Wayne took Tom—or rather, Voldy—very seriously.
He devoted time nearly every evening to discussing ideals with him, while getting some homework help in return.
He didn't even chat with Fleur daily.
After initial setbacks, Tom quickly rallied, becoming even more obsequious.
His flattery grew so extravagant that it almost embarrassed Wayne.
Harry wasn't half as great as Tom claimed.
A certain Hufflepuff second-year fits Tom's description much better—
Brilliant, wise, the future foremost figure in the wizarding world.
Though uncertain of Tom's motives, Wayne had several theories and played along willingly.
This was mutual courtship.
[Young Master Potter, it's not that I believe pure-blood wizards are inherently superior—it's simply factual.]
[In my day, Slytherin was strongest, followed by Gryffindor.]
[Outstanding wizards invariably possessed exceptional bloodlines. They were born powerful, while Muggle-borns could never reach such heights, no matter their effort.]
After a month, Tom's tone had grown noticeably bolder. The views expressed were all forbidden topics that couldn't be spoken of openly, thanks to Wayne's recent strategy of humouring Tom in conversation, which gradually lowered his guard.
The only thing troubling Wayne was that this bastard seemed intent on using the Imperius Curse to control him.
During each probing attempt, he had to devise various ways to muddle through to avoid arousing suspicion.
'I'm being so sincere with you, yet all you want is my body.'
'What a scumbag.'
"Tom, I think you're absolutely right," Wayne wrote while suppressing his disgust. "Pure-blood wizards are indeed more outstanding nowadays, like Dumbledore, and like me."
"But why are you telling me this?"
[I just feel... Professor Dumbledore seems to favour those Muggles and half-bloods too much. Don't you feel it's unfair, Master Potter?]
Tom was doing his utmost to make 'Harry' develop negative feelings towards Dumbledore.
Only then could he exploit the opening and strike when defences were down.
Truly, his destined rival - so damn troublesome.
Through the Legilimency Spell, he rarely detected any negative emotions in 'Harry', who seemed to live each day in happiness.
This made things rather difficult.
After a month, he'd made almost no progress. Apart from becoming slightly closer to 'Harry', he hadn't shaken the boy's convictions at all.
Well, the improved relationship was entirely due to the mountains of homework he had to do daily.
Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, even astronomical charts - all drawn by him.
The other subjects were manageable, but Defence Against the Dark Arts was the most nauseating.
A pointless essay every week - he was nearly sick of fabricating all that fawning praise.
If he ever found out who the professor was, that bastard would be the first to die after his resurrection!
Today, Tom was being rather reckless, directly targeting Dumbledore and Muggle-born wizards.
He couldn't delay any longer - he needed to gain control over 'Harry' quickly, then absorb his life force to free himself from the diary.
With enough life force, he might even...
Therefore, even if it risked alerting 'Harry', who'd consistently shown admiration for Dumbledore, he had to take the gamble.
After much deliberation, Wayne finally wrote: "Tom, I notice you have deep prejudices against Muggle-born wizards. Aren't you a half-blood yourself?"
The ink lingered for a long while with no response from Tom.
Just as Wayne was losing patience, words slowly appeared:
[I equally despise my own bloodline. Why couldn't my mother have chosen a wizard as partner instead of that drunken lout?]
[Perhaps then I could have been more outstanding.]
"You're already brilliant. Creating this diary is something many adult wizards couldn't achieve."
[I'm still far inferior to Master Potter. The wizarding world will always belong to pure-bloods.]
"I have a different opinion."
[Oh?] Tom's interest was piqued.
"Harry" showed no vigilance and was even willing to continue debating with him—this was an excellent sign.
With his persuasive abilities, he was certain to sway 'Harry's' convictions.
"I believe the existence of half-blood and Muggle-born wizards is crucial. Voldemort, who once tried to kill me, ultimately failed because of his pure-blood supremacy ideology."
Tom immediately felt a shadow cross his heart. Wasn't this rubbing salt in his wounds?
But he resisted the urge to argue and instead followed Wayne's lead: [Why do you say that? Didn't Voldemort fail because he encountered you?]
"That's only one reason. The main issue was his flawed ideology."
Wayne dipped his quill in ink and wrote:
"All of Voldemort's Death Eaters came from pure-blood families, and even then, only a fraction of them. Just in terms of manpower, he was at an absolute disadvantage."
"If Voldemort hadn't intervened personally, those useless lackeys would never have amounted to anything."
[Young Master Potter makes a fair point, but didn't Voldemort become the Dark Lord precisely because of his power?]
[As long as Voldemort is strong, his followers only need to be elites.]
"And then what?" Wayne wrote again.
[What do you mean?] Tom was confused.
"If there were no Dumbledore, and Voldemort was lucky enough not to encounter me, successfully ruling the wizarding world—what would he do next?"
Tom was first stunned by 'Harry's' arrogance for a few seconds before hesitantly forming his reply.
[Ban wizards from marrying Muggles. Expel, or even kill, all non-pure-blood wizards.]
"Then how many wizards do you think would remain in the magical world afterwards?"
[I don't know. Far fewer than now.]
"Exactly. After finally winning, the wizarding world would essentially be his power—yet he'd choose to slaughter his own people."
"Tom, a single Muggle village has hundreds or even thousands of people. If Voldemort keeps this up, how many wizards would remain in all of Britain?"
"By then, his title of Dark Lord would just mean leading a few hundred pure-bloods—a petty warlord at best."
Tom fell silent.
He was starting to feel mentally tangled.
Wayne pressed his advantage, writing: "If I were Voldemort, I'd never casually kill wizards, nor discriminate against non-pure-bloods."
"A very wise man once said—"
"Make as many friends as possible, and as few enemies as possible..."
"To me, they're all potential future subordinates. In fact, I'd want as many wizards as possible, with both sides keeping each other in check..."
Wayne proceeded to bombard Tom with a torrent of political strategy.
Today's goal was pure manipulation.
After long observation, Wayne had concluded: The Tom in the diary was far more intelligent than the Voldemort resurrected two years later.
Not just slightly—significantly so.
His temperament was also relatively stable.
Wayne suspected that when creating this Horcrux, Voldemort might have miscalculated the severing of his soul, cutting too deep.
If not half, at least a third of his soul resided in the diary.
Combined with subsequent voluntary or forced soul fractures, the resurrected Voldemort had likely become unhinged.
He couldn't help wondering whether Tom, under his guidance, might recognise his mistakes and choose a different path. After all, this was the Dark Lord they were talking about – lacking ideological depth would seriously undermine his villainous credentials.
After this barrage of unexpected blows, Tom had clearly lost his composure.
With a hurried remark about running low on energy, he vanished.
Putting away the diary, Wayne still felt somewhat unsatisfied.
'Your ideological education needs work, Tom.'
...
October arrived, bringing an abrupt cold snap across the Scottish Highlands. Damp, icy air permeated the grounds and seeped into the castle walls.
A wave of colds suddenly spread among the students, even affecting the professors.
The elderly cat-woman taught her classes with a pronounced nasal tone, pausing every few sentences for light coughs.
A long queue formed outside the hospital wing as Madam Pomfrey frantically brewed Pepperup Potions.
Those who drank the potion would have steam billowing from their ears for hours, like a train releasing steam.
And as always, Madam Pomfrey's concoctions remained revoltingly bitter.
Wayne seized the opportunity to brew a batch of normal Pepperup Potions without any unpleasant aftertaste. Any student with spare change came to him for purchases.
Thus, October's Hogsmeade weekend quietly arrived.
As usual, Wayne obtained a shopping list signed by Dumbledore before leaving campus with Cho.
"Where are we going today?"
Thick fog shrouded the streets. With Halloween approaching, pumpkin lanterns already hung outside shops, their dim candlelight flickering within.
The occasional wind chime made Cho shiver and pull her clothes tighter.
Having visited Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop once was enough – it wasn't all that special anyway.
For dates, Cho still preferred the atmosphere of the suitcase world.
What she truly enjoyed were those private moments alone with Wayne.
Lately, he'd been holed up in his dormitory again, busy with who knows what.
Even when free, Hermione would come snatching him away, or sometimes Penelope would butt in.
Oh yes, there was also that sudden appearance of a first-year Slytherin girl.
She'd seen it several times – the little girl nearly in tears yet still trailing after Wayne like a devoted puppy.
"Same as always, let's hit Honeydukes first," Wayne decided after some thought.
"The Headmaster finished all last time's sweets. Need to restock."
"He ate all that?" Cho gasped.
She clearly remembered Wayne buying an enormous bag of sweets last time.
Even if shared among her dormmates, it would have lasted them a whole academic year.
"Well, he is the greatest white wizard of the century," Wayne chuckled. "His constitution can handle it."
"That must cost so much. Here, take my allowance." Cho hugged the boy's arm sympathetically.
Last time, Wayne had paid out of pocket to secure the Headmaster's cooperation.
Wayne grinned like a fox. "No need. I took the list to Professor McGonagall yesterday."
"She reimbursed everything, and it's all being deducted from the Headmaster's salary."
Neither Wayne nor Dumbledore cared about such trivial expenses, but outmanoeuvring the old man brought more joy than saving a few dozen galleons.
Cho couldn't help laughing when she heard this.
She'd known Wayne would never settle for being short-changed. Among all the young wizards in the school, only he dared to do this.
After buying some for Dumbledore, Wayne deliberately purchased a small portion for Astoria.
The little girl's diet at home and school was strictly controlled, so she hadn't tasted many sweets.
Now that her health had improved somewhat, she couldn't resist indulging.
A while ago, Wayne had taken her to eat a meal prepared by Gardevoir, and she'd nearly devoured the plate along with the food.
Since then, Astoria had been constantly begging Wayne to let her have another meal.
Wayne's condition was simple: she could eat again when she could run a full lap around the Quidditch Pitch in one go.
But for Astoria, who had just escaped the threat of a curse, this demand was practically hellish.
Helpless, she could only start exercising every morning.
Tearful with frustration, she held back her sobs under Wayne's command.
Even though he was clearly helping the little girl improve her health, the damn system judged him as bullying a student and even awarded him some points, which infuriated Wayne.
Cho wasn't in the best mood either.
The girl eyed the gift box in Wayne's hand and said in a faintly accusing tone:
"You seem to really like that Slytherin girl?"
Wayne paused mid-step, recognising the jealousy, and immediately adopted a sombre expression.
"I wouldn't say 'like'... more like pity."
The sudden shift piqued Cho's curiosity: "Pity? Why?"
Wayne briefly explained the blood curse, emphasising the suffering Astoria endured, which made Cho's heart ache.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know she..."
"It's alright." Wayne gently ruffled the girl's hair. "With Ho-Oh here, her curse should be completely gone by the end of this school year."
Due to her age, Astoria's condition was actually much simpler to treat than Nagini's.
But because her tolerance for pain was so low, each treatment session had to be carefully moderated.
Twice a month, about a dozen sessions – less than a year in total.
"Besides sweets, is there anything else she'd like to eat?" Cho quickly perked up, asking proactively: "I want to buy her some gifts."
"You're so kind." Wayne kissed the girl's forehead.
Cho shyly lowered her head, wrapping her arms around the boy's waist: "I misunderstood you earlier... I'm sorry, Wayne..."
Good. The fact that his preference was for silver-haired girls had been successfully glossed over.
Where the girl couldn't see, the boy secretly gave a triumphant thumbs-up.
Cho dragged Wayne to the Three Broomsticks, where they bought the establishment's signature fried Icelandic cod and butterbeer as gifts.
She specifically requested that the butterbeer be boiled for a longer time to evaporate all the alcohol.
This was also Wayne's first time meeting the famed Madam Rosmerta.
She certainly had charm.
Golden curls, voluptuous figure – every smile and gesture captivated the young wizards in the pub. The red dress showcased her mature allure to perfection.
Though facially she was only above average, her charisma scored highly.
Not quite Wayne's type.
Seeing that the boy wasn't drooling like other boys, Cho was thoroughly pleased.
She'd initially planned for them to have lunch there, but Wayne vetoed the idea.
"I know a place. It might not look like much, but the food's absolutely delicious."
With that, Wayne pulled the girl out of the shop and headed down a remote side road.
When they reached the end of the path, Cho's expression changed slightly.
"The Hog's Head?"
She'd heard the older students mention this place—and nothing good had come from their descriptions.
Wayne pushed the door open and called out loudly:
"Big bro, I've come to see you!"
"Wayne, the owner here is a bit odd," Cho said nervously. "Aren't you worried about angering him?"
Wayne patted her hand reassuringly.
Soon, an irritable yet resigned voice came from upstairs.
"You rascal, barging in before I've even got out of bed."
Aberforth descended the stairs, his hair dishevelled and beard tangled.
"It's nearly noon and you're only just up?"
Wayne stared at him in astonishment.
"Had some Spaniard trading thornberries here last night. Nearly turned into a double-cross. Made for a late night," Aberforth said casually, while Cho's face paled.
'What sort of person could discuss illegal dealings so nonchalantly?'
"Don't be afraid, Cho," Wayne soothed. "Take a proper look at Aberforth. Doesn't he remind you of someone?"
The girl mustered her composure and studied the old man.
Those bright blue eyes, the long white hair and beard.
Combined with his facial structure and Wayne's earlier address...
Cho's eyes widened with dawning realisation.
"Professor Dumbledore?"