Trelawney's voice drifted eerily through the air.
"The Dark Lord stands in utter desolation, without allies. For twelve years, his servant has been bound in chains. In one month's time, this servant shall break free... only to become the sharpest blade piercing his master's heart."
"A more terrifying shadow shall return. The spark shall burn away the old order. Whether villain or hero... rests upon a single choice."
Professor Trelawney's head lolled against her chest as if sleepwalking through this nonsense.
Then she jerked awake abruptly, lifting her head.
"Forgive me, child," she said vaguely. "The heat... I must have dozed off..."
Harry stared at her in shock. "You just said the Dark Lord would return, and his loyal servant... Could it be—?"
Professor Trelawney looked even more startled. "The Dark Lord? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? This is no joking matter... I think exam stress must be making you hallucinate."
"No, I heard clearly—"
"Off you go now, child." Trelawney gazed at Harry with pitying eyes, urging him to leave.
Baffled, Harry could only exit the classroom.
He wasn't an idiot - how could he have misheard? Was the Dark Lord's servant referring to Peter?
Feeling his mental processor overheating, Harry knew he shouldn't speculate alone. He headed straight for the Headmaster's Office on the eighth floor.
Wayne had witnessed the entire prophecy unfold.
He'd even taken advantage when Trelawney went to make tea, secretly swapping the crystal ball.
The mist inside the divination crystal had stopped swirling, tinged with grey. It could no longer be called a crystal ball - now it was a Prophecy Orb.
Generally, Prophecy Orbs are stored in the Hall of Prophecy within the Department of Mysteries, where only those involved in the prophecy can later view their contents.
In the future, Voldemort would go to great lengths to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries, all to obtain the Prophecy Orb that belonged to him and Harry.
This particular prophecy involved two people... or perhaps three?
Wayne wasn't certain whether the current Dark Lord referred to Tom or Voldemort.
Compared to the previous vague and cryptic prophecy, this one was much clearer, and he could understand most of its implications.
Only... who was this "servant" referring to?
Peter Pettigrew was undoubtedly the most likely candidate, but it wasn't a certainty.
Could it be... Barty Crouch Jr.?
Regardless of who it was, Wayne had no intention of interfering or silencing them permanently.
He was rather curious—what exactly was meant by "the sharpest blade to pierce the Dark Lord"?
...
Headmaster's Office.
Harry found himself facing Dumbledore, along with Sirius Black, who was sharing afternoon tea with him.
"Harry, are all your exams finished?" Sirius set down his teacup with a smile.
Over the past few days, with good food, ample rest and care, Sirius's complexion had visibly improved. His previously unkempt hair and beard had been neatly trimmed by the house-elves.
Paired with a black suit and those azure-blue eyes that still carried the melancholy of long imprisonment, Sirius now cut quite the dashing figure among middle-aged men.
"Yes, all done." Harry couldn't help but smile. He and Sirius had grown remarkably close despite their age difference—they found unexpected common ground, especially when discussing his father. Sirius became even more animated than Harry during these conversations.
Through Sirius, Harry had learned many amusing stories about his parents.
However, Harry's troubled expression didn't escape Sirius's notice: "Did the exams not go well? Don't worry about it—James and I were the same, only studying properly for subjects we liked."
He then remembered Dumbledore's presence and sheepishly ducked his head.
"No, well... my exam results haven't been great, but that's not why."
Harry shook his head and turned to Dumbledore: "Professor, during my exam today, Professor Trelawney suddenly... it was just like during the Halloween feast. She started saying all these things—did she make a real prophecy?"
Dumbledore's smile vanished instantly, replaced by solemn attention. "What did she say?"
After Harry recounted the prophecy, Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised, committing every word to memory.
"That makes three genuine prophecies from her now. Perhaps I should give her a raise."
"Dumbledore, couldn't she just be putting on airs?" Sirius offered a different perspective. "I've never believed Trelawney has any real talent. You know how she was even back in our school days—completely batty."
Trelawney had been Sirius's senior by just three years.
"I believe all our professors possess genuine expertise," said Dumbledore. "You simply need to discover their talents for yourself."
"If you say so..." Sirius rubbed his chin, then suddenly erupted in anger. "Then it must have been that slimy git Snape who let Peter escape! I knew he couldn't be trusted!"
Dumbledore looked even more exasperated.
What nonsense. Snape hated Peter Pettigrew more than Sirius did – there was no chance he'd let him go.
Just then, movement came from the doorway. Several heads turned as knocking sounded.
"Professor, are you there?"
"Do come in, Mr Lawrence." Dumbledore recognised the voice immediately.
Wayne entered, smiling when he saw Harry.
"I knew you'd be here. Saves me making another trip."
"Wayne, were you looking for me?" Harry regarded the youth with confusion.
"Indeed. To collect a debt."
"Harry owes you money?" Sirius stood up, giving his godson a sympathetic look. "How much? I'll cover it."
Wayne shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure of the amount. After all, I don't know how much remains in the Potter vault."
"What exactly do you mean by that?" Sirius frowned, glancing questioningly at Harry.
The boy looked equally bewildered.
"Ah... Such poor memory at such a young age. What will become of you?"
Wayne sighed dramatically, producing a metal plate.
Dumbledore's eyelid twitched violently.
"Perhaps one day, you'll be the one to set him free."
"If that day ever comes, you can have all the gold in my vault."
The recorded voices echoed through the office. After considerable thought, Harry finally remembered when this exchange had occurred.
"I..." He opened his mouth, wanting to protest that he hadn't known Sirius was innocent at the time.
But the promise had indeed been his to make.
Sirius now fully understood why Wayne had inquired about the Potter family's vault earlier.
Only Dumbledore...
The old headmaster clenched his fists tightly, pressing his lips together to suppress a smile.
There's no such thing as true empathy – only schadenfreude when witnessing others suffer the same misfortunes as oneself.
Dumbledore resolved to create several small devices capable of storing audio and even visual recordings for future... contingencies.
"Wayne, you... You're not actually serious about this?" Harry's face fell.
"That depends entirely on your attitude." Wayne smiled serenely. "I'm amenable either way."
It did feel somewhat like bullying – exploiting foreknowledge to extract money wasn't exactly honourable. Yet Wayne wouldn't pretend magnanimity by dismissing it all as a joke.
If Harry chose not to pay, Wayne would let the matter drop without resentment.
If Harry chose to pay...
He'd present a 'return gift' of equal value.
Sirius, assuming this was some private jest between the boys, frowned and made to intervene – only for Harry to stop him. The young wizard declared firmly, "I'll pay. But could you leave me enough for living expenses? I'll repay everything after graduation."
"No need, I'll pay for him." Sirius finally couldn't take it anymore and stepped forward. "Once my case is settled, we'll go to Gringotts together. I'll give you however much is in Harry's vault!"
"Sirius, this has nothing to do with you," Harry said anxiously. "This was an agreement between Wayne and me."
Sirius said seriously, "You're my godson, and this bet concerns me. I can't let you pay."
"So, Wayne, do you accept these terms?"
"Are you really sure about paying this money?" Wayne asked again.
Sirius nodded without hesitation. Seeing his determined expression, Harry hesitated for a moment before agreeing as well.
At the same time, he secretly resolved to watch his mouth in the future and not say whatever came to mind.
Still... having a wealthy godfather felt really great!
Wayne smiled. "In that case, I'll give you a gift in return."
"Harry, look into my eyes."
Harry instinctively met his gaze, only to feel his head throb as a stream of information flooded in.
Under Sirius's puzzled look and Dumbledore's questioning one, it took him a full three minutes to snap out of it.
"Meditation Technique?"
"What meditation technique?" Sirius asked.
Harry shook his head. "A type of magic Wayne just taught me. It can improve mental strength and focus."
Dumbledore's expression changed slightly, and he couldn't help but ask, "Harry, are you certain it improves focus?"
"That's what the description said."
"Mr Lawrence, did you invent this spell?" Dumbledore pressed.
"That's right," Wayne admitted frankly.
What he had passed to Harry was a simplified version of the Meditation Technique, which he had indeed derived himself.
"You truly are a generous friend..." Dumbledore remarked with admiration. "Even if this spell were exchanged for ten vaults of gold, many would still be willing."
What are the prerequisites for a wizard to successfully cast a spell?
The correct incantation, the proper wand movement, and highly concentrated focus.
Enhancing mental strength and concentration undoubtedly raises a wizard's potential ceiling. Even he felt somewhat tempted.
Sirius understood this principle as well—it wasn't just about magic. In duelling, for instance, observational skills were equally crucial.
Even between opponents of similar skill, whoever maintained sharper focus and noticed spell trajectories faster would seize the initiative.
"Wayne, could you teach me, too?" Sirius asked eagerly. "I'll pay you the same amount. How about it?"
"Of course not," Wayne shook his head. "This wasn't something Harry bought—it's a 'gift' I gave him."
Sirius looked utterly dejected.
Watching their reactions, Harry finally grasped just how precious this magic was.
Yet another matter concerned him more. He whispered:
"Wayne, could you use that method from earlier to transfer all other subjects' knowledge to me?"
Learning a spell just by meeting someone's gaze—it was practically a divine skill for studying.
If possible, he'd never have to read another book again.
Unfortunately, Wayne refused outright. "Transferring too many memories at once would overload your brain. You'd turn into an idiot."
"Alright." Now it was Harry's turn to be disappointed.
"Sirius, your turn." Wayne redirected the conversation again.
"What about me?" Sirius asked, puzzled.
"Your great-great-grandfather Phineas promised me three vaults. When will you hand them over?"
"Oh, right, he also agreed to let me copy the Black Family's library collection. You'll need to take me to the ancestral home."
"How much?" Sirius exclaimed.
Three vaults—that was an unimaginable sum.
Even someone as indifferent to money as he was shocked.
Was Wayne actually a Black? Was Phineas dividing the inheritance?
Phineas, no longer feigning death on the portrait, coughed awkwardly. "Sirius, these were indeed the terms I agreed to. As long as Lawrence here secured your acquittal, you owe him that money."
Naturally, he couldn't admit the gold was originally payment for Wayne hiding Sirius. Revealing their underhanded deal would displease Dumbledore greatly.
The other portraits didn't intervene either. Since the outcome was favourable—Sirius had been innocent all along—there was no need to complicate matters.
Even among portraits, social graces mattered.
"This is the Black Family's promise. You mustn't go back on it."
Phineas feared Sirius might renege out of stinginess, angering Wayne, so he emphasised again.
"How very generous of you," Sirius said drily.
"And who do you think this was for?" Phineas snorted. "If you weren't the Black bloodline's last descendant, I wouldn't bother with you."
Sirius retorted coldly, "I never asked you to."
Nevertheless, he assured Wayne, "Don't worry, I won't welch on this debt."
Sirius had already severed ties with the Black Family long ago. He couldn't care less about the family's wealth—it was like a reckless heir squandering his ancestors' inheritance without a second thought.
Wayne was quite pleased with his straightforward attitude, but someone else wasn't feeling so comfortable.
"How was I unaware of this transaction between you?" Dumbledore asked.
"You never asked," Wayne replied, giving him a puzzled look. "I had it all settled with Headmaster Phineas the night before you returned."
Dumbledore was speechless. "Then why did you still make me pluck Fawkes' feathers?"
He'd nearly lost his Phoenix just to beg Wayne for help.
Turns out the man had already secured his reward...
"Hey," Wayne waved a hand dismissively. "Can't hurt to earn an extra bit, can it? I've got a family to feed, Professor. I'm sure you understand, right?"
Dumbledore opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing.
What could he even say? Demand that Wayne return the feathers so he could stick them back into Fawkes' rear?
After the young man left, the three remaining in the room exchanged glances, all struck by the same absurd realisation.
Everyone in this room... had been played for fools!