Fifteen minutes later, a satisfied Wayne left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and headed to the Great Hall for lunch.
As soon as he sat down, a line of text appeared out of thin air on his plate:
"Lawrence, would you mind having afternoon tea with a lonely old man? I'll be waiting for you in my office after class."
The handwriting slowly faded after Wayne read it twice, as if it had never been there at all.
He looked up and saw Dumbledore at the staff table give him a mischievous wink.
Wayne got the message and nodded subtly in return.
No idea what old Dumbledore was up to this time—why so mysterious?
Still, Wayne decided to agree. He had originally planned to take Cho and Hermione to see the Chinese Chomping Cabbage at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
That would have to wait.
After finishing lunch and informing the two girls, they were actually quite envious.
Afternoon tea with the Headmaster? Aside from Wayne, they couldn't think of anyone else who'd ever received such an honor.
"You two put Dumbledore on too high of a pedestal," Wayne laughed. "Just relax a little—he's really just a lively old man."
Cho rolled her eyes.
That's Dumbledore! The legendary wizard who appeared in textbooks and magical history records.
The greatest white wizard of the century.
How could anyone possibly treat him like a regular person?
Afternoon: Potions Class
Snape was wearing his usual scowl as he laid out the lesson plan.
That morning, Gryffindor's points had finally hit zero—but Snape's rage still hadn't cooled.
Every time he looked at Wayne, he remembered what that little brat had said in the Headmaster's office to egg Dumbledore on.
"Ingredients placed in the wrong order. Hufflepuff, minus five points!"
Wayne casually swapped the toad bile and puffskein fur.
Losing points just meant gaining favor elsewhere. He was more than happy for Snape to get dramatic and dock him a few hundred.
"Lawrence." Snape said in a voice only the two of them could hear,
"Did you give Ho-Oh's tears to Quirrell?"
He had overheard the Hufflepuff students gossiping before class and learned what had happened that morning.
Wayne blinked innocently. "Ho-Oh's got conjunctivitis lately. So I gave him Fawkes' tears instead."
"Pfft!"
Snape couldn't help but burst out laughing. Hannah looked up in surprise, thinking she'd misheard.
"What are you looking at? Look at your cauldron!" he snapped.
"Lawrence! Keep your tagalong in check. Hufflepuff, minus five points!"
He switched faces in an instant and stormed off to another group. Hannah pouted, and Wayne quickly comforted her—then flipped Snape the finger behind his back.
After losing a total of twenty points, class ended.
Wayne didn't linger and headed straight to the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
"Lem–"
Before he could even finish the password, the stone gargoyle moved aside.
"Hurry up, hurry up, I don't want to see you," it grumbled.
"I almost got buried in mail because of you the other day!"
Wayne chuckled, gave the stone beast a pat on the head, and entered the office.
On the desk was a tower of desserts and fine teacups filled with steaming hot tea.
"Professor."
Wayne didn't bother with formality—he walked straight over and sat opposite Dumbledore, greeted him, took a bite of cheesecake, and sipped some tea. Utterly at ease.
Dumbledore's eyes were full of warmth as he watched Wayne enjoy the treats.
He really did enjoy spending time with students like this.
But most students were far too respectful—so much so that they acted overly cautious in his presence.
Only Wayne treated him like a normal old man.
After a piece of cake and a cup of tea, Wayne had restored a good bit of energy.
"Professor, did you call me here for something in particular?"
He knew full well this wasn't just about tea.
"Oh, right!" Wayne suddenly smacked his forehead like he'd just remembered.
"Hold on—before we get to that, here's a spell Professor Quirrell gave me this morning. I can't really understand it. Could you take a look?"
He casually tossed out an excuse—he couldn't have it seem like he suspected Quirrell.
Dumbledore sat up straight when he heard this and began examining the spell on the parchment.
About ten minutes later, he suddenly picked up his wand and began to chant.
Zzzzt!
A small web of lightning appeared in mid-air and quickly dispersed.
Only then did Dumbledore smile and return the parchment to Wayne.
There was nothing wrong with the spell.
"A fine bit of magic. Lightning-type spells are already quite rare nowadays—this must be something Quirrell uncovered from some ruin."
"With your talent, you'll master it in no time."
He then began explaining his own understanding and a few casting techniques.
Wayne listened with full focus. As expected of Dumbledore—he'd already figured out so many nuances in such a short time.
Wayne quickly managed to cast the spell as well.
To keep an ace up his sleeve, he had deliberately suppressed the decree of the Thunder Lord.
Even so, Dumbledore was impressed.
"Mr. Lawrence, you're the most outstanding student I've ever met—perhaps even the most outstanding this school has ever seen."
Once upon a time, he had used these very words to describe Voldemort. But in Wayne's case, even Voldemort seemed to pale in comparison.
"Professor, you flatter me," Wayne lowered his head modestly. "Compared to you, I still have a long way to go."
When it came to white magic, Wayne was confident that his talent had already surpassed old Dumbledore.
But in terms of dark magic…
The old man before him was far from being the kind of wizard who only knew white magic. His talent in the dark arts was just as formidable.
After all, this was a dark magic master recognized by none other than Grindelwald—the original Dark Lord.
After some mutual praise and flattery, Wayne took advantage of Dumbledore's good mood to ask him a series of questions.
Tutored by Voldemort in the morning, coached by Dumbledore in the afternoon…
With two Dark Lord-level teachers, Wayne was like a thirsty sponge, absorbing their knowledge and experience without end.
Only after an entire period had passed did he remember that Hermione and Cho were still waiting for him. He gently steered the conversation back on track.
"Right, about that thing..."
Dumbledore finally spoke of the reason he had called Wayne in.
"You gave me a few feathers from Ho-Oh before—quite different from Fawkes's, I must say."
"I'm no expert in magical creatures, so I passed one along to an old friend of mine."
"He's deeply knowledgeable about magical beasts—perhaps even the most accomplished in the field."
"Today I received a reply. He was quite astonished as well, and even wrote a letter addressed to you, which he asked me to pass along."
With that, Dumbledore placed the letter before Wayne.
Even though no name had been mentioned, Wayne had already guessed who this old friend was.
A Pokémon Master.
cough!
A magical creature expert. A legend from Hufflepuff.
The man most loathed by the original Dark Lord himself—
Newt Scamander!
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