Time was up. The bell rang, and everyone reluctantly put away their wands.
"When's the next meeting?"
A fifth-year Gryffindor student asked eagerly.
"Next Friday," Wade replied.
"Can I bring my roommate next time?" asked Astoria from Slytherin, raising her hand. "She has a paper to write tonight and couldn't make it."
"Of course," Wade said. "Like I mentioned before, the doors of the Spells Study Group are always open. You're free to come and go as you please."
"That's awesome, Wade." A Ravenclaw male prefect ran over, patted Wade on the arm, and said, "We'll definitely join again next time."
As they walked out of the activity room, the lively discussions continued:
"Did you see? My spell just worked!"
"Yeah, but you still didn't block my spell."
"I'm just not that practiced yet! If I go over it a few more times, I'm sure it'll get stronger!"
"Want to keep practicing a bit in the common room?"
"Sure!"
The students walked back to their common rooms with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, laughing and chatting, sharing their experiences and feelings of success.
Even as they walked far away, Wade still heard someone call out loudly, "I've never thought learning a spell could be this easy! My mom always said I had talent!"
He lowered his head and smiled, then waved his wand, tidying up the mess in the classroom with a flick.
"Hey, want to celebrate? Our first event was a big success," Anthony said, walking over with a grin after cleaning up. "I've got a few bottles of butterbeer in the common room—I figured we could all have a drink or two afterward."
"Forget it," Michael said, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Wade's probably heading back to study alchemy, right?"
Wade smiled and replied, "I've still got a few things to do. You guys go ahead."
"All right," Anthony said, not pushing the matter. "Just don't miss curfew."
After the others left one by one, the classroom quickly fell silent, with only the candles still burning, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Wade turned to glance at the now-empty podium, extinguished the candles, and closed the door behind him.
He looked once more at the wooden sign hanging on the door. The corridor was quiet now. Pale moonlight streamed in through the windows, and it felt as though a faint bluish mist was floating in the air.
For a fleeting moment, Wade seemed to sense that, decades ago, a young Tom Riddle might have done exactly the same—walking alone down this corridor night after night.
He had exploited fear and the ideology of blood purity to awaken the darkness within underage students' hearts, granting them the power to bully the weak, gathering his earliest group of followers.
But after graduation, Voldemort didn't continue that form of control. Instead, he went off to work at Borgin and Burkes—as a lowly employee.
Perhaps in Voldemort's heart, the pursuit of immortality and the search for the founders' relics were more important. But to his followers—did they see that as a kind of betrayal?
The young Grindelwald and Dumbledore were remarkably alike—both exceptionally talented, unintentionally pulling far ahead of their peers.
Their pride made them disinclined to lower themselves to make friends, and they had no interest in currying favor with mediocrities or engaging in shallow socializing.
It wasn't until Grindelwald found his purpose that he began to gather followers. Dumbledore, however, due to family tragedy and emotional upheaval, chose a path of lifelong solitude.
—And me?
Wade asked himself silently: What do I want? What is my goal...?
…
The Club room was now completely empty. Only the wisps of smoke rising from the extinguished candles lingered in the air. A few seconds later, with a soft "whoosh," the flames suddenly reignited, burning steadily once more.
A ripple seemed to pass through the air, and in one corner, a few figures shimmered into view, shedding their invisibility.
"Do you think Wade noticed us just now?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Haha, you'll have to ask Moody," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. "I saw him redirect a student's spell! That move must've given us away! Good thing Wade didn't call us out!"
"That was a dancing jinx," Moody grumbled. "You can't seriously expect me to hop around the classroom on a fake leg."
Flitwick didn't seem to care what Moody said. Standing on a desk, he clapped his hands and exclaimed, "What a brilliant lesson! I nearly applauded several times!"
"It really was surprising," Professor McGonagall said with a hint of approval on her face. "Honestly, some of Wade's teaching methods are worth learning from—despite my decades of teaching Transfiguration."
She walked over to the blackboard, and looked at the colorful chalk diagram of wand movement patterns.
"These kids are getting anxious," Moody said to Dumbledore. "Maybe we should start adding more tournament-related material to the curriculum. The other schools are already doing it."
Dumbledore shook his head and replied, "No. Let's stick to the regular teaching plan. We all know most students won't have the chance to compete. Their OWLs and NEWTs will shape their futures far more than a tournament."
"As for this current wave of enthusiasm…" Dumbledore casually flipped through a notebook a student had accidentally left behind. Looking at the densely packed writing, he said, "Once the champions are chosen, most students will likely lose their drive."
"What about Wade's Spells Study Group, then?" Flitwick asked cautiously.
Dumbledore paused in thought, then said, "Let it continue… He's doing an excellent job, and the students are learning a great deal. Any interference from us would be unnecessary."
"But Dumbledore," Moody said gravely, "you know what Fudge thinks of you. He's always been afraid you're building an army at the school. If he finds out about this study group… he'll see it as confirmation."
"Oh, no need to worry," Dumbledore said as he pulled a honey candy from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. Speaking through it, he added vaguely, "Cornelius and I have been getting along quite well lately."
Moody rolled his eyes. He knew it—none of them, not even now, could ever get a straight answer out of Dumbledore.
"Well, no matter what, the tournament is about to begin," Dumbledore said, looking out the window. "This competition is no game. We must do everything we can to ensure the students' safety. That's what matters most."
"That fool Fudge just wants you to bring the trophy back!" Moody muttered. "So he can write it in big letters on his résumé."
"Oh, that… well, Wade's here… right?" Flitwick said, glancing at the others.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment before he said, "If he doesn't truly want to participate, don't pressure him, Filius."
"Of course, I never would," Professor Flitwick replied. "But it's not just us who care about Hogwarts' honor, Albus."
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