Wayne had thought this merely mildly gossipy—hardly a difficult question.
He was wrong.
Upon hearing it, Helena's expression became spectacular. Though ghosts couldn't blush, Wayne sensed her shock and fury.
Ultimately, she answered nothing—not a word—before turning to float away.
Yet this bizarre reaction only deepened Wayne's curiosity.
It surpassed even his interest in the diadem's secrets. Gossip truly was more compelling.
History books never mentioned Ravenclaw's husband. Helena bore her mother's name.
Even the Sorting Hat claimed never to have seen Ravenclaw's spouse, only knowing of her daughter.
Helena's arrival had been abrupt. When Ravenclaw brought her daughter to school, the other founders were thunderstruck.
Godric Gryffindor drank himself into a stupor that night, weeping bitterly till dawn. The accumulation of information gave Wayne a strong premonition—there was undoubtedly a shocking secret hidden within all this.
However, judging by Helena's reaction, he wouldn't be able to pry anything out of her anytime soon. This would require a long-term approach.
...
The next day, Hermione also learned from Cho about Wayne's entry into the Ravenclaw common room.
She wasn't particularly interested in what Wayne had discussed with the ghost—after all, the boy was always secretive and prone to making headlines with his antics.
The young witch was far more curious about the question posed by the bronze eagle door knocker.
So, the moment classes ended that afternoon, she dragged Wayne to Ravenclaw Tower for the challenge.
"Why must you drag me along?" Wayne sighed in resignation. He'd been planning to research more about Ravenclaw.
"In case I can't answer, you can help me," Hermione said eagerly as she rushed to the door, where the bronze eagle knocker came to life.
"A young witch from Gryffindor seeks entry into the domain of the wise. To pass, you must first pass my test."
"Ask away," Hermione said quickly.
Nearby, several Ravenclaw students returning to their common room paused to watch the spectacle.
They were curious to see whether Granger, the brilliant know-it-all, could pass the test.
The bronze eagle spoke.
"I am neither substance nor illusion, yet I connect countless minds. I transcend the boundaries of language and text, becoming a bridge for human communication. I exist within your thoughts, yet I also echo in the hearts of others. What am I?"
Upon hearing the question, not only Hermione but the other students began pondering.
"Emotion," a Ravenclaw student offered first.
The bronze eagle said mercilessly, "Wrong answer."
"Poetry?"
"Wrong."
"Love?"
"Wrong."
Five minutes passed, and more students had gathered, all offering guesses, yet none were correct.
Finally, after prolonged consideration, Hermione ventured, "Art."
This time, the bronze door knocker remained silent for much longer before declaring, "Wrong."
"You're very close," Wayne encouraged. "Be more specific."
"More specific..."
The young witch had a sudden flash of inspiration and blurted out, "I know—it's music!"
"Correct."
The bronze eagle folded its wings, and the Common Room door slowly swung open.
The surrounding Ravenclaw students applauded—a mark of respect for the clever.
Hermione's cheeks flushed pink with modest embarrassment. After nodding to the crowd, she hastily dragged Wayne away.
Only when they were out of sight did she stop and say, "You'd already guessed the answer earlier, hadn't you?"
Wayne neither confirmed nor denied it. "Your answer gave me the inspiration."
"I don't believe you. Next time, I'll try it myself," Hermione chided, though the smile never left her eyes. She clasped the boy's hand, and they walked together towards the library.
...
Over the next few days, the activity of 'challenging' the Ravenclaw Common Room's riddle suddenly became popular at school.
Many self-proclaimed clever young witches and wizards tried their luck.
Despite the frequent disturbances to his house's private space, Professor Flitwick didn't mind at all. He even encouraged everyone to attempt it, offering rewards to those who succeeded.
Hermione, for instance, received ten points in Charms class and a small crystal ball from him, showcasing a panoramic view of the Pyrenees Mountains from every angle.
As for Wayne, he kept his involvement hidden. Visiting late at night was already against school rules, and admitting it would only cause awkwardness.
Meanwhile, he'd learned from Professor McGonagall about Dumbledore's departure from the school.
This didn't surprise Wayne.
Having discovered Ravenclaw's Diadem early, Dumbledore's wisdom would surely lead him to piece together many things.
Perhaps, there was a chance Voldemort might not even resurrect before all his Horcruxes were destroyed, leaving only Harry.
But these were Dumbledore's concerns. For Wayne, the Headmaster's absence meant one thing...
The office was his again.
When Wayne strolled familiarly into Lawrence's private office, the slumbering portraits of past Headmasters stirred awake.
"I knew you'd come once Dumbledore left," a bearded Headmaster said resignedly. Wayne had easier access to this office than even Dumbledore.
"Well, it's peaceful here," Wayne replied cheerfully, settling into the Headmaster's chair.
"With the Headmaster gone, I can keep you all company. Beats having only Phineas to bully for entertainment."
"You wretched brat..."
Phineas gnashed his teeth in anger but dared only mutter under his breath.
With Dumbledore absent, he feared the boy might go mad and banish him to the lavatory again.
This time, Wayne hadn't come just to borrow the office. He wanted to discuss Ravenclaw with the former Heads of House.
Unfortunately, the practice of preserving portraits did not begin with the school's founding. The earliest Headmaster portrait dates back to a figure from the 15th century, over two hundred years later than Nicolas.
Their knowledge was also limited, and like the books, it consisted entirely of stereotypes without any hidden secrets.
"Heh, young Lawrence." Phineas twirled his moustache and sneered.
"Though I don't know why you've suddenly taken such an interest in Ravenclaw, I can indeed help you find some accurate information."
Wayne immediately gave a thumbs up: "Mr Phineas, I've always considered you the greatest Head of House Slytherin has ever had."
The assembled Headmasters collectively cursed under their breath.
How did such a shameless character end up in Hufflepuff?
Was this the legendary case of extremes meeting?
Had the famously honest house finally produced a master manipulator?
It was clear Phineas was enjoying Wayne's flattery – this might have been the first time the boy had ever paid him compliments.
"Useless boy, don't think a few sweet words will make me forget your previous attitude?"
Phineas was thoroughly pleased, his moustache twitching with glee. "I'll have you know it won't work. Don't expect me to say anything."
"I particularly enjoy seeing you desperate yet unable to get what you want."
Wayne leaned back tactically, smirking: "You're not lying to me, are you? Someone who's been dead less than a century claims to know things from a thousand years ago?"
"Nonsense! Why would I lie?" Phineas bristled, his beard practically standing on end. "True, I personally don't know about Ravenclaw's affairs – because I've no interest in some dead woman."
Several Ravenclaw Heads of House immediately glared and began cracking their knuckles.
Completely oblivious to his precarious position, Phineas proudly puffed out his chest: "However, I hail from the noble and ancient Black Family."
"The Black name was already illustrious when Hogwarts was founded, with a far longer history than latecomers like the Gaunts or Lestranges."
"Three of our ancestors attended the very first class at Hogwarts, including the Bloody Baron himself."
"The Bloody Baron was a Black?" Wayne showed mild surprise.
"Naturally." Black raised his chin. "Though not from my direct lineage."
"Their preserved books and notes contain numerous accounts from that era."
"Moreover, Hogwarts' collection pales in comparison to the Black Family archives!"
Wayne's eyelids flickered – this claim seemed credible.
Among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Blacks were indeed considered the most ancient.
Seeing the boy's interest, Phineas revealed a cunning smile: "But what does it matter? You'll never see those treasures. Getting excited for nothing, aren't you?"
Now it was the Hufflepuff Heads' turn to gnash their teeth.
"Phineas, should you really be tormenting a student like this?"
"Absolutely. I particularly enjoy you all hating me yet being powerless to do anything about it."
This arrogant declaration nearly prompted several Heads to climb into his portrait and teach him a lesson.
"Wait." Wayne interrupted the Heads, moving to stand directly beneath Phineas's portrait to stare up at him.
"What do you want?" Phineas felt unnerved by the stare. "Even if you throw me into the lavatory, I won't yield."
"Perish the thought." Wayne continued staring. "I just think it's rather... unfortunate."
"Unfortunate how?" Phineas found the boy baffling.
Wayne shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunate that such an ancient family is about to die out."
"Once Sirius is captured, this surname will vanish from the wizarding world..."
The smile slowly faded from Phineas's face.
The other watching Headmasters fell silent, quietly observing Phineas's shifting expression.
No one mocked him.
The extinction of a bloodline was the most terrifying prospect for any family aspiring to eternal legacy.
Though Sirius's generation still had other relatives - like Malfoy's mother, Narcissa, or Bellatrix rotting in Azkaban - they were merely Sirius's cousins.
Their surnames had changed. They no longer counted as Black Family members.
"You win, boy."
Phineas shed his usual irritating demeanour, becoming deadly serious.
"Bring him to me - to 12 Grimmauld Place. My other portrait resides there. Never let that fool leave the house again. Find him a witch and make them produce offspring like rabbits."
"Do this, and half the Black Family fortune is yours. Copy every book in our library - read whatever you please."
"Are these terms legally binding?" Wayne seemed intrigued.
"No. But I know the passwords to three Black vaults. You may empty them of gold."
"Sounds like a fair trade..."
"Boy, you mustn't agree." Dexter Fortescue, former high-ranking Ministry official, finally interjected. "You'd be opposing the Ministry. Dumbledore won't permit harbouring a murderer. Don't let greed blind you. You're a Hufflepuff, not a Slytherin."
"That wretch is the Black Family's last heir!" Phineas bellowed.
"I know it's wrong! So he'll never leave the ancestral home! Lawrence, you could kill him after the children are born - I wouldn't care!" Phineas said feverishly.
He grew increasingly convinced Wayne was his ideal accomplice.
Others feared breaking laws or opposing the Ministry. Only this boy treated the Head Auror like dirt and made the Minister for Magic cower.
Even in his prime, Phineas hadn't been this brazen.
Before Wayne could respond, the Headmasters' portraits erupted in debate.
Some sided with Dexter Fortescue, arguing Sirius had killed thirteen people and Wayne shouldn't aid a murderer.
Others maintained that a thousand-year lineage took precedence. Once the Black Family secured an heir, they could send Sirius to Azkaban or give him the Dementor's Kiss.
The Headmasters quarrelled like market vendors, their uproar surpassing any previous commotion.
Wayne, irritated by the noise, shouted loudly, "Enough! All of you, shut up!"
The clamour finally ceased.
"I accept these terms." As soon as Wayne spoke, several portraits immediately showed displeasure, but before they could utter a word, a spell struck them, rendering the portraits mute.
"As long as I can protect Sirius, the deal is complete, correct?"
Phineas looked delighted. "Exactly, my boy. On behalf of the Black Family, I thank you for your assistance. Rest assured, I'll make sure to sing your praises to Dumbledore from now on. You'll be Headmaster in no time."
Wayne smiled.
Excellent. Another win-win deal.
...
Time swiftly moved into May, and the weather grew increasingly temperamental.
A five-day drizzle left the young wizards irritable, cooped up in the castle day after day, suffocating under the oppressive atmosphere.
Games became one of their few distractions, and Wayne seized the opportunity to release several new cards, causing a slight uptick in booster pack sales.
None of these cards were particularly powerful—just blues and purples.
It wasn't that he couldn't design stronger cards, but with the term nearing its end, the young wizards were at their poorest.
Come the new term, he'd launch a first-purchase double bonus event alongside a few overpowered cards. That's when the profits would truly soar.
As the drizzle finally ceased, the first weekend of May arrived.
The students welcomed the term's final Hogsmeade weekend.
Compared to previous visits, business was even slower this time. Even the usually bustling Honeydukes saw disappointing sales.
Watching the young wizards scrimp and save, the shop owners began questioning their life choices.
Was this an economic crisis?
Why is everyone so poor?
Wayne simply sat in the Hog's Head for a while before returning to school. He found Crookshanks playing with Mrs Norris and carried the cat back to his dormitory.
"Still no news about Black?"
"Meow~!"
Wayne frowned. Where on earth had Sirius gone? He wasn't in Hogsmeade either.
Had he given up on seeking revenge against Peter Pettigrew?
In the end, Wayne could only remind Crookshanks to stay alert.
What Wayne didn't know was that the very next day, the Sirius Black he'd been thinking about arrived at Hogwarts.
And this day happened to be the one after the full moon.
Under the cover of darkness, Black sneaked into the castle. However, he didn't seek out Crookshanks.
Instead, he went to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's office...