Hogwarts: Please, Just Graduate Already!

He was so furious he nearly spat blood.

Today, Harry had torn open his wound again. If there had not been so many little wizards around, he would have rushed over and punched Harry, knocking out one of his teeth too.

Harry retorted, "I don't want to knock out all your teeth and leave you unable to eat."

Of course, he would not agree. If Wayne was not there on Friday night, he, Ron, and Neville would be completely doomed.

The best outcome would be getting caught by Filch. The worst outcome—

They would probably become food for the Three-Headed Dog. One head for each of them; they would not even need to fight over it.

"Coward." Seeing that Harry would not take the bait, Malfoy snorted, turned around, and ate without bothering with them.

Harry was about to mock him again when a familiar, unpleasant voice came from behind him. "Potter, doesn't Gryffindor have its own place to eat?"

"No, Professor." Harry turned around, forcing himself to remain calm. "I was just greeting my classmates."

When Snape saw the injuries on Harry's face, his gaze sharpened. After two seconds of silence, he said:

"Lying to a professor. Five points from Gryffindor."

"Potter, you had better pray I do not catch you fighting again, or you can crawl back to Privet Drive."

With that, Snape drifted away like a giant bat that operated in daylight. Harry watched his retreating back with disgust.

"Sometimes I really wonder whether I stole his girlfriend or something, for him to hate me this much."

"You're more than twenty years apart." Ron mercilessly mocked him. "More likely your dad stole his girlfriend."

"Enough. Go eat."

Harry nodded, preparing to return to the Gryffindor table with Ron. By chance, he saw Wayne had actually gone to the High Table and was saying something to Snape, who had just sat down.

"Professor, these are the materials you wanted."

Wayne handed over a paper bag with a pained expression.

To gather those tears, he had sweet-talked Ho-Oh until he was practically sick yesterday, barely managing to scrape together two small bottles.

If Snape dared to hold back, Wayne swore he would make him drink Love Potion mixed with Umbridge's hair someday!

Whoosh!

The movement was so fast it nearly left an afterimage. Before Wayne could react, his vision blurred—

Snape had already put the items away.

He even revealed a rare smile.

Snape had used the materials Wayne gave him over the weekend, and the results had been astonishingly good.

Especially the Rebirth Potion he had brewed. After Phoenix Tears had been added, it underwent changes that even he could not understand.

After studying it for the entire weekend, Snape finally confirmed that Wayne's Phoenix was extraordinary.

Take Fawkes, for example. Its tears did indeed possess powerful healing properties, but they were merely healing properties.

But Wayne's Phoenix—

Snape could not be certain yet, because there had not been enough time.

However, based on deductions from the information currently available, Ho-Oh's tears contained immense vitality.

Even someone who was not injured could gain a longer lifespan after using them, perhaps even return to youth.

What the hell did that mean? This was practically an upgraded Philosopher's Stone! No, what kind of trash was the Philosopher's Stone?

It could only grant immortality and could not stop aging. Nicolas Flamel would probably fracture his ribs just by sneezing now.

But if one relied on Phoenix Tears... not only would one live forever, one could remain at the absolute peak of physical condition forever!

Snape no longer dared to use these two bottles of tears casually.

He felt that none of the Potions formulas he knew were worthy of using such tears.

"Come to my office tomorrow night," Snape instructed in a voice as soft as a mosquito's buzz. Wayne gave him an OK look.

However, everyone at the High Table was now watching the two of them. Especially after seeing Snape actually smile, even Professor McGonagall found it unbelievable.

"Mr. Lawrence, what were you discussing with Professor Snape?"

As Head of House, Professor Sprout had the greatest right to ask, and she had no intention of beating around the bush.

"Um, Head of House, I just felt that I was too poor at Potions and wanted Professor Snape to give me some extra lessons."

Wayne lowered his head awkwardly. "I just gave the professor some materials for class."

As he spoke, he took out a jar of Ho-Oh droppings for his own Head of House to use as fertilizer, then gave one feather each to Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall.

Professor Sprout beamed with delight. She did not know how fertile Phoenix droppings were, but this was her first time using them.

At once, her gaze toward Wayne became even gentler. "Then I won't stand on ceremony. If you ever need any plants, come to me."

A talented, diligent, obedient little wizard was truly too rare.

There was Cedric in third year, and Wayne in first year.

Sprout seemed to see an era belonging to Hufflepuff approaching.

Having accepted gifts, they naturally had to do something in return. McGonagall and Flitwick also smiled and told Wayne that he could come to them with any problems he encountered during his studies.

"Mr. Lawrence." Dumbledore, who had remained silent all this time, spoke up. He let out a disappointed sigh.

"Surely you haven't forgotten this old man?"

Wayne froze. "Professor, don't you already have Fawkes? Do you still need these materials?"

"Of course I do." Dumbledore blinked. "Every Phoenix is unique, especially when yours is a 'Ho-Oh,' isn't it?"

Recently, Ho-Oh had often gone with Fawkes to Old Dumbledore's place to mooch food and drink. Even Snape could detect something unusual, let alone him.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore was not an expert in Fantastic Beasts. He could only sense Ho-Oh's strength and uniqueness from a magical perspective and could not obtain more useful information.

But that was fine. He had already written to an old friend and asked that expert for some advice.

Since the Headmaster was openly asking for a bribe, Wayne naturally could not refuse. He took out another feather and handed it to Dumbledore.

The old man gently stroked it for a while, feeling its warmth in his hand before smiling and putting it away. He intended to mail it to that old friend later.

Feeling more gazes upon him, Wayne turned his head, a teasing smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"What, Professor Quirrell? Do you want some materials too?"

Quirrell hurriedly waved his hands. "N-no, I-I was just curious. C-can I see your Phoenix?"

"Of course..." Under Quirrell's expectant gaze, Wayne abruptly changed course. "No."

"Professor, if you teach us some useful spells in the next class, I'll call Ho-Oh back. What do you think?"

Other than McGonagall's slight frown, none of the other professors reacted to Wayne's brazen teasing of a professor.

Quirrell was simply doing far too poorly. All the little wizards had considerable complaints about him, and no one else could be blamed for that.

The professors also disliked this Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He constantly carried an unpleasant smell that made people uncomfortable.

Faced with Wayne's pressure, Quirrell only stammered that he would try and did not give a definite answer.

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. No one could make out his gaze in the reflective lenses.

Fourth floor, Quirrell's office.

After breakfast, Quirrell had no classes that morning, so he returned directly to his office.

Very few little wizards he encountered on the way greeted him. The looks directed at him were all contemptuous and disgusted.

Quirrell always responded by lowering his head and saying nothing. He shut the door and locked it.

He took out his wand again and cast several Trap Charms and alarm spells before approaching a full-length mirror and removing the turban all the little wizards had been curious about.

A face appeared on the back of his head. What kind of face was it?

Ashen, twisted, and forever wearing an expression of pain. The mere sight of it could make a child cry.

This was the tailed beast sealed within a Jinchuriki. Uh, Voldemort. If Wayne had been here, he definitely would have sighed.

He might have been ugly, but at least he still had a nose. Just look at what he would become later. "Master..."

Quirrell prostrated himself respectfully on the ground, allowing Voldemort's face to receive the sunlight.

"You fool! You can't even handle a first-year little wizard. Why did I ever choose useless trash like you?!"

Voldemort's scolding came in intermittent bursts and sounded very weak, but Quirrell was still so frightened that his body trembled as he softly defended himself.

"M-Master, I had no choice. If I acted too eagerly, Dumbledore would notice something unusual about me."

Voldemort sneered. "Do you think Dumbledore does not know you are my man?" Quirrell was shocked. "What? Then why doesn't he—"

"Expose you and drive you away?" Voldemort asked, his voice filled with malice.

"I know Dumbledore knows of my existence."

"Dumbledore also knows that I know he knows of my existence. I also know—"

"This is a balance, a game between him and me. But Dumbledore would never imagine that I, a wandering soul, would dare come to Hogwarts in person."

"In his eyes, you are probably just a poor fool bewitched by me!" Quirrell stopped trembling as well and said fawningly, "No, Master. I turned from darkness to light. Only after following you did I understand how hypocritical Dumbledore truly is."

"Then show your value! I have no need for useless trash!" Voldemort snapped.

"I need Phoenix Tears, especially tears from Lawrence's Phoenix!" Voldemort knew very well that his condition was too weak. Only through rare methods and evil rituals could he recover some strength.

And Phoenix Tears, even Phoenix blood, were among them.

That damned first-year little wizard mocked his servant every day, saying things so unpleasant that even he could not tolerate them.

What did he mean by pretending to be a professor? This was called hiding one's strength, damn it!

"Master, I will do my best." Quirrell hurriedly declared his loyalty. "I will definitely obtain Phoenix Tears for you and help you regain your strength."

At this point, he hesitated again. "Master, Snape used to be your subordinate. Why won't you let me ask him for help?"

"Snape?" Voldemort's voice was faint and eerie.

"He is indeed far more outstanding and intelligent than you." Quirrell lowered his head in shame, though he still felt a little unconvinced inside.

Voldemort continued, "But precisely because he is too outstanding, too exceptional, I cannot appear before him in my current state."

"Ten years have passed. I am no longer the Dark Lord I once was. Would an ambitious Slytherin like him still be willing to acknowledge me as his master?"

"If he betrays you..." A vicious glint flashed through Quirrell's eyes. "Then I'll kill him."

"Your life is not important, but if you expose my existence, even dying ten thousand times would not be enough!"

Voldemort said coldly, "You have one week. If you still cannot deal with that little wizard, you know the consequences."

With that, Voldemort closed his eyes to rest.

The strength he had accumulated was far too weak. Every extra word he spoke was wasting his life.

Quirrell carefully wrapped the turban around his head again, cold light flickering in his eyes. Wayne Lawrence.

"Wayne, stop bullying Professor Quirrell," Hermione quietly advised during History of Magic class. "He is still our professor, after all."

Wayne yawned and asked indifferently, "Then may I ask, Miss Granger, what exactly have you learned from this professor?"

After stammering for a long while, Hermione finally found a reason. "How to stay away from Vampires?"

"Heh, you really know how to make me laugh."

Wayne gave a false smile. "You would be better off learning how to deal with Vampires from me. No tuition required—just give me a half-hour massage."

"You're impossible." The little witch lightly smacked him and did not bring up Quirrell again.

She did not like the utterly useless Quirrell either. She had only advised Wayne out of respect for teachers.

In secret, Hermione had already written several letters of complaint to Dumbledore. Some were about Quirrell, some about Professor Binns, and some even complained that Astronomy class affected the students' sleep.

But Dumbledore only replied to one of Hermione's letters, telling her she could secretly sleep during Astronomy class since it was useless even if she learned it.

It infuriated the little witch.

At the front of the classroom, Professor Binns continued wielding his hypnotic magic.