Hogwarts, Please Graduate Soon, Ch 53.1

To be honest, Snape is quite sincere. As a young master of potion-making, the potions he meticulously concocts are in high demand, both externally and within the community, guaranteeing both quality and caliber. But Wayne desires more.

"What do you think of my potion-making talent, Professor?" Snape nodded slightly and said with a hint of disdain, "It's passable, better than that bunch of fools."

This remark from Snape already counts as a remarkable evaluation. He has recently been nitpicking at Wayne, yet he has never deducted points for potion-making because Wayne followed the processes he left step by step. Even if there are deviations from the textbook content, Wayne uses the methods taught by his professor without hesitation.

"Truth." Unlike some fools who treat textbook content as gospel. Wayne isn't angry; his potion-making talent is rated A+, while Snape's is definitely S or even S+. Even Voldemort relies on him to brew certain potions, indicating just how high his level is.

Wayne chuckled and stepped back a bit, fearing a few drops of oil might fall from Snape's hair. "Professor, I've mastered everything from the recent class content, and even found the first and second-year textbooks to be quite easy. I feel like it's a bit of a waste of my talent."

"Do you want extracurricular tutoring?" Snape instinctively wanted to refuse. He is extremely busy every day with ten classes from first to fifth year, and after the O.W.L.s, potions became an elective. Thus, there are only two classes for sixth and seventh years.

In addition to that, he must keep an eye on Quirrell for Dumbledore, leaving him very little personal time. However, there are materials he truly wants, especially phoenix tears, which are already a top-tier healing potion by themselves, far surpassing White Willow Essence. After being processed by him, they can revive someone as long as there's breath left.

He once asked Dumbledore for some, but that phoenix stubbornly refused to cry; what can he do about it? "Let me see the materials you've collected." Snape finally couldn't resist the temptation and wanted to see the goods before making a decision.

Wayne had been prepared; he reached into his pocket and fiddled around for a moment before pulling out a dragon skin bag. Snape looked at him deeply. The Concealment Charm isn't too difficult a spell, but it is relatively so for those outstanding students close to graduation. He mastered it in the third year.

But Wayne had only been in school for less than a month. Wayne poured out the contents of the dragon skin bag. A few feathers, a delicate crystal vial with some liquid inside, and a transparent jar containing excrement. Picking up a feather, feeling the abundant magical power and its slightly warm touch, Snape smiled with satisfaction. However, upon seeing the liquid in the crystal vial, his expression changed.

"Why is there only this little bit?"

Wayne's mouth twitched: "Professor, this is plenty. Everything I collected this week is right here; I didn't leave anything for myself. What more do you want?"

Snape tentatively asked, "A pint?" Wayne rolled his eyes: "You might as well kill me! A pint of phoenix tears? This is tears, not spit!"

Snape realized he might have been a bit excessive and changed his tone: "Just give me another vial of this amount, and I'll return the favor with three months of tutoring."

"Not enough, make it a year."

"A year?" Snape sneered: "You're really brave to say that. Do you know how much those potion companies pay me to guide their potion makers?"

"How much can you buy phoenix tears for?"

"Two months, at most two months."

"Before Easter."

After some back-and-forth bargaining, they eventually settled on before Christmas, with Wayne attending Snape's classes every Tuesday night. Wayne also needed to provide him with two more vials of the same amount of phoenix tears.

Having achieved his goal, Wayne left happily. For Neville and Harry, Snape was definitely not a good teacher; their relationship filled with verbal humiliation made it nearly impossible for them to pay attention in class. But Wayne wasn't afraid of these things; Snape points out his issues at the most critical points, making it highly efficient.

Before Christmas, there would be enough time for him to learn quite a bit. Yet, the only regret he had was that his potion-making talent was a bit low.

An A+ talent is indeed sufficient, but having experienced the efficiency of SS-grade talent in learning spells and various white magic, Wayne knew the gap was too vast.

"System, open the panel."

Without looking at other attributes, he pulled straight down to the bottom.

[Points: 6508]

Wayne sighed softly. Thanks to the rich Slytherins, without them, his points wouldn't have grown so quickly. At least half of this is from those little Slytherin witches and wizards buying maps.

Oh right, Snape recently deducted a few points from him, which made a significant contribution. The rest came from Wayne's usual rule-breaking and mischievous antics.

This part mostly accounted for Quirrell; now, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become Wayne's favorite class—bar none—just for the fact of earning over a hundred points per lesson.

---

The points were enough to make him chuckle. He planned to use all of them tonight, hoping to draw something good from the lottery. Earlier, Wayne thought about buying a bottle of Felix Felicis to drink before the draw, but the system had warned him. It wasn't influenced by any external factors; it relied solely on the host's own luck. So, Wayne abandoned that idea.

Having already wasted a fair amount of time bargaining with Snape, Wayne decided to skip the common room and head straight to the Great Hall for dinner.

There he saw Harry and Malfoy standing at the entrance like sentinels, locked in an intense stare from a two-meter distance, neither of them moving inside. Ron was glaring fiercely at Malfoy's two henchmen. The tension was so palpable that it felt like sparks could fly at any moment.

"What's going on here?" Wayne asked curiously, finally catching their attention.

"Nothing, Lawrence," Malfoy nodded at Wayne, ceasing the standoff with Harry. Before he left, he leaned close to Harry and whispered, "Don't scare yourself into wetting your pants and not showing up."

Though he thought he spoke softly, Wayne's keen hearing picked it up, and his mind stirred with curiosity. Was a duel about to happen? No, that didn't seem right. Wayne remembered that Malfoy had played a prank on Harry and the others, a mischief he hadn't participated in, and instead had informed Filch.

"Wayne, Malfoy actually acknowledged you?" Harry, surprised, pulled his gaze away from Malfoy's retreating figure to look at Wayne.

Not just him; even Ron chimed in, "Malfoy's eyes must be stuck in his nose; he can hardly see anyone but purebloods. Did he lose his sight today or something?"

"Maybe it's because he bought my map; just a casual greeting, I guess," Wayne shrugged. "What were you guys talking about earlier? It looked like you were about to fight."

"Nothing!" Ron and Harry replied in unison, sharing a glance. Harry quickly added, "He mocked my scar again, and I shot back a couple of retorts. You know how Malfoy can be."

"Alright then, I'll go grab a bite," Wayne said with indifference, waving him off and walking away. He didn't care to involve himself in their petty disputes.

If Harry had openly talked about it, Wayne might have given a piece of advice, telling them Malfoy could be up to some tricks; they should be cautious if they decided to engage. But since Harry kept it to himself, it was up to them to figure it out.

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