After sitting with Hagrid for a while and seeing the half-giant prepare to cook dinner for them, Wayne decisively made his escape with the girls in tow.
The trio headed to the Quidditch pitch to watch Cho's training session.
"By the way, who won yesterday's match?"
Only now did Wayne remember to ask about the previous day's match results.
After returning to the castle, everyone's attention was consumed by Harry's disappearance and the Chamber of Secrets news. By evening, they'd been too busy celebrating the castle's return to normalcy to recall the Quidditch match.
"Ravenclaw won," Astoria said excitedly. "Yesterday, Senior Cho faked out Malfoy so badly he fell off his broom, then caught the Golden Snitch with ease."
Wayne gave her a deadpan look. "Your house lost—why are you so happy about it?"
"First losing to Gryffindor, then Ravenclaw... they've completely lost face."
"I don't like Flint and his lot," Astoria pouted. "Always going on about pureblood this and that. Don't think I don't know—his great-great-grandfather married a Muggle wife, and his uncle's a Squib."
Wayne couldn't help but chuckle.
These were open secrets, really. Apart from the Black Family and the extinct Gaunt line, no so-called pureblood family had maintained truly untainted bloodlines.
They'd all intermarried with Muggles to some degree to survive this long.
Most families just desperately covered up that history, using every euphemism imaginable to gloss over it. Meanwhile, families like the Weasleys and Abbotts, who were Muggle-friendly, didn't bother hiding it—though they didn't go around advertising it either.
Over time, people came to believe the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight were truly pure.
After a while, Cho finished her training and landed beside the trio on her broom.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we head back?"
With her hair tied in a high ponytail, the girl looked particularly dashing. Astoria gazed at her with starry-eyed admiration—back when her health was poor, she'd always envied sporty girls like this.
"No rush," Wayne said. "Let me set up the fountain first."
"What fountain?" The three girls blinked in unison.
"You've forgotten?" Wayne looked at them quizzically. "The Fountain of Beauty from Beauxbatons—I've finished making it."
Apart from Astoria, both Cho and Hermione remembered instantly, each grabbing one of Wayne's arms in excitement.
"Is it true? Let's go then!"
"Where are you planning to put it? Inside the suitcase?"
"What's this Fountain of Beauty?" Astoria watched the two excited faces, completely clueless, stamping her foot impatiently.
Hermione briefly explained it to her, and the wealthy little girl let out an excited squeal before pouncing forward.
"I want to use it! I want to use it!"
"Stop messing around!" Wayne pushed her away disdainfully. "What does a brat need beauty treatments for? Focus on growing up first."
Astoria pouted, clearly unhappy.
She was only one year younger than Hermione and two years younger than Cho, for goodness' sake.
It was just the blood curse slowing her development, making her petite.
...
Wayne led the girls to the main path outside the Quidditch Pitch and decisively chose the central spot. "We'll place it here."
"You're putting the fountain outside?" Cho asked.
"Exactly."
Keeping the Fountain of Beauty inside a suitcase would be such a waste. It would be better to install it at the school, adding another landmark to Hogwarts.
Wayne first tapped his wand against the ground. The earth churned and heaved until a ten-metre-wide square pit emerged.
Then he retrieved the pre-constructed fountain from his suitcase.
The commotion drew crowds of curious students, wondering what Wayne was up to.
When they learned about the Fountain of Beauty's effects, the girls became as excited as Astoria had been earlier.
"Lawrence, you're brilliant!"
"The Fountain of Beauty – I've heard Beauxbatons has one as their signature landmark! You can make one, too, Wayne? That's incredible!"
"Wayne!" a Hufflepuff boy shouted. "Do you have a fountain for curing baldness?"
The question triggered hopeful stares from dozens of male students.
Male pattern baldness was every British man's eternal torment – wizards and Muggles alike faced the creeping threat.
While "nine out of ten men" might be an exaggeration, "six out of ten" hit uncomfortably close to the truth.
Though their hair currently looked thick, many upper-years were already receding from academic stress.
Hair-growth potions worked temporarily, but once the scalp became a barren wasteland, no potion could revive it.
Take Mr Weasley – his once-luxuriant red mane had thinned to near invisibility.
"Preventing baldness is simple," Wayne replied while levitating the fountain into the pit.
"Just stop washing your hair like Snape does. You'll hardly go bald then."
"What's hair-washing got to do with it?" Cedric asked, genuinely puzzled. His own father was balding, making this a personal concern.
"Britain's water is too hard. The mineral content damages hair cuticles, making strands brittle and prone to breakage. Prolonged exposure causes permanent hair loss."
"Eventually, nothing grows back."
"Ohhh," the crowd murmured, nodding sagely regardless of whether they'd understood. Wayne's explanation sounded thoroughly convincing.
They recalled Snape's greasy black locks – disgusting, yes, but undeniably thick for a middle-aged man.
No wonder he never washed it.
Many silently resolved to avoid shampooing unless absolutely necessary.
CRASH~!
The fountain landed in the pit. Wayne filled the gaps with soil before finally taking out four gemstones, embedding them at the four cardinal points of the fountain.
As the last gemstone was set in place, a flash of golden light shimmered across the fountain. Water then sprayed from its apex, cascading into the basin below, forming a continuous cycle.
"Alright, done."
Wayne clapped his hands together as he addressed the three women.
"Give it a try."
Hermione eagerly scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto her face, finding the temperature just right.
The girls who crowded around noticed that after washing, Hermione's skin bore a faint luminous glow, appearing tender and flawless.
"It works! It really works!"
"The effect is so obvious! I swear Granger's pores look smaller—this is miraculous!"
"Lawrence, can we use this fountain water too?" One girl pleaded with Wayne. "We'll pay any amount!"
"No need for money. The fountain is here for everyone to use." Wayne shook his head. "But I should warn you, the effects aren't as dramatic as you might think."
"It's just more noticeable right after washing."
"That's more than enough!" The girls nodded like pecking chicks. Even a slight improvement was better than nothing.
Instantly, Wayne found himself surrounded by a fluttering flock of eager women, and it took him considerable effort to finally extricate himself from their midst.
...
In the following days, the hype around the Chamber of Secrets quickly faded, and Wayne's Fountain of Beauty became the hot topic of conversation.
Every morning, girls would flock there to wash their faces without fail, undeterred even by long queues.
Fortunately, the fountain was large enough to accommodate dozens at once—otherwise, they wouldn't have hesitated to be late for class.
Even quite a few boys joined in, like Norman and Toby, who made it a daily ritual to wash their faces early.
What wasn't to like? They got to admire the girls while boosting their own looks.
The professors, upon hearing about it, also came to observe out of curiosity.
Damasi Gilani, who taught Alchemy, held a magnifying glass and nearly toppled into the fountain, muttering to himself.
"This rune is for drawing water, this one must be for power... but which one handles purification? And how exactly is the effect achieved..."
The more he looked, the more confused he became. He couldn't decipher the purpose of most individual runes, let alone their intricate combinations.
The entire fountain incorporated countless applications of potions, rune studies, and ancient runes.
In the end, he simply pulled out a notebook to jot down all the parts he didn't understand, planning to ask Dumbledore and Wayne about them later.
Professor Sprout couldn't stop grinning—Wayne had once again brought her immense pride.
Having such a young wizard in Hufflepuff was truly a blessing for the house.
In Potions class, Snape uncharacteristically awarded Wayne extra points several times.
He even gave him numerous points in Defence Against the Dark Arts as a substitute teacher, leaving the younger students utterly shocked.
But Wayne knew precisely what he was after.
"Lawrence, such a massive snake... If you don't use it up soon, it'd be a terrible waste if it spoiled. Why not split half with me? I'll give you fifty—no, a hundred extra points. How about it?"
"No need to trouble yourself, Professor."
Wayne chuckled. "I've already frozen the entire snake. Even after ten or twenty years, it won't spoil."
Faced with Wayne's stubbornness, Snape was sorely tempted to pull out his wand and teach him a proper lesson.
Unfortunately, if he actually tried, the only one who would be taught would be himself.
After all, he couldn't possibly take down a Basilisk unscathed like Wayne had.
Snape forced a strained smile. "If you ever need any potions, just let me know. As long as the requests aren't too excessive, I'll do my best to accommodate."
Wayne had been waiting for this. He promptly pulled out a pre-prepared list.
Polyjuice Potion, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Veritaserum, Felix Felicis...
Were these potions difficult for Snape?
Not at all—but they were time-consuming!
Especially the Veritaserum and the Polyjuice Potion, each requiring at least a month to brew.
After scanning the quantities, Snape took a deep breath.
"How much material are you willing to share?"
"Three-tenths of the flesh, plus two-tenths of the scales."
Snape considered it, then shook his head. "I don't want the scales. But you must make me two magic-resistant cloaks from them."
Having seen the Fountain of Beauty, he knew exactly how skilled Wayne was at Alchemy.
Wearing a cloak woven from Basilisk scales made one to not even need a Shield Charm—it could withstand most spells outright.
"Fine." Wayne agreed readily—it was a simple matter for him.
With the deal struck, Wayne turned to leave, only for Snape to grab his arm.
"The materials, hand them over!"
"Payment first, then goods," Wayne said, baffled. "Since when do I pay upfront?"
"I meant..." Snape took a deep breath. "The ingredients for the potions you requested!"
"Oh, those are on you, too. For a Potions Master like yourself, such materials are surely trivial."
"Cho's waiting for me at the library. I'll be off now, Professor."
Wayne wrenched his arm free and darted out the door, vanishing in an instant.
Snape stood frozen in place, only releasing a guttural shriek after a long pause.
"Ahhh!!!"
"Lawrence, you bloody swindler!"
...
Late at night, Wayne lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he'd meet Grindelwald—yet sleep eluded him.
Not from excitement, but because this damned system... had gone silent for too long.
The moment Tom escaped, the major event, 'The Divided Dark Lord,' was marked complete.
Then the system promptly displayed a notification:
[Host's actions detected to have unpredictable ripple effects on the future magical world. Rewards will surpass the current level cap. System initiating automatic upgrade...]
A progress bar appeared on the interface. A week later, it had barely reached halfway.
At this rate, seven or eight more days were needed for completion.
The anticipation was maddening.
Neither Thunderlord's Decree nor Gathering Storm had broken level caps before.
Yet this reward did, leaving Wayne itching with curiosity. Unable to see the specifics, he'd spent days too distracted for romance—no, for studies.
Fortunately, while the lottery function was disabled, point accumulation remained active.
That afternoon's scheme against Snape earned him 200 points. Combined with prior savings, Wayne now held a staggering 25,000 points.
Moreover, during Tom's resurrection, Wayne completed 'The Demon King's Retribution' with top marks.
Apparently, even the system deemed Lockhart's demise... particularly gruesome.
After much tossing and turning, sleep still wouldn't come.
Wayne finally downed several drops of Draught of Living Death and passed out cold.
...
Saturday morning.
Having slept naturally until eight, Wayne washed up and headed to the eighth-floor Headmaster's Office.
Dumbledore looked far wearier than days prior—clearly, rest had been scarce.
In truth, after the feast that evening, he'd vanished from school. His whereabouts and activities remained unknown.
"Ah, Mr Lawrence. You've arrived." Dumbledore greeted him, rising from his seat.
"Professor, how are we getting there?"
"How about a Portkey? I've an unused one leading straight to Nurmengard."
"Though it's quite distant, the journey may be uncomfortable."
"If you'd prefer, we could take a Thestral carriage. It would simply take longer."
"Let's use a Portkey then," Wayne said after some thought. "You seem rather pressed for time."
Dumbledore gave a wry chuckle.
"I am indeed in a hurry. Decades ago, I stood by as Tom became Voldemort. Now history seems to be repeating itself, and the taste is rather bitter."
These past few days, he'd been attempting to locate the destination of the Vanishing Cabinet in hopes of finding Tom.
Unfortunately, despite mobilising all his connections across England, no anomalies had been detected.
His only hope now lay with Grindelwald.
Without delay, the two left the castle and headed towards the gates.
Apparition wasn't permitted within school grounds, and Portkeys were likewise prohibited.
Once beyond the school's boundaries, Dumbledore produced a boot. Wayne grasped it with visible distaste.
"Professor, could you choose slightly more conventional Portkey materials next time?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. What would you suggest – a lollipop perhaps?"
The next instant, a swirling spatial vortex engulfed them both.
It felt like a hook had latched behind his navel, yanking him forward violently.
Unlike Apparition, long-distance Portkey travel allowed one to perceive actual flight – the landscape shifting beneath their feet, the earth itself curving into a sphere.
Time became immeasurable until gradually, their altitude decreased. After a dizzying whirl, Wayne's feet found solid ground again.
Before them, perched on a distant cliff, stood a solitary black tower.
They'd arrived at Nurmengard.