The next day, everyone eagerly awaited the owls bringing that day's issue of the Daily Prophet.
They desperately wanted to know the specific details of yesterday's battle, and most crucially, who had won.
But to everyone's disappointment, the usually well-informed newspaper had gone silent this time.
The Daily Prophet only used "Battle of the Century" as its headline, without even including any photographs, which infuriated many young wizards who threw their newspapers to the ground in anger, only to pick them up again resentfully to continue reading.
Actually, it wasn't just the Daily Prophet - most media outlets refrained from offering their own evaluations or deliberately favouring either side, simply because neither party was someone they could afford to offend.
If you praised Lawrence to the skies, what if Grindelwald took offence? While he might not be able to deal with Lawrence, the Dark Lord's wrath isn't something a newspaper could withstand either.
But if you praised Grindelwald, even though it appeared to be a draw, Lawrence had essentially been dominating Grindelwald throughout the fight. The general consensus was that the match ended in a draw because Lawrence was too young and lacked sufficient magical power.
If he could have held on just a little longer, he would definitely have won.
So in the end, these media outlets could only present the facts from an "objective and fair" perspective, striving not to offend either side.
"Headmaster, please just tell me about the battle."
In the Hufflepuff common room, Cedric was practically on his knees, surrounded by a group of wide-eyed young badgers. The vaguer the newspaper reports were, the more curious everyone became.
Although they knew it had ended in a draw, everyone wanted to know what powerful magic both sides had used during the fight.
"It's after hours now, no need to use my title," Wayne said hypocritically, making Cedric clench his fists in frustration as he glanced around.
"The situation inside is complicated. I can only say that those who understand will understand, and for those who don't, I can't reveal too much. This matter involves too many significant implications..."
Just as everyone was about to revolt, Wayne finally stopped beating around the bush.
"However... I plan to create a memory playback of the battle, but there are conditions for watching it."
"What conditions?" Toby asked excitedly.
"Not high - just be in the top ten of your year in the end-of-term exams. After all, if your results aren't up to standard, you won't learn anything from watching it anyway."
"That simple?" Cedric exclaimed joyfully, uttering words that would enrage countless poor students.
"Just top ten? I couldn't fall out of that even if I took the exams with my eyes closed. Can you show me first?"
"It's not ready yet," Wayne said, stretching and standing up. "Alright, stop crowding around here. You'd be better off using this time to review properly. Exams are in just over a week, and if you get a Poor..."The young man revealed a cold smile. "Those with good results will get rewards... but those with poor results will face punishment."
With that, he left, leaving the students exchanging bewildered glances.
"I'm going to study," someone said, and the crowd immediately scattered.
Forget about the rewards for now - at least nobody wanted the punishment.
If Professor McGonagall or Sprout had said this, it would have been fine - at most, it would be the usual trio of house point deductions, detentions, and informing parents.
Slacker badgers feared nothing.
But this was Wayne saying it...
Heaven only knew what outrageous punishment methods he could come up with.
After leaving the common room, Wayne took Astoria to the Hog's Head again.
If anyone was happiest about him going to duel Grindelwald, it was undoubtedly Aberforth, aside from the Dark Lords. Yesterday, if Wayne hadn't stopped him, he would have gone along too.
Anyway, no matter who opposed Grindelwald, Aberforth would lend a hand.
Before going, Wayne had promised to come for a drink after returning.
It was just mealtime, and there were quite a few people in the Hog's Head. When they saw Wayne and Astoria, Aberforth, busy behind the bar, brightened up, then shouted irritably:
"Finished eating? Get out! Haven't finished? Take your leftovers and get out too!"
"Boss, what's got into you now?" a regular complained. The place suited their kind for shady deals, but the owner's temper was just too foul.
A chorus of curses followed, but Aberforth didn't back down, glaring back instead.
"I'm saving your skins! Lawrence is here—not running means waiting to be arrested?"
After that roar, the patrons finally noticed Wayne standing at the entrance, holding the rich little girl's hand, and were scared out of their wits.
Their sort were well-informed and had pieced together a lot inside that short time.
Seeing Wayne right there in front of them, the customers panicked. Those who could Apparate did so; those who couldn't jumped out the windows.
In under ten seconds, the entire pub was empty, not a soul left.
Wayne couldn't help but laugh. "My reputation's that useful now?"
"Useful? It's more than that!" Aberforth guffawed. "Right now, you're practically the top figure in the wizarding world. You could easily run for Minister for Magic—far better than that good-for-nothing brother of mine."
"Can't be sure about that," Wayne said with an inscrutable smile, sitting at the bar and slapping the table grandly. "Bring out the best drinks!"
Aberforth was prepared, producing two bottles of champagne. "Hundred-year reserve. Enough?"
"That's more like it," Wayne nodded in satisfaction.
"Wayne, I'm going upstairs to find Ariana."
"Go on."
Astoria didn't drink, and after speaking, she dashed upstairs.
The remaining pair, Wayne and Aberforth, chatted over drinks, the topic centring on Voldemort.
"Lately, I've seen a Death Eater who escaped from Azkaban," Aberforth said. "Dolohov. That man came to my shop asking about a lot of contraband. Not sure if it's for You-Know-Who."
"Him," Wayne realised.
Antonin Dolohov was probably one of the strongest among the many Death Eaters, and he was inherently cruel, a prolific killer.
From what Wayne knew, he was born into a declining pure-blood family, destitute during his school years but obsessively pursuing power.
Among Voldemort's Death Eaters, each had different reasons: Malfoy sought influence, many opposed Dumbledore to restore pure-blood supremacy, and there were mad ones like Bellatrix, captivated by Voldemort's personal charisma.
But Dolohov was an exception. What he worshipped was neither bloodline nor power; his loyalty to Voldemort was purely because the latter could teach him stronger Dark Magic and grant him greater power.
Before being imprisoned in Azkaban, it was Dolohov who killed the Prewett brothers, that is, Mrs Weasley's two brothers.
His strength far surpassed that of ordinary Aurors, essentially reaching professor-level.
He could be considered Voldemort's right-hand man.
"What does he want to buy?" Wayne asked.
Aberforth listed a long string of materials – poisonous insects and fierce beasts, common medicinal herbs, and he'd even bought several mummies.
"Most are probably for feeding the Basilisk," Wayne understood his motive after listening.
"Basilisk?" Aberforth exclaimed in shock.
"Didn't Dumbledore tell you? Voldemort keeps a Basilisk."
Aberforth gulped down a large mouthful bitterly. "He didn't tell me anything."
A pair of glasses flew out of Wayne's pocket. "Here, take these. Just in case – they'll prevent you from making eye contact with the Basilisk forever."
Aberforth didn't stand on ceremony and took them directly.
"I'll inform you as soon as I have news."
Wayne raised his glass in acknowledgement, and they clinked glasses.
...
Nighttime, in the miniature suitcase world.
Wayne held Astoria as they lay on the recliner, gazing at the stars and discussing Christmas arrangements.
This Christmas, Wayne would first spend two days in France with Fleur, then go to find Sakura and Tomoyo.
Cho and Hermione were both travelling with their families, leaving only Astoria without plans to go away.
"I'll leave Mia and Hestia with you, and take Rost back too," Wayne said after some thought.
Astoria looked troubled. "Rost is so big, he won't fit in the lake at my home."
"No problem, I'll make you a suitcase."
Now it took Wayne less than a day to create a suitcase similar in size to his current miniature world – it was just arranging the ecological environment inside that was troublesome.
But with only Rost staying there, just putting more fish in the lake would suffice.
Hearing this, Astoria happily narrowed her eyes.
...
By Monday, Wayne's speech in the Hufflepuff common room had spread throughout the school.
Some were delighted while others worried. Academically strong students looked forward to witnessing the duel between the two great wizards, while poorer students feared the so-called punishment.
Some secretly asked Professor McGonagall if she knew any inside information, but Professor McGonagall merely smiled faintly at the young witches and wizards without saying a word.
This made the students even more nervous. The more they thought about it, the more frightened they became, and everyone intensified their revision.
Seeing everyone working so hard, the professors felt very pleased, quietly acknowledging that Wayne's reforms were indeed effective.
In the blink of an eye, it was the final day before exams.
During the last Potions class, Snape flew into a rage, berating two young badgers until they couldn't lift their heads.
"Can't even prepare the simplest Separation Draught? Have you all lent your brains to a Troll? The instructions on the board are perfectly clear – Moonstone needs soaking before crushing. Why crush it first, then soak it? It's your brains that have been soaked in water!"
After saying this, Snape couldn't help glancing at Wayne.
Reforms weren't just targeting students – the professors weren't having an easy time either.
If their results failed to meet the pre-established targets, having bonuses or even salaries deducted would be the least of their worries—the biggest issue would be the humiliation...
When the other three Heads of House had all cheerfully accomplished their tasks, while he, Snape, had stumbled because of a few so-called 'geniuses', how could he ever face Professor McGonagall and the others again?
No wonder he was so irritable.
After thoroughly venting his frustrations, the bell for the end of class rang.
Snape took a deep breath. "If I discover you making such elementary mistakes during the exams, you'll copy the potion-brewing procedures one thousand times for every future lesson. Class dismissed!"
The young wizards fled as if granted amnesty, grabbing their bookbags and cauldrons as they rushed out.
Just as Wayne was about to leave, Snape spoke up: "Headmaster Lawrence, a moment please!"
Hmm?
Signalling for Toby and Norman to go ahead, Wayne stopped warily and turned back.
The number of times Snape had addressed him as 'Headmaster' could be counted on one hand - aside from meetings, this was the first time in private.
Thoughts racing, Wayne revealed a warm smile.
"Severus, what can I do for you?"
Snape's cheek twitched, nearly getting goosebumps.
But needing a favour, he maintained his humble posture. "Lawrence... Headmaster, I wanted to ask whether Professor Weasley will be formally leaving after Christmas."
"Indeed." Wayne nodded with a smile.
Snape was overjoyed. "Then might I take over her position? For Potions class, I can find a thoroughly qualified professor."
Since becoming a professor, Snape had repeatedly applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, but Dumbledore had always refused for various reasons.
But now that Dumbledore had been driven away, surely his wish could finally be granted?
"So you want to change positions." Wayne first feigned sudden understanding, then laughed.
Snape laughed too.
"No."
Snape's laughter died instantly.