Wayne had full confidence in his spellcasting and control, especially with the Stunning Spell—a charm he used hundreds of times a year—which he'd mastered to perfection.
If he said Norman and Toby would wake at seven, they absolutely wouldn't stir at six fifty-nine.
Wayne had intended for Snape to remain unconscious for half an hour, yet the man had recovered in under twenty minutes – a blatant slap to his face.
Wayne glared at the dazed-looking old bat when, suddenly, a possibility struck him.
His gaze sharpened as he pressed his wand against Snape's shoulder.
Snape's expression darkened as he tried to intercept Wayne's movement, but having just shaken off the Stunning Spell's effects, his reflexes were still sluggish.
By the time he batted Wayne's wand aside, the young man had already gleaned the information he sought, his expression turning complicated:
"Professor, you're truly ruthless with yourself. You've undergone magical modification."
Dumbledore's expression shifted too, his gaze turning piercing as though it could penetrate Snape's very soul:
"Severus, care to explain?"
Magical modification was essentially Dark Magic, as conventional magic never ventured into such territory.
It was an extremely forbidden branch of magic, scarcely mentioned even within the Restricted Section.
Its danger rivalled Horcrux creation, sometimes surpassing it depending on the modified body part. The sole distinction being that it harmed none but the practitioner themselves.
Through spellwork upon one's own body, modifying organs and physical structures, one could enhance spell potency, magical resistance, observational acuity, and even physical strength.
Voldemort was a master of this art – his body long since rendered unrecognisable by such modifications, yet this very practice contributed to his formidable power.
When Wayne had probed Snape's body with magical energy moments earlier, he'd encountered unusual resistance, completely unlike an ordinary wizard's constitution. No wonder the man had regained consciousness so quickly.
Confronted by Dumbledore's questioning, Snape's previously troubled expression abruptly smoothed into calm.
"Explain? What explanation is needed?"
"Isn't it obvious? I believed this would enhance my capabilities, so I proceeded. This is my personal pursuit of magical mastery – you've no right to interfere."
Snape gave a cold laugh. "You need only know I won't be scrambling my brains like the Dark Lord did."
"That's not what I meant," Dumbledore frowned. "Severus, this is far too reckless. You must reconsider carefully – it's not too late to stop now."
"Impossible," Snape flatly refused, shooting Wayne a sidelong glance.
He had his pride, damn it.
Watching Wayne's power hurtle towards unfathomable depths, how could Snape possibly remain complacent?
Especially after reading those newspaper reports – they'd struck him like a physical blow.
The period when their disparity had been smallest turned out to be Wayne's first few months at Hogwarts.
Snape bitterly regretted not tormenting the boy more during his weaker days.
Now? He'd be thanking his stars if Wayne didn't bully him instead.
Thus, no matter how perilous, he wouldn't lightly abandon any opportunity to grow stronger.
Besides, could this even still be considered risky?
Seeing Dumbledore preparing for further protest, Snape cut him off:
"I couldn't die now even if I wanted to. Have you forgotten my stock of potions?"
Dumbledore seemed momentarily dazed.
He suddenly remembered the horrifying scene during summer break when he'd witnessed Snape brutally torture Pettigrew to death, only to revive him with a potion...
With such potions at his disposal, dying truly would be difficult.
"Still, do exercise restraint," Dumbledore finally cautioned before letting the matter drop.
Everyone had their own path, and it seemed Snape had found one befitting his identity as Potions Master.
Wayne also eyed him strangely.
With the Resurrection Draught as his trump card, Snape certainly had the confidence to transform himself. But... once those potions were exhausted, wouldn't he come begging again?
Heh heh heh...
...
After some discussion among the three, Wayne eventually proposed a solution.
Though neither fully agreed, lacking better alternatives, they reluctantly consented to let him try.
Wayne and Snape left the Headmaster's Office, descending the stairs.
"Attacking a professor—twenty points from Hufflepuff," Snape retaliated, still smarting from Wayne's earlier ambush. "Now I've got leverage over you..."
"Oh?" Wayne interrupted with a regretful sigh. "Then I suppose I'll have to silence you permanently and find the school a new Potions professor."
Snape's eyelid twitched. He knew Wayne was joking, yet the threat still unsettled him. Quickening his pace, he put distance between them.
"Tch." Wayne clicked his tongue and headed to the school gates to wait.
Soon, the bell rang, signalling the end of class. Students returning from Care of Magical Creatures at the forest's edge looked particularly dishevelled.
Hagrid's assigned creatures were even more revolting than Bubotuber pus in Herbology—their tails kept exploding unexpectedly, leaving many robes singed.
Spotting Wayne, Hermione brightened, assuming he waited for her, and hurried over.
"Go on ahead," Wayne murmured, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I've some business to attend to. If time allows this afternoon, I'll join you in the library for research."
"Alright," Hermione agreed sweetly before entering the Great Hall.
Wayne's gaze flickered to three furtive figures pressed against the wall, trying to remain inconspicuous.
"Malfoy. Here." His tone was flat.
The trio froze mid-creep. Crabbe and Goyle bolted at top speed—only the slender Malfoy remained, gaping after his fleeing companions.
After a full thirty seconds of stunned silence, Malfoy finally approached at Wayne's impatient gesture, voice dripping with forced cheer:
"Lawrence! What a coincidence—I didn't even see you there."
Wayne arched a brow but didn't call out the lie, simply turning away. "Follow me."
Not daring to refuse, Malfoy trailed him to a side chamber.
"I need a favour..." As Wayne explained his request, Malfoy's expression shifted uneasily.
"May I ask why?"
"Afraid not. But I promise no real harm will come to you." Wayne looked down at him—though Malfoy wasn't short, he still stood half a head shorter.
"And you'll earn my favour, which I believe is what you truly need."
Malfoy's heart skipped a beat as he recalled his father's parting words before term began—"Remember the Malfoy Family motto: always stand with the winner."
Though he knew little, he understood perfectly well who the winners and top predators were in this school.
"I accept!"
"Wise choice." Wayne smiled, patting his shoulder. "Oh, and don't forget to pay your tuition this weekend."
Malfoy: "..."
...
With two Divination classes over, the first day of term finally concluded.
Trelawney had introduced a new divination category this term—astrological charts, requiring everyone to map planetary positions at their birth. Ron had drawn three Neptunes, doubling his weekend homework.
"Bloody old bat," Ron grumbled bitterly as they descended the stairs with the crowd. "There goes my entire weekend."
"You could consult Professor Sinistra—she's the astronomy expert. Might save you time," Harry suggested.
Ron nodded eagerly. "Then I'll have time to test-fly your Firebolt."
The Firebolt Sirius bought Harry had finally arrived at summer's end—only secured through Wayne's connections amidst tight orders.
They reached the entrance hall, packed with students queueing for dinner. No sooner had they stopped than a shrill voice cut through behind them.
"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"
Harry and Ron turned to see Malfoy flanked by his cronies, their moods instantly souring.
"What?" Ron snapped.
"Nothing, just checking in. Oh—this term's supplies list includes dress robes, right? For the inter-school ball, I suppose."
Malfoy flashed a loathsome grin, his performance utterly unfeigned—no, not a performance at all.
Wayne's instruction was simple: provoke Harry and Ron after class, preferably into a fight.
For Malfoy, this was child's play.
"Get to the point," Harry said impatiently.
"Testy, Potter?" Malfoy raised his chin. "Just don't want Weasley embarrassing the school in some moth-eaten rags. I've got spare second-hand ones if needed—wearing robes only once is a family tradition."
Goyle and Crabbe chuckled on cue as eavesdroppers pricked up their ears.
Ron trembled with rage. "Keep your filthy rags! I've bought new robes. Even a house-elf wouldn't touch your hand-me-downs!"
Malfoy's smirk vanished—Ron had struck a nerve. His family's freed house-elf remained a sore point.
"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry glared, tugging Ron away.
BANG!
Screams erupted as something white-hot grazed Harry's cheek. He fumbled for his wand—then a roar echoed through the hall.
"ENOUGH!"
Harry whirled around to see Moody limping down the marble staircase, his wand pointed at a pure white ferret.
"Did he hurt you?" Moody growled. "I can't stand people who attack from behind! Don't touch him!"
The latter was directed at the two lackeys. Staring into Moody's magical eye, Crabbe and Goyle froze in terror.
Moody flicked his wand, causing the struggling ferret to bounce ten feet into the air before plummeting down.
"What on earth are you doing, Professor Moody?" came a shocked voice.
Professor McGonagall hurried down the marble staircase, her arms laden with books.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," Moody replied calmly. "Just disciplining a student."
"Merlin's beard!" Professor McGonagall gasped, dropping her books but immediately pointing her wand at the ferret. With a loud crack, Malfoy reappeared, curled on the floor, trembling.
"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as punishment!" Professor McGonagall said furiously. "Dumbledore must have told you that."
"He might've mentioned it," Moody said carelessly. "I forgot."
"I-I'll tell my father!" Malfoy whimpered, eyes brimming with humiliated tears.
Moody heard him and leaned in menacingly. "Lucius? I've known him for years. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son."
"Oh yes, your Head of House is Snape, isn't it?"
"Yes," Malfoy spat resentfully.
"Another old friend. Feel free to have him come talk to me." With that, he limped away.
Professor McGonagall shook her head helplessly, taking a moment to gather her books with her wand before entering the Great Hall.
"I'm starting to like him," Ron said, trembling with excitement. "When do we have Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
"Thursday," Harry replied, watching Moody's retreating figure with the satisfaction of drinking an ice-cold Butterbeer.
During dinner, Harry and Ron eagerly discussed Moody's past exploits, joined by Fred and George.
"He's brilliant," George said. "We had his class this morning."
"How was it?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Never had a lesson like it," Fred said.
"He really knows his stuff," Lee Jordan added with relish.
"Knows what?"
"Everything. How to dispose of bodies, subdue Dark Wizards, even how to make their crimes worse through combat."
As they chattered excitedly, the Great Hall doors burst open.
Snape stormed in, followed by a dishevelled, red-eyed Malfoy.
They marched straight to the staff table, where Snape fixed Moody with a cold stare.
"Strike the young, and the old come running."
Moody had stowed his flask before they reached him. Rising with a sneer, he said:
"Well then, what can I do for you, Snape?"
"I have no desire to argue with you." Snape's gaze turned wary. "Dumbledore has requested your presence. Perhaps after speaking with him, you'll understand that students aren't as simple as the criminals you used to hunt."
"What's the difference?" Moody's magical eye whirled wildly before settling on Malfoy, who promptly hid behind Snape in fright.
Moody gave a vicious chuckle. "What good could come from the spawn of a weasel like Lucius? A Death Eater is always a Death Eater – that never changes."
Snape's brow furrowed as he touched his left arm. "Save such words for Dumbledore."
"Malfoy, return to your meal." Malfoy scampered away like a startled rabbit.
As Snape escorted Moody through the entrance hall, he deducted thirty points from Harry and Ron for "rudely rejecting their classmates' goodwill" when passing the Gryffindor table. The two boys were so furious they hacked their steaks into mincemeat.
Not a word passed between them during the entire walk to the Headmaster's Office, the only sound being the whirring of Moody's magical eye.
"Dongpo pork."
Snape uttered the password and gestured for Moody to enter first.
With a disdainful snort, Moody stepped past him, his magical eye swivelling completely backwards to monitor the corridor behind. Seeing Snape's expression remain impassive, he relaxed slightly.
Without knocking, Moody yanked the door knocker and strode inside. When he spotted the young man already present in the office, his natural eye's pupil contracted uncontrollably as a profound sense of foreboding gripped him.
In the next instant, the youth smiled and produced a lighter-like device, pressing it gently—
The very fabric of light and space distorted as a domain unfolded!