Naturally, copying photographs couldn't be done in Dumbledore's presence, so Wayne had to wait until he was absent to do it secretly.
But Grindelwald had only given him a week, so he needed to hurry.
Instead of returning to the Great Hall for lunch, Wayne went straight to the Divination classroom tower to wait for lessons.
Before long, Harry arrived too.
Spotting Wayne, Harry looked delighted, and the two sat chatting by the classroom door.
With no one else around, Harry voiced his frustrations. "Wayne, why would people rather believe Dumbledore's gone senile than accept that Voldemort's returned?"
"Seamus just apologised to me, but he doesn't actually believe Dumbledore. He only thinks I wouldn't lie because of what you said."
"Since when does a student's word carry more weight than Dumbledore's?"
Checking the time – still half an hour until class – Wayne decided to explain things properly.
"Harry, put yourself in their shoes. If your cousin Dudley told you old Adolf had resurrected and was bringing back the Third Reich, how would you feel?"
Harry considered this seriously. "Impossible. He'd just be seeking attention."
Wayne continued patiently. "Alright, now imagine if it was Uncle Huck – say, the current Prime Minister – announcing it live on the BBC to the whole world. Would you believe it?"
This time, Harry hesitated. "I still probably wouldn't. It's too absurd. The man's been dead fifty years, and Muggles can't do magic."
"What if I told you?" Wayne pressed.
Now Harry began doubting himself. "Wait... has he actually come back?"
Clap!
Wayne smacked his hands together. "See? That's exactly how ordinary wizards are reacting."
"Muggles can't resurrect people, but before seeing Voldemort return, did you know such magic existed?"
Harry shook his head. He'd been completely stunned at the time.
"Uncle Huck represents Fudge, the BBC is the Daily Prophet. They're promoting conclusions that fit public understanding but are fundamentally wrong, so most ordinary people believe them."
"Because people instinctively trust authorities, especially when the Ministry's credibility was previously decent without major scandals."
Understanding dawned on Harry. "So compared to Fudge, Dumbledore and I look like clowns."
"No, just you." Wayne mercilessly stabbed Harry's weak spot, watching his face twist in discomfort.
"When Dumbledore says Voldemort's back, many believe without hesitation and rally around him to reform the Order of the Phoenix. But you? Ron and Neville might believe you, but you can't even convince Seamus."
Harry gloomily lowered his head. He knew Wayne was right.
"So what should I do? It's the truth!"
"You don't need to trumpet the truth constantly." Wayne waved a hand. "You've got two options."
"Which are?" Harry fished out a notebook, paying closer attention than in any lesson.
Wayne raised one finger. "First, beg people to believe you. Maybe some soft-hearted souls will take pity."
Harry's face darkened.
What kind of rubbish suggestion was that? He took out two Galleons and handed them over.
Wayne pocketed them without changing expression, then extended a finger. "Secondly, become powerful enough, and naturally, more people will value what you say."
Harry lowered his head in thought before rebutting after a long pause: "I don't think that's right. Isn't Dumbledore powerful? Then why don't many people believe him?"
"Because his magic doesn't fall upon those people."
Wayne said indifferently: "Everyone says Dumbledore is strong, but how many have truly seen him act?"
"Precisely because the Dumbledore in people's minds is too rule-abiding and reassuring, that's why everyone has lost their sense of awe."
"What use is a strong person who isn't feared?"
Harry's worldview was greatly shaken.
Following Wayne's line of thought, he reconsidered.
Was Dumbledore strong?
Undoubtedly.
But were many people afraid of him?
Not necessarily.
Every term, parents sent Howlers and complaint letters reprimanding Dumbledore. Umbridge dared to interrupt his speeches, too.
During the trial back then, if the evidence hadn't been irrefutable, he wouldn't have emerged unscathed as he did now.
Fudge disregarded Dumbledore's power, too, just as Wayne said – because they knew Dumbledore wouldn't use magic against them.
He realised Wayne's perspective was very similar to Mr G's – adept at leveraging one's strength to achieve goals, rather than solely relying on rules.
People knew this, which was why they trembled before Wayne.
Why did those Slytherin students fear Wayne?
Because he'd beat you without hesitation if provoked, hanging you on the wall.
Why did they dare criticise Dumbledore freely?
Because everyone knew Dumbledore wouldn't lose his temper over trivial matters.
"Let me think this over properly," Harry said, rubbing his temples.
These concepts were somewhat beyond him, not something he could grasp immediately.
Putting away his notebook, Harry asked expectantly: "Will Mr G be coming to school this term?"
"Not for now." Wayne shook his head. "He has more important matters."
Creating Horcruxes was extremely dangerous. Not everyone was as deranged as Voldemort, splitting souls as casually as breaking biscuits.
"Oh, I see." Harry sounded disappointed.
Footsteps echoed from downstairs – students were arriving for class.
Harry and Wayne stood up and entered the classroom.
Trelawney had developed a habit of predicting Harry's violent death every few lessons.
While still pondering Wayne's words, Harry heard another prophecy about him falling to his death from a broomstick, drawing sympathetic looks from Lavender Brown.
But Harry didn't care, merely waiting until class ended before being the tenth to rush out.
Wayne packed unhurriedly, preparing to read in the miniature world of his briefcase.
He had no more classes today, though Gryffindor and Ravenclaw still had Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Wayne looked forward to how many points Umbridge would earn him this lesson.
...
Entering the Defence classroom, students found Umbridge already seated behind the lectern, wearing yesterday's pink sweater with a black velvet bow atop her head. It gave the impression of a large fly landing on an even larger toad.
The young witches and wizards remained silent, not yet knowing Umbridge's temperament or how strict she was about classroom discipline.
Hermione chose a seat right at the front where she had no desk partner – few students liked sitting in the front row during lessons, but the young witch didn't care. She took out her wand, textbook and quill.
"Good afternoon, class," Umbridge said once everyone was seated.
A few responded half-heartedly.
"That won't do. I expect you to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. Let's try again."
This time, the response was much louder, with everyone joining in.
"That's better," Umbridge said in a sickly sweet voice. "Please put away your wands. They won't be needed in our lessons."
Many exchanged frustrated glances, reminded of Quirrell.
Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out an unusually short wand, rapping it sharply against the blackboard where two lines immediately appeared:
Defence Against the Dark Arts – Back to Basics
Hermione's gaze lingered on Umbridge's wand, recalling something Wayne had once told her.
'The wand chooses the wizard' wasn't just an empty saying. A wand's core, wood and even length could inadvertently reveal aspects of its owner's personality.
Longer wands indicated bold, decisive personalities who favoured powerful spells.
Shorter wands suggested those who preferred elegant, refined spellcasting.
Here, 'long' and 'short' referred to the standard range of nine to fourteen inches.
Anything shorter couldn't be considered a normal wand, indicating significant personality flaws in the witch.
Like Umbridge's wand, which wasn't even eight inches long.
This wasn't just a flawed person – this was a flaw that had gained sentience.
While Hermione was lost in thought, Umbridge rapped the board again. The previous text vanished, replaced by lesson objectives:
1. Understand basic principles of Defence Against the Dark Arts
2. Learn to identify appropriate legal contexts
3. Evaluate defensive magic in practical scenarios
The classroom was filled with the sound of students taking notes. After a few minutes, Umbridge had students open 'Theoretical Defence Magic' and begin reading aloud.
The content was mind-numbingly dull, rivalling Professor Binns' lectures.
Harry stared at the same line six or seven times before looking up to see what Umbridge was doing – and froze in shock.
Hermione hadn't opened her book. Instead, she had one hand raised high, staring unblinkingly at Umbridge, who was steadfastly looking in the opposite direction.
Soon, more students noticed, putting down their tedious books to watch with interest.
Umbridge knew she couldn't ignore this any longer.
"Dear, do you have questions about this chapter?" she asked with a fake smile.
"First, please don't address me so familiarly. Second, my question isn't about this chapter."
"Oh, we're reading now," Umbridge smiled. "You can ask other questions after class."
"If it concerns lesson content, it should be addressed during class." Hermione was adamant as she looked at the blackboard. "I have doubts about your course objectives. There's not a single word mentioned about using defensive spells."
A brief silence fell. Many students turned to examine the objectives on the blackboard and couldn't help but nod in agreement.
It was true.
"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge chuckled lightly. "Miss Granger, I can't imagine a situation in my classroom where you'd need to use defensive spells. Surely you don't expect to be attacked during lessons?"
Hermione looked at her as if she were an idiot. "Are we learning spells just to use them in class?"
"Professor Umbridge, if you could sign a guarantee promising to take full responsibility for any danger students might face in the future, then I'd firmly support your course objectives—"
"She's a professor, not a bodyguard," Dean Thomas muttered under his breath, loud enough for those nearby to hear. Several students struggled to suppress amused smiles.
Umbridge's smile gradually faded. "Granger, are you an educational expert specially trained by the Ministry of Magic?"
"No. Are you?" Hermione shot back.
Umbridge adopted that sickeningly sweet, artificial tone. "Oh dear, I believe I introduced myself yesterday. I'm the Head of the Department of Educational Decree—the most qualified professional imaginable."
"A department that's barely a month old?" Hermione scoffed.
"This isn't something a student should concern themselves with." Umbridge was growing impatient. "Our latest programme was designed by far more intelligent wizards than you. You'll be learning defensive spells in a safe, risk-free manner—"
"What good will that do?" Harry demanded loudly. "Will Death Eaters attack us in a professional, risk-free way?"
"Raise your hand, Mr Potter."
Harry hastily raised his hand, but Umbridge had already looked away, calling on Dean Thomas instead.
"Young man, do you have a question?"
"Like Potter said, we won't be attacked without risk," Dean stated.
"Let me repeat myself," Umbridge said in that infuriatingly smug tone that made people want to punch her. "My classroom is perfectly safe, and Hogwarts is secur—"
CRACK!
A sharp sound came from the ceiling. The next moment, a brick fell—directly onto Umbridge's head.
Before the smile could fade from her face, she toppled over stiffly.
The entire class: "..."