Flitwick, visibly irritated by the disruption, glared at the two dwarves.
Yet he didn't stop them from entering.
The Ravenclaw Head of House was too kind-hearted – after all, these dwarves were merely delivering messages of affection on behalf of students, and he didn't want to interfere.
The same couldn't be said for Wayne, who was thoroughly bewildered.
What the hell? Why were they coming for him?
Under Hermione's murderous glare, Wayne knew that if he mishandled this, he'd soon discover just how sharp her canines were.
The surrounding students watched with amusement, while Toby and Norman were practically doubled over with schadenfreude.
The two dwarves flanked Wayne, but before they could speak, he swiftly drew his wand in a graceful arc.
"Confundo!"
The scowling dwarves swayed dizzily for a moment, as if drunk. When they regained their senses, they gave Wayne a disgusted look before turning towards Norman instead.
"I have a musical message to deliver personally to Wayne Lawrence," one dwarf told Norman.
With his companion producing a harp, they launched into an excruciatingly off-key performance before reciting in a tone that suggested someone owed them millions:
"Your bewitching dark eyes siphon the love from my veins,
Your sculpted features fill every chamber of my heart,
Lawrence, oh Lawrence, when will your gaze fall upon me? Laa~"
For fuck's sake.
Wayne's face twitched violently.
What absolute tosser had written these lyrics?
Was this some elaborate plot to embarrass him to death?
If those two house-elves had cast the spell at him, Wayne wouldn't be grumbling right now—he'd be disposing of the evidence to prevent such an embarrassing incident from getting out.
Yet seeing Norman's utterly contorted features suddenly made him feel much better.
"Pfft!"
Hermione couldn't help but burst out laughing, triggering an eruption of hysterical laughter across the classroom.
Professor Flitwick, observing the now-conscious dwarves, forced a stern expression. "Finished? Then get out immediately."
Only after the dwarves left did he smile and say: "An exceptionally well-executed Confundus Charm. Ten points to Hufflepuff. As you've witnessed, students, the flexible application of this charm can provide considerable convenience in daily life..."
The experienced professor effortlessly transformed the classroom mishap into a teaching moment. But Wayne's personal crisis remained unresolved.
He poked the young witch's soft arm.
"Confess. Were you too embarrassed to say it to my face, so you sent those dwarves instead?"
Wayne pulled off a classic case of the villain suing his victim first, which made Hermione laugh in sheer exasperation.
"If I'd written that, may I only get an E in Transfiguration this term."
"Then who could it be?" Wayne pretended to ponder before shaking his head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter who wrote it. I actually find it quite amusing. Want me to write one for you?"
Ordering these dwarves cost money – one Knut for delivery, three for musical accompaniment, and another three for an in-person recitation.
Hermione recalled the earlier scene and nearly shuddered out of her skin.
She hastily grabbed Wayne's arm, begging him not to subject her to such social death.
Seeing the girl's terrified expression, the boy's eyes gleamed with mischief as numerous brilliant ideas occurred to him.
After class, Wayne strode out quickly to find the dwarves. Fearing he might actually go through with his madness, Hermione hurried after him.
They finally intercepted three dwarves in the fourth-floor corridor.
"I'd like to place an order," Wayne said bluntly.
One dwarf extended its hand. "Payment first."
Without hesitation, Wayne tossed over a Galleon. "This mission's a bit risky – it's for a professor. Read it and run, understand?"
Paid customers were kings, especially for such a simple request. The dwarf agreed immediately.
Wayne produced a parchment and handed it to the dwarf, naming his target.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
After the dwarves left, she stared at the boy. "Aren't you afraid Snape will murder you?"
"What's there to fear?" Wayne said carelessly. "I cast a Confundus Charm on the dwarf when we met. Right now, it thinks I'm Lockhart."
"Oh," the boy rubbed his chin, "your Potions class this afternoon is with Slytherin, isn't it?"
Hermione clutched her chest – she could already picture Snape's impending meltdown.
Wayne had lit the fuse, but as a model student, skipping class to enjoy the show wasn't an option.
He could only implore Hermione to memorise every nuance of Snape's expression and describe it to him in detail later.
...
Potions class.
Snape was instructing students on brewing acne potions when the classroom door burst open. His face darkened instantly – he'd already endured this once that morning.
Yet Snape didn't immediately eject the intruders. Instead, a cold smile curled his lips.
Not because his temper had improved for Valentine's Day.
But because he wanted to see who the recipient would be.
If a Slytherin, no points deducted – just detention.
But if it were a Gryffindor... well, he wouldn't hold back on the point deductions.
After this week, Gryffindor had accumulated over a dozen points – enough for some satisfying deductions.
Snape surveyed the students with amusement, his gaze lingering on Harry. But the students' expressions gradually turned peculiar.
Only then did Snape sense something amiss. He looked down.
Three dwarves surrounded him. A terrible premonition arose.
"What do you want?"
"We have a musical message for Severus Snape."
Gasp!
The class erupted. Many students jumped up, knocking over their cauldrons.
This was huge!
Someone had sent Snape a love letter?
"Silence!" Snape roared, drawing his wand as the dwarf, sensing danger, fled the classroom.
Though no one could see them, the musical accompaniment and recitation echoed clearly through the room.
"Oh! Severus!
Your greasy hair is as enchanting as Flobberworm mucus.
Your enormous hooked nose tugs at my heartstrings.
Your eternally unchanged black robes and irresistible disdainful gaze haunt my dreams.
Oh, Severus!
A day without you leaves me wretched!
I think... You must be my humanoid love potion!"
After the recitation, the dwarf theatrically tossed in a handful of pink heart-shaped confetti that scattered across the floor before scampering away.
Inside the classroom, both Slytherin and Gryffindor students were howling with laughter. Harry, oblivious to his robe corner dipping into the cauldron, pounded Neville's back in hysterics, turning the boy crimson – whether from mirth or pain was unclear.
Though she'd refused to participate, Hermione dutifully observed Snape's expression for Wayne. Yet she discovered the limits of human language – no words could capture that countenance.
By all rights, such chaos should have triggered Snape's infamous crimson-faced fury. Yet within seconds of the dwarf's escape, he'd snapped from his daze and given chase, abruptly ending the afternoon's Potions class.
...
Soon, every student – and even professors – knew what had transpired. The dwarf's poetic declaration spread like wildfire, an earworm none could escape.
"Your greasy hair is as enchanting as Flobberworm mucus," gasped the Weasley twins, collapsed onto the House table. "Which poetic genius conceived this? To romanticise scalp oil so elegantly!"
Fred wheezed between laughs, "I must apprentice under them! Name this brave soul!"
"No idea," Harry grinned, his amusement unabated since the incident. "Snape's still hunting that dwarf – wonder if he caught it."
Just then, two dwarves passed by, promptly intercepted by Fred. Wayne's actions had opened Pandora's box – the once-despised dwarves now overflowed with demand, their pockets bulging with commissions as they delivered increasingly creative "greetings" across the castle.
Only at curfew did students reluctantly return to dormitories, leaving the exhausted but profit-sated dwarves to depart contentedly.
...
Next morning.
Snape reappeared after his absence, gloomier than ever. Two students merely glancing his way suffered twenty-point deductions and venomous reprimands that nearly reduced them to tears.
Speculation swirled about the letter's author, yet Snape showed no particular target – his wrath fell upon all equally.
Few noticed Lockhart's absence that morning. By afternoon's Dark Magic class, Snape stood at Lockhart's lectern.
Without wasting words, he got straight to the point.
"Lockhart is unwell and will be resting this week. I'll be taking over his classes."
"Today we'll be covering... the tree frog monkey."
Before the young witches and wizards could wonder how Snape knew so much about Lockhart's condition, they hurriedly flipped through their textbooks.
Only upon opening them did they realise – how could "Gadding with Ghouls" possibly contain information about tree frog monkeys?
They could only look up helplessly.
"Oh, I forgot." Snape sneered. "With your impoverished minds and shallow knowledge, perhaps many of you don't even know what a tree frog monkey is?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
Snape was about to deliver another cutting remark when he caught Wayne's calm gaze nearby and swallowed his words.
"Miss Know-It-All, you answer. If you're wrong, Gryffindor loses ten points!"
Such threats meant nothing to the young witch.
What might have once been a slightly mocking nickname had, through Hermione's own efforts, gradually become an accurate description...
In terms of knowledge retention, even Wayne might not surpass Hermione.
After all, he couldn't be bothered with trivial details, whereas Hermione devoured everything...
She read anything and everything.
"The tree frog monkey, a XX-class magical creature, is an arboreal species. Visually, it resembles a hybrid between a monkey and a frog. They—"
"This isn't Care of Magical Creatures." Snape frowned. "Get to the point. How would you deal with an encounter?"
Hermione looked displeased at being interrupted, but couldn't argue. After thinking, she replied:
"The Knockback Jinx would be most effective, but the red pustules on a tree frog monkey's forehead can sense danger in advance. Unless your spellcasting is exceptionally fast, that approach isn't advisable."
"One should retreat to a treeless area and use the Bogging Spell to trap them. Tree frog monkeys are particularly fond of bogs."
"Passable," Snape said noncommittally, making no move to award Hermione points as he gestured for her to sit.
"Today I'll be teaching you the Bogging Spell. It's an area-effect spell..."
The students had to admit that, despite Snape's venomous tongue, his teaching far surpassed Lockhart's.
Only Quirrell at his best last year had been comparable.
But Quirrell focused more on techniques and experience, rarely teaching new spells, and certainly not as straightforwardly as Snape.
The classroom was filled with the quiet scratching of quills on parchment.
After class, Snape assigned substantial homework.
Yet compared to Lockhart's assignments, everyone preferred his.
Wayne was about to leave with Hermione when Snape stopped him.
"Any thoughts about the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Haven't been paying much attention recently." Wayne shook his head truthfully.
He'd left Nagini and his other assets to monitor the situation while focusing his own attention more on Lockhart.
Snape's frown deepened. "Aren't you concerned about your little girlfriends' safety?"
"They have protective items I gave them. Nothing will happen."
Snape's fists clenched slightly.
Why is it so difficult to get this boy to follow his lead?
"What exactly are you trying to say?" Wayne studied Snape, failing to grasp his meaning.
"The school needs to find the culprit as soon as possible. Dumbledore is under immense pressure, with the board constantly bearing down on him."
Snape fixed his gaze on Wayne. "Lawrence, given how close you are to Dumbledore, you'd help him, wouldn't you?"
What a contradictory man...
Desperately trying to keep Harry away from danger, yet never missing an opportunity to mock him in daily life.
Claiming it was for Harry's sake, yet using Dumbledore's name to persuade him.
Wayne shook his head with a wry smile.
"Professor, you overestimate me. We've only just returned. If even you have no leads, how could I possibly figure it out immediately?"
"Oh, by the way, if Professor Dumbledore leaves, who would be the next Headmaster?"
Snape tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing unconsciously as if to say, "Who else but me?"
"You?" Wayne feigned surprise. "Wouldn't it be Professor McGonagall?"
"Fourteen board members, seven from Slytherin," Snape sneered. "Who do you think they'd choose?"
"If you became Headmaster... life might actually become easier for me..." Wayne mused. "After all, I possess something truly unique in this world."
"Are you threatening me again?"
Snape gritted his teeth in frustration. Ever since Ho-Oh's existence became known, Wayne had held this advantage over him.
Was having a legendary bird really so special?!
"Not at all," Wayne quickly denied. He was, after all, a well-behaved student who'd never dream of threatening a professor.
"You should focus on actually becoming Headmaster first before discussing this with me."
"I have matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave."
Without waiting for Snape's response, Wayne exited the classroom.
Snape had likely poisoned Lockhart and wouldn't appear in the castle these days – perfect timing for Wayne's plans.
Tom's tail hadn't revealed enough yet. He couldn't be allowed to keep hiding.
Wayne needed to force something out to determine Lockhart's true condition.
That Valentine's Day incident, where Lockhart nearly got him into trouble – though unintentional – still counted as trouble in his book.
He wasn't one to let such things slide.
For both personal and principled reasons, payback was due.
Wayne devised a method to conceal himself without alerting Tom.
Come evening, Wayne remained in the common room instead of venturing elsewhere.
The crackling fireplace kept the room comfortably warm, lulling many into sleep on the sofas.
Yet lively conversations continued, with the Chamber of Secrets being the hottest topic.
Wayne seamlessly joined the discussion.
"While I don't know who the culprit is, I can help narrow down the suspects."
This immediately piqued everyone's interest, all eyes turning towards him.