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"These werewolves… why did they have to appear here, of all times?"
Ollie's father's face was pale, his eyes staring blankly out at the street, which was still chaotic but gradually being brought under control by the Aurors, as he muttered unconsciously to himself.
His voice was very low, filled with an incredible sense of confusion.
How sharp were Lynn's ears? That tone, that phrasing… "of all times," "appear here"?
It didn't sound like the question of a victim after an attack, but more like a questioning of a certain phenomenon.
Moreover, "these werewolves"… Mr. Thorne didn't seem unfamiliar with werewolves; he even seemed to have a sense of being targeted.
Was there more to the story?
Lynn immediately made a judgment in his heart.
However, he had always known his place and understood not to poke at others' scars—especially those of elders and his friends' family.
He kept his head down and his eyes focused, pretending not to hear, his gaze drifting to the window frame as he considered whether he should help repair it.
But just because Lynn didn't ask didn't mean Ollie could hold back.
At this moment, his heart was filled with shock and countless questions.
"Dad…" Ollie's voice was a bit dry. "You… you're a wizard too?! Always… have been?"
Charles's body stiffened slightly, as if awakened from some painful train of thought.
He slowly turned his head, looked at his son, remained silent for a moment, and finally nodded.
He didn't explain.
The air seemed to freeze. The silence between father and son carried an unspeakable weight.
Just then—
There was a slight disturbance in space.
Dumbledore's figure reappeared at the doorway of the messy bedroom, seemingly having finished handling the matters outside.
He had just Apparated, happening to hear Ollie's question and see Charles's nod.
Dumbledore's lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, it only turned into a soft call:
"Charles… you…"
Hearing Dumbledore's voice, Charles spun around abruptly!
On his face—which hadn't completely lost control even when facing the werewolf intrusion—an uncontrollable rage instantly flared up.
"You are not welcome here." Charles's voice was icy, every word squeezed through his teeth with unmistakable intent to drive him away.
Dumbledore fell silent.
Finally, he managed to squeeze out a sentence:
"I'm sorry."
Lynn: !!! Drama! Major drama!
Hearing this "I'm sorry," Charles's eyes instantly turned red, and his voice trembled with agitation, nearly a roar:
"What use is your 'sorry'?! Can your 'sorry' bring Joan back to life?! Can it turn back time?! Can it erase everything she endured?! Leave! Now! Immediately! You are not welcome here! Never!"
"Joan"—the name of Ollie's late mother.
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but all his words were choked back.
Crack—
Without saying anything else, Dumbledore vanished quietly, just as he had come.
Lynn and Ollie exchanged a glance.
Lynn (signaling with his eyes): Should I… leave too?
Ollie (glancing quickly at his mobile phone and nodding slightly): Yeah, you go first. I'll message you later with the details.
Lynn made a quick exit.
In the bedroom, finally, only Ollie and his father remained.
Silence spread once more.
Outside the window, the sounds of Aurors cleaning up the aftermath and comforting residents drifted in faintly.
Finally, Ollie couldn't help but ask softly:
"Dad… between you and Headmaster Dumbledore… and Mom… what exactly… happened?"
Charles's body swayed slightly as he looked at his son.
"Surprised to see that I'm a wizard too, aren't you?"
His voice was hoarse; he didn't answer directly but asked a question instead.
Ollie nodded vigorously.
It wasn't just surprise—it was a complete subversion of his understanding.
He had always thought his magical talent came entirely from his mother—the gentle but long-deceased witch in his imagination.
In his heart, his father had always been that serious, busy Muggle entrepreneur.
He had never imagined that his father also had a wand and knew spells.
Seeing his son nod, Charles seemed to make up his mind to stop hiding the truth.
"Joan…" When Charles spoke the name, his voice softened for a moment. "Your mother came from an ancient pure-blood family."
Charles fell into memory, his voice becoming distant and airy:
"She was sorted into Slytherin back then—smart, proud, and as beautiful as the morning star… (Several hundred words of Charles's reminiscence of his wife's grace and fragmented descriptions of their sweet past of meeting and falling in love at Hogwarts are omitted here.)
…And I was just an ordinary Hufflepuff student, from an ordinary family, with mediocre talent."
"Later, Vol—You-Know-Who's forces began to sweep across the entire British wizarding world." Charles's tone suddenly hardened.
"Joan… she never cared for that pure-blood supremacy ideology of Slytherin. She had her pride, but that pride was built on strength and wisdom, not on empty bloodlines."
Charles's breathing suddenly became rapid.
"Later… Dumbledore found her."
He closed his eyes.
"He said… the Order of the Phoenix needed eyes on the inside. He said… Joan's background was the perfect cover. He said… it was to protect more people, to end this disaster sooner. He promised… he would do everything in his power to ensure her safety."
Charles snapped his eyes open, his voice rising sharply.
"She believed him! She was so brave… she agreed! To do such a dangerous thing! To go near that devil!"
"And then?" Ollie had a vague idea of the ending, but he still wanted to hear his father say it himself.
"And then?" Charles gave a cold laugh. "Then the undercover mission was 'successfully completed'! She passed on the intelligence! But… because a damn traitor appeared within the Order of the Phoenix!"
Charles's whole body began to tremble violently.
"Our hiding place—Joan's and mine—was discovered… It wasn't Death Eaters who came. It was a pack… a pack of crazed werewolves! They…"
Charles choked up, unable to continue.
The screams of that night, the firelight, the resolute look in Joan's eyes as she pushed him away, the stench of the werewolves… everything was vivid, as if it were yesterday.
"Dumbledore… he arrived too late… he only saved us… Joan, she… she…"
Ollie understood completely.
He understood why his father feared werewolves so much. He understood why his father hid his identity as a wizard—and perhaps even hated the wizarding world for it. And he understood, even more, why his father held a grudge against Dumbledore…
A short while later, after returning to his trunk, Lynn received a call from Ollie.
On the phone, Ollie's voice was unusually calm.
He briefly recounted to Lynn what his father had told him.
A rare, long silence fell between the two ends of the line. There was only the faint sound of static and each other's breathing.
Lynn also fell silent.
He had noticed something was wrong with Mr. Thorne before and guessed there was a story, but he hadn't expected something this painful.
Lynn opened his mouth toward the mobile phone, feeling that anything he said would seem hollow and weak.
After mumbling for a long time, he finally just dryly managed to say:
"…My condolences. And… if you need help, call me anytime."