At this moment, Snape's mood resembled having just eaten a meal of Flesh-eating Slug and Doxy droppings...
Only for someone to inform him that a Christmas feast was immediately available.
Revolting. Absolutely revolting.
If it were just for today, that would be bearable.
However, when establishing the Duelling Club, Lockhart had planned monthly sessions until the end of the term.
Meaning he'd have to endure that peacock for over half a year more.
'Lawrence, you truly deserve death!'
Abandoning a confused Malfoy, Snape stormed back to his office to sulk.
...
"Achoo!"
Wayne sneezed abruptly while accompanying Hermione, rubbing his nose. "Come on, let's continue."
Holding Hermione in his arms, Wayne comforted her softly.
The young witch was in a dreadful mood.
Out of the ten people sent to the hospital wing with injuries, four had been her doing.
Hermione had panicked the moment combat started, firing spells wildly with no aim whatsoever, her eyes squeezed shut.
It was pure luck at best.
After watching Harry and Malfoy's duel, she felt even worse.
Wayne had been far more patient and meticulous when teaching her and Cho, yet her performance had been so poor.
This made the proud young witch feel she'd wasted all his effort.
"Don't be upset." Wayne tightened his arms, pressing the girl's head against his chest. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Harry and the others do have more natural talent for combat."
"But in academics, the two of them combined couldn't match you."
"You used to say..." Hermione mumbled gloomily, "That just studying books is useless; that knowledge must be applied practically. And I can't do it at all..."
"You simply lack combat experience. That's not a real problem. Even a fool could develop instincts through regular practice. You'll get opportunities later."
Hermione looked up indignantly. "Are you calling me a fool?"
Before Wayne could explain, she deflated again.
"Right, I am a fool at fighting. I used to look down on Harry, thinking he just fooled around all day..."
The more she spoke, the more withdrawn she became.
Wayne knew this couldn't continue. First, he distracted her with an impromptu kiss.
Only when Hermione was dazed from the kiss did he speak:
"Give me some more time. I'm researching something new. Once it's ready, you'll be able to practice combat whenever you want."
Hermione was intensely curious, but no matter how she pressed, Wayne refused to explain, making the girl pout in playful frustration—though her mood had noticeably improved.
Whether it was Cho, Hermione, Penelope, or even Astoria, who'd only recently met him, they all shared an inexplicable faith in Wayne.
Every promise this young man made was invariably fulfilled, often exceeding expectations.
...
Gryffindor common room.
Everyone was equally curious about Harry's sudden combat prowess.
The Weasley twins knew he'd been learning from Wayne, but never imagined the results would be so dramatic.
"Did he feed you some advanced potion or something?" Fred slung an arm around Harry's shoulders.
"Knew Wayne was hoarding the good stuff. Shame we're too broke to squeeze him dry."
"You're broke?" Harry's expression was priceless.
Thanks to Celia Store, the twins were practically rolling in galleons.
Maps, prank items, quills, various potions—though most profits went to Wayne, what remained kept the twins living lavishly.
"You don't understand," Fred lamented, shaking his head. "What Wayne sells are just the rejects. The real treasures are way beyond our budget."
"Like what?" Harry eyed them curiously.
"Like Felix Felicia—bloody hell, I mean Felix Felicis." George wiped drool from his mouth, eyes full of envy. "With Felix Felicis, we could enter all the shop raffles and maybe even win the Daily Prophet's grand prize."
"You're getting off track." Fred patted his brother's head to snap him out of it.
"Wayne didn't give me any advanced potions..." Harry smiled wryly and briefly explained the training method, omitting the specialised spells.
This was Wayne's private research, and Harry wouldn't share it without permission.
The young lions listened attentively - as Gryffindors, they all harboured dreams of becoming duelling masters.
But gradually, everyone fell silent.
The method was simple yet brutal: sheer repetitive practice.
So where exactly does one acquire such a wand?
"Harry, do you have the wand with you?" Fred asked urgently.
"No." Harry shook his head. "Wayne takes it back after training for improvements. Each time it feels different, getting closer to a real wand."
His words made everyone's breathing quicken.
With such excellent training equipment, it's no wonder Harry and Malfoy had moved like monkeys earlier.
But fifteen hundred Galleons...
Not only could they never afford it, but even if they could, they'd hesitate to spend that much.
Having grown up in peacetime, this generation wasn't fanatical about combat prowess.
Seeing no further questions, Harry finally escaped back to his dormitory.
Lying in bed, he tried recalling the sensation of casting that silent spell at the critical moment.
Wayne had said that when spellcasting becomes instinctive, the magic flows effortlessly with thought.
Easier said than done - it required extreme spell proficiency and concentration.
At that moment, he'd had one thought: defeat Malfoy.
He wanted to see that infuriating expression when Malfoy lost, yet couldn't do anything about it.
Just imagining it made his blood boil.
Harry silently mouthed the incantation several more times, but failed each attempt.
Did Malfoy actually need to be present for it to work?
Filled with doubt, Harry fell into a deep sleep.
...
The Duelling Club proved wildly successful. Despite Lockhart's dreadful performance that day, he remained the castle's most popular figure.
This greatly encouraged Lockhart - he'd finally stolen some limelight, temporarily overshadowing Wayne.
Many were bitterly disappointed to learn the next club meeting wouldn't be until the Christmas holidays.
Except Madam Pomfrey.
Those ten students sent to the hospital wing yesterday had given her ample reason to curse Lockhart's name.
Pure recklessness - what if a student's spell misfired and caused serious harm?
Meanwhile, word spread about Wayne training Malfoy and Harry.
Many coveted that training wand with burning envy.
For the next few days, students frequently approached Wayne to inquire about prices, but were all refused.
This wand wasn't specifically designed to help people practice combat footwork—it was a semi-finished alchemical tool still undergoing continuous improvements.
Seeing Wayne's firm refusal, the young wizards were disappointed but understanding.
After all, Wayne had earned three thousand Galleons with this wand.
It was truly an astronomical sum—many young wizards' families didn't possess that much gold.
Of course, this didn't include those wealthy pure-blood nobles.
As Slytherins, the young snakes' thirst for power far exceeded students from other houses.
Yet they didn't believe Wayne could teach them any real skills.
Take his training with Malfoy and Harry—while effective, once one mastered the Shield Charm, the margin for error increased significantly. They could achieve similar results through self-practice.
As for powerful magic...
Their families already possessed extensive magical, even Dark Magic legacies. Wayne was just a Muggle-born wizard.
Even if he knew some powerful spells, they doubted he'd be willing to teach them.
Except for a certain naive white-haired first-year...
"Wayne, here's the tuition fee."
By the Black Lake, Astoria and Daphne, carrying heavy backpacks, found Wayne, who was fishing.
"What tuition?" Wayne didn't immediately understand.
From his pocket, Jerry had already emerged, jumping into Astoria's backpack to frolic.
"To learn duelling techniques from you," Daphne said with a smile. "This is three thousand Galleons—tuition for me and my sister."
Wayne fell silent.
Had he become openly transactional now?
The Mixed-Up Life of a Would-Be Troublemaker Who Somehow Became a Gold-Medal Instructor.
"Wayne... you're not thinking we're too stupid, are you?" Daphne asked nervously upon seeing Wayne's silence.
"No, it's not that. I just don't want to spend too much time on this."
Wayne shook his head. While points were important, turning his happy school life into work for the sake of points would be counterproductive.
Astoria tugged at Wayne's sleeve, pleading pitifully: "Please, Wayne. I want to become strong, to protect Mum and my sister in the future."
"Why not protect your father?" Wayne asked.
Both girls' expressions darkened simultaneously.
"Dad's already dead."
"My apologies." Wayne rubbed Astoria's head remorsefully.
Among all the heads he'd patted, Astoria ranked second.
First place went to Gabrielle, because the little girl would cooperatively nuzzle against his hand—exceptionally endearing.
"Fine, just two hours then." Wayne sighed. "Saturday afternoons each week?"
Seeing him relent, Astoria and Daphne were overjoyed, nodding repeatedly.
As he accepted the backpack full of Galleons, the system's notification sounded—instantly crediting fifteen thousand points.
Combined with his existing five thousand, Wayne's point reserve suddenly surpassed twenty thousand.
Unfortunately, the five thousand Galleons Mrs Greengrass had sent as thanks previously hadn't converted to points.
A truly terrible loss.
"Astoria, what does your family do to be this wealthy?"
Wayne calculated—the Galleons obtained from the Greengrass family alone approached ten thousand. That much money wouldn't come easily, even to the Malfoy Family.
Astoria showed no caution at all, foolishly revealing her family's financial foundations: "The Greengrass family holds shares in Floo-Powder Ltd, so we'll never be short of money. You needn't worry."
Wayne looked astonished.
'Bloody hell, that's a golden goose.'
Floo-Powder Ltd was Britain's sole licensed producer of Floo Powder. As the most common mode of magical transportation, Floo Powder consumption was undoubtedly massive – even the perpetually cash-strapped Weasleys kept substantial reserves year-round. With such a monopoly, it'd be strange if the Greengrass family ever lacked funds.
Wayne suddenly recalled that Madam Greengrass was also the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation at the Ministry of Magic – likely connected to their Floo Powder shareholding.
'But, young lady, what exactly did you mean by that last remark?'
'Why should I feel reassured just because your family's wealthy?'
...
After seeing off the two young heiresses, Wayne resumed fishing.
An hour later, having caught nothing, he finally carried his empty bucket back to the castle.
"Tom, come out and do my homework."
[Young Master Potter, you've come at last.]
Tom's handwriting appeared hurriedly, clearly having waited impatiently for 'Harry'. Since their discussion about Voldemort's mistakes, Tom had developed a peculiar fondness for debating such topics with 'Harry' – particularly enjoying his critiques of the Dark Lord and hearing perspectives he'd never encountered.
[We haven't finished last time's discussion. Shall we continue?]
"Help me with homework first. It's due tomorrow."
Resigned, Tom obediently began completing Wayne's assignments. Fortunately, the diary had been created during his sixth year, containing memories from when his academic knowledge peaked – equivalent to a Muggle A-level student. Had this been the future Voldemort, much knowledge would've been forgotten.
Even so, Tom spent two and a half hours completing History of Magic, Potions and Herbology assignments. Most of the energy he'd painstakingly tricked from 'Harry' was expended on this labour.
As the ink magically transferred from the diary to the parchment, Wayne smiled and patted the diary's cover approvingly. Such a useful tool hardly deserved to be destroyed.
[Young Master Potter, may we discuss my questions now?]
"Of course," Wayne wrote cheerfully. "Where were we?"
[Primary and secondary contradictions.] Tom remembered precisely.
"Ah, yes." Dipping his quill in special ink, Wayne wrote: "This is crucial. We must identify friends from enemies, uniting all forces that can be united to achieve ultimate victory."
[That's precisely what Voldemort did – uniting pure-blood wizards. Why did he fail?]
"Tom, you're thinking too narrowly."
"Voldemort treated all non-pure-bloods as enemies, spreading terror and alienating potential allies. But his true opponent was only Professor Dumbledore. Had he defeated him, the rest would pose no threat."
"Had he adopted this approach, perhaps my parents wouldn't have joined the Order of the Phoenix initially, because the nature of the conflict would've been fundamentally different."
"It's merely a power struggle between two powerful wizards, not a threat to their safety."
"I reckon Voldemort studied too much Dark Magic and addled his own brain, making enemies everywhere."
Tom: [...]
However reluctant he was to admit it, from a rational perspective, 'Harry Potter' wasn't wrong at all.
Who were his enemies?
Only Dumbledore.
So why drive countless insignificant people into Dumbledore's camp to oppose him?
He should be winning them over to strengthen his own forces.
No.
Tom jolted awake from his thoughts.
[Young Master Potter, Professor Dumbledore's allies are all Muggle-born or half-blood wizards. Their ideals clash with Voldemort's—they're not cut from the same cloth.]
"This circles back to what we discussed earlier. As a leader, one shouldn't judge a person's worth by their lineage."
"Between a Muggle-born wizard capable of crafting the Philosopher's Stone and an utterly mediocre pure-blood wizard, which would be more useful to Voldemort?"
Tom answered without hesitation.
[The one who can make the Philosopher's Stone, of course. But—]
"There you have it. Only when the wizarding population grows will more talents emerge."
"You must distinguish between primary and secondary contradictions, as well as their interconnections."
[Young Master Potter, could you elaborate...]
Wayne sighed, stretched, then resumed scribbling in the notebook.
'Oh, Voldy.'
'I'm handing you everything I've ever learned—don't let me down now.'