Chapter 255: The Wind View from the Owl Shed
Wade didn’t actually have anything urgent to keep secret—only that, now that his task was complete, he wanted some time alone to reflect.
He’d spent months leading the development of this magical version of Television—the Streaming Mirror—and no one understood its potential as clearly as he did.
Consider this: even Muggle television networks hadn’t yet adopted high-definition broadcasting!
The Streaming Mirror offered crystal-clear visuals, immersive three-dimensional sound, and could be shrunk or expanded—down to pocket size, at least. Of course, only wizards with mastery over the appropriate spells could manipulate its dimensions.
Machionni saw the business opportunity. The Weasley Twins admired the alchemical craftsmanship. Audiences were thrilled by the unprecedented entertainment. And the competitors? They probably saw in it a glimpse of their fleeting social death.
But Wade knew—this was the beginning of a shift. The very heart of magical public discourse would be divided, perhaps even split in half… or more.
Yes, The Daily Prophet often attacked the Ministry of Magic, mocked its officials with venomous glee.
But when push came to shove, they were nothing more than the Ministry’s mouthpiece—unashamedly loyal, shamelessly obedient.
They could paint a respected headmaster as a scheming madman. They could label a teenage savior a vain, self-important fraud. They could fabricate lies, twist facts, and cover up darkness with a veil of deception.
But once the Streaming Mirror became widespread, The Daily Prophet’s dominance would face a massive challenge. Who even knew if anyone would still read a newspaper?
The tide of public opinion would shift—its new captain unknown, but certainly not the same.
And people? They were always gullible—easily misled, easily guided.
Wade didn’t know whether Dumbledore had seen this future, but the old wizard said nothing.
…
Wade slipped away from the crowd and made his way to the Owl Shed.
It wasn’t a pleasant place—damp, dim, and smelling faintly of feathers and old straw—but it offered a clear view of most of the Maze. The open space made it peaceful, perfect for solitude.
Most owls perched on their racks, one eye open, one closed. Others lay sprawled flat, eyes shut, long, fluffy legs stretched stiffly out—sleeping so deeply they looked dead.
A few stirred at the sound of footsteps, blinking in confusion at Wade. Their eyes followed him for a moment, then, realizing he carried no treats, turned away with indifference.
Then Wade noticed something odd—a patch of baldness on the back of one owl’s head.
He walked over, suppressing a smile, and gently stroked it.
The owl tilted its head in curiosity, letting out a soft coo, but didn’t flinch or peck at his hand.
It looked sweet. Nothing like the fierce, aggressive birds he’d seen at night, fighting for territory.
Wade amused himself for a moment before stepping onto the platform atop the shed’s roof—only to find someone already sitting there.
"—Professor?" Wade blurted, startled.
The figure turned. It was Professor Mor—someone rarely seen at school.
"Oh—Wade," Professor Mor smiled, glancing out at the view. "Looks like you found this secret spot too. The wind view’s quite impressive, isn’t it?"
"Of course," Wade replied, though his mind raced.
After a pause, he asked, "Professor… weren’t you supposed to attend the European Alchemists’ Association banquet in Luxembourg?"
The event had been scheduled months in advance. Professor Mor should have left yesterday afternoon.
"Banquet started, and the hosts nearly came to blows with the guests," Professor Mor sighed, waving a hand. "And then there was that… embarrassing incident where someone vanished their trousers entirely. I knew today was your Streaming Mirror’s public debut, so I took a Portkey back."
He paused, then added quietly, "So… why aren’t you down there? This place still has that… characteristic smell."
Professor Mor’s face twitched slightly.
"Please don’t tell Dumbledore I’m back," he whispered. "He’ll just assign me another chore. Look at your poor headmaster—overworked, under pressure, constantly running."
Far off in the Maze, Professor Flitwick was riding a broomstick near the walls. It was clear he hadn’t flown in a while—his movements were awkward, unsteady.
While Professor McGonagall maintained order at the entrance, Flitwick darted through the interior, using magic to lift students who’d fallen into traps, those chased by magical creatures, and even those already captured and dragged back to their nests as trophies.
At his size—about the height of a child—Flitwick was utterly overwhelmed, yet never stopped.
And the others? Professor Sprout, Professor Snape, Madam Hooch, Madam Pomfrey—everyone was busy. Filch and Hagrid were even more so.
Only Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, sat calmly in her chair, watching the chaos unfold with delight, laughing so hard tears welled in her eyes.
But it wasn’t because Dumbledore favored her—though she was the only one spared responsibility. Even the Headmaster, who trusted his staff implicitly, dared not place her in charge of anything difficult or critical.
Wade twirled his wand. A tiny whirlwind coiled from the tip, sweeping dust from the balcony’s outer edge. Professor Mor lifted his leg slightly, letting the wind carry the debris off the floor.
Then Wade sat beside him, offering a quiet apology. "Sorry, Professor… I’m afraid I’ve caused you a lot of trouble."
Professor Mor chuckled. "Trouble? How could it be trouble?"
"Seeing the students—our children—laughing, playing, and learning magic with joy… something that hasn’t happened in a thousand years? That’s the best view of all."
He paused, then added, "I suspect McGonagall feels the same. No one’s blamed you—because no one sees it as a burden. Right?"
"…I suppose you’re right."
Wade fell silent for a moment, then smiled. "Having teachers like you and Professor McGonagall… it’s our luck. I’ll never forget the help you’ve given me."
He sighed, lost in memory. "First year, when I misused a spell and hurt myself—hadn’t even realized I was injured. If you hadn’t found me that day… I might’ve died."
Professor Mor frowned, trying to recall. "You were sick, weren’t you? Feverish. And injured. What spell did you mess up?"
Wade blinked, meeting the professor’s white-haired gaze.
Then, after a pause, he smiled faintly. "Ah… I think I mixed it up."
"Even that?" Professor Mor shook his head. "You’ve never misremembered an Ancient Rune’s pronunciation or symbol before."
"Because my mind’s been full of more important things," Wade said simply. "Other details just… slipped away."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a panoramic telescope he’d prepared—then handed a copy to Professor Mor.
"Try this! You can zoom in and out, pause, replay—perfect for watching the action."
"Thank you," Professor Mor said, smiling, and took it without hesitation.
Wade watched him. Then, as he raised his own telescope to observe the Maze, he finally joined him in the view.
And there—on the screen—was Harry and Michael, stepping into the heart of the Maze.
(End of Chapter)
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