Late into the night, long after the castle had gone quiet, Wayne's two roommates were still bursting with energy, debating tirelessly.
They were brainstorming ways to get Snape to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
They eventually came up with seven or eight different schemes before going to bed, feeling thoroughly satisfied.
Only then did Wayne finally get a moment to check the series of system notifications that had been chiming in his mind all day.
Ever since the Hufflepuffs sent out the letters, a stream of messages had started appearing on the system interface:
[Host's presence is now being felt. Hogwarts is experiencing the delight of chaos. Major event triggering…]
[Ding! Major Event: "The Power of House Hufflepuff" has been established. Final reward will be based on influence and outcome.]
[Ding! Chain Quest "The Fallen Professor" activated. Reward determined by the level of Quirrell's downfall.]
[Note: "The Power of House Hufflepuff" is the first major event since system upgrade. Final reward will receive a 10x bonus multiplier. Please continue spreading brilliance in this dull~ world.]
Wayne was no stranger to these so-called major events. In fact, most of his previous points had come from completing events like these.
Not only were the point rewards generous, but the final bonuses from major events were particularly lucrative.
And this time, the system had even added a 10x critical multiplier. The rewards were bound to be extraordinary.
Unfortunately, Wayne knew that Quirrell most likely wouldn't be leaving Hogwarts, which meant the final payout would be slightly reduced.
Still, contentment brings happiness.
That minor disappointment flashed briefly in Wayne's mind before quickly vanishing.
With the 10x multiplier, he was already well ahead.
As for the second quest, it was practically a freebie—he just needed to ensure Quirrell's downfall was particularly tragic to maximize the reward.
He glanced at the current point total on the system panel.
Though the event hadn't fully resolved and the final reward hadn't yet been issued, his points had skyrocketed by over 2,000 in just a single day.
And clearly, the ripple effects of the event were still unfolding. Tomorrow promised another round of gains.
Wayne decided to hold off spending any points for now, waiting until the event fully concluded and rewards were finalized.
As Wayne had predicted, the fallout from the event continued to spread the next morning.
His little scheme had seemingly flipped some strange switch in Hogwarts.
Gryffindor's seats in the Great Hall were nearly empty that morning, and Quirrell was nowhere to be seen.
Word had it he'd called in sick.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape, in high spirits, confidently taught two Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that morning. But by lunchtime, he had been summoned to the Headmaster's office—alongside Professor McGonagall.
The two reappeared half an hour later, both wearing stormy expressions.
McGonagall pulled a small bottle of potion from her robe pocket and downed it in one gulp.
"Professor Snape, would you care for some?"
"It's from Madam Pomfrey. Helps with chest tightness and heart palpitations."
"No, thank you," Snape declined coldly. "If you could keep those reckless fools in check, it'd be more effective than any potion."
And with that, Snape turned and walked away without another word.
McGonagall gritted her teeth—not at Snape, but at her own group of… idiots.
They'd reported Snape. Not just one or two students.
Nearly the entire house.
When she saw the stack of letters Dumbledore handed her, McGonagall wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and disappear into it.
Did they really think Snape was on the same level as Quirrell?
Not only was Snape the youngest Head of Slytherin in its history, with strong ties to numerous pure-blood families, but his mastery of Potions was second to none. If they dismissed Snape, could Hogwarts realistically find another Potions Master of his caliber?
This wasn't even close to the same as Quirrell, who could do little more than recite textbooks.
Because of these reasons, even though the professors were all aware of Snape's favoritism toward Slytherin, no one ever made a fuss.
So the Gryffindors reporting him? That was a massive miscalculation.
Snape, never one to forgive a slight, retaliated immediately—deducting exactly 66 points from Gryffindor.
Why such a specific number?
Because that's all the points they had left.
To save face for Professor McGonagall, he'd even left them with a mercy buffer of five.
Well, there was a Potions class with Snape the day after tomorrow. Those five points probably wouldn't survive that long anyway.
Looking at the nearly empty hourglass on the scoreboard, the Gryffindor students were devastated.
"And you're still smiling!"
Hermione furiously pinched Wayne. To her, he was clearly taking pleasure in their misfortune.
If it hadn't been for him starting the whole thing, the others wouldn't have followed suit and written complaint letters as well.
This guy was nothing but a walking disaster.
"Hey, hey, hey—no hitting!" Wayne dodged her smooth, delicate little hand. Pretty or not, a pinch still hurt.
"I'm just happy for you all, honestly."
"Look, there are no points left. With nothing to lose, you're free—Snape can't even target you anymore, right?"
Wayne made it up on the spot, not expecting anyone to actually believe him.
But the Weasley twins lit up, exchanging glances before bursting into mischievous grins.
"Looks like we're free now, George."
"Indeed, Fred. Time to show them what we're made of."
Hermione was dumbstruck.
What kind of House had she been sorted into?!
Useless at everything—except getting into trouble!
On the fourth floor, inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts office—
Under the cover of a soundproof barrier, Quirrell lay trembling on the floor, emitting shrill cries of agony and pitiful groans.
"Master, please—have mercy, Master!"
"Spare me just this once! I only acted as you commanded—deliberately holding back!"
"Who could've guessed that Lawrence would be so bold, dragging so many others into reporting me!"
Right now, Quirrell hated Wayne Lawrence to the core.
If it hadn't been for him, he wouldn't have been punished by the Dark Lord. Now, he was like a rat in hiding, afraid to show his face anywhere and forced to hole up in his office.
"So... you're saying this is my fault?" Voldemort's voice hissed menacingly in Quirrell's mind.
"No, Master!" Quirrell hastily tried to explain:
"It's all that Lawrence's fault! That filthy Mudblood ruined your plan!"
"All I see... is your incompetence," Voldemort growled.
Quirrell screamed again as excruciating pain tore through his body, a punishment that lasted for what felt like ages. By the end, his robes were drenched in sweat.
"I don't care how you do it. Get me dragon's blood, mandrake essence, and Doxy venom—now."
"W-what do you need those for?"
"Hmph. Dumbledore is sure to summon you for questioning. I must conceal myself even more deeply to avoid his detection."
Voldemort absolutely refused to leave Hogwarts—not until he got the Philosopher's Stone.
Quirrell dared not delay. He disappeared through the fireplace in his office and left the school.
Spending all his savings—and even robbing a few Dark wizards in Knockturn Alley—he barely scraped together enough gold to purchase the ingredients Voldemort demanded.
After a sleepless night, Quirrell returned to Hogwarts.
It wasn't long before a knock came at his office door. Snape's voice drifted in:
"Quirrell, I know you're in there. Dumbledore wants to see you."
Outside the door, Snape had a curious glint in his eyes. He was eager to see how Quirrell would deal with this—and whether the professor might finally reveal his true colors.
Two minutes later, the door creaked open. Quirrell stepped out, his expression calm and composed.
"Let's go then, Professor Snape."
Snape frowned slightly. "I thought you said you had the flu?"
"Thanks for your concern," Quirrell replied smoothly. "I bought some medicine yesterday—feeling much better now."
Snape gave him a cold, snaky smile. "If you ever need potions, come to me. Free of charge."
"No need, I can manage," Quirrell cursed inwardly.
Asking you for medicine? Who knows what strange things you might've added to it—like Veritaserum, for instance.
~~----------------------
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