The midnight lake was like a dark mirror. The figure wandering along the shore seemed like a transparent ghost—or perhaps it was only the moonlight playing tricks on the watcher's eyes.
Hesitation lasted no more than an instant. Wade swiftly grabbed the broom leaning by the window, swung a leg over it, and leapt out into the night!
The night wind billowed through his robes at once. The broom plunged downward with him at high speed, then suddenly leveled out after two seconds of freefall. Tracing a graceful arc, Wade landed lightly on the soft soil by the lakeshore.
A thin mist drifted apart. When his feet touched the ground, the figure he had seen was already gone—vanished without a trace. Only a few slender reeds swayed gently where it had been.
It was as if the shadow he'd seen a moment ago had been nothing but a trick of his eyes.
Wade narrowed his gaze slightly. With a light push off the ground, he turned his broom and began circling slowly above the lake.
Apparition was impossible within Hogwarts—except for Dumbledore. No matter how fast someone could move, they couldn't have vanished from the lakeshore in the blink of an eye.
"What are you looking for, Wade?"
A gentle voice suddenly spoke from behind him. Wade spun around sharply. Silver-white beard glimmered under the moonlight, and a pair of deep blue eyes watched him thoughtfully.
Dumbledore stood there, as if he had simply stepped out of the darkness itself.
Wade glanced above his head reflexively before lowering his gaze. "Couldn't sleep… I thought I saw someone walking by the lake, so I came to check."
Dumbledore's eyes held warmth, tinged with knowing. "Still worrying about that skeleton, are you?"
He patted Wade on the shoulder. "You don't need to carry these burdens alone, not yet. Get some rest. The rest of us—grown-ups—will take care of it."
"Professor…" Wade hesitated. "Do you think… any of the professors might be involved in this?"
"Oh?" Dumbledore smiled. "Living next to Alastor has clearly influenced your way of thinking."
"Does Professor Moody have any suspects?" Wade asked.
"He suspects everyone… including me." There was amusement in Dumbledore's tone.
"Professor," Wade said helplessly, "I doubt those were his exact words."
"Trust me," Dumbledore chuckled softly, "they were close enough."
He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And I told him that I have complete faith in every professor at this school."
Wade knew the statement was meant for him as much as it was for Moody.
"I understand. Seems I was overthinking it." Wade exhaled slowly. "I'll head back to bed then… Good night, Professor."
"Sweet dreams, my boy," Dumbledore said with a smile.
The broom lifted gently from the ground, but just before it could accelerate, Wade pressed it back down.
After a brief pause, he turned to ask, "Professor Dumbledore… were you also walking by the lake just now?"
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore replied lightly. "My mind felt a bit overheated tonight. A cool breeze helps me think more clearly."
Wade nodded and turned to leave—but an unsettling thought suddenly surfaced in his mind:
A truth carefully tailored… is the most elegant kind of lie.
He might not have seen the face of the figure shrouded in darkness by the lake from the tower. But how could he possibly mistake anyone else for Dumbledore?
Even if he couldn't see the person's face clearly, Wade knew—just from the figure alone—that he could never mistake Dumbledore for anyone else.
Besides… that figure's hair and beard weren't nearly as long as Dumbledore's. He couldn't have been wrong about that.
…
The chill night wind swept across the lake. Reeds and tree branches swayed by the shore, whispering softly as though someone were murmuring secrets in the dark.
Dumbledore stood still by the water, watching until Wade's silhouette disappeared through a castle window. Only then did he turn and walk in the opposite direction.
The wind lifted his silver hair and long beard. As if chilled, the Headmaster drew up his wide hood and continued on slowly.
After a moment, he murmured, "Every person who changes an era… begins only as a child."
The wind rose suddenly, and leaves rustled in reply. Blades of grass and petals swirled, brushing past Dumbledore's feet.
The wind carried with it a faint whisper:
[I once thought you were the one who would break the chains, Albus. You had wisdom, and power—but you locked yourself away.]
"I failed…" Dumbledore said quietly as he walked on, his lips moving faintly. "I'm sorry."
Though he spoke of regret, his face showed only a calm weariness.
[I'm not here to blame you.]
"I know," Dumbledore sighed softly. "But I'm old now… I grew old a long time ago. I no longer have the strength to keep fighting…"
He lifted his gaze toward the castle.
Lights glimmered faintly there, scattered like stars in the dark.
"I can only place my hope in the next generation… call it escape, call it cowardice if you will… but time will prove everything."
[That child isn't like you were… He seems deeply entangled with the darkness.]
"What difference does that make?" Dumbledore replied with a quiet chuckle. "In my youth… I too was enamored with darkness."
The whisper faded into the wind, as if whoever spoke had fallen silent in helpless exasperation.
Dumbledore chuckled softly to himself, like a boy who'd just won a game.
[And if this time… ends in failure as well?]
"Then so be it," Dumbledore said with tranquil composure. "It wouldn't be strange… that one person alone could not cure the ailments that have plagued the wizarding world for a thousand years."
Silence spread through the night. Only the soft lapping of the lake against the shore remained.
The reflection of the waning moon in the water rippled and reformed again and again. Near the bank, Dumbledore's solitary figure was mirrored in the lake—and beside his reflection, faintly, stood another shadowy form.
The figure was tall and upright, nearly Dumbledore's height. Silver hair fell to its shoulders, and threads of dark gold shimmered faintly across its deep-colored robes.
A gust of wind stirred the surface of the lake. When it stilled again, the phantom had vanished.
Dumbledore gazed into the deep, starless night sky, as if time itself had frozen around him.
…
Sunlight streamed through the corridor windows, scattering in beams that carved out the floating dust in the air—like countless drifting mayflies.
This time, Wade arrived at the Alchemy classroom about half an hour early. The door was slightly ajar, and Professor Murray's deep voice could be heard lecturing inside.
Leaning against the wall with his arms folded, Wade's eyes drifted over the forest-like beams of light, then through the window into the classroom.
A few students sat by the stone tables, fully absorbed in today's assignment— creating a magic book.
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