As she watched Wayne's figure growing more distant, Hermione grew a little suspicious.
She always felt that guy was up to something sneaky behind the scenes—but without any proof, she could only bow her head and keep eating.
There were no classes this afternoon, so the little witch planned to spend the whole afternoon in the library finishing all her homework. That way, she could use the weekend to preview the upcoming lessons.
This week, Hermione's top student attitude had been on full display. In nearly every class, she managed to earn Gryffindor some points (except in Potions class).
Yet the pressure on her remained intense—and the reason was Wayne.
Judging by classroom performance, the two were actually about the same. But Hermione knew Wayne was holding back a lot.
In Transfiguration class, she was only able to slightly change the color and texture of a matchstick. Although Professor McGonagall was pleased, she had also told Hermione that Wayne had succeeded on his first try.
Hermione understood that her current level of performance was entirely thanks to her diligence—plus a decent memory.
But Wayne?
That guy only read miscellaneous books when they were in the library together, and he often snuck off to play wizard chess or Exploding Snap with his classmates.
He looked even more relaxed than Harry and Ron.
Last time, she'd caught Wayne casting a healing spell without using a wand—something even many adult wizards couldn't manage.
Pure, overwhelming talent like that was what made people despair. Hermione knew that if she wanted to keep up with Wayne, she had to work even harder.
He was hiding way too much.
If Wayne knew what Hermione was thinking, he'd definitely cry injustice.
He wasn't hiding anything!
Since arriving at Hogwarts, Wayne had never thought about "staying low to develop." The magical world was relatively peaceful, and showcasing more talent usually attracted a professor's favor.
That way, if he ever got into trouble later, the punishment would be a little lighter.
The main issue was... the first-year curriculum was just that basic. Any average student could pick it up. Take Hermione, for example—she could already do most of it.
So it wasn't like he could even show off his talent yet.
What was he supposed to do? Walk up to a professor and randomly perform a five-spell combo?
Unaware that Miss Granger had mentally labeled him as a devious mastermind, Wayne headed to the dungeons after lunch for Potions class.
A week at Hogwarts was enough for the young wizards to get a general sense of their professors.
Especially Snape—that very "distinctive" professor.
By twelve fifty, the classroom was already packed with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students.
No one dared make a sound, and many of them kept sneaking nervous glances at the door.
Wayne sat at a table with Hannah. Honestly, he wasn't too worried.
He wasn't a Potter, and he wasn't a Gryffindor. Snape had no reason to target him.
At exactly one o'clock, Snape entered through the classroom doors—not a second too early or too late.
He strode inside so fast that a gust of air followed behind him, making his robes billow as if he were a walking bat spirit.
"Put away those useless wands," Snape said, his deep, magnetic voice somehow still giving off a cold chill. The little wizards obediently complied.
Like Professor Flitwick, Snape pulled out the class roster and began roll call.
Every student whose name was called answered quickly and carefully, terrified of being a second late and getting scolded.
"Precision in timing is a fundamental requirement in potion-making. I'm pleased that no one is late," Snape said slowly.
He said he was pleased, yet more than one person thought they saw something else in his eyes—
Disappointment?
"You have come here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. Since this class involves no silly wand-waving, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
"I do not expect you to truly understand the delicate simmering of a cauldron emitting white vapors and fragrant steams, the exquisite magic that creeps through one's veins, bewitches the senses, and ensnares the mind... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death!"
It was a powerfully captivating opening speech. Quite a few students were already enchanted, their faces lit with anticipation.
Wayne took the opportunity to secretly curl his lip while Snape wasn't looking.
Alright, that was a pretty good speech. His public speaking skill—I'd say second-best in the wizarding world, just behind Grindelwald.
Brew glory, stop death.
You'd think Snape was about to teach them how to make the Philosopher's Stone.
If he really could stop death, why didn't he bring Lily back?
Uh, that's something best left unsaid. If he let that slip, he was sure Snape's wand would be firing a green flash at him the next second.
"Lawrence!" Snape suddenly called out.
Wayne was momentarily stunned, but his body stood up on instinct.
"If you were to brew a Herbicide Potion, aside from Lionfish spine powder and Flobberworm mucus, what else would you need?"
"Horklump juice, sir."
"How many known methods are there for making a Revitalizing Draught?"
"Three. Extraction, simmering, and grinding into powder."
"I need a lump of dungstone. Where would you find one?"
"In a cow's stomach, but nowadays there are many cultivated synthetic versions."
"The preparation steps for porcupine quills in Scouring Solution?"
"Cut into 3 cm segments, and make a diagonal slit every 1 cm."
"Hmm." Snape stopped questioning. "It seems you live up to your name more than Mr. Potter does."
The other young wizards were dumbfounded. They could understand every word these two said.
But strung together like that…?
Were we in an isolation ward or something?
"What are you looking at me for? Do I have the answers written on my face? Start taking notes!" Snape suddenly exploded. The students scrambled to jot things down in a panic.
"You too! Or would you prefer I formally invite you to sit down?"
"No need to be so polite, Professor," Wayne muttered as he sat back down.
Who knew what madness had overtaken Snape to suddenly call his name like that?
And it wasn't random either—he was clearly being targeted.
Those questions just now were way beyond the syllabus, totally not something first-years were supposed to learn. It had to be premeditated.
What Wayne didn't know was that Professor McGonagall had told Snape about Wayne's extraordinary talent—summoning a Patronus the moment he got his wand.
That particular spell held special meaning for Snape, so he had taken note of Wayne's name.
Today's quiz had just been a spontaneous idea—he wanted to make things difficult for Wayne and maybe deduct some points from Hufflepuff while he was at it.
Thanks to the outstanding performances of Wayne and Cedric, Hufflepuff was currently ahead of Slytherin in house points.
What a pity—Wayne had passed the test.
Why couldn't he be as foolish as Potter?
Snape gave Wayne, whose face remained calm, a quick glance before waving his hand. Instructions for brewing the Scouring Solution appeared on the blackboard.
"Ingredients are in the cupboard. Work in pairs. If I catch anyone wasting materials… I'll make them eat the leftovers."
A collective shiver ran through the class.