Wayne suspected Umbridge had spent her entire salary currying favour with her superiors, leaving herself so poor she only owned one cardigan.
Since the term began, she'd never changed out of that pink open-fronted sweater.
"Mr Lawrence, do you have some confusion?" Umbridge, who'd been observing Wayne, noticed his peculiar expression and asked with a smile.
Wayne tilted his head. "Are you afraid of the cold? With outdoor temperatures over twenty degrees and a fireplace in the room, aren't you worried about getting heatstroke wearing that sweater all the time?"
The classroom fell silent first, then erupted in muffled laughter.
Their classmates' gazes towards Umbridge grew increasingly amused.
If Wayne hadn't mentioned it, they'd never have noticed.
They'd just found it nauseating that a toad-like witch wore such pink clothing—who'd consider whether she might be hot?
"Lawrence, my health is none of your concern," Umbridge said in a sickly sweet voice. "This is Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Please refrain from discussing irrelevant topics."
Wayne looked at her as if she were an idiot. "If you hadn't asked, would I have said anything?"
Umbridge's fake smile faltered. Glaring at the snickering students, she slammed her hand on the desk.
"Class is starting now! Students will maintain proper decorum!"
The class fell silent, sitting ramrod straight. Wayne watched as the system delivered a hundred points, inwardly delighted.
Though the sight of this woman ruined his appetite, he could tolerate her presence a while longer for the sake of earning points.
Before proper lessons began, Umbridge announced her rules.
She demanded that everyone raise their hands to speak, only answering when called upon, and requiring ten repetitions of "Professor Umbridge" after every question and answer.
Only after establishing these did she begin teaching.
As rumoured, their sole task was reading.
Wayne opened the textbook for the first time. Wilbert Slinkhard's The Theory of Magical Defence served only one purpose—propping up the uneven leg of his dormitory desk.
After three pages, Wayne decisively closed it and pulled out The Lost Magics he'd been reading recently.
Umbridge noticed immediately.
"Lawrence, why are you reading unrelated material in my class?"
"Do you believe your special family background and minor achievements entitle you to disrespect me, your professor?"
Swish! Swish! Swish!
The entire class threw down their books, eyes darting excitedly between the two.
They smelled gunpowder in the air.
Since the start of the term, everyone had noticed the tension between Wayne and Umbridge.
Many suspected Hermione's unusual behaviour that day was related to Wayne too.
Today, the two principals finally clashed directly—a true collision of celestial bodies.
"I don't understand, Madam Umbridge." Wayne set down his book, leaning back in his chair with tactical precision.
"Setting aside whether I respect you—two Order of Merlin First Class awards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot... If these are 'minor achievements', then what does that make you? Trash?"
"After living over forty years without even a Merlin Medal, having your Wizengamot application rejected—what a complete failure of a life. If I were you, I'd have snapped my wand and offed myself long ago."
Umbridge's face darkened further. Whose fault was it that her application got rejected? How dare he bring that up?
"Is this your excuse for disrespecting me?" Umbridge trembled with rage. "This is a school! I am a professor, and you are a student. I've said you must address me as 'Professor Umbridge' when answering—didn't you hear me?"
"I heard you. I just don't care to comply." Wayne dug at his ear impatiently. "Pointless rules are just nonsense, like the textbooks you make us read—good only for propping up wobbly tables."
"Ten points from Hufflepuff!" she shrieked. "The curriculum in my classroom is not for students to question! This is an expert-designed study plan!"
"Did those experts' books teach you how to block bricks falling from the sky?"
Umbridge's face cycled through shades of green and white, a spectacular display. "Lawrence, if you disrupt my class again, you will leave!"
She nearly spat a few curses but, remembering Fudge's instructions, restrained herself at the last moment.
Wayne drawled, "There isn't a single school rule that permits professors to eject students from classrooms."
"Then I'll give you detention." Umbridge's eyes gleamed maliciously as a thought struck her. "That's always within a professor's rights, isn't it?"
The little badgers looked worried, while a few Slytherins began snickering.
Blaise Zabini sneered, "Lawrence, just obey the professors like a good little student. Professor Umbridge is an educational expert sent by the Ministry. If you don't want to learn, don't ruin it for the rest of us."
"Don't you agree, Professor Umbridge?"
Umbridge smiled approvingly. "Quite right, Mr Zabini. By steadfastly following the Ministry's guidance, you ensure both safety and OWL success. Perhaps one day, you might even secure a promising position at the Ministry."
Zabini nodded eagerly, then shot Wayne a triumphant look.
He'd long disliked Wayne—ever since Astoria thrashed him last term—and nursed that grudge. If Snape wouldn't help him, he'd find a more powerful patron.
His mother, after all, was a socialite who navigated the Ministry with ease, unfazed by seven dead husbands. He knew Fudge, Umbridge's backer, had already broken with Dumbledore. Now was the time to pick sides.
Pansy Parkinson chimed in, while Malfoy curled his lip and muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, "Stay clear of that idiot from now on."
Wayne gave them a dismissive glance before smiling coolly at Umbridge. "You have the right to assign detention. I have the right not to attend. Say what you like—try expelling me if you dare, though I doubt you can."
"You—!" Umbridge spluttered. "Is this how Dumbledore teaches you to treat professors? Hogwarts' problems run deeper than I thought."
"One hundred and fifty points from Hufflepuff! If you skip detention this Friday, Hufflepuff loses another two hundred!"
After speaking, she took out parchment and a quill, scribbling on it before finally breaking into a smile again.
For the rest of the lesson, Umbridge acted as though Wayne didn't exist in the classroom, instructing the students to continue reading.
Wayne, perfectly at ease, kept reading.
One lesson, over a thousand points deducted—his mood couldn't be better.
The system was still popping up with point notifications, clearly indicating Umbridge wasn't as calm as she appeared.
As for the massive point loss, the Hufflepuff students couldn't care less. Instead, they were far more concerned about Wayne.
Hannah cautiously poked Wayne's back and, when he turned around, whispered:
"Maybe you should just serve detention... What if she really expels you..."
"Relax, Hannah. Only Dumbledore has the authority to expel students. Whether she's a deputy or even the actual Minister for Magic, she'd have to bow her head at Hogwarts."
Wayne didn't lower his voice, and his words rang out clearly in the silent classroom.
Umbridge heard him—but instead of anger, delight flickered across her face as she noted down Wayne's words on the parchment.
She planned to show this to Fudge later. This was proof of Dumbledore's contempt for the Ministry of Magic—her achievement!
The bell rang. Just as Umbridge tried to stand and leave the classroom, she found her body pinned under immense pressure, unable to move.
"Norman, Toby, take Zabini outside for a little chat. Daphne, Pansy's yours."
"If anyone dares interfere, deal with them too."
The little badgers chorused their agreement—except for Smith, who snorted and walked out.
Toby grinned wickedly, grabbing Zabini by the collar as he tried to flee, dragging him out. Daphne signalled to her two lackeys, forcibly hauling a shrieking Parkinson away.
Wayne stepped slowly towards Umbridge, whose face was now twisted in terror.
"Lawrence! I'm a professor! How dare you lay hands on me?"
"Which eye saw me lay hands on you?" Wayne spread his arms innocently, showing he wasn't even holding his wand.
"Let me go!" Umbridge shrieked.
No one dared leave now, staring uncertainly at Wayne.
Attacking a professor... That wasn't right, was it?
At this point, Umbridge hadn't yet reached the universally despised state she would later. To them, she was just an incompetent professor.
"I really didn't do anything," Wayne sighed, shaking his head.
The pressure on Umbridge vanished. Still struggling, she suddenly lurched forward.
"It... wasn't you?"
"How are you speaking to me?" Wayne's expression darkened instantly. "During class, you're the professor. Right now, I'm the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Where's the respect?"
Umbridge's face paled. Just as she opened her mouth to retort, the same force returned, pressing her waist down violently—forcing her into what looked like a bow.
A lazy voice drifted over: "Just a bow? No greeting?"
By now, Umbridge was certain Wayne was behind this. She wanted to scream curses, but the pressure on her back intensified, threatening to snap her spine—and fear gripped her heart.
Forced to swallow her pride, she spoke in a pleading tone: "Good day, Mr Lawrence."
"Remember this feeling," Wayne chuckled. "Not that it matters if you forget—you'll get used to it eventually."
With that, he walked out of the classroom.
Outside, Zabini and Parkinson looked as if they were in mourning. At the sight of Wayne approaching, they were too terrified to speak.
Wayne shook his head in disappointment and sighed. "Who'd have thought even Slytherin had such fools who can't read the situation?"
"L-Lawrence—"
"Shut it," Wayne uttered the two words indifferently, and Zabini's face turned even paler.
"I recall Astoria taught you a principle—what's meant by 'three strikes and you're out.'"
"This is the third time, Zabini. You may choose your manner of death."
"You can't kill me!" Zabini screamed hysterically. "That's against the law!"
"No, no, this is the second time! You're miscounting!"
He clung to this last lifeline, desperately refuting.
"Seems your memory really is poor." Wayne tsked. "The first was because you never once gave me a gift."
"Even just once, I wouldn't have noted it down. But alas, not a single time."
Toby gaped. "You actually keep track of who's given you presents?"
"No, I only remember those who haven't."
Norman felt a phantom pain in his groin, realising for the first time how petty Wayne could be. Thank goodness he'd sent gifts every Christmas and birthday—otherwise, he'd never sleep soundly again.
Seeing Zabini now sobbing uncontrollably, Wayne comforted him: "Killing people is illegal. How could I possibly lay hands on you at school?"
Zabini cried even harder. What did that mean? Once they left school grounds, he'd be done for?
"Have you mastered the Levitation Spell?" Wayne asked Norman.
Norman nodded.
"Then hang him at the Slytherin entrance first. Let's test how long your magic can last."
"Daphne, educate Parkinson properly first. Hang her up, too—they'll make a matching pair. These two aren't allowed into Slytherin dormitories this month. If anyone lets them in, report to me."
Daphne nodded. "Understood."
Wayne watched them leave, then headed to the Great Hall.
The Hufflepuff points column stood empty, reduced to a mere sliver.
Though Wayne didn't care about points, nor did the little badgers, without any points left, Umbridge couldn't deduct from him either.
This wouldn't do.
Just then, Newt happened to pass through the entrance hall. Noticing Wayne staring blankly at the points board, he approached—then froze.
"Where are Hufflepuff's points?"
"Hm?" Wayne seemed to have an idea and turned to the older man.
"Senior, do you think I'm handsome?"