Chapter 165. Leaf
The bell for dismissal rang, and the mist cleared as if it had never been. Wade looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked back at him. Through the thin lenses of his glasses, Dumbledore’s eyes seemed like the deep blue of the ocean floor.
“You showed me Voldemort’s entire life…” Wade hesitated, then asked, “What was the purpose?”
Dumbledore extended his hand. A single leaf drifted in through the window and settled into his palm.
“Look at this leaf, child. What does it make you think of?”
He answered his own question with a soft smile: “Someone inside would say green. Someone would say nature. Someone would say environment. Someone would say it’s beautiful. Someone would see it as food for insects. Someone would think of time passing, of life fleeting. And someone would simply say… it’s just a leaf.”
He paused, then repeated softly, “It’s just a leaf, Wade.”
“Whatever you see in it—what it reminds you of—should be your own choice.”
He placed the leaf gently into Wade’s hand and grinned. “Lunchtime’s here. Go eat. Today’s lunch includes Wine-Soaked Jam Pudding. You’d regret missing it.”
With that, Dumbledore departed.
Wade stared at the leaf in his palm, lost in thought for a long while.
In the story, Dumbledore had taken Harry through memory after memory—each tied to Voldemort—uncovering fragments of human nature and the Dark Lord’s flaws, guiding Harry toward finding the Horcruxes and ultimately defeating Voldemort.
But what Dumbledore had shown him was simply Voldemort’s life: no intricate details, no lengthy lectures—only the raw, unfiltered truth, and then the silence, leaving all questions to Wade.
Had Dumbledore discovered their “Society Activity”? Or had he sensed something from Wade’s efforts to reopen the Sirius Black case?
After a long moment, Wade slipped the leaf between the pages of a book, using it as a bookmark.
Whatever message Dumbledore had intended, Wade would not let it change his path.
…
The next morning, owls flooded Hogwarts in a storm of letters, dropping thick stacks of newspapers onto the breakfast tables.
Wade opened The Daily Prophet. The front page was dominated by a photo of Harry hugging Sirius Black. Remus Lupin stood in the background, smiling quietly, only his profile visible.
Next to it was a small picture of Peter Pettigrew in prison garb.
“Look! Sirius Black has been cleared! Peter Pettigrew sentenced to life imprisonment!” Padma exclaimed, flipping through the paper and shouting to Michael.
A cheer erupted at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley Twins, wearing bizarre, mismatched hats, bounced on their stools in delight.
They had taken part in the capture of Peter Pettigrew and had followed the case closely. Now, with a favorable outcome, they were celebrating as if they themselves had been released.
But their other two brothers weren’t nearly as happy.
Ron and Percy both wore grim expressions, as though the fact that Peter Pettigrew had once been their pet was a personal disgrace.
“Unbelievable,” said one of Percy’s dorm mates, still shouting. “We actually lived in the same dorm as this creep! Percy, I’ll never keep a rat as a pet for the rest of my life!”
Percy’s face darkened. Laughter rippled through the hall.
Some girls whispered nearby.
Wade overheard Qiu Zhang speaking to her friends: “Marietta, I don’t have anything against hamsters… but… uh… could you please not keep it in the dorm?”
Marietta looked uneasy. “Don’t remind me. I’m sending it back right after breakfast. My mom will keep it in the garden.”
“Via owl?” Qiu Zhang hesitated. “Won’t it get eaten?”
“Not a chance,” Marietta replied. “I’m sending the cage along too.”
Because the school’s owl service was free, many girls had taken to keeping fluffy hamsters or small mice as pets—sometimes even carrying them out in their hands on sunny days.
But after Peter Pettigrew’s trial, the number of rodent pets across the school dropped sharply. Even those who were reluctant to part with their pets no longer kept them in dormitories.
As a result, two empty dorm rooms in Ravenclaw Tower became makeshift pet shelters. Some even stopped keeping cats in their dorms altogether, opting instead to leave them in the common room.
Ravenclaw was better off—fewer students, fewer pets. But rumors said Gryffindor was constantly arguing over who got to walk the pets or how often they should be fed.
“Hey, Draco!” A voice from the Slytherin long table squeaked. “Heard Sirius Black’s your uncle? He’s been cleared—must be thrilled, right?”
Draco Malfoy’s face instantly turned cold.
“Sirius Black was the last heir of the Black family—shame he was erased from the family tree. A pure-blood traitor,” another Slytherin student, Morton, added with deliberate malice.
A few others snickered under their breath.
“Shut up,” Marcus Flint said sharply, glancing at the flying broomsticks. “A man erased from the family line has no connection to the Malfoys. Draco’s never even met him.”
Wade glanced over the long table. Draco sat with his back turned, face hidden. But Wade saw his hand under the table—tight around his wand, the tip trembling slightly.
“Wade!” Michael slapped his shoulder. “No studying today. Let’s head to the Game Arena.”
“Sure.” Wade glanced back at the Slytherin table once more, then set down his fork. The two of them left the Great Hall together.
The lawn was slightly damp, but not muddy. Most plants had turned yellow and brittle, littering the ground with fallen leaves. Walking on them felt like stepping onto a soft, thick carpet.
The Game Arena already held a dozen students, waiting for the last group to exit.
Seeing Wade, their faces paled instantly.
“Well?” Referee Professor Flitwick held his wand, grinning. “Which game shall we play? Versus Match or Deathmatch?”
A girl trembled and raised her hand. “If it’s Deathmatch… which version? Wade’s version or the Professor’s?”
Professor Flitwick chuckled and winked at Wade. “The Professor’s version, of course. Today, Wade is also a player.”
The entire group exhaled in relief. “Deathmatch! We choose Deathmatch!”
Wade’s face darkened. Michael snorted beside him.
“Alright,” Professor Flitwick tapped the timer. “Five minutes for preparation.”
The students surged into the arena, rushing to form teams, pulling objects into place, building barricades and defenses.
The environment of the Game Arena grew increasingly complex—thanks to the clever, strategic minds of the students.
“Come on,” Michael tugged Wade’s arm, pulling him inside. “We need cover. Once you’ve seen it once, you’ll understand why the Professor’s Deathmatch is so popular!”
(End of Chapter)
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