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Chapter 217: Harry: I Hope They're Okay
That evening, Harry and Wade returned to Hogwarts through the Vanishing Cabinet.
Most of their classmates would only spend a couple of hours in the Wizard village during the Hogsmeade Weekend before hurrying back to school before the students all returned. Occasionally, Michael and the others were recognized by older students—those in their third year or above who had permission to visit Hogsmeade—and everyone assumed they’d found a secret tunnel that Filch hadn’t discovered.
Given their close relationship with the Weasley Twins, such incidents were hardly surprising. The twins had already pulled off daring escapades in their first year, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest and even wandering through Hogsmeade before they were old enough.
Most older students just smiled indulgently or teased them kindly, sometimes even warning them not to go to the Three Broomsticks—Professor McGonagall and several others were known to be drinking and chatting there.
But some students didn’t like them. A few quietly reported the duo to Filch—everyone assumed it was a Slytherin prank.
During the last Hogsmeade Weekend, Michael and Padma had been on a date at Madam Paddif’s Tea House when Filch nearly caught them—surprisingly, the caretaker had actually gone to Hogsmeade on a weekend!
It was unheard of. Filch normally avoided the Wizard village at all costs. But this time, he’d scoured every shop in search of the rulebreakers.
Fortunately, Michael had good connections. One student spotted Filch and rushed to warn them. The group fled back to Hogwarts in a panic, narrowly escaping punishment.
Filch was furious—but powerless.
After all, in Hogwarts, breaking the rules only counted if you were caught.
Since then, they’d started returning an hour earlier.
Today, only Wade and Harry had stayed behind—because they were still learning magic.
When classes ended, the castle’s main tower felt eerily quiet. As curfew approached, the corridors were completely empty. Even Filch and Mrs. Norris couldn’t be found here. On weekends, they were either timing students’ return to their common rooms or guarding the Great Hall against muddy footprints.
Emerging from the Room of Requirement, Wade instinctively glanced at Sibbald’s portrait. Then Harry spoke:
“Once the bait operation yields results, Sirius Black should let us know, right?”
The young Savior sighed, sincere. “I really hope those missing children are okay.”
Wade shook his head. “This kind of operation won’t produce results quickly… and it might not work at all.”
“Why?” Harry asked, surprised.
“Because wizards pretending to be Muggles—especially Muggle children—are like a Pomeranian sneaking into a pack of wolves,” Wade said. “Even if they look the part, a careful observer can tell the difference.”
“Do they know local slang and regional dialects? Are they up to date on the latest video games? Can they ride buses and subways?”
Harry fell silent, thinking of Mr. Weasley asking him about electrical outlets.
Then he countered, “But they could pick Muggle-born wizards—or wizards married to Muggles. They wouldn’t make basic mistakes.”
“Maybe they could pass as Muggles,” Wade said, “but they’d struggle to act like Muggle children.”
“The perfect bait would be someone like me or you—someone who still keeps close contact with the Muggle world.”
Harry’s eyes lit up. A flicker of eagerness stirred within him.
“What if we suggested it to Professor Dumbledore?”
“Impossible. Don’t even think about it. Not unless every adult wizard has died out, would twelve-year-olds be called into action.”
Wade was firm.
If Dumbledore were in charge, Harry’s idea might have had a chance. But the more complex the leadership became, the less likely any bold plan would be accepted.
Harry’s shoulders drooped.
They reached the corner of the corridor and stopped at the same time.
Gryffindor and Ravenclaw shared the same tower style, but their towers stood far apart. Besides the courtyard, the only connection between them was a narrow bridge on the third floor.
So here, their paths diverged.
Harry forced himself to brighten.
“You’re right. Dumbledore and the others must’ve already considered this. They’ll refine the plan. So the bait operation still has a chance, doesn’t it?”
Wade hesitated, then gave a small nod.
Harry grinned.
“Think positively, Wade. Maybe tomorrow morning, when we wake up, we’ll hear good news!”
He waved, pushed open the door, and stepped onto a moving staircase.
The stairs turned slowly, carrying Harry off in a new direction.
Behind him, Wade walked to the balcony, raised his wand, and summoned his broomstick with an Accio charm.
The old broom soared through Ravenclaw Tower, zipping straight into his hands.
With each passing day, it had grown more responsive—almost sentient.
Wade mounted it without heading straight to his dormitory. Instead, he circled the castle once, twice, above the darkened grounds.
The night shrouded the castle in majesty. The Headmaster’s Office, perched atop its spire, glowed softly—like a tiny strawberry on a cake.
The office still held its warm, gentle light.
Magic candles never needed electricity. But Dumbledore himself was clearly not inside.
Wade thought of Harry’s optimism.
And in his heart, he dismissed it again.
The more people involved, the more interests at stake—the slower the response, the more complicated the process, and the less likely the right person would be chosen.
It wasn’t that Dumbledore failed to see the flaws.
It was that he never seized power.
So he had to endure fools shouting in his face—then making even worse mistakes.
For Wade, the bait operation failing was the best possible outcome.
If it succeeded… he’d only wonder if it was a trap—meant to lure out wizards.
The broom cut through the night wind, landing softly on the Ravenclaw Tower’s roof.
Wade smoothed back his wind-tousled hair, gripped his broom, answered the eagle-shaped door knocker’s riddle, and stepped into the common room.
Michael sat near the entrance, reading a book.
He looked up and waved.
“How’d it go?”
He winked, careful not to say the Patronus Charm’s name aloud with others present.
“Smooth,” Wade replied.
“How long did it take?” Michael asked eagerly.
Wade didn’t hide it. “First try.”
“Whoa!” Michael grinned. “If I didn’t know how hard that is, I’d think it was as easy as Scourgify! They should give you a Merlin Medal!”
He sounded almost as excited as if he’d mastered it himself.
(End of Chapter)
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