Chapter 204: The Second Heartbeat
Due to the limited number of bedrooms available, aside from the two girls, the boys were crammed into rooms with three or four to a room. Wade naturally shared a bedroom with Michael, Theo, and Liam. He wasn’t one to compromise on comfort—using an Invisible Expansion Charm to enlarge the space, and a Replication Charm to turn the single bed into four.
Though these spells wouldn’t last forever, they’d hold for a few days at least—more than enough for their needs.
As they prepared for bed, the boys began talking about the portraits that seemed almost alive.
“I don’t know how Mrs. Black is doing,” Liam said, a hint of worry in his voice. “Seeing Regulus’s body… wouldn’t that be even worse for her?”
“She already knew he was dead,” Wade replied. “So… finding his body might actually be some comfort, don’t you think?”
After a long pause, Liam murmured, “He was so young… to die so soon… the pain he caused his family…”
Michael, wanting to steer the conversation away from such heavy thoughts, changed the subject. “The Black family portraits are nothing like the ones at Hogwarts.”
“I thought they’d tell us ancient stories,” he added. “When Phineas Black first arrived, I actually thought they were all mad. But once he left, they just… went back to sleep.”
“Maybe it’s because we’re not Purebloods,” Wade guessed. “If Malfoy were visiting, they’d probably welcome him with open arms.”
The others laughed.
They didn’t feel offended or inferior—on the contrary, they found it utterly ridiculous that people judged others solely by bloodline.
Michael chuckled. “So they only come alive when Phineas Black’s around?”
“Maybe it’s not about attitude,” Theo said. “I heard my grandfather say that a portrait’s magic comes from three sources: the subject’s own magic, the spell cast by the painter, and the magic of the building itself.”
“Over time, a portrait’s magic naturally fades. That’s why we see them lying in endless slumber—until they eventually lose all awareness.”
“But if the building is rich in magic, the portrait can draw strength from it, and stay active much longer.”
“So Hogwarts portraits are more lively,” Michael mused. “But even they mostly sleep—especially the older ones.”
“That’s why the Black family portraits can’t wake up unless Mrs. Black disturbs them,” Liam said. “Sirius’s imprisonment, Regulus’s death… the house hasn’t been maintained since. The portraits are dying with the house.”
Wade said nothing.
His mind drifted to Griffiths—the most animated portrait he’d ever seen. Even Hogwarts’ former headmaster couldn’t match his freedom: he’d walk into other portraits at will, even punch people out.
Of course, part of that was personality.
But judging by what Griffiths said, he’d lived centuries ago—long before the present.
Shouldn’t he have faded by now? Or was he somehow being constantly replenished by Hogwarts’ magic?
Wade had a few theories… but no real certainty.
…
That day had brought many events. Many people tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. But Wade’s internal clock remained unwavering—he fell asleep on time, and woke precisely when he was meant to.
He opened his eyes, reaching instinctively for the bedside cabinet.
The next moment, the alarm clock on the cabinet cracked open, and a yellow bird burst from the split, wings flaring as it opened its beak to cry out—
It never got the chance.
Wade slapped it down before it could make a sound.
He didn’t get out of bed. Instead, he pointed his wand directly at his chest and whispered under his breath:
“Armando, Animo, Animado, Animagus!”
Thump!
Wade’s eyes snapped open—surely he’d imagined it.
Thump!
A second heartbeat.
Strong. Violent. He could almost hear the pulse of his heart slamming against his ribs.
Thump!
A wave of shock washed over him. He nearly cried out.
He turned to share his joy with the others—but Michael and the rest were still fast asleep.
Suppressing his voice, Wade grabbed his bag and hurried out of the bedroom, into the living room. He sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace, pulled out the Book of Friends, and flipped to the first page. Under the flickering light of the flame, he wrote:
【I felt the second heartbeat!】
Almost instantly, the book warmed, and new text appeared:
【Fiona: Amazing!】
【Ferdinand: Is this the heartbeat needed for Practice Animagus?】
【Fiona: Duh! What else could it be?】
【Fiona: My son is incredible! Come home soon—I’ll prepare a grand celebration dinner for you!】
【Wade: Okay.】
【Ferdinand: All this effort finally paid off. You’ve earned it. But don’t let up—many fail just one step before success.】
【Fiona: Wade totally gets it! He’s the most responsible kid in the world! Next, we wait for a stormy weather, right?】
【Wade: Yes. Some people have to wait years for the right moment.】
【Fiona: Don’t worry—we’ll check historical weather patterns right away!】
The book fell silent.
Wade could almost picture his mother, hair messy, dragging his father out of their warm bed, piling old newspapers onto the floor in front of the fireplace, flipping through them one by one, recording daily temperatures.
He wanted to tell them it wasn’t necessary—last year’s rain didn’t mean this year would be the same. All he could do was wait.
He also wanted to suggest a better way—asking the Meteorological Bureau, or checking online.
But each time he picked up his pen, he just smiled and put it down.
Why ruin the moment with cleverness?
Ferdinand knew perfectly well. He could’ve done it faster. But he still chose to sit beside Fiona, flipping through yellowed papers, just as he always did.
For the people you love, the act of waiting together is its own kind of joy.
“Chatting with your friends?”
A voice cut through the silence from the dark corner of the room.
Wade startled. He hadn’t noticed anyone else was there.
A figure sat in a faraway armchair, barely visible—half-shadow, half-man.
“Sirius Black?” Wade said, surprised. Then he remembered. “No… it’s my parents.”
Sirius leaned back on the sofa, his voice weary. “Sounds like a happy family.”
Wade tilted his head. “How’d you know?”
“You’ve been smiling,” Sirius said, tracing a line along his own lip with his finger. “Just like James Potter did when he first fell in love. It’s… contagious. Makes you want to smile too.”
Wade instinctively touched his own lips, caught himself smiling—then quickly forced it away, remembering the tragedy of the Black family.
“You haven’t slept all night?”
“Yeah.” Sirius looked up at the ceiling. “I wanted to talk to my mother. But all she cared about was whether Regulus’s funeral was proper. She wouldn’t say a word to me.”
Wade paused. “Regulus didn’t leave a portrait?”
“No.” Sirius’s voice was thick with pain. “He died too young… and not every wizard can make a portrait with magic. It’s not like taking a photograph.”
“Maybe you could commission one?” Wade suggested. “It might not be… overly lively. But for Mrs. Black, it could be a comfort.”
—And for you, too, he thought silently.
Sirius blinked, stunned. “That’s… a good idea.” He stared into the distance, lost in thought. “I remember my mother kept Regulus’s baby teeth. And his hair… his blood… With those, maybe we could make a portrait that feels real.”
He paused, then said suddenly:
“Wade… thank you.”
A long silence followed.
Then, softly:
“I might have to take a leave.”
(End of Chapter)
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