"Are you okay?"
Wayne helped the still-frightened Hermione up and asked with concern.
"I-I'm fine," Hermione shook her head, though her eyes held fear as she looked at Seamus.
Magic is too dangerous!
No—wait.
It's not that magic itself is dangerous, it's Seamus who's the danger.
She had practiced so many spells at home and never had anything like this happen before. At worst, the spells just failed to work—nothing this dramatic.
Hermione said seriously, "Let's stay away from Seamus from now on. I don't want to end up in the hospital wing flat on my back."
Wayne nodded with a smile. He saw that Professor Flitwick had already moved Seamus and Neville to the far corner of the classroom to practice, clearly worried they might accidentally hurt someone.
Fortunately, Seamus was still just a young wizard. His magical power wasn't nearly strong enough to cause real harm. The spell earlier had only looked intimidating—it didn't do any actual damage. Everyone had just been startled, but recovered quickly.
After class, Hermione had already forgotten that she'd been mad at Wayne a short while ago. She excitedly invited him to the library to do homework together.
Wayne had no objections, and the two of them made their way to the library. The moment they stepped in, they fell silent.
Madam Pince, the librarian, was a woman with a terrible temper. She loved books passionately and hated noisy students.
If anyone upset her, she would chase them out swinging a feather duster.
Wayne suspected she was probably a Squib—perhaps that's why she treasured books so much, since the knowledge within was the magical world she could only dream of accessing.
Hermione pulled out her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and began working on her essay, while Wayne chose a book titled Zinas's Dueling Manual to read.
Zinas had been the most famous duelist in the early 20th century. He once held an undefeated streak of 38 matches in a row and stayed on the front page of the Daily Prophet for a whole week.
What made him stand out was that he didn't rely on any advanced spells—just a few simple ones, used brilliantly, brought him all that success.
The book recorded several of his battles, and Wayne found he was indeed learning some useful tricks from it.
Hogwarts was a massive treasure trove laid out before everyone.
But not everyone had the ability—or the will—to claim it.
Every professor—especially the four Heads of House—was extremely capable. Being taught by them was a rare and invaluable opportunity.
Even if you went to Snape with a question, he might be sharp-tongued, but he would still give you an answer.
The library was another treasure. It held a thousand years' worth of knowledge accumulated within the castle. Students had seven whole years to grow and improve themselves—yet how many truly took advantage of that?
That was what made Hogwarts so magical.
It offered fun and ease for everyone, but also elite training for those with ambition.
Whether you become a dragon or a worm—it all depends on your choices.
The one thing Wayne wasn't happy about was how large the Restricted Section was. It took up a third of the whole library.
It hadn't been like that before—Dumbledore had expanded it bit by bit after the Voldemort incident.
Even the Patronus Charm was categorized as restricted.
Come on, Dumbledore!
I can buy books on that spell in Flourish and Blotts!
...
The new term soon settled into its rhythm, and the first-years gradually adapted to life at school.
For most of the classes, the students were quite satisfied.
The little wizards' favorite class was undoubtedly Charms.
The professor was easygoing, and the class involved lots of time waving wands and casting spells.
Transfiguration wasn't bad either, but Professor McGonagall was so strict that it made the students anxious, worried they might lose points for their house.
Besides, Transfiguration was extremely difficult. After two lessons, many students' arms were sore from waving their wands, but they'd made no progress at all.
The matchstick was still a matchstick—there wasn't even a shadow of a needle.
One Ravenclaw student tried to be clever and brought a real needle to class. As a result, their house lost ten points.
Now, some students claimed that anytime they saw anything long and thin, they were reminded of silver needles. They were certain they'd developed a psychological scar.
Apart from those, Hufflepuff's little badgers were quite fond of their Head of House's class.
In the first week, their task was to replant ginger roots, a magical ingredient used in potions like Boil-Cure Potion and Wit-Sharpening Potion.
When Professor Sprout told them that five ginger roots could sell for one Galleon in Diagon Alley, Wayne and the other Muggle-born students were dumbfounded.
"Don't look so shocked, children," Sprout chuckled and explained:
"This is the same kind of ginger you're familiar with, but the value lies in the magical fertilizers and potions used during its cultivation."
"That's what makes it so expensive."
"What kind of fertilizer?" Wayne asked curiously.
"Mooncalf dung," Professor Sprout replied, taking out a box filled with sparkling silver granules.
"Mooncalf dung is incredibly potent and even boosts the efficacy of potions—but it must be freshly processed."
Wayne nodded and took mental notes.
The books he'd read focused more on potion-making and ingredient selection. He hadn't looked much into how basic magical ingredients were grown or maintained.
He felt a bit embarrassed—Herbology was taught by his own Head of House, yet he had paid it so little attention.
He made up his mind to read a few more Herbology books as soon as he could.
As for the other classes, the little wizards weren't quite as enthusiastic.
Astronomy, for instance, required them to climb up to the Astronomy Tower at ten o'clock on Wednesday nights and peer at stars through telescopes.
It sounded romantic—but it was far too late, and many students were already yawning from exhaustion.
And after class, they had to write a ten-inch observational report, which felt like torture.
History of Magic was even worse. Every word out of Professor Binns' mouth felt like a hypnosis spell. Besides Hermione, no one could stay awake.
It was a shame—early wizarding history, when wizards were worshipped as gods, was actually quite fascinating. Students could enjoy it when reading on their own.
But once it came out of Binns' mouth, it turned into a dull mess of letters and dates.
Most students treated History of Magic as the perfect place for a nap. Professor Binns never interfered with anyone—as long as you weren't causing trouble, you could do whatever you wanted.
As for Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was a major disappointment.
Professor Quirrell stuttered through his every sentence—how could anyone expect a good lesson from him?
There was even a rumor going around that Quirrell had been brought to tears by a first-year student's question.
At first, no one believed it. But as the story spread, the details became more vivid, even down to the student's name.
Eventually, no one could ignore it anymore.
The name Wayne Lawrence once again returned to the spotlight.