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Chapter 181: Forbidden Books and Curses
The next morning, Wade read in The Daily Prophet about a fire that had erupted in Little Hangleton Village. The article claimed that a Dark Wizard had been conducting a sinister experiment, setting fire to an abandoned shack inhabited by a homeless man. The Ministry of Magic, after monitoring the scene, detected traces of the Inferno Flame spell. Fortunately, no one had been inside the house during the incident, so there were no casualties.
The newspaper made no mention of the fact that the burned-down cottage had once been the home of the Gaunt family—the ancestral seat of the Slytherin line, a piece of magical history long shrouded in light and legacy. Whether the omission was intentional or simply due to the fact that the young Ministry officials no longer remembered who had once lived in that crumbling hut, Wade wasn’t sure.
But he knew one thing: Dumbledore wouldn’t ignore it.
Wade glanced toward the breakfast table. The Headmaster was cheerfully recommending today’s lamb chop to Professor Flitwick, a stack of newspapers piled neatly beside him. Wade lowered his eyes and began flipping through a different paper—one that Ferdinand had specially sent him.
This one was a Muggle publication called The Daily, and it featured a clear aerial photograph of the fire site. The flames had burned a perfect circle in the woods, scorched to a crisp inside, yet untouched beyond the boundary—no single leaf or twig had been harmed.
The article described the event with sensational flair, concluding with a mysterious suggestion: Could this be the mark left by a descending alien spacecraft?
In another version of the same paper, the author took a far more serious tone. He argued the incident was likely the result of a secret, high-precision emotional warfare weapon developed by a foreign nation. The piece launched a scathing critique of Britain’s national defense, military preparedness, technological advancement, and bureaucratic inefficiency, declaring the country was on the brink of collapse.
Wade stared at the two articles, then let out a dry chuckle. He set the paper aside.
Breakfast was once again porridge. The house-elf had finely minced the meat and vegetables, ensuring Wade wouldn’t have to chew—everything was already soft enough to swallow without effort. The mixture looked unappetizing at first, but then the little one—his favorite—sprinkled a delicate layer of chopped celery and sesame seeds on top. The dish suddenly looked far more inviting.
The Great Hall was sparsely populated. Most students had already rushed out after finishing their meal. Today marked the reopening of the Maze, and many had arrived early, even skipping breakfast to line up for a chance to enter.
After eating, Wade followed his usual routine: heading to the Library to return and borrow books. Thanks to Lockhart’s influence, he could always access the Restricted Section—each time prompting Madam Pince’s familiar complaints about Lockhart’s recklessness.
Wade suspected the librarian knew far more than she let on—especially about the true origin of those permission slips. Yet she never spoke of it. All she required was the slip. As long as it was valid, she’d hand over any book.
She complained, yes—but she couldn’t challenge the slip’s legitimacy, nor could she confront Professor Lockhart. Whether she treated every student this way, or whether Wade had received special treatment, he didn’t dwell on it.
He returned to the Umbrella Room with his stack of books, devouring them with hunger for knowledge. Lately, he’d been devoting much of his time to studying curses.
Voldemort was a master of curses. The hex he placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was so powerful that even Dumbledore had been unable to break it. To stand a chance against Voldemort, one had to understand curses thoroughly—especially if one lacked Harry’s blood magic protection.
From his reading, Wade had learned about ancient, fascinating curse techniques—some he’d seen in children’s fairy tales, never imagining they were real. Simple curses like the Leg-Locker Curse were common, mostly used for jokes between students. The Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse were also curses—both required intense emotional focus to cast.
But those effects were fleeting. The spells taught at school focused mainly on resistance and defense.
More dangerous were curses with lasting effects—those that lingered for years, influenced entire bloodlines, or even passed down through generations. These required immense skill, intricate preparation, and tremendous magical power.
For example, blood-based transfiguration spells could turn a person into an animal. Blood oaths created unbreakable bonds between two individuals. Ancient curses could transform a human into a plant or animal permanently, trap someone in eternal sleep, or doom them to endless bad luck—each far more complex than they appeared.
And the caster? Often, they themselves would suffer hidden, negative consequences—some subtle, others devastating.
Wade was so absorbed in his reading that he barely noticed when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey, Wade,” Michael said. “Put the books down! It’s almost eleven—we need to leave!”
Theo and Liam were already waiting at the entrance.
Wade blinked. “Leave?”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You can’t have forgotten, can you? Today’s Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff match!”
Wade snapped back to reality. He’d been so caught up in the joy of destroying the Resurrection Stone Horcrux the previous night that he’d gone to bed late—completely forgetting his own House’s Quidditch game.
The Gryffindor–Slytherin match had been postponed for two weeks, and now it had clashed with the one between the Eagle and Badger houses. With winter winds biting at high altitudes in December, the heads of houses were unwilling to delay any longer, fearing it would harm player performance. So, they decided to hold both matches over the same weekend.
They arrived at the pitch, already packed with spectators—but not as divided as during yesterday’s game. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were both popular houses, and their supporters were mixed throughout the stands.
Wade even spotted a few Ravenclaw students quietly removing their sky-blue scarves and slipping into the Hufflepuff section.
When confronted by an Eagle student, they defended themselves: “We’re not betraying anyone… but it’s Cedric’s first match! You understand, right? He needs all the support he can get.”
“Then what about us?” Dalton, Ravenclaw’s Seeker, growled, waving his arms. “Am I up there catching insects?”
“No, you’re fighting for our House’s honor, darling,” one of his girl friends said, planting a kiss on his cheek. Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, “Oh, and by the way—you’re of age now. Be careful up there. Don’t knock any first-years off their brooms.”
Dalton’s smile vanished instantly.
He watched helplessly as his friend walked away, joining the other side’s stands. He turned to the two younger students beside him, voice thick with despair. “You’re not going to run over there too, are you?”
Wade and Michael exchanged a glance. Michael clapped Dalton on the shoulder. “We’re supporting Ravenclaw, of course! Go get ‘em!”
Dalton sighed, muttering something about “pretty boys” under his breath, before stomping toward his team.
“Strong opponents, aren’t they?” came a soft, distant voice.
Wade turned. Luna Lovegood stood beside him, holding an eagle scepter—just a long branch wrapped in paper, shaped into a crude eagle. She was quite skilled.
If Dalton had seen her, he might have felt a little better.
“Hello, Luna,” Wade said, tapping the paper eagle with his wand.
Instantly, it came to life—flapping its wings, turning its head, and letting out a loud, piercing cry.
Everyone nearby jumped, startled. Heads turned toward them.
Luna ignored the stares. She gave a satisfied nod and strode forward, holding her scepter high. The paper eagle screeched again, and people on both sides of the field instinctively stepped aside—Hufflepuff players even paused to watch.
Wade spotted Cedric Digory, holding his broom. Tall and strikingly handsome, with sharp features and a gentle smile. Though only in his fourth year, he stood proudly among the team, not dwarfed by the seventh-years.
Such a solid build wasn’t typical for a Seeker—usually, agility was key. But Cedric’s expression remained calm, as if he had no fear of failure.
A whistle blew.
The match began.
(End of Chapter)
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