Watching Percy's abrupt shift from arrogance to fawning – practically ready to lick the middle-aged wizard's boots – Ginny suddenly understood what Wayne had meant by "simp".
Percy was truly impressive, managing to embody the term so vividly.
He leaned forward in a bowing posture. "Would you care for some tea? Managing such a large-scale event so methodically must be exhausting!"
Mr Crouch, lost in thought, looked slightly startled as he examined Percy. "Very well, thank you... Weatherby."
Harry and Ron, who were seasoning the meat, nearly choked on their laughter, causing Percy's ears to turn pink as he awkwardly went to prepare the tea.
"There's something I've been meaning to discuss, Arthur," Mr Crouch said, first glancing subtly at Wayne – currently telling jokes to Sakura and Tomoyo – his mouth twitching before approaching Mr Weasley.
Sometimes, he truly couldn't comprehend what sort of person Wayne was.
The thoroughness in outmanoeuvring Voldemort, the ruthlessness in dealing with his son, the masterful tactics in infiltrating the Ministry...
It all seemed completely at odds with the playboy young master before him.
Collecting himself, Crouch said gravely, "Ali Bashir wants to discuss your embargo on flying carpets."
Mr Weasley sighed. "I sent him an owl just last week about this. I've said it a hundred times – carpets are classified as Muggle artefacts in the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects. But does he listen?"
"I imagine not," Mr Crouch replied, accepting tea from Percy. "He's rather envious of our domestic market."
"But flying carpets will never replace flying broomsticks in Britain!"
The booming voice came from a portly man in Cannon's robes, approaching with the twins and Cedric.
"Ludo!" Mr Weasley embraced him, then introduced him to the others: "This is Ludo Bagman – you all know who he is. Today's main attraction!"
Then he turned his attention to the children behind Bagman. "How did you end up with Ludo?"
George grinned. "We were wandering around and happened to run into Mr Bagman taking bets, so we put money on Ireland winning—but Bulgaria caught the Golden Snitch. He gave us a lift on his way here."
"If you'd won, it would've been quite the sum," Bagman chimed in, clapping his hands.
"Mum would beat you if she found out," Mr Weasley said, pointing at the twins. "How much did you bet?"
George cautiously held up a single finger.
"One Galleon?" Mr Weasley nodded dismissively, but when George's hand remained raised, his voice rose slightly. "Ten Galleons? Aren't you afraid of losing everything?"
Bagman burst out laughing. "Arthur, you're underestimating your sons—it was a hundred Galleons!"
"They were very confident in their judgement. We'll have to wait and see."
Mr Weasley was too stunned to speak. He didn't even have a hundred Galleons—how had these two managed it?
Fred gave a guilty smile. In truth, Bagman's "hundred Galleons" referred to a hundred each—Cedric had done the same. They'd practically invested all their earnings from their morning stall.
"Alright, Ludo," Crouch's voice carried a hint of impatience. "Put your entertainment aside for now. I've been looking for you—the Bulgarians insist we add twelve more seats to the top box."
"So that's what they wanted," Bagman said. "I thought they were asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. I'll sort it now."
With that, he waved at everyone. "See you all shortly—you'll be with me in the top box. I'm the match commentator!"
Then he Disapparated.
"Why do I get the feeling Ludo's a bit afraid of you?" Mr Weasley mused, stroking his chin.
Crouch's expression remained neutral. "That's your imagination."
"Arthur, I'll need a list of prohibited imports from you. Please compile it as soon as possible."
"No problem," Mr Weasley nodded. "I'll find you after the match."
"Splendid."
With that, Crouch ignored Percy's approach and headed straight for Wayne.
Tomoyo and Sakura's minds had short-circuited by this point. They were still processing Wayne's earlier remark—Your newest photo is actually your oldest one.
"Mr Lawrence, I'd like a word."
Crouch's arrival interrupted their thoughts. Wayne stood up, leaving them with another puzzle: "Prove in one sentence that you've never heard this sentence before."
Then, under their bewildered gazes, he followed Crouch into the nearby woods.
Percy also watched their retreating figures, perplexed. "How does Mr Crouch know Wayne?"
...
Once sure they were alone, Crouch gave the boy an odd look. "How did you come up with such... clever questions?"
Wayne waved a hand dismissively. "Just teasing the girls. Thought of it on the spot. So, what's this about?"
Crouch's voice lowered. "He's escaped."
Wayne's casual demeanour sharpened slightly. "Barty Jr?"
Crouch nodded silently. "Three days ago, Winky told me that when she went to deliver food, the house was already empty. The meal from the previous day hadn't been touched either."
"Did he escape on his own, or did someone help him?"
"He had no wand and was physically very weak. There's no way he could have broken through the traps I set."
Crouch didn't say it outright, but the implication was clear.
Wayne's eyes narrowed slightly, then reopened with a glimmer of starlight. Crouch suddenly felt an immense pressure bearing down on him, forcing him to stagger back several steps before the sensation eased. He stared at the young man with startled uncertainty.
After a long moment, the starlight gradually faded, and Wayne returned to normal, speaking softly:
"I've sensed him. He should be... several hundred miles from here."
"Can we capture the Dark Lord directly?" Crouch asked eagerly.
Wayne shook his head gently. "If we fail, he'll hide even deeper. It's best not to alert the enemy."
He had once considered whether to apprehend Voldemort simply, but the Dark Lord in his disembodied state was neither a ghost nor a soul—his existence was profoundly unique.
If it were that easy to capture him, Dumbledore would have done so back in their first year.
"To kill someone, they must at least be alive first," Wayne said, offering comfort as he noted the disappointment in Crouch's eyes.
Crouch was a rational man. He understood Wayne's meaning and didn't press the matter further.
Wayne advised Crouch to stay vigilant in the coming days and handed him two life-saving artefacts before they parted ways.
Returning to the campsite, preparations for the barbecue were nearly complete.
Everyone gathered around the grill, cooking and eating as they went.
"Cho, try my cooking," Sakura said, passing over a freshly grilled chicken wing. Cho took a bite and gave a thumbs-up.
"And here's mine too." Tomoyo also cheerfully picked up a skewer of meat.
"What about mine?" Wayne looked at his empty plate and asked helplessly.
"This portion's for you." Nagini brought over a platter of beef. Knowing Wayne disliked undercooked meat, she'd grilled it to medium-well, not minding if it was slightly overdone.
"Nagini really knows how to care for people, unlike certain others, tsk~"
Wayne deliberately raised his voice, glancing pointedly at Hermione.
Clatter!
A charred lump of 'charcoal' was dropped onto his plate by Hermione. The young witch smiled sweetly: "Care to try?"
Wayne gulped. "I'll... pass."
Eating that would be worse than downing Neville's potions...
Carrying his plate, he joined the twins and Cedric. "You placed three hundred Galleons with Bagman?"
"Correct," Cedric took a sip of lemonade. "If we win this, I can clear your debt in one go."
Wayne posed the existential question: "What if you win but Bagman can't pay?"
The three froze – they hadn't considered this while placing bets.
Finally, Fred said, "Bagman's a celebrity! England's most famous Beater wouldn't cheat students, right?"
George and Cedric nodded vigorously: "He's friends with Dad, too. This definitely won't happen."
"Must be overthinking then." Wayne shrugged, dropping the subject.
Without his interference... Ludo Bagman would indeed default.
And try fobbing them off with Leprechaun gold.
But Wayne had intervened early. All Bagman's odds had been calculated by his actuaries – not as precise as Muggle systems, but guaranteed no losses.
He marvelled at Bagman's stupidity. Never heard of a bookie losing money before.
Yet this very idiocy made him the easiest Department Head to manipulate. Simply having Madam Greengrass acquire Bagman's debts allowed effortless control over the Sports Minister.
Post-meal, the group who'd risen at 3 am retired to tents to rest before the evening match.
The twins and Cedric remained energetic, pushing their cart out to earn more.
Wayne strolled around, too – a gathering of 100,000 wizards was rare.
During recent drinks, old Gellert had boasted about commanding 100,000 followers, making continental Europe tremble.
He forgot Wayne knew other witnesses. Newt had spilt Grindelwald's secrets.
Though claiming 100,000, his actual followers numbered 10-20,000. Grindelwald only wanted elites, ignoring underlings.
Wayne had exposed him then, making the old man flush and resent Newt further.
Today, Wayne finally witnessed what 100,000 wizards looked like.
The Ministry's few hundred staff were overwhelmed, management in complete chaos.
Wayne walked along the path, observing wizards dressed in all manner of eccentric attire—some wore pyjamas with neckties, others sported African tribal chief outfits, and a few had draped themselves entirely in peacock feathers while wearing nothing else.
It was the epitome of unfettered freedom.
Magic was technically prohibited here, but for most wizards, that was nearly impossible to abide by. Without magic, they couldn't even light a fire to cook a meal.
Vendors kept Apparating in to hawk their wares, and eventually, the Ministry of Magic surrendered entirely, adopting the classic British tradition—giving up!
Let chaos reign, as long as no fights break out.
Thus, the campsites grew even livelier.
Along the way, Wayne ran into several familiar faces. His first encounter was with his roommates, Norman and Toby, who had come with Ernie Macmillan and a group of other Hufflepuff students camping nearby.
They were delighted to see Wayne and pulled him into conversation before finally letting him go.
Next, he bumped into Oliver Wood, the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain who had just graduated and joined Puddlemere United as a reserve Keeper.
Still bitter about failing to win the school Quidditch Cup in his final year, Wood wasn't in the mood for much chatter, so Wayne soon moved on.
Arriving at another campsite, he was surprised to spot three familiar figures gathered around the twins and Cedric's cart.
"Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick."
Wayne approached and greeted them.
"Wayne, you're here too," Professor Sprout said warmly, smiling at her star pupil while the other two professors also beamed.
"This is for you, Mr Lawrence," Professor McGonagall handed Wayne a hat adorned with a four-leaf clover before asking, "You must be supporting Ireland too, right?"
Their outfits made it clear—they were die-hard Irish fans. Professor McGonagall's face was painted in team colours, her clothes striped in eco-friendly white and green.
The usually stern Transfiguration professor was, it turned out, a Quidditch fanatic. Today, Wayne saw a whole new side of her.
Professor Sprout wore the same hat she'd just gifted Wayne, twirling a four-leaf clover pinwheel in her hand.
Professor Flitwick, meanwhile, sported a child-sized Irish team jersey with a badge pinned to his chest.
The trio exuded the harmonious vibe of a family outing.
"Of course, I'm certain Ireland will take the cup," Wayne accepted McGonagall's gift without hesitation, donning the hat with a grin. "And since we're not at school, you can just call me Wayne."
He then invited, "Professors, would you like to watch the match together later? The view from the box seats is a bit better."
"No need," Professor McGonagall declined. "I prefer the atmosphere of the regular stands. The boxes are too quiet."
"Fair enough," Wayne conceded. She wasn't wrong—while the box offered a clearer view, it lacked the energy of the crowds.
He watched as the three professors loaded up on merchandise from the cart. Cedric and the twins tried to offer them a discount, only to be sternly rebuffed by McGonagall.
"Professors don't take advantage of students. Put that money away properly."
The three professors had an incredibly strong desire to purchase, buying fifty Galleons' worth of goods in one go. Though the high prices were a factor, the quantity was still substantial.
Hearing her words, Wayne sighed, "If only Professor Snape had your level of awareness."
All three professors twitched at the corners of their mouths.
Regarding the feud between Wayne and Snape, they didn't feel it was appropriate to comment further.
As the three professors prepared to return to their camps with armfuls of purchases, Professor McGonagall suddenly turned back.
"Wayne, have you seen Albus recently?"
Wayne shook his head blankly. "No... The last time I saw the Headmaster was at the end of last month."
Professor McGonagall's expression grew even more peculiar. "Did you upset him?"
"What's wrong with him?" Wayne countered.
"A few days ago, Albus suddenly sent me a letter... ordering me to classify your Itching Powder and Gender-Swap Mints as contraband."
Wayne's mouth twisted. "Old age makes people eccentric. Don't worry—neither product will appear at school next term, and I won't give any to Harry privately."
"Good." Professor McGonagall nodded in satisfaction before leaving with the other two professors.
Wayne remained standing there, deep in thought...
What bee's gotten into Dumbledore's bonnet?