Hermione had never found Snape so pleasing to look at before.
Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were fuming. Who's his lackey? We're Wayne's friends!
Wayne didn't care and kept smiling cheerfully:
"Professor Snape, you're such a good person… it's just a shame you have a mouth."
Snape's face darkened even more.
"Professor McGonagall—" Hermione lowered her head, her voice heavy with guilt.
"This is all my fault, because I—"
"No!" Ron interrupted her. "They were all looking for me. I was the one who wandered off and ran into the troll. Luckily, Wayne and the others saved me."
Such a weak excuse was something Professor McGonagall would never truly believe.
There was obviously more to the story.
But when she saw the determined look in Ron's eyes, McGonagall hesitated for a moment before saying,
"Mr. Weasley, your recklessness will cost Gryffindor five points."
Snape gave a dissatisfied snort.
"Professor McGonagall, there's clearly—"
Halfway through his sentence, he noticed Wayne subtly holding up one finger… then quickly signaling a three.
Wayne then held up another finger.
Snape immediately changed his tone:
"Since most of the students involved are from your House, I won't comment further."
McGonagall glanced at him in surprise. A moment ago, she'd thought Snape felt the punishment wasn't harsh enough.
Still, since even Snape had no objections, the matter was settled.
She truly didn't want to shave off any more points from her already struggling House.
"As for you, Mr. Lawrence—your courage and kindness earn Hufflepuff twenty points."
"All right, now off you go to your common rooms. The students are still enjoying the Halloween feast."
Wayne shot Snape a meaningful glance before leading Harry, Ron, and Hermione out of the bathroom.
Before leaving, Ron took his broken wand—now in two pieces—with him, planning to patch it up with Spellotape.
Hermione clung tightly to Wayne's hand. The boy looked a little helpless but followed them toward the Gryffindor Tower.
Halfway there, Hermione suddenly spoke:
"I'm sorry, Ron. I was too impulsive this afternoon. I apologize to you."
"And thank you for taking the blame for me just now."
She even bowed formally, leaving Ron completely flustered.
"No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have said those hurtful things. The spells you taught me were all correct—I was just too prideful."
"Oh, and… Wayne definitely likes you more than he likes Cho Chang from Ravenclaw."
Hermione's face turned red. Wayne smacked Ron on the head.
"Shut up. Why are you always talking about my gossip?"
Having just seen Wayne suffocate a troll to death, Ron obediently lowered his head after the slap.
"My bad, Wayne."
"This is settled then. No more bringing it up—ever," Wayne said decisively.
No one objected.
Glancing at Ron's broken wand, Wayne asked:
"What are you going to do about it?"
Ron gave a bitter smile. "I'll just make do for now. If I tell Mum, she'll send me a Howler for sure."
Hermione was about to speak when Wayne stopped her.
"How about this—I'll lend you the money. You don't have to pay me back.
But… for the rest of the term, you'll do my Astronomy and History of Magic homework. We'll call that payment. Deal?"
Ron nodded eagerly.
A wand cost at least seven Galleons, and those two subjects didn't have much homework.
Skipping a few rounds of Wizard Chess was all it would take—he'd practically hit the jackpot.
"Thanks, Wayne!"
"No need to thank me," Wayne said as the four of them continued walking toward the Tower.
"This is a fair trade."
When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Ron and Harry went in first.
Hermione lingered behind, clearly wanting to talk to Wayne alone.
The young witch fiddled with her fingers, stammering:
"About what Ron said earlier… about Cho… Don't take it seriously. He was talking nonsense."
Wayne smiled and patted her head.
"I know. I'm only in first year—haven't thought about any of that messy stuff.
But… is everything really fine between you and Cho? You two haven't talked in ages."
"Of course we're fine," Hermione said defensively. "I've just been busy lately.
The day after tomorrow—I've already arranged to go to the library with Cho."
"That's good. I'll take you two somewhere that day."
Wayne didn't bother figuring out whether Hermione really had plans with Cho or was just trying to patch things up.
As long as they didn't fight so badly that he had to waste energy mediating, it was fine.
"Thanks for today," Hermione said, hugging him.
The scent of shower gel mixed with a hint of milk filled his nose, but before he could savor it,
Hermione blurted out the password and quickly slipped into the Gryffindor common room.
In the Headmaster's office—
Snape, limping slightly, sat before Dumbledore.
"There's no movement on the fourth floor for now. Quirrell hasn't gone there."
"Thank you for your efforts, Severus. Is your leg injury serious? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore asked with genuine concern.
"No need to trouble yourself. I can handle it," Snape replied curtly, taking out a small crystal vial with visible care.
With trembling hands, he carefully dripped two drops onto the bloodied wound—then quickly straightened up, as though afraid of wasting even a single extra drop.
A miracle occurred: the moment the liquid touched his wound, the injury began to heal rapidly, vanishing entirely in just a few seconds.
Dumbledore watched with interest. "So these are the tears of Ho-Oh? The effect is indeed far stronger than Fawkes'."
"That's only their most basic application," Snape said, his expression unreadable. "You have no idea what these tears truly represent."
"And what is that?" Dumbledore asked, humoring him.
"Hope."
Snape tightened his grip on the vial, carefully putting it away before continuing:
"You're aware of what happened in the girls' bathroom, I presume?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Minerva just left a moment ago. Mr. Lawrence executed a remarkable Water Prison."
"Wandless casting," Snape emphasized deliberately.
"Are you… afraid?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"Don't test me again, Severus. I have always placed the highest trust in Mr. Lawrence.
There's something you don't know—perhaps it will ease your suspicions.
Mr. Lawrence treats the Restricted Section like his second bedroom. Yet when it comes to books on the Dark Arts, his interest is minimal at best.
He will not become the next Dark Lord."
And what about the next White Lord?
Snape almost voiced the thought, but after weighing the complexities of the old man before him, he chose instead to change the subject.
"If you have such faith in him, then about Potter…"
Dumbledore's smile slowly faded, replaced by a long silence.
At last, he spoke:
"This is Harry's destiny. No one can take his place.
And I… can only offer as much help as I can."
~~----------------------
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