Wayne couldn't help but feel a bit sentimental.
Unknowingly, he had already been living at Hogwarts for almost two months.
When a person gets busy, time really does fly by.
These two months at Hogwarts had been the most fulfilling he'd ever experienced—far more interesting than any Muggle school.
Perhaps because the holiday was approaching, starting this week, the professors' lessons more or less began to incorporate Halloween elements.
Transfiguration class.
Professor McGonagall handed each student a mouse, instructing them to turn it into a pumpkin.
Wayne glanced at his own mouse—it looked sluggish and lifeless. He poked Ron, who was sitting in front of him, with his wand.
"Something wrong, Wayne?" Ron turned his head in confusion.
"I feel like my mouse isn't very smart. Why don't you lend me Scabbers?"
"Scabbers is my pet, not a prop," Ron instantly became defensive. "Besides, he's still in the dorm, I didn't bring him."
"Oh, I see." Wayne sounded disappointed. "Then maybe next time you can lend him to me? I'll even rent him—one sickle a day."
Hearing such an outrageous price, Ron's interest was clearly piqued.
One sickle a day—that's nearly two galleons in a month. For him, that was a small fortune.
But after weighing it against his attachment to Scabbers, Ron painfully shook his head and refused.
Harry asked curiously, "Wayne, why are you so interested in Scabbers?"
Wayne replied matter-of-factly, "The lifespan of a normal mouse is one to three years. Scabbers has been alive for over ten years now, hasn't he? Of course I want to study such a long-lived rat."
Oh, right.
Harry realized the oddity as well. Wayne was right—he had never noticed it before, but why was Scabbers still alive?
Sensing his best friend's curiosity, Ron hurriedly explained, "Scabbers is a wizard's pet—he's not the same as normal mice."
Harry shrugged. "But you've said yourself, he's just an ordinary rat. No magical creature blood in him."
"Well…" Ron was at a loss for words.
"Maybe Percy fed him some kind of potion? You know, Scabbers used to be Percy's pet."
"Never mind, if you don't want to, I won't force you." Wayne said casually. "But if you ever need money, you can come to me—just remember to bring your rat."
With that, he went back to fiddling with his own droopy mouse.
Herbology class.
This week's Herbology lesson wasn't held in the greenhouse.
Braving the cold wind, Professor Sprout led the students to Hagrid's vegetable garden.
It was a pumpkin patch, and the pumpkins were ready to be harvested. Each vine bore two or three golden pumpkins.
The students' task wasn't just to harvest them—instead, they had to make the already large pumpkins even bigger.
Professor Sprout took bottles of potion from a large basket she'd brought and handed one to each student.
"This is Swelling Solution," she explained. "It can enlarge the size of the pumpkins.
"Be careful—you must drip it exactly onto the center of the stem. That way, it'll expand evenly. And whatever you do, don't use too much.
"One drop at a time, wait until it's done expanding before adding the next drop."
She warned them, "Last lesson, a Gryffindor poured half a bottle onto a pumpkin—two students almost got crushed to death. So be careful."
A wave of quiet laughter spread through the class.
Whenever Gryffindors got their hands on something, strange things always seemed to happen. No one was surprised anymore.
Wayne uncorked his bottle and sniffed it, his face darkening.
"What's wrong?" Hannah—who was practically drooling at the pumpkins—noticed his reaction and wiped her mouth before asking.
In just two months at Hogwarts, the girl had already put on some weight.
"It's nothing," Wayne forced a smile. "Just thinking the potion quality is pretty good."
Of course it was good—he'd brewed it himself.
So that's why Snape had suddenly asked him to make some simple Swelling Solution the other day… turns out the man had just been using him as cheap labor.
Silently, Wayne made another note in his mental ledger against Snape.
It had always been him exploiting others—he hadn't expected to be exploited by Snape.
One day, he was going to hang that man from a lamppost.
By the time class was nearly over, the pumpkin patch was packed full—every pumpkin had grown to two or three times its original size, each as big as a millstone.
Pumpkins treated with the swelling solution were technically edible, but the taste became unpleasant, and they were hardly filling.
Fortunately, these pumpkins were meant purely for Halloween decorations, not for the students' stomachs.
Well… perhaps Hannah might not be able to resist taking a bite.
Professor Sprout awarded five points each to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, on the grounds that no one had caused trouble during class.
That was the power of a control group—
With Gryffindor's example in mind, simply behaving well had become a reason for extra points.
"Mr. Lawrence, please stay behind for a moment,"
Sprout called out to Wayne in the crowd.
"Professor, do you need something?"
"Help me bring these pumpkins to the storage room."
As she spoke, Sprout levitated half the pumpkins into the air.
Wayne copied her, levitating the other half—without even taking out his wand.
"Perfect Levitation Charm—Hufflepuff earns ten points," Sprout said with a wide smile. "That's from Professor Flitwick, by the way."
Lately, Wayne had stopped answering questions in class—or rather, even when he did, the professors rarely awarded him points.
Every time they looked at him, they had the strange impression of a graduate coming back to take first-year classes.
Giving him points just felt… awkward.
This was Sprout's way of finding an excuse to make it up to him—after all, she certainly didn't need help moving a few pumpkins.
Once they were in the storage room, Wayne bid his Head of House goodbye, grabbed a quick lunch, and headed to the Potions classroom.
His earlier good mood vanished instantly—Snape had a way of pouring cold water on the happiest of days.
Over the Halloween weekend, none of the professors had assigned homework. Even Quidditch practice was suspended.
Only he had assigned three essays after class, each corresponding to a potion they had studied earlier.
Wayne didn't have to write them himself, but Snape had given him a "special task": he was to make sure every Hufflepuff's essay passed perfectly.
The moment Snape saw him reach for his wand, he drifted away like a bat.
October 31st — Halloween night.
From the moment they woke, the corridors were filled with the rich aroma of roasting pumpkin. The ghosts were more lively than usual.
In the Hufflepuff common room, the Fat Friar gave an impromptu sermon, urging the young witches and wizards to join the Church and believe in the almighty God—
Unfortunately, no one seemed particularly interested.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick decided they could begin making objects fly.
After watching him send Neville's toad soaring around the classroom in a panic, the students were filled with eager anticipation.
Each was given a feather. Wands waved, incantations mumbled.
"Wayne, what are you writing?"
Hermione had just succeeded in keeping her feather floating for a few seconds before letting it drift gently back down.
Only then did she notice Wayne beside her, not practicing magic at all, but writing a letter.
"Oh, some of my clothes have gotten small," Wayne replied casually. "I'm planning to order two new sets from Madam Malkin's."
"Do you need any? If you don't know your size, the shop will send over a magical measuring tape. You just send it back with the payment and order form."
Eleven or twelve was the prime age for growth spurts.
Wayne had already grown three centimeters in the two months since school started, and his once-fitting robes were now a bit short.
"I don't need any," Hermione shook her head, sounding like a little housekeeper as she lectured him.
"It's only been two months and you're already buying new robes—why not just order a size bigger? That'll save you quite a bit of money."
Wayne sighed as he finished writing the last line of his letter, tucking it into his pocket with a look of regret.
"After all, I'm so poor that all I have left is money. There's nothing to spend it on at Hogwarts, and now you want to take away even this small joy of mine?"
Hermione was momentarily lost for words.
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