By the time midday settled over Hogwarts, the castle had already decided that Wayne Spencer was no longer a private guest.
Amber realised it while sitting near one of the tall arched windows overlooking the grounds, where sunlight spilled in through pale glass and warmed the stone beneath her hands. She had been flipping through a stack of neatly arranged pamphlets that Tibbles had insisted were "helpful for orientation," when a folded newspaper slid across the table on its own, nudging gently against her elbow as if impatient to be noticed.
She frowned and opened it.
The headline rearranged itself the moment her eyes settled on it.
HOLLYWOOD ICON SPOTTED IN HOGSMEADE — HOGWARTS NEXT?
Amber leaned back slightly, surprised more by the moving photograph than the words themselves. Wayne stood frozen in the image, caught mid-turn, coat shifting with the motion, his expression unreadable as the picture looped again and again.
"That's… invasive," she murmured.
The ink shifted once more.
RUMOURS SUGGEST TEACHING POSITION AT HOGWARTS
Amber let out a slow breath, equal parts disbelief and resignation. "That escalated quickly."
Wayne returned moments later, carrying two cups of tea. He paused when he saw the newspaper spread open in front of her, already animated with speculation.
"They didn't waste time," he observed calmly.
Amber looked up at him. "Apparently you're a teacher now."
"I am not," he replied, setting the cups down.
"It says you are."
"It's incorrect."
She slid the paper toward him, tapping the moving photograph. "Also, it moves."
"Yes," Wayne said. "That's standard."
He folded the paper neatly and set it aside. "Ignore it. It will grow bored."
Amber doubted that, but before she could say anything more, the quiet of the corridor fractured under the sound of approaching voices.
A group of students rounded the corner, laughter echoing freely as they walked with the easy confidence of those who knew the castle well. Two identical red-haired boys led them, their expressions already alight with curiosity the moment they spotted Wayne.
They slowed. Then stopped.
"Well," one of them said, eyes lighting up, "this confirms a theory."
"Or disproves it," the other added thoughtfully. "Hard to say."
Amber watched as they approached without hesitation, their attention sharp and unmistakably deliberate.
"You're him," the first said, grinning. "The bloke from the paper."
Wayne regarded them evenly. "I'm aware of the paper."
"Fred Weasley," the first said, extending a hand.
"George Weasley," said the second, doing the same a heartbeat later.
Wayne shook both, expression neutral but attentive. "Wayne."
They exchanged a look that spoke volumes.
"So," Fred said lightly, "you're not actually a professor."
"Not officially," George added.
Wayne did not answer.
That silence was enough.
Before the conversation could continue, a sharp cry rang out from behind them.
"Oi—careful!"
A younger student had lost his footing near the staircase, books slipping from his grasp as his balance went with them. The fall was sudden, clumsy, and inevitable.
Wayne moved without hesitation.
He did not raise his hand or reach for a wand. The moment itself seemed to slow, the boy's descent subtly redirected, guided just enough that his feet found the step instead of empty air. He landed awkwardly but upright, heart pounding, unharmed.
For a moment, the corridor was silent.
Then applause broke out, hesitant at first, then louder as understanding spread.
The boy stared up at Wayne, breathless. "Th-thank you, sir."
Wayne inclined his head slightly. "Mind the stairs."
Whispers followed instantly.
"No wand."
"That was him."
"Teacher Wayne."
Fred leaned closer to George, eyes bright. "I like him already."
George nodded. "Efficient."
Amber watched the crowd disperse, excitement buzzing through the air long after the moment had passed. She turned to Wayne with a faint smile. "You said discreet."
"I didn't announce it," he replied evenly.
By afternoon, the rumours had taken on a life of their own.
Students glanced at Wayne as he passed, some with open curiosity, others with cautious respect. A few younger ones whispered the word professor under their breath, as though testing how it sounded aloud.
Wayne ignored it all.
Later, as he and Amber walked the grounds near the lake, the castle looming peacefully above them, she finally spoke. "You realise this isn't going to stay quiet."
"No," Wayne said. "It never does."
"And you're fine with that."
"Yes."
She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Why."
He met her gaze. "Because Hogwarts doesn't act on rumours. It waits for decisions."
As if summoned, Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the calm.
"Mr Spencer."
She stood a short distance away, posture precise as ever, eyes sharp with assessment.
"I see you've already made an impression," she said.
"Unintentionally," Wayne replied.
She studied him for a moment longer. "The Headmaster would like to see you this evening."
Wayne nodded. "Of course."
As she turned to leave, she paused. "For what it's worth, that was quick thinking on the stairs."
"Thank you."
When she was gone, Amber exhaled slowly. "Even I felt that shift."
Wayne glanced back toward the castle. "It's begun."
That evening, the Daily Prophet updated itself again.
The headline was smaller this time, more confident.
'TEACHER WAYNE' EARNS PRAISE AT HOGWARTS
Amber folded the paper and set it aside. "Tomorrow," she said quietly, "is going to be interesting."
Wayne looked out as the castle lights came alive one by one. "Tomorrow," he agreed, "will be clearer."
Above them, Hogwarts watched.
And the story, no longer private, had begun to move on its own.