Chapter 217: Three Seconds of Glory, Three Months in Bed
"And that is the situation as it stands now, Headmistress Maxime." Martin recounted everything he knew from start to finish without any personal emotion. He didn't want his feelings to cause the wizards to misjudge the event.
"No, that's not it. I was... I was controlled!" Hawke looked panicked, hurriedly defending himself.
Those who followed him also proclaimed their innocence.
Martin stood silently aside. He didn't need to argue in this situation; sophistry was meaningless when the facts were laid bare before everyone.
Maxime and Quirrell ignored the excuses, exchanging looks of disbelief.
They were only just learning the full story now, yet Ryan and Dumbledore, who hadn't heard the full story, had clearly known the ins and outs before they left!
Ryan had said someone wanted them to be caught.
Dumbledore had said do not harm the innocent.
The two from Hogwarts seemed to know everything clearly, observing the situation as if watching a fire.
"Prophecy?" Maxime whispered.
"Perhaps," Quirrell frowned. "But based on my understanding of Ryan, if he had foreseen it, he wouldn't have let Martin and the others be taken away..."
"Could it be Sybill?" He was shocked by his own guess. Whether during his time as a student or as a professor, Sybill Trelawney, hiding in her attic regardless of the season, had always seemed like a neurotic fraud.
Although speaking ill of people behind their backs was impolite, Quirrell still felt that Professor Dumbledore hiring Sybill as the Divination professor was as wrong a choice as hiring him back as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
"Sybill... Trelawney?" Maxime had heard the name. The vague prophecy regarding Voldemort circulated only among high-level figures; she happened to have heard of it and knew Sybill was the one who made it.
This lady was a descendant of a highly gifted Seer; perhaps she had inherited her ancestor's talent. Maxime felt this was a reasonable deduction.
Prophecy was truly a unique gift, leaving others with nothing but envy.
"Gentlemen, I understand the situation. If you return to the academy now, perhaps you can still catch a bit of class." She led Fleur away, who was glaring furiously at the Magi-Metal Wizards led by Hawke.
Back in the Headmistress's office.
Only then did she reveal her worry.
"Headmistress?" Fleur, who had wanted to question why the instigator Hawke wasn't detained, noticed the Headmistress's poor complexion and asked softly.
"Someone pushed them from behind; that's the worst part. It means tonight's events will definitely be exposed." Maxime had originally thought this was an accidental occurrence, and as long as they handled it properly here, it wouldn't impact public opinion in the wizarding world.
But now it seemed someone was fueling the flames. She could imagine the storm that was about to form.
"We need to find a way to help our allies at this time... Who made the move?"
She muttered to herself.
Fleur also gleaned from the Headmistress's words that the matter wasn't as simple as she saw it, so she carefully withdrew.
"Severus! Come to the hospital wing immediately."
Snape opened his eyes. Dumbledore's urgent voice issued from a silver phoenix Patronus. He had never heard Dumbledore sound like that.
Even when Harry was in danger, Dumbledore had seemed confident.
Now, he heard fear in Dumbledore's voice.
Something big happened. He threw on his robes and rushed towards the hospital wing like the wind.
Running through the corridors, he encountered Filch carrying an iron rod.
Filch wasn't panting, his legs didn't hurt, his back wasn't sore—he was full of energy. Seeing Snape, he even took the initiative to smile and say hello.
"Mr. Snape, where are you going so late?"
"Business."
A standard Snape reply. His steps didn't falter as he breezed past Filch.
Filch and Mrs. Norris stared at each other, eyes wide, not understanding what could make Snape rush so much.
But it didn't matter. He didn't need to care about the professors' concerns. He had long abandoned the lantern that had accompanied him for years. With a wave of his hand, the iron rod emitted a bright light, illuminating the path ahead.
"I can cast magic too!"
He was thrilled. Ever since buying the Magi-Alloy wand, he had wanted to find Ryan. Unfortunately, he couldn't find him anywhere and hadn't had the chance to speak to him face-to-face.
Arriving at the hospital wing, Snape hadn't even entered the room when he heard voices.
"Headmaster, I really just exhausted myself. There's no need to disturb Professor Snape this late."
That was Ryan's voice.
"You fainted after I brought you back. Gellert only just woke you up. I need Poppy and Severus to do a comprehensive check on you."
That was Dumbledore's voice. Compared to the slight anxiety Snape heard earlier, his tone was now steady.
"Setting a fire and fainting from it... you, oh you. With such a big scene, weren't you afraid of being seen by Muggles?"
That was the voice of the man living in the Headmaster's office who called himself Gellert.
"When I detonated it at the end, I didn't conjure any magical creatures, just a simple fireball explosion. There were no people close by at the time. Those further away would only think some heavy weapon exploded there. They'll just hold demonstrations and strikes to protest the French government conducting high-risk weapon tests within the city. The word 'wizard' won't appear at all."
That was Ryan's voice.
Unlike his usual robust and vibrant tone, although his speech was clear and logical, he sounded like he was hanging on by a thread, just a hair's breadth from meeting Death.
"What do you think of that fire?"
Hearing Ryan still talking while clinging to life, Snape wanted to go in and tell him: If you're sick, get treated properly. Don't talk so much if you don't have to.
He reached the doorway. Just as he could see inside, he noticed a memory projection playing in the room.
"...Beautiful... Satisfying." Gellert nodded, looking very pleased. The fire had been lit after all.
"Dumbledore, you were looking for me?" Snape asked from the doorway, announcing his presence.
"Severus, come take a look," Dumbledore said.
Besides the speakers, Madam Pomfrey was in the room, mixing various potions and constantly checking Ryan.
She used green, white, blue, and yellow potions, blending them into a mixture swirling like a small nebula, administering them internally and externally alongside magic. As she applied these treatments to Ryan, her expression grew grim.
"Oh, heavens!" She wanted to ask Ryan what he had done to reduce himself to this state. His physiological condition was bleak, far worse than any of his previous self-inflicted visits to the hospital wing.
But seeing the mythological fire python in the memory recording, she couldn't bring herself to ask. She could only emphasize repeatedly, "You need rest! You cannot use magic during your recovery! At least a month, and for the following two months, no strenuous exercise!"
"Welles, I didn't know when you learned to be as reckless as a lion." Snape also used his own methods to check Ryan's physical condition.
Suffice to say, Ryan was currently equivalent to an extremely weak person who had sprinted a full marathon, at risk of sudden death at any moment.
"Professor Snape saying that makes me so sad. You know me; I always have a reason for what I do."
Ryan didn't believe Dumbledore couldn't see why he risked exhaustion and months in bed to destroy the "Swimming Pool" in such an extreme manner.
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