Harry's recent days had been particularly wretched.
Though Wayne had publicly defended him, proving his innocence to many, attitudes towards him remained altered.
Until the true culprit was found, Harry remained the prime suspect.
Always first at the scene. Hearing voices no one else could. Everywhere he went, Harry's peculiarities drew suspicion.
In Gryffindor, even if some believed he wasn't the murderer or the heir to the Chamber of Secrets, people still instinctively kept their distance when everyone else was avoiding him.
His dormmate, Dean Thomas, was the perfect example – he hadn't spoken to Harry for three days.
Driven nearly mad by the strange looks, Harry couldn't take it anymore and sought out Wayne.
Even knowing it would be financially ruinous, he was prepared to pay any price.
"Harry, this isn't about money," Wayne sighed regretfully after hearing his troubles.
"Name your price, Wayne," Harry remained unmoved. "Anything to change my current situation."
"No, this truly isn't about money," Wayne said seriously.
Harry stared at the boy as if seeing a ghost.
He could hardly believe these words came from Wayne's mouth. Had he been cursed?
"What I mean is, you can't afford the price," Wayne added.
Tom couldn't be caught – at least not now.
Even if Harry emptied his family vault, Wayne wouldn't change his stance.
Harry exhaled in relief.
Good. This was the Wayne he knew.
There were only prices Harry couldn't pay, nothing Wayne couldn't accomplish.
"Then don't solve it for me – just give me some solutions?" Harry adopted a roundabout strategy. It would be troublesome, but undoubtedly cheaper.
Wayne considered before answering: "There is and isn't one."
Harry was equally concise: "Speak plainly."
"Five Galleons."
"Deal." Harry gritted his teeth.
Ron gaped beside them.
How much?
Five Galleons?
His entire seven years' worth of pocket money gone just like that?
"Harry, all you can do now is play dead," Wayne said solemnly. "Wait patiently for the next attack. With enough witnesses around you, suspicion will naturally clear."
Harry pressed urgently: "What if there are no more attacks?"
"Wouldn't that be ideal?"
Wayne shrugged. Honestly, he thought Harry cared too much about others' opinions.
With Gryffindor's temperament, once suspicion took root, only the most irrefutable evidence could change their minds.
Even Dumbledore had inherited this trait.
Knowing full well Tom was no good egg, yet clinging to hope.
Only when Tom became Voldemort did he finally abandon illusions and properly form the Order of the Phoenix to resist. Typical.
But precisely because the old headmaster was like this, Wayne could grow unchecked.
Had it been someone like the Third Hokage or Danzō, he'd have transferred to Beauxbatons long ago to curry favour with half-Veela girls.
Seeing that even Wayne had no good solutions, Harry left in despair.
Before departing, he bought a vial of Draught of Living Death from Wayne, planning to sleep through the weekend and avoid the gossip.
"Remember to come for evening tutoring," Wayne reminded before parting ways with them and disappearing into the Forbidden Forest.
...
Inside the briefcase.
Gardevoir guided dozens of flowers into pre-dug holes while small shovels, floating nearby, buried the soil.
Each time a flower was planted, a Pixie-Sprite would happily nestle into its petals.
Wayne and Nagini watched this harmonious scene from a nearby vine swing.
The serpentine woman couldn't help but smile contentedly.
In her past life, all she had ever dreamed of was a peaceful and stable existence.
But the times hadn't allowed it—the wizarding world had been in turmoil, descending into chaos.
After barely escaping Dark Wizards who coveted her blood curse, she had encountered the ambitious Grindelwald, until the curse finally consumed her completely.
Thankfully, all those nightmares were over now.
Yet... Nagini's eyes dimmed slightly as she turned to the boy beside her.
"Wayne, when do you plan to deal with Voldemort?"
Now, the only thing troubling her was the Dark Lord.
The mere thought that she had helped him cling to life for over a decade made her sick to her stomach.
"Tom?" Wayne mused, swaying gently on the swing. "No rush. Let's see how far he can go—he's still useful to me."
He couldn't explain the real reason to Nagini—that he needed Tom's antics to earn greater system rewards—so he could only reassure her: "Nagini, as long as all his Horcruxes remain intact, Voldemort can never truly die."
"Even if you destroy Tom Riddle's Diary, it's just one Horcrux gone. He'll still survive, and might even become harder to deal with."
If Voldemort could be killed so easily, Dumbledore wouldn't have let him escape the castle last year.
Well, no—the old man had tried, but failed.
In this world, to destroy something neither alive nor dead, one must first obliterate every last Horcrux.
You could say Voldemort had no vision, no charisma, and was downright ugly (post-resurrection).
But when it came to survival tactics and the sheer desperation for immortality, he was unparalleled in history.
"I was too impatient," Nagini murmured guiltily.
"It's fine," Wayne chuckled. "Voldemort and I aren't enemies. The world doesn't revolve around the Dark Lord."
"We'll live our lives. Someone else will deal with him—no need to worry too much."
Nagini stared at him in bewilderment.
You practically turned him into a fool in your first year, and you claim you're not enemies?
"Something wrong?" Wayne noticed her confusion and stopped the swing.
"I just enjoy messing with him. Never said I wanted him dead—how does that make us enemies?"
"People like Dumbledore and Harry are the ones he should really be fighting."
Nagini: "..."
What a novel way to define enmity.
...
By the time Gardevoir finished transplanting all the flowers, the garden was filled with fragrance, the air fresher than before.
"Good work, Gardevoir. Go fetch Astoria, then you can rest."
"Gardevoir!"
Gardevoir nodded and vanished with a pop.
Not long after, she reappeared with Astoria in tow.
"Wayne." The wealthy little girl must have been sleeping earlier, as she could barely keep her eyes open and was swaying unsteadily.
"Should you go back to sleep for a bit?" Seeing her like this, Wayne could only ask.
"No, I don't want to." Astoria suddenly became alert and shook her head vigorously.
"I want to play with Lulu."
Among all the magical creatures in the case, her favourites were the three Unicorns, and she got along best with the most lively one, Lulu.
Wayne didn't stop her, summoning all the Unicorns over.
While Lulu frolicked on the lawn with Astoria and Diana, he busied himself grooming the docile Hestia.
By noon, the tired young girl stood delicately before Wayne.
"I'm hungry. I want something delicious."
"Always thinking about food." Poking her forehead lightly, Wayne still had Gardevoir prepare a meal.
After eating, Astoria reluctantly lay down on the bed for treatment.
It wasn't that she didn't want to recover, but the process was simply too painful.
"Wayne." Astoria looked at him pitifully. "Can you be gentler? I'm scared it'll hurt."
"Just bear with it for a while," Wayne comforted her as if speaking to a child.
"The pain is only temporary. You'll feel much better afterwards."
"You're lying. It always hurts so much."
"You'll get used to it. The fact that it still hurts means you haven't adjusted yet. This time might be more painful since we've delayed treatment for too long."
Using the Body-Bind Curse to immobilise the still-protesting Astoria, Wayne began the merciless... treatment.
Outside the room, Nagini shook her head sympathetically upon hearing the girl's screams.
Both bore blood curses—though with different effects—so she couldn't help but commiserate. Hearing Astoria's suffering brought back memories of her own painful experiences.
That had been truly agonising...
...
Meanwhile, Harry was discussing with Ron how to escape their current predicament.
Wayne's suggestion was the safest but also the most time-consuming approach.
There was another path—identifying the true heir who had opened the Chamber of Secrets and informing Dumbledore.
This would not only clear Harry's name but also earn Gryffindor substantial house points.
However, the two boys had some self-awareness.
Knowing their intellectual limitations, they decided to seek external help.
The ever-helpful Miss Granger couldn't stand fools—their stupidity practically killed her.
After Harry's plea, Hermione sacrificed her precious study time to devise a strategy for them.
"Finding the culprit directly is unrealistic."
Hermione's opening remark felt like a critical hit, making Harry glum, though the young witch hadn't finished.
"But the Chamber should still be discoverable."
"If we find the Chamber, identify what's hidden inside and eliminate it, even Slytherin's heir couldn't continue causing trouble."
Harry, Ron, and Neville—who'd been dragged along as extra support—nodded repeatedly.
Logical and convincing.
"So do you know where the Chamber is?" Neville asked hopefully.
"If I knew, why would I be telling you?" Hermione rolled her beautiful eyes. "I'd have told Wayne already."
"Can't go siding with outsiders either," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Telling Professor Dumbledore would earn us loads of points. Maybe Gryffindor could even win the House Cup this year."
"Don't dream on," Hermione said flatly. "Go look at the points board. Gryffindor's score isn't even a fraction of Hufflepuff's."
"This isn't the time for that discussion."
Harry quickly steered the conversation back on track. "Hermione, where should we start if we want to investigate the Chamber of Secrets?"
Scratch scratch scratch!
Pulling out a piece of parchment, Hermione sprawled across the table and filled an entire page.
"Read all these books, and we might get somewhere."
Hogwarts: A Castle Guide, Secrets of the School You Never Knew, From Founding to the 18th Century, Five Turbulent Centuries: A Chronicle of Major School Events...
The densely packed list contained dozens of titles, making Harry and Ron's scalps prickle and their voices go squeaky.
"We have to read all these?"
"And we still might not find anything useful?"
"Obviously," Hermione said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "The Chamber is such a well-kept secret that most books only mention it in passing. We'll have to compile all the information to get anything concrete."
Harry gulped but pocketed the parchment and stood up.
"You're really going to read them?" Ron gaped at him.
"We have to find the Chamber, or I'll go mad," Harry said through gritted teeth, noticing how no other students came within ten metres of him except Hermione and the others.
Seeing his determination, Ron reluctantly followed suit. For all his flaws, when not being an idiot, Ron was fiercely loyal.
The two left the common room and headed to the second-floor library.
Before they could enter, they spotted a familiar platinum-blond head up ahead.
Their faces twisted in identical expressions of disgust.
As if sensing their presence, Malfoy turned just as he was about to enter.
Over time, Malfoy had developed a peculiar talent: wherever he and Harry shared a space, he could locate him with uncanny speed.
"Ah!"
Malfoy let out a theatrical shriek, trembling exaggeratedly. "P-P-Potter, I'm a pureblood! Don't you dare target me!"
"Malfoy!" Harry's eyes burned with fury as he noticed the odd looks from the surrounding students.
"Why call my name, Potter? Have you already marked me?" Malfoy feigned terror, though his smirk betrayed him. Nothing delighted him more than making Potter miserable.
"Harry, don't," Ron hastily grabbed Harry's raised fist. "Too many witnesses. Professor McGonagall will murder you..."
The mention of Professor McGonagall forced Harry to rein in his temper.
He took a deep breath.
"Let's go!"
Ron hurried after Harry, confused. "I thought we were researching? Why leave?"
"I've got a better idea," Harry said quietly. "Instead of books, we'll ask someone directly."
"Malfoy knows something. When I bumped into him near Mrs Norris, he was only shocked for a second before looking smug. He's definitely up to something!"
Ron looked horrified. "Could he be the Heir?"
"No way, that idiot couldn't possibly be the Heir," Harry scoffed. "If Salazar Slytherin chose him as his heir, he might as well have picked me."
"I get what you're saying," Ron nodded. "But why are we in the bathroom?"
"I've observed Malfoy's movement patterns," Harry adjusted his glasses, the lenses flashing.
"That git visits the toilet constantly. He'll be here within half an hour."
Ron looked baffled.
'What kind of things do you normally pay attention to?'
The two boys squeezed into a cubicle, leaving the door slightly ajar as they pressed against the entrance.
Just as Harry predicted, within fifteen minutes, Malfoy strolled in, humming a tune.
He was undoing his belt as he walked.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances before carefully pushing the bathroom door open and creeping up behind Malfoy.
The moment he began relieving himself, Harry grabbed...
His wand!