"As one grand celebration concluded, humanity's ugliness and depravity took centre stage."
"Yesterday, following Ireland's World Cup victory after thirty-two years (see Daily Prophet World Cup Special Edition), riots and unrest erupted. Hundreds of wizards formed massive mobs, setting fire to innocent bystanders' tents, destroying their belongings, and revelling in their terror."
"The campsite manager, Roberts, and his family of four became 'playthings' for some, severely violating the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."
"These perpetrators hailed from across the globe – primarily Brazil, Russia, France, and Italy – led by twenty-three hooded figures (full list below)."
"Throughout the chaos, we witnessed the Ministry's incompetence... a venue holding nearly 100,000 people was patrolled by merely fifty Hit Wizards and Aurors, with some Department of International Magical Cooperation staff assisting."
"When events escalated, they were utterly helpless... as unprepared as ordinary citizens."
In the first half, Rita Skeeter vehemently condemned both the Ministry's inaction and the rioters' atrocities.
In truth, this was somewhat exaggerated. At least there were quite a few Ministry of Magic employees like Mr Weasley who actively helped, avoiding direct confrontation with the protesters and instead guiding panicked civilians to prevent greater harm.
Rita Skeeter had an agenda in doing this. Only by vividly portraying the Ministry's incompetence and inaction could Wayne's subsequent actions appear even more heroic.
Sure enough, the latter half of the article abruptly shifted tone, lavishing praise on Wayne—even including photos of him comforting that little girl.
Wait, does the Daily Prophet have that many staff?
How did they get hold of every possible photo?
What Wayne didn't know was that Rita Skeeter had purchased these photos at high prices from nearby campsites overnight. The article's fee couldn't even cover her expenses.
But if it pleased Wayne, she considered it worthwhile.
"..."
"We should be grateful that the wizarding world has produced a youth as kind and just as Mr Lawrence, who preserved the last shred of dignity for British wizardry and saved innocent lives."
"At the same time, we must reflect—could the hostility some pure-bloods harbour towards Muggles lead to greater conflict?"
After reading the entire article, Wayne nodded unconsciously.
It matched about eighty per cent of his actual persona.
This was precisely why he appreciated Rita Skeeter.
She truly possessed that Ravenclaw-style cleverness, having discerned Wayne's intentions before delivering the finishing touch with perfect timing.
When reading the books, Wayne had actually despised Rita Skeeter—second only to Umbridge—but that was merely because he'd adopted the protagonists' perspective.
From a beneficiary's standpoint, having such a capable subordinate was thoroughly satisfying.
With this report published, his reputation would spread far and wide.
Like Dumbledore and Grindelwald before him, one had to accomplish earth-shattering feats to make people understand the vast gulf between them and ordinary folk.
What was that saying again?
The scholars will justify my actions for me!
...
As evening approached, the girls finally woke up one after another, fully recovered.
Descending the stairs, Hermione spotted the newspaper on the coffee table and idly picked it up to browse, her expression gradually turning peculiar.
Penelope and Astoria, coming down later, noticed her frozen stance with the newspaper and crowded round—soon adopting identical expressions.
During dinner, Wayne noticed their odd behaviour and asked suspiciously, "Didn't sleep well?"
No one answered. They all stared at him with unsettling gazes—even Sakura and Tomoyo.
Finally, Hermione couldn't restrain herself any longer, saying with mild irritation, "Had we not read the paper, we'd never have known how dangerous last night was! People died!"
The young man smacked his forehead.
How could he have forgotten this?
He hadn't shared the full details last night, and Mr Weasley had been evasive this morning—but the newspaper had laid everything bare.
Convention dictated that Wayne should now apologise and back down, entering that tiresome "Let me explain—No, I won't listen!" dynamic.
But that would drag on interminably, so he chose a simpler approach.
"Do you think I shouldn't have killed them?" The youth's face took on a misunderstood expression, filling the room with an aura of sorrow.
"Of course not!" Hermione denied repeatedly.
Penelope said sympathetically, "Wayne, you mustn't blame yourself. Those people were rioters – you were completely acting in self-defence. Even those who died got what they deserved."
Astoria even ran over to hug him, pressing her soft lips to his forehead. "I'll always support you... Those people deserved to die!"
Sakura opened her mouth, but seeing the boy surrounded by three girls, she knew her comfort wasn't needed...
Nagini's lips twitched...
How cunning...
Suddenly, she glanced at Tomoyo, who also wore a calm expression.
Noticing Nagini's gaze, Tomoyo merely turned her head and offered a polite smile.
Had this little girl guessed too?
Nagini wasn't certain.
Usually, Tomoyo seemed more like a patient, gentle girl who appeared somewhat naive – clearly a well-bred young lady from a prominent family, not the scheming type.
...
That evening, Wayne – having successfully turned the tables – enjoyed imperial treatment: resting his head on Penelope's lap, being fed fruit by Hermione, with the wealthy little girl fussing over him solicitously.
Only late at night did he have Gardevoir escort Hermione and Penelope home. As for Astoria, she would stay tonight as his hugging pillow.
"By the way." After Astoria went to bathe, Wayne suddenly looked at Sakura, who was watching TV.
"Surely someone hasn't forgotten the bet they made earlier?"
"O-of course not." Sakura's heart skipped a beat as she forced a smile uglier than crying.
Here it comes, it's finally happening.
Since the match ended, Sakura had been on tenterhooks, dreading Wayne bringing up this bet. Then the riot happened, and she thought that with all these upheavals, Wayne must have forgotten.
Who'd have thought he'd wait until now, when there were fewer people around, to mention it again?
"Ten outfits~" Wayne waved his fist.
"Can we make it fewer?" Sakura sat beside Wayne, asking pleadingly.
"We came here to watch the match – Tomoyo didn't bring that many clothes. You've already seen most of them. How about changing it to two pieces?"
Wayne glanced at Tomoyo, who nodded regretfully, before smiling. "What's the difficulty? I was planning to take you dress shopping tomorrow anyway. They'll have all the tools and materials there – Tomoyo can make them on the spot."
Tomoyo perked up, her eyes brightening noticeably.
"Dress shopping?" Sakura's voice rose.
"Mahoutokoro must have sent notices, too?" Wayne raised an eyebrow. "They'll be needed next term."
"We could buy them after returning home." Sakura tried struggling, but Tomoyo interjected: "That's wonderful. I'd love to see other countries' designer styles too."
"Rest assured, you'll be satisfied," Wayne spoke confidently. He wasn't taking Sakura and Tomoyo to a wizarding clothing shop, but to the Lawrence family's fashion company, which employed designers of all styles.
"Tomoyo, you..." Sakura looked at her friend with wounded eyes.
Since arriving in Britain, she'd been betrayed several times already!
"Sakura, you must honour your bets," Tomoyo gently persuaded. "Don't worry, you've seen the clothing designs - they're all beautiful, right?"
"Fine." Sakura collapsed onto the sofa, hugging a pillow, speaking with resignation. "But Wayne, no more photos. It's too embarrassing."
Wayne immediately assured her, "Don't worry, I won't take any."
As he spoke, he gave Tomoyo a meaningful glance, which the young lady acknowledged with an imperceptible nod.
Some things went without saying.
Only Sakura, her eyes filled with innocence and naivety, smiled brightly now that she'd gotten her way.
...
Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic.
Though late at night, the building remained brightly lit as countless employees hurried about with unconcealed exhaustion.
Every department had been conscripted into service - even the usually idle Centaur Liaison Office staff had been dragged out to contact other countries' magical governments.
In the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Crouch was interrupted while composing letters, his cold gaze fixing on the man before him.
"Russel, have you come to turn yourself in?"
As former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and chief interrogator of Death Eaters, Crouch had dealt extensively with their kind. He knew precisely which individuals had escaped punishment through family influence and wealth.
Russel was one such fugitive.
Crouch was certain the man had participated in last night's rally, merely slipping away faster than others.
Unperturbed by Crouch's hostility, Russel quietly said, "Lord Lawrence sent me."
Crouch's expression shifted. After confirming no one outside the office was paying attention, he lowered his voice. "What are you talking about? I don't understand."
"Still so cautious, Crouch." Russel grinned. "Those two hooded figures who escaped yesterday? That was me and my son. You think we got away on our own merit?"
"Lord Lawrence spared our lives for my son's sake, and permitted us to serve him."
"Barty... looks like we'll be colleagues now..."
Crouch's face twisted as if he'd swallowed something foul. As someone who loathed Death Eaters and Voldemort above all, the prospect of working alongside them made him want to demand what Wayne could possibly be thinking.
Still, he resolved first to hear Russel's purpose.
"His Lordship wants me to select some obedient dogs - arrange for their release after some... adjustments," Russel explained.
After brief consideration, understanding dawned on Crouch.
This was about poaching Voldemort's followers.
But what use could these worthless individuals serve?
Though the thought flashed through his mind, Crouch didn't refuse. Even if useless, the mere act of stealing from Voldemort offered its own satisfaction.
"Direct release is impossible," Crouch said. "But we could redistribute their sentences - perhaps two or three months' detention. Who are your targets?"
Selwyn shook his head. "I haven't decided yet. I want to speak with them first. The Lord only needs three, so I must choose carefully."
"I understand," Crouch nodded. "Return tomorrow, and I'll arrange private meetings for you."
After agreeing on a time, Selwyn left the Ministry of Magic. Passing through the Great Hall, he cast a derisive glance at the wizards crammed against the walls due to overcrowded cells.
Thank Merlin... thank Merlin, his son had connections with the Lord. Otherwise, he'd be among those wretched souls.
But Selwyn's mood soured the moment he arrived home and spotted the silver-haired figure waiting at his doorstep.
"Lucius. You've got the nerve to show your face here?"
...
The next morning, Sakura grudgingly washed up and dressed properly before resigning herself to following Tomoyo into the car.
Unlike her companion, Tomoyo was thoroughly looking forward to their destination.
The young heiress had two passions: photography and designing clothes – especially outfits for Sakura. Combining these interests was her idea of perfection.
However, most wizarding fashion focused on robes, which Tomoyo felt utterly failed to showcase Sakura's charm. Her inspiration largely came from Muggle fashion magazines, though she'd never properly studied the subject. Today finally presented that opportunity.
And...
Tomoyo stole a glance at the pensive Wayne.
She thought the boy had natural model proportions. A few well-tailored suits would undoubtedly enhance his already striking features.
The heiress's cheeks pinkened slightly – a delicate flush wasted on the preoccupied boy.
His troubles ran deep.
The Yule Ball...
Though Christmas remained months away, Wayne was already agonising over it.
Fleur would be attending, along with Hermione, Cho and Astoria. Who should he dance with?
Taking turns for each song wasn't the issue.
But the first dance... that carried weighty implications.
Even his cunning mind struggled to solve this particular dilemma.
"Wayne, what's wrong?" Sakura asked, noticing his furrowed brow.
"Nothing," Wayne shook his head, deflecting. "Who do you think Mahoutokoro's champion will be?"
Sakura blinked, considering. "Probably either me or Tomoyo?"
Wayne looked genuinely surprised. "Tomoyo's that skilled?"
He'd never seen the girl perform magic since arriving in Britain, leaving her abilities a mystery.
"Of course!" Sakura brightened when praising her friend. "Tomoyo's always outscored me. Her school robes turned completely gold ages ago – she could've graduated anytime. But she stayed because leaving seemed pointless."
"That impressive?" Wayne turned to Tomoyo, who offered a demure smile. "Sakura's robes turned gold last year, too – several months before mine."
"Genius beauties, the pair of you," Wayne complimented, making both girls blush.
It felt somewhat strange to be praised as geniuses by someone who could single-handedly defeat a hundred men...
But Wayne was completely sincere.
Sakura and Tomoyo were only fifteen, yet they'd already met graduation requirements. If that wasn't genius, what was?
Soon, the car stopped before a skyscraper.
The three got out, where the general manager who'd been waiting respectfully came forward to greet them.
"Young master."
"Is everyone assembled?" Wayne asked.
"Thirty designers in total, all experts in formal wear, have arrived," the manager answered carefully.
"Good, let's go see them then."