Hogwarts: Please, Just Graduate Already!

Because it was too difficult, and there were too few places where it was useful.

"I'm a little interested in it," Wayne answered simply. "I can read during History of Magic, so at least I won't fall asleep."

Laughter erupted around him. The senior student who had asked the question was at a loss for words. "The Sorting Hat must have malfunctioned. You should have been sorted into Ravenclaw." "Nonsense!"

Wayne pointed solemnly at the three oversized sandwiches on his plate. "No one is more qualified to be in Hufflepuff than I am." The senior student said nothing and gave him a thumbs-up. "You're incredible."

Hmm?

After putting away his book, Wayne suddenly felt someone staring at him. He looked up to find Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and Quirrell, all watching him from the High Table.

When Quirrell noticed that Wayne had caught on, he hurriedly withdrew his gaze and began eating breakfast. The other two professors did not bother to hide it at all.

They even gave Wayne friendly smiles. Still, Wayne felt a chill crawl over his skin. Why were those two so fixated on me?

It was not until Charms class ended and Wayne was once again kept behind by a professor that he understood the root of the problem.

"Lawrence." Flitwick looked up at him kindly. "Minerva told me that you used six-stage Transfiguration yesterday."

"Today, I'd also like to test your limits. The conditions are the same as before."

"As long as you satisfy me, you won't have to do Charms class homework for the rest of the school year."

Potions Tutoring, an Encounter in the Restricted Section

Half an hour later, Wayne walked out of the Charms classroom looking slightly exhausted. Professor Flitwick had far too many demands.

As though he were competing with Professor McGonagall, Flitwick had required him to use spells at absurdly high levels of proficiency. Even then, he had seemed dissatisfied.

"Lawrence, your talent has been wasted far too much. Why haven't you even learned the Viper-Binding Spell?"

"I'll exempt you from homework, but you must master this spell before Halloween."

Wayne was practically coughing up blood.

This was material for sixth- or seventh-years, and it was incredibly obscure. Wasn't it perfectly normal that he had not learned it?

But in order to get rid of another subject's homework, Wayne still agreed.

The same scene played out again in Herbology. Professor Sprout was very pleased that he could remember so many herbs and their properties.

But she did not exempt him from homework.

Herbology already had very little homework. Simply writing essays was not much use; most of the work involved practical exercises in class.

When Hermione learned what Wayne had gone through that day, she felt both envious and dejected. Seeing the determined light in the little witch's eyes, Wayne understood. Hermione was about to become even more obsessed with studying.

Night fell, and the Hufflepuff common room was as lively as ever. Everyone enthusiastically shared homework and did their part to help each other fool the teachers.

When Wayne appeared, the common room fell silent for a moment. The Little Badgers watched him leave through the barrel door with the eyes of people seeing off a Champion.

Everyone knew Wayne was going to Snape for tutoring, and that it would continue until Christmas.

They all expressed their respect for his "brave" behavior. Potions class alone was already torturous enough.

The gloomy atmosphere, Snape's sharp tongue, and those foul-smelling potions. Put together, those factors had made Potions the most hated subject among young wizards, without question.

And Wayne was actually rushing off to extra lessons. Quite a few people were already worried about his mental state.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Inside the office, Snape was reading a newspaper. He did not even raise his eyelids at the sound of knocking. "Enter!"

The door opened, and Wayne walked in. Acting completely at home, he sat down in the only empty chair.

Seeing that Snape was reading the newspaper, he said nothing. He simply sat there and examined the furnishings in the room.

Snape's office was actually quite large, not much smaller than the Potions classroom. However, there was not much room to move around because it was filled with display cases and cabinets.

They contained all sorts of bottles and jars, holding everything imaginable. There were even several eyeballs and severed arms soaking in liquid, making the room look especially sinister.

But in Wayne's eyes, these were all money! Lacewing flies, six for two Galleons. Pufferfish eyes, four Galleons each.

African Tree Snake skin, thirty Galleons for a small strip.

Graphorn horn, one hundred and fifty Galleons apiece, and impossible to find on the market. Sure enough.

No Potions Master was poor. Wayne once again had the same thought he had had in the Headmaster's Office.

Rob the bastard.

Rumor had it that Snape had a dedicated storeroom for all kinds of ingredients. There might be even more good things there.

If he could clean that place out, he probably would not lack materials for the next several years.

"If anything goes missing, you will be the first person I look for." "Lawrence, put away those greedy eyes. You are here for class, not to stock up on supplies."

Snape's cold voice came from beside him. At some point, he had put away the newspaper and silently appeared next to Wayne.

"Professor, you misunderstand me." Wayne remained perfectly composed. "I'm a Hufflepuff. How could I possibly steal your things?"

"Still, are you selling that African Tree Snake skin? I've written several letters to Diagon Alley, but they've been out of stock the whole time."

Snape's breathing hitched for a moment before returning to normal. "You want it? Trade me Phoenix tears."

"Then forget it." Wayne shook his head. "Ho-Oh is my best companion, my first pet."

"How could a mere strip of African Tree Snake skin compare to her tears?" "You'll have to pay more!"

???

The sudden turn nearly made Snape throw out his back. But it was quickly replaced by immense delight. "Lawrence, name your price."

For many wizards, Galleons were necessities second only to wands. But to the truly powerful, they were merely numbers.

Those precious treasures could not be bought with Galleons at all. The Deathly Hallows, the Philosopher's Stone, the Pensieve. Or the Tears of the Phoenix King in Wayne's possession.

Perhaps to Snape, even the Deathly Hallows were not as valuable as the Tears of the Phoenix King.

"Talking about money is so vulgar." Wayne shook his head. "You are my professor. How could I charge you money?"

"I don't want much. We split any potion brewed with Phoenix tears seventy-thirty."

"Thirty percent?" Snape frowned. "No, that's too much. At most, I'll give you twenty percent." "Professor."

Wayne kindly reminded him, "The seventy percent is mine." Snape's face turned green with rage. I only get thirty percent?

Wouldn't that make me a beggar on my knees?

"Stop wasting time." To keep himself from firing a Jinx at Wayne, Snape stiffly changed the subject.

"Let me first see just how skilled Hufflepuff's little genius is at Potions."

Naturally, Snape knew that the other professors had taken turns testing Wayne.

However, Snape was not particularly shocked.

Who had not been a genius? Back in school, he had invented countless spells himself, including invisible Dark Arts magic.

Wayne did not hold anything back in response to Snape's questions.

In terms of pure theoretical knowledge, Wayne possessed a Memory Palace and could recite the origins and properties of countless materials as easily as if they were family treasures.

He had also memorized all sorts of potion-brewing techniques by heart.

After questioning him for more than ten minutes, Snape finally gave his evaluation. "You only know how to memorize blindly. You lack independent thought."

"The things in textbooks are all outdated rubbish. If you believe every word in them, your achievements in life will amount to no more than this."

Facing Snape's mockery, Wayne silently raised a middle finger in his heart. One day, I'll have you in the palm of my hand.

With a sweep of his broad sleeve, Snape summoned a blackboard covered in densely written potion-making instructions.

"Get the ingredients yourself. You may only take enough for one batch."

"You have two hours. I want to see a complete potion." "If you fail..."

Snape sneered without finishing the sentence, then returned to his seat and picked up a magazine.

After reading the contents on the blackboard, Wayne's mouth twitched.

Hatred Potion was a magical brew that brought out the worst side of whoever drank it. It was the complete opposite of Love Potion.

Wayne had seen this potion in Advanced Potion-Making. By classification, it was something only sixth- or seventh-years should be learning.

The brewing process was extremely complicated. Not only were the ingredient-handling requirements strict, but the potion also had to be stirred with a wand.

While stirring, he also had to release an appropriate amount of magic. Appropriate amount, small amount, a certain amount. Couldn't they use more precise measurements?

Was Snape deliberately using a difficult potion to discourage him?

Suppressing the urge to pull out his wand and have a Charms exchange with Snape, Wayne obediently went to collect the ingredients.

Salamander blood, Gryphon powder, Dragon liver, Dried nettles.

Following Snape's instructions, Wayne began processing the ingredients step by step. To avoid mistakes, he even transformed his wand into a ruler, measuring everything down to the millimeter.

This made Snape regard him more highly.

In Snape's mind, Potions should be a discipline that combined rigor with creativity, full of charm.

But before one could be creative, one had to thoroughly learn everything taught by people more capable than oneself before developing personal ideas.

Wayne did not get along with him particularly well, but he understood what was most beneficial to him. He was a hundred times better than Potter.

Was that not precisely the quality a true Slytherin should possess? Obey the strong, crave power, and become stronger.

Thinking of the pure-blood young wizards in his own House, who held themselves in high esteem despite having little real ability, made Snape's liver ache.

"The liquid must turn pale blue, and the bubbles must disappear before you add the Dragon liver."

Hearing the reminder, Wayne immediately stopped his hand. Once the final bubble had completely vanished, he decisively tossed in the Dragon liver to stir-fry it.

No, to brew it.

After two hours, the Hatred Potion had reached its final stage. With Snape's occasional reminders and corrections, there had been no mistakes in the earlier steps. Now only the final step remained: stirring while adding an appropriate amount of magic.

He had to use magic to fuse the medicinal properties of the various ingredients and complete the final product. This was also the hardest step.

How much magic to add and how quickly to stir the wand depended entirely on experience. Wayne could only control it cautiously, neither too fast nor too slow, relying on his instincts.

Bang!

Red smoke burst out and swiftly filled the entire office. Snape frowned and waved his wand. "Scourgify!"

A breeze dispersed the smoke, and Wayne stopped moving.

The Hatred Potion was now a dark red like blood. It did not look like anything good.

Snape came over to inspect it. He even inserted his wand into the potion, then said with some dissatisfaction,

"All that effort for nothing!"

"You had no problems with the earlier steps. Why did you add so much magic at the end?"

"It can only be considered barely passable."

In Snape's mind, an imperfect potion had no value at all. With a flick of his wand, he disposed of the potion in the cauldron as though it were rubbish. Wayne spread his hands helplessly. "Professor, I couldn't do anything about it. Perhaps what counts as an appropriate amount of magic for you should be a small amount for me?"

"If you let me brew it again, I'll definitely do better."

After saying that, he even shook his head in distaste. "Sigh, having too much magic isn't always a good thing."

Hearing such an outrageous boast, Snape's chest heaved with fury. He squeezed out two words through clenched teeth.

"Class dismissed!"

After being thrown out, Wayne walked through the empty corridor.

He did not plan to return directly to the common room. Instead, he headed for the Hogwarts Library on the second floor. Snape had just mentioned several books, along with the potion he needed to brew in the next lesson.

Wayne remembered that the library had two of those books, and they were even kept in the Restricted Section. Old Dumbledore really was something else.

Books that could be bought outside had actually been classified by him as Restricted Section material. When Wayne reached the library entrance, he stopped. There was someone inside?

He had wandered the castle at night many times and encountered plenty of young wizards elsewhere. Some went to the kitchens, some played with the suit-of-armor statues on the fifth floor, and some went to the towers to flirt.

There were even people who played Quidditch in the middle of the night.

But this was the first time he had encountered young wizards wandering at night in the library. After casting a Silencing Charm on the door, Wayne pushed it open and entered. He wanted to see which House's young wizards were so studious. "Fred, George?"

When he saw the two sneaky figures in the Restricted Section, Wayne cried out in surprise.

Hearing someone call their names, the twins jumped in fright.

They had been about to run, but the voice sounded familiar. Fred asked tentatively, "Wayne?"