribbling furiously in Tom Riddle's Diary...