To be fair, Snape was actually being quite sincere.
As a young Potions Master, the potions he personally brewed were in high demand outside the school—renowned for their quality and effectiveness.
But Wayne wanted more.
"Professor, what do you think of my talent in Potions?"
Snape gave a slight nod, and replied with his usual disdain, "Barely acceptable… Better than those dunderheads, at least."
Coming from Snape, this was already high praise.
Though he'd tried every trick lately to nitpick Wayne's performance, he had never once deducted points during Potions class—because Wayne followed every step of Snape's brewing instructions to the letter.
Even if his methods sometimes deviated from the textbook, Wayne always followed Snape's own techniques without hesitation.
Unlike those other fools who treated the textbook like gospel.
Wayne didn't mind Snape's tone. His Potions aptitude was A+, while Snape was probably S or even S+. Even Voldemort relied on him for potion-making—that said enough about his skills.
Wayne chuckled and took a small step back—worried a few drops of Snape's greasy hair might fall on him.
"Professor, I've already mastered all the content from class recently. Even the material from first and second-year textbooks isn't a challenge anymore. I feel like I'm wasting my talent…"
"You want private lessons?" Snape reflexively prepared to reject.
He was already swamped teaching ten classes across Years 1–5. After the OWLs, Potions became an elective, so he only had two upper-year classes. On top of that, he was tasked with keeping an eye on Quirrell for Dumbledore.
His private time was limited.
But those phoenix materials… he really wanted them.
Especially phoenix tears—just a single drop was already the most powerful healing potion, far superior to Dittany. In his hands, they could be made into a potion that could save someone even at death's door.
He'd asked Dumbledore before, but Fawkes had refused to cry—what could he do?
"Let me see what you've collected first," Snape finally caved, giving in to temptation. He needed to inspect the goods before deciding.
Wayne had come prepared. He reached into his pocket and rummaged for a bit, then pulled out a dragonhide pouch.
Snape stared at him deeply.
A Non-Expanding Charm—not a hard spell, but usually only excellent upper-year students could manage it.
Wayne had mastered it within his first month.
He dumped the contents of the pouch onto the table:
Several phoenix feathers
A small crystal vial filled with a glowing liquid
A transparent jar containing… phoenix droppings
Snape picked up a feather, feeling its vibrant magic and faint heat, and smiled in satisfaction.
But when he saw the liquid in the vial, he frowned.
"This is all?"
Wayne's mouth twitched. "Professor, this is quite a bit. That's all I collected this week. I didn't even keep any for myself. How much more do you want?"
Snape probed, "A pint?"
Wayne rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just kill me? A pint of phoenix tears? This is tears, not spit!"
Snape realized he'd gone overboard and corrected himself. "Give me another vial like this, and I'll tutor you for a month."
"Nope—a year."
"A year?" Snape sneered. "You've got nerve. Do you know how much those potion companies pay me for one session of consulting?"
"How much would it cost to buy phoenix tears?"
"…Two months. That's my final offer."
"Until Easter break."
The two haggled like buyers in Knockturn Alley until they finally settled on: Snape would tutor Wayne every Tuesday evening until Christmas, and Wayne would provide two more vials of the same amount of phoenix tears.
Satisfied, Wayne walked away cheerfully.
To Neville and Harry, Snape was undoubtedly a terrible teacher—constantly humiliating them and making class unbearable.
But Wayne wasn't fazed. Snape's criticism always hit the mark, and his lessons were incredibly efficient.
By Christmas, Wayne figured he'd have learned a great deal.
The only thing he regretted was his Potion talent was slightly low.
An A+ was decent, but having experienced how quickly he could learn spells and white magic with SS-tier talent, Wayne now knew: the gap was huge.
"System, open panel."
Without checking his other stats, Wayne scrolled straight to the bottom.
[Points: 6508]
He let out a sigh.
Thanks to the wealthy Slytherins, his points had grown so fast. At least half of those came from selling maps to Slytherin students.
Oh, and Snape deducting dozens of points from him? That also contributed generously.
The rest were from Wayne himself, breaking school rules and causing mischief.
Quirrell's classes played a major role—Defense Against the Dark Arts had become Wayne's favorite subject. Why? Every class earned him over 100 points!
He planned to spend all those points tonight, hoping to pull some rare loot.
At one point he even considered taking Felix Felicis (Liquid Luck) before spinning the wheel—but the System had warned him: it wasn't affected by external boosts. Only raw luck.
So Wayne dropped that idea.
Because of his long negotiation with Snape, he had already missed quite a bit of time. So instead of going back to the common room, he went straight to the Great Hall for dinner.
And immediately spotted Harry and Malfoy standing by the door like two gate guardians, glaring at each other from two meters apart in a romantic stare-down.
Ron was also there, glaring at Malfoy's goons with murderous eyes.
It was so intense it felt like sparks might fly at any moment.
"What are you guys doing?" Wayne asked curiously.
The group snapped out of it.
"…Nothing, Lawrence," Malfoy nodded politely, no longer interested in the standoff. Before walking away, he leaned in and whispered:
"Try not to piss your pants tomorrow."
He thought he'd whispered, but Wayne clearly heard every word—and his heart stirred.
A duel?
Wait, no—not a duel. If he remembered right, Malfoy pranked Harry and set him up, and Wayne had skipped it, instead tipping off Filch.
"Wayne, Malfoy actually said hi to you?" Harry finally stopped staring at Malfoy's retreating back, turning to Wayne in surprise.
Even Ron muttered, "Malfoy's nose is so far up in the air, he doesn't notice anyone who's not pure-blood. Did his eyes fall out today?"
"Probably just because he bought my map. Being polite, I guess," Wayne shrugged. "What were you guys talking about just now? Looked like you were ready to throw hands."
"Nothing!"
Harry and Ron replied in unison. They exchanged glances before Harry added quickly:
"He just mocked my scar again. I said a few words back—you know how Malfoy is, can't keep his mouth shut."
"Alright, I'm off to eat," Wayne waved and headed in, uninterested in their drama.
If Harry had told him what was really going on, Wayne might have offered a heads-up—Malfoy could be setting them up, and they should stay sharp.
But since he didn't, well… they were on their own.
Whoosh!
A steaming cup of black tea appeared right in front of him.
Some of the products from Zonko's Joke Shop were potion-based, others were small alchemical tools. Wayne could learn a lot from studying them.
"I'll do my best," Cedric rubbed his hands nervously. Buying that many items all at once might get him noticed.
"How's your Charms class going?" Wayne asked.
"Not bad. I'm ahead of Padma."
"Good, then I'll teach you how to make a map this Sunday."
"Sure."
Chatting casually over dinner, Wayne spotted Hermione at the Gryffindor table, buried in a stack of books. After finishing his meal, he walked over to her.
"I'm going to Hagrid's for tea tomorrow. Want to come?"
Hermione tilted her head in thought.
She could finish her homework in the morning, and had originally planned to study with Wayne in the library. But tea with Hagrid didn't sound bad either.
So the young witch nodded. "Sure. What time?"
"Two o'clock," Wayne said. "You do your homework in the morning, and I'll... copy it at lunch."
Hermione smacked him lightly. "No copying. Do your own homework."
"Oh? Then you can figure out the Shield Charm on your own."
Wayne said it nonchalantly, but Hermione panicked.
"You can't back out! You agreed yesterday!"
Hermione had finally managed to get Wayne to share one of the many spells he knew after pestering him for days. Now he was going to back out?
Wayne grinned mischievously, teasing her: "I take back my agreement. That's allowed, isn't it?"
"No!"
"Too bad. Not teaching it unless I get to copy your homework," Wayne said shamelessly.
Hermione gritted her teeth but gave in. She wouldn't give her homework to just anyone—but Wayne was different. He already knew all the material in class anyway.
Satisfied with his "reward," Wayne left the Gryffindor table after being shoved off by Hermione.
Then he headed to the Ravenclaw table.
Since he had invited Hermione, he couldn't leave Cho out.
Unfortunately, Cho had Quidditch training that afternoon.
"What?" Wayne looked surprised. "Tomorrow's Hogsmeade Day. Why are you training?"
Cho sighed, "The captain said we can play in the morning, but training resumes in the afternoon."
"Well, good luck with that," Wayne said, sympathy in his voice. His desire to stay far away from Quidditch grew even stronger. He was too busy breaking rules to waste time on training.
"If you get any good food, save me some," Cho said eagerly.
Wayne smiled and nodded, though he cursed internally.
If Hagrid had anything remotely edible, he'd unscrew Quirrell's head and use it as a chamber pot for a troll.
"Achoo!"
At the staff table, Professor Quirrell sneezed and gave Professor Sprout an embarrassed smile.
Professor Flitwick showed concern. "Professor Quirrell, the weather's been getting colder. Please take care of yourself."
Quirrell shrank back and nodded timidly, making Flitwick sigh inwardly.
He remembered when Quirrell wasn't like this. He had once been a promising young graduate, good enough to return as a professor. But ever since he started teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, he'd changed completely.
Now he stammered when speaking and flinched at everything.
To be bullied into tears by Wayne… well, that said it all.
In the Slytherin dormitory...
Malfoy sat with his two usual lackeys.
"Draco, are you really going to duel Potter tonight?" Goyle asked.
Malfoy snarled, "Of course! I'm going to teach that Scarhead a lesson!"
Crabbe scratched his head. "Didn't you say you were going to snitch to Filch and get Gryffindor docked points?"
"You idiot!" Malfoy smacked Crabbe's head.
"Gryffindor only has a few measly points left. Docking them now means nothing."
"Besides," he raised his chin proudly, "I'm the heir of the Malfoy family. I can't just back out after challenging someone. That would be disgraceful!"
"That's not how a noble should act!"
"There's no way that Muggle-raised Scarhead can be my match."
After his speech (which neither Goyle nor Crabbe fully understood), they asked who would accompany him as his second.
Malfoy chose Crabbe for his bulk—just in case things got physical.
Wayne didn't know it, but because of his earlier manipulation, Malfoy had started to change. He was still sneaky and arrogant, but when it came to family honor, he became dead serious.
His plan to prank Harry was gone. This time, it was going to be a real duel.
Not that Wayne would've cared. At most, he'd just watch for fun.
After chatting with Cho a bit longer, Wayne headed back to the Hufflepuff common room.
Toby and Norman were deep in a game of Wizard Chess with Hannah leaving the dorm mostly empty.
Wayne took a long shower, washed his face three times until it was sparkling clean, then finally opened the system's lottery page.
"System, let's try a ten-pull. Let's see what luck I've got tonight."