Hogwarts: Please, Just Graduate Already!

After Wayne arrived, he instinctively frowned as well. He was just about to open the window when Quirrell came in. "No, no, don't open it. This is fine, this is fine."

"Professor, I came here for a lesson, not to absorb poisonous gas," Wayne said unhappily, and a few little witches and wizards had already started laughing.

But they quickly covered their mouths.

They weren't afraid of being discovered and reprimanded by the professor. It was because after Quirrell entered, he brought with him such a strong smell of garlic that the classroom's stench became even more unbearable. "I, I encountered... encountered an Inferius in Africa and was cursed. I can't be exposed to the wind," Quirrell stammered in explanation, pointing at the scarf around his head.

"Th-this was a gift from the king... king's son of a tribe." An Inferius?

Quite a few little witches and wizards became interested.

Inferius, also known as the living dead, was a name that resounded like thunder throughout the wizarding world. They were mysterious religious creations.

Every Inferius was a living corpse, a mindless, soulless walking corpse. Their offensive power wasn't particularly strong, but they had all kinds of uses.

They were essential sacrifices for Dark wizards practicing the Dark Arts in actual combat.

"Professor, how did you subdue the Inferius?" Justin Finch-Fletchley raised his hand and asked.

"Th-that has nothing to do with this lesson." Quirrell avoided the question. "Turn to page three of your textbooks. Today we'll be learning how to avoid kappas..."

"Come on, Professor, tell us about your experience." Hannah pressed him again, but Quirrell ignored her and began lecturing in a vague, muddled voice.

How should one put it?

He was even worse than Professor Binns.

Although Professor Binns's voice was hypnotic, at least he enunciated clearly enough to serve as a bedtime story.

But Quirrell stammered so badly that he couldn't even read smoothly. And if anyone wanted to sleep, the smell in the room made it impossible.

For a time, the lesson everyone had been looking forward to most—Defense Against the Dark Arts—became two full hours of torture. Wayne raised his hand.

"L-Lawrence, do you, do you have a question?" Quirrell asked. "Professor, there is indeed a problem, and it's a very big one." Wayne rose to his feet. "I understand Professor Binns reading from the textbook, but if you're going to read from the textbook too, what are we supposed to learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Are we supposed to wave our textbooks around and beat a kappa to death with them?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts is obviously supposed to teach us spells. Could you tell us how to use the Banishing Charm?"

His words received strong support from the students, who began talking over one another. Quirrell was frightened and stammered out an explanation that he wanted everyone to master more knowledge first, and that he would teach them spells later.

In fact, he did teach them.

After enduring an hour, Quirrell wrote the incantation for the Banishing Charm on the blackboard. Then he ended the lesson.

Wayne spoke up again. "Professor, why don't you demonstrate it for us?" Quirrell hemmed and hawed for a long while before refusing on the grounds that it was too dangerous. Everyone became even more dissatisfied. What danger could there be in a Banishing Charm?

Seeing that the situation was slipping out of control, a few tears actually squeezed from Quirrell's flickering eyes. He hugged his textbook and ran, leaving behind a group of stunned little witches and wizards. Wayne was dumbfounded too.

He had only wanted to farm some points. How had he ended up making someone cry?

Wayne had been at the school for almost a week. On the one hand, he was getting familiar with the school; on the other, he hadn't found a suitable opportunity to farm points.

The other professors all deserved his respect, and he couldn't bring himself to deliberately cause trouble just for points.

Quirrell was the only exception. That fellow was deliberately pretending to be incompetent and was Voldemort's human vessel. Wayne felt no guilt at all about bullying him.

In the short span of one lesson, he had already farmed more than a hundred points. Wayne had been planning to strike while the iron was hot and rest once he reached two hundred. Who could have expected Quirrell's tolerance to be so poor that he would actually run away? Where was the justice in that?

There were no secrets at Hogwarts. What happened in class spread immediately, and the first people to hear about it were the students from the other two first-year houses. "You really made Professor Quirrell cry?"

At lunchtime, Hermione dragged Wayne over to the Gryffindor table and asked curiously.

"What's wrong with these two?"

Wayne didn't answer Hermione. He looked at Harry and Neville beside her. Both had vacant gazes and numb expressions, as though they had been thoroughly broken.

"Don't even mention it!"

Ron angrily set down his knife and fork. "In Potions just now, Snape chased Harry around like a Bowtruckle. He asked him a bunch of things we haven't even learned yet, and when Harry couldn't answer, he took two points from us."

"Granger's hand was raised all the way to the ceiling, but he still couldn't see her. Is he blind or something?"

Hermione shot him an unhappy look.

What did he mean, raised to the ceiling? Was he calling her a long-armed monster? So they'd had Potions.

Wayne wasn't surprised at all now. Instead, he was surprised that Snape had only taken two points from them. That was far too few.

"I do have a way to help you suffer less harassment," Wayne said after pondering for a moment.

Harry's eyelids twitched, and he looked over involuntarily. "Coach, I want to learn."

"Ahem." Wayne put on an air of profound wisdom. "When Snape was asking you questions, were you staring at him the whole time?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

This is a master. He even knows that?

"That was where you went wrong." Wayne shook his head. "Think about it. When you dislike someone and they stare right back at you, they're obviously refusing to submit. What would you do?"

Harry pondered. "I'd get angrier and angrier."

Wayne slapped his hands together. "Exactly. The next time you encounter a situation like that, lower your head and sincerely admit your mistake. No matter how angry the professor is, there's nothing he can do when your attitude is so good."

Harry's eyes grew brighter and brighter. At last, he said gratefully:

"Thank you, Wayne. Otherwise, I really wouldn't have known what to do."

"Don't mention it." Wayne smiled gently. "Remember, never make eye contact with Snape."

After saying that, he drifted away once the system notified him that he had gained fifty points.

Thanks, Snape, old buddy, for sending over a big scoop

Watching Wayne's retreating back, Hermione grew suspicious.

She had the feeling that the fellow was plotting something behind the scenes, but she had no proof, so she could only lower her head and continue eating.

There were no classes that afternoon. The little witch planned to spend the entire afternoon in the library finishing all her homework, then use the weekend to preview the lessons to come.

Over the past week, Hermione's top-student demeanor had become impossible to miss. In every class, she had more or less helped Gryffindor earn points, except in Potions.

But she was still under tremendous pressure, and the reason was Wayne.

Judging by their performances in class, the two were actually about equal. But Hermione knew that Wayne was definitely hiding a great deal.

In Transfiguration, she could only make a match slightly change its color and material. Although Professor McGonagall was pleased, she had also told Hermione that Wayne had succeeded on his first try.

Hermione knew that the reason she was performing so well now was entirely because of her diligence, along with a reasonably good memory.

But what about Wayne?

When the two of them were in the library, that fellow only read miscellaneous books. He also often slipped away to play Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap with his classmates.

He looked even more carefree than Harry and Ron.

The last time she had caught Wayne demonstrating a wandless Healing Spell for Cho, it had been a skill that many adult wizards couldn't master.

Pure talent crushing someone was what made it so despairing. Hermione knew that she could only work harder if she wanted to catch up with Wayne.

He was hiding his abilities too deeply.

If Wayne knew what Hermione was thinking, he would definitely have cried out that he was innocent. I'm not hiding anything!

After arriving at Hogwarts, Wayne had never considered lying low and slowly developing. The wizarding world was relatively peaceful, and displaying more talent would earn him the professors' favor.

It would also mean lighter punishment if he caused trouble in the future.

The main problem was that first-year students only learned this much. Any reasonably capable student could master it, like Hermione now.

There was no way for his talent to stand out.

Did he have to go straight to a professor and perform a five-spell combo?

Unaware that Miss Granger had already classified him as a scheming old fox, Wayne came to the Potions classroom in the basement after lunch.

A week was enough for the little witches and wizards to learn something about the school's teachers, especially a professor as "distinctive" as Snape.

By twelve fifty, the classroom was already packed with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students.

No one dared to speak loudly, and many people kept glancing nervously toward the door. Wayne sat at a table with Hannah. Honestly, he wasn't worried. He wasn't a Potter, nor was he a Gryffindor student. Snape had no reason to target him.

At exactly one o'clock, Snape stepped through the classroom door without being a second early or late.

He strode in so quickly that he stirred up a breeze, his robes billowing behind him like those of a walking bat.

"Put away those useless wands." Snape's voice was deep and magnetic, yet it gave off a sinister chill. The little witches and wizards obediently did as he said.

Like Professor Flitwick, Snape pulled out a roll book and began calling attendance. Every student whose name was called quickly and cautiously answered, afraid that being half a beat slow would bring a reprimand.

"Precise timekeeping is an essential foundation for brewing Potions. I'm pleased to see that no one is late."

Snape spoke slowly. It was clearly supposed to be praise, but more than one person saw something in his eyes.

Disappointment?

"You are here to learn the precise science and strict craft of Potion-making. Since you will not be waving your wands foolishly, many of you will not believe this is magic.

"I do not expect you to truly understand the beauty of a gently simmering cauldron, breathing out white smoke and sending fragrant aromas drifting through the air. You will never truly comprehend the marvelous magic that can flow through the human veins, enchant the mind, and cloud the will... I can teach you how to enhance your reputation, brew glory, and even stop death!"

It was an extremely stirring opening speech. Quite a few people were already lost in longing, their faces full of anticipation.

While Snape wasn't paying attention, Wayne secretly curled his lips.

The speech was indeed quite good. As far as oratory went, he would call Snape the second-best in the wizarding world, surpassed only by Grindelwald.

Brew glory, stop death.

Anyone would have thought Snape was going to teach them how to make the Philosopher's Stone. If he could really stop death, why hadn't he saved Lily? Well, he couldn't say that. If he did, he could guarantee that the next second, a flash of green light would come from the tip of Snape's wand.

"Lawrence!" Snape suddenly called out.

Wayne froze for a moment, but his body instinctively rose to its feet.

"If I wanted to make Herbicide Potion, besides lionfish spine powder and Flobberworm mucus, what else would I need?"

"Horklump juice, sir."

"How many ways are there to make Revive Potion?"

"Three: extraction, boiling, and grinding it into powder."

"I need a Bezoar. Where would you look for one?"

"In a cow's stomach, though there are many cultivated artificial products nowadays."

"What is the procedure for treating the porcupine quills used in Scabbers' Potion?"

"Cut them into three-centimeter lengths, then make a diagonal cut every centimeter."

"Tsk." Snape stopped questioning him. "Compared with Mr. Potter, you are indeed somewhat more deserving of your name."

The other little witches and wizards were already dumbfounded. They understood every word spoken by the two of them.

But when the words were put together—

Because of the quarantine room, okay?

"What are you looking at? Is the material we just discussed written on my face? Start taking notes!" Snape suddenly exploded, and the students hurriedly began writing.

"And you. Do I have to invite you to sit down?"

"You're too kind, Professor." Wayne curled his lips and sat down on his own. Who knew what had gotten into Snape? He had suddenly called Wayne's name. And it hadn't been random. He had definitely done it on purpose.

Those questions had basically gone beyond the syllabus. They were absolutely not things first-year students needed to learn. It had clearly been premeditated.

What Wayne didn't know was that Snape had heard Professor McGonagall speak of Wayne's talent—he had been able to summon a Patronus the moment he got his wand.

That spell held special significance for Snape, so he naturally remembered Wayne's name.

Today's test had also been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Snape had wanted to make things difficult for Wayne while deducting a few points from Hufflepuff.

Because of Wayne and Cedric's outstanding performances, Hufflepuff's score had now surpassed Slytherin's.

His only regret was that Wayne had passed the test. Why couldn't he be like that stupid Potter?

Snape glanced at Wayne's unchanged expression and waved his hand. The procedure for making Scabbers' Potion appeared on the blackboard.

"The ingredients are in the cupboard. Work in pairs. If I catch anyone wasting materials, I will make them eat the excess."

All the little witches and wizards shuddered in unison.

Hufflepuff Doesn't Keep Idlers

There was only ever a wrong name, never a wrong nickname.

Snape had truly transformed into a giant bat, prowling through the classroom. No one knew whose back he would appear behind the next second.

"Bones, is there something wrong with your eyes? You can't read the words 'snake fangs' written in such large letters? Why are you using boar tusks!"

"Laughing, Carter? What are you laughing at? You don't understand what 'grind into powder' means? Is the powder in your house as big as peas?"

Hannah, who was working with Wayne, shuddered and silently reprocessed the snake-fang powder.