That evening, Harry and Malfoy engaged in an exceptionally fierce brawl.
Both brimming with pent-up fury, the overly civilised duel of wandfire no longer sufficed.
As one, they discarded their wands and charged.
Malfoy's suffering far exceeded Harry's. He nearly recycled his own bodily fluids, fighting with utterly reckless abandon.
At first, Harry managed to dodge a few punches by being more agile, but once his glasses were knocked off, the tide turned decisively against him.
Wayne had no idea what prescription Harry's glasses were, but it was clearly strong.
The fact that Harry had mistaken a nearby table for Malfoy and kicked it hard enough to yelp in pain was proof enough.
Wayne made no move to intervene.
Harry was his friend, but he wasn't exactly on bad terms with Malfoy either.
Around others, the little dragon acted like he owned the place, but in front of Wayne, Malfoy was surprisingly well-behaved.
He had no reason to take sides—this was a private matter between the two of them.
Besides, if he did step in, he might end up displeasing both.
Who knew? Maybe this was their unique way of bonding.
By the time it was nearly nine, Wayne decided enough was enough and called a halt.
What a win—not only had he gotten a free WWE show, but he was also getting paid for tutoring.
He was the real winner here.
Harry fumbled around for a while before finding his glasses, then repaired the lenses with a spell and put them back on.
Glaring at Malfoy, he growled, "Today was just an off day for me. Next time, you're done for."
"Bring it on. I'm not scared of you," Malfoy shot back, wiping a bruise from the corner of his mouth, riding high on his victory.
"If you're going to fight, don't do it during tutoring hours," Wayne interjected.
Watching the show was fun once or twice, but it would get old fast.
"I took your money, so I'm going to make sure you both improve. Otherwise, what happens to my reputation?"
"Next week, we're doing proper training."
Hearing this, the two reluctantly nodded, silently agreeing to settle things privately later.
After they left, Wayne quickly summoned Hermione.
The young witch hurried into the classroom, puzzled.
"What's so urgent?"
"How did Gryffindor lose all those points?" Wayne asked curiously.
Professor McGonagall's expression earlier had nearly made him burst out laughing—he'd never seen her look so awkward.
"Weren't we still over a hundred ahead?" Hermione was even more confused.
"Here's what happened." Wayne recounted the events in the Headmaster's Office, emphasising McGonagall's embarrassment.
By the time he finished, Hermione was so furious her hair seemed to float, making Wayne wonder if she was about to have a second magical riot.
"How could they do that?!" she shrieked. "I told them to look up information, not torture it out of people!"
"That's not the point," Wayne said, pulling her into a hug. "You're already in last place—a few more or fewer points won't make a difference."
"The real question is, I remember Gryffindor having over two hundred points before we left. How did we end up losing points instead of gaining any?"
Normally, house points tended to increase gradually.
Apart from Snape, most professors awarded points generously—for answering questions in class, for well-written homework, and so on.
Deductions were usually just two or three points at a time.
Five points were a serious matter.
Snape had been away with him for nearly a month. Gryffindor should've gained a hundred points easily, not lost any.
That was what really puzzled Wayne. Something must have happened again.
"It's those twins again," Hermione said irritably. "They sneaked into the Forbidden Forest and got caught."
"That's not even the worst part. They slaughtered all of Hagrid's roosters. Professor McGonagall docked them fifty points."
'Roosters?'
Wayne's mind stirred.
"But that still shouldn't warrant such harsh punishment?"
"Right, originally it was just fifty points, and the matter would've ended there. But Fred and George insisted they didn't kill the roosters and refused to admit it. Professor McGonagall got so angry she docked another fifty points, hence the current situation."
'There's a real chance they didn't do it.'
Wayne silently mourned for the twins. No wonder those two troublemakers had been so listless lately – they'd been wrongly accused.
The rooster killings were almost certainly Tom's doing.
The Basilisk had virtually no weaknesses, except for one thing it feared above all else – the crowing of a rooster.
The twins just happened to be in the Forbidden Forest when they got caught, linking the two incidents together.
Why do they always end up taking the blame?
How unfortunate...
"Don't be upset. This just means you've hit rock bottom. Every day from now on will be an improvement – isn't that something to celebrate?"
The young witch huffed and punched Wayne, who was making light of the situation, before standing up from his embrace.
"I'm not talking to you anymore. I'm going back to study."
"Go on then. Tomorrow I'll check your recent progress. If I'm not satisfied, you won't get the brain-machine interface."
"I know," the young witch planted a kiss on Wayne's cheek before darting out of the classroom.
...
On Monday, when the Gryffindor cubs noticed the House Points board, they nearly thought they'd been zeroed out.
The remaining ten points might as well have been nothing compared to the other Houses' scores.
Some thought there must be an error with the board and went to Professor McGonagall, only to receive confirmation.
"The points were deducted from Potter and Weasley. There's no mistake – this is their deserved punishment."
All hell broke loose then.
Professor McGonagall refused to explain the reason for the deduction, leaving ample room for speculation.
Some claimed Harry and Ron had destroyed a school treasure, causing significant damage that warranted wiping out their House points.
Others said they'd been caught sneaking around at night during this dangerous period, just like last term, except this time without dragging Malfoy down with them.
But most speculation centred around the Chamber of Secrets.
The professors must have found evidence that Harry and Ron had opened the Chamber, and mere point deductions were lenient punishment.
When the two heard this rumour, they desperately tried to explain, but when pressed for details, they couldn't provide satisfactory answers, which only deepened everyone's suspicions.
Finally, Wayne stepped forward: "I know why the points were deducted that day, but it involves school confidentiality. Everyone should stop asking."
Only then did the uproar subside.
During that day's Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall – who hadn't awarded Wayne points for classroom performance in ages – unexpectedly gave him twenty points as thanks.
She'd promised Malfoy not to reveal what happened, so even she couldn't defend Harry and Ron.
Any attempt might backfire.
Only Wayne could intervene in this way and have students respect his authority.
Because those who didn't would find themselves hanging from the ceiling.
...
By dinnertime, the Great Hall was bustling with activity once more.
A middle-aged man was shouting rudely in Dumbledore's face, his words extremely crude.
Dumbledore remained calm, but both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall beside him were visibly furious.
"Who's this?" Wayne had arrived late and didn't know what was happening, only thinking this fellow was quite bold.
Did he really think Dumbledore had no temper?
"Smith's father," Cedric explained for him. "He found out about Smith being petrified and came demanding answers."
Wayne suddenly understood.
No wonder Dumbledore remained silent - they were indeed in the wrong.
If Grindelwald had been Headmaster instead, this Mr Smith would have departed this world very peacefully.
"By the way," Cedric remembered something, pulling two letters from his robe.
"These just arrived by owl. I was going to give them to you in the common room. Why's there one in Japanese?"
"Friends from the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship," Wayne took the letters.
One was from Cassandra, the other from Sakura.
As for Fleur, they video-called daily and rarely wrote letters unless sending physical items.
"Both from girls, right?" Cedric smirked suggestively. He hadn't opened them, of course, but the elegant handwriting on the envelopes revealed the senders' gender.
"Correct, they're girls."
"Tsk tsk tsk." Cedric continued his insinuating tone until Wayne shot him a sidelong glare.
"Stop being disgusting. What's wrong with letters from girls? Haven't you received any?"
"Yeah, what's wrong with letters from girls?" Cedric suddenly lost his smile. Abandoning the spectacle, he wandered out of the Great Hall looking utterly dejected.
"What's wrong with him?" Senior Grace asked in confusion as she entered and saw his state.
"Nothing. I tore open an old wound. Don't mind him - hurry and watch the show."
Dumbledore getting scolded? This was a rare sight indeed.
...
A full half hour later, Mr Smith was finally escorted off school grounds by Professor Flitwick under Dumbledore's smiling gaze.
This only thickened the already heavy atmosphere.
It was then that Lockhart stepped forward.
"Don't worry, I'll change all this."
"You think you can catch whoever opened the Chamber of Secrets?" Snape's eyes flashed with disdain.
"No, though I do have some leads that require more time - I must keep them confidential," Lockhart beamed brilliantly. "But I promise, I will find the culprit!"
He declared with supreme confidence: "My specialities are capturing attention and erasing unpleasant memories."
"No one is more professional than I am."
"Hmph," Snape sneered. "We'll see about that."
The other professors similarly dismissed Lockhart's words. No one would believe a clown.
Yet it wasn't long before Lockhart made his move.
And it was spectacularly big.
...
February 14th.
When the young wizards entered the Great Hall, they nearly thought they'd walked into the wrong place.
All four walls were plastered with enormous, glaring pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti in rainbow colours kept drifting down from the ceiling into their porridge.
The candlelight had turned a suggestive pink, leaving the entire Hall so dimly lit you could barely tell the candles were burning at all.
Upon entering, Wayne thought he'd time-travelled to a cheap romance parlour.
But the overwhelming heart motifs instantly made him realise.
Valentine's Day had arrived.
Thankfully, it wasn't the weekend today, so he didn't have to consider how to divide himself into pieces for these girls.
"Has the Headmaster finally cracked under pressure?" Norman muttered as they entered together.
"Who do you think could've done this?" Wayne jerked his chin towards the High Table.
Norman suddenly understood but still insisted, "The fact that he allowed Lockhart to do this means he's already halfway to madness."
Lockhart stood up cheerfully, dressed in bright pink robes today, waving for silence.
The professors seated with him wore stony expressions. Snape's facial muscles were so tense they formed visible lines, as if someone had dumped a pile of dung into his cauldron.
Professor McGonagall was equally furious, but if Lockhart could divert the students' attention, she was willing to tolerate it.
So she hadn't intervened yet.
"Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!" Lockhart announced happily. "So far, forty-six people have sent me cards, and I thank them all!"
"Yes, I've taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and there's more!"
The students immediately began playing detective, trying to identify the Werewolves – no, rather, trying to figure out who'd sent Lockhart those cards.
Are you all blind?!
Lockhart clapped his hands, and through the entrance hall doors marched twelve surly-looking dwarves.
Unlike ordinary dwarves, these had golden wings strapped to their backs and carried harps, dressed exactly like Cupid from legend.
Only their looks left much to be desired...
"That's... something," Cedric said awkwardly. "Why did he choose dwarves? He could've used the cherubs from Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop."
"Probably too expensive," Wotley remarked offhandedly. "Otherwise, the tea shop wouldn't have so few of them."
Then he realised the implication and eyed Cedric suspiciously. "Wait, how do you know about those cherubs? Who did you go with?"
Cedric flushed crimson. "I don't have to go inside to see them from outside! Last time I saw you there with a Ravenclaw girl—"
"I'll kill you!" Wotley grabbed Cedric by the throat to stop him from finishing that sentence.
"These friendly little cupids will be delivering Valentine's cards throughout the school today!" Lockhart continued his performance. "I'm sure my colleagues will cooperate, won't you?"
He looked pointedly at the High Table.
"Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to brew a love potion? And if you're interested, Professor Flitwick knows more about enchanting charms than any wizard I've ever met."
"That cunning old dog!"
Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands, utterly mortified.
His greatest regret now was not sorting Lockhart into another house during his school days.
A disgrace – a Ravenclaw disgrace!
As for Snape, he'd already drawn his wand.
If anyone actually asked him about love potions, he'd happily give them a crash course in Dark Magic defence too.
...
"I wonder who actually sent him those cards."
On the way to Charms class, Harry remarked sharply, "These people are either blind or brainless."
He didn't notice Ron biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.
In class, Professor Flitwick explained the usage and appropriate situations for the Confundus Charm.
The Confundus Charm wasn't particularly difficult to learn but was notoriously hard to control in terms of range and intensity. If the area of effect was too wide or the spell cast too forcefully, it could easily cause permanent brain damage.
Flitwick mentioned that many wizards had been summoned by the Ministry of Magic – or even sent to Azkaban – for improper use of the Confundus Charm.
"Ron, what are you writing?" Harry noticed Ron hadn't been paying attention, instead scribbling furiously, and leaned over to look.
His eyes then widened dramatically as he gasped, "You're... you're writing Lockhart another postcard?!"
"Keep your voice down, Harry!" Ron hastily pulled him back.
"I don't want to, but he's paying too well – one Sickle per postcard," Ron lamented. "Dumbledore wrote to Mum, so I've got no allowance this year."
"If it weren't for that, who'd want to write him these postcards? Especially with those disgusting phrases?"
"I haven't even written this much for girls!"
"So Lockhart's postcards are all bought?" Harry stared at him in shock.
"From what I've heard, over half are paid for. Randolph from Hufflepuff and Jefferson from Ravenclaw have taken the job, too."
'Bloody hell...'
Harry was once again confronted with the world's underhandedness.
BANG!
Flitwick, mid-lecture, was interrupted as two surly dwarves barged into the classroom, their expressions blank.
Their target?
Wayne!