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Chapter 321: Shocking! Umbridge Actually...
"Wade," Dumbledore paused, saying, "I believe you will use a Calm Mind to weigh the pros and cons of any matter, facing problems with clarity and resolving them with reason. So tell me—do you feel you've done anything wrong?"
Wade thought carefully, then shook his head.
"Then follow your own thoughts," Dumbledore said, unexpectedly generous. "I am not as wise or perceptive as many believe. Just as you once asked me—was the Confidentiality Act right? Was the Ministry of Magic correct? Was abolishing the Dying Penalty the right choice?"
"Truly, I often wonder—what is truly right? What is wrong? Perhaps time will eventually give us the answer. But while we are in the midst of it, all we can see is a short stretch of the path ahead."
"So… do what you cannot regret, Wade. Every choice comes with a price. I hope you are not like me—so that, years from now, when you look back, you won’t feel remorse over your decisions."
Wade stared at him, stunned into silence. The depth of Dumbledore’s trust, his quiet indulgence, was far greater than he had ever imagined—weightier, more profound.
Perhaps the wise are always like this. Past experiences have carved unhealable wounds into their souls, yet they are granted extraordinary patience. They cannot recklessly make decisions. They cannot unilaterally interfere with or determine another’s future. Even when someone’s values clash with their own, they cannot simply say: You're wrong! Do it my way!
And in that moment, Wade suddenly understood why, in the original story, Dumbledore always seemed to retreat—whether facing Fudge or Voldemort. His methods often appeared restrained, even weak.
Because he was always waiting.
Everyone believed in Dumbledore—but Dumbledore himself did not. His trust in himself was less than anyone else’s.
Beneath the tree-lined path, streetlamps lit one by one, casting soft light through the leaves. Dumbledore gently pressed on Wade’s shoulder. "Dinner time has come. You should return home soon."
"May I invite you to join us for dinner, Professor?" Wade asked. "Actually, Mother wanted to ask that the moment we left the house—but she was too hesitant to speak up."
The request was a little sudden, but Dumbledore smiled. "I would be delighted to accept, Mr. Gray."
Wade’s dinner was, as always, lavish and exquisite—colorful, aromatic, delicious. Especially since Wade had bought several cookbooks from an Eastern specialty shop. His magic puppet, Coco, who could understand Chinese, was eager to try. With a few wasted ingredients, the table finally produced food that matched Wade’s taste.
At first, Fiona and her husband found it strange, but they were curious and willing to join their son in trying. Soon, they were thoroughly won over.
Even Fiona, who usually felt a little nervous when hosting Hogwarts’ headmaster, now felt proud of her meal.
After the initial awkwardness, she quickly grew enthusiastic, inviting Dumbledore to taste. "This roasted goose is amazing! It’s been glazed with sugar water—so fragrant, so sweet, absolutely wonderful!"
Hearing "sugar water," Dumbledore’s eyes lit up. He happily speared a piece of golden-brown roasted goose with his fork.
"Have you ever tried honey-glazed roast pork? I never knew pork could be prepared this way—besides grilled chops or suckling pig! The sauce uses honey, granulated sugar, and peanut oil…"
Dumbledore: fork, bite, fork, bite.
Wade knew the headmaster loved sweets. So every dish on the table leaned sweet—so much so that even someone new to the flavors found them easy to enjoy.
Dumbledore smiled as he ate. He also noticed that even with the magic puppet handling chores, the Gray family still actively participated in small, everyday tasks—arranging the table, setting the napkins.
Mr. Gray wiped a spilled soup stain from the table. Wade stood up promptly to pour wine for his parents and Dumbledore.
He smiled faintly, his blue eyes warm and kind.
Mutual respect, empathy between spouses. Love and care between parents and child. A perfect harmony.
So how could someone raised in such a family ever be like Gellert Grindelwald—or Voldemort?
Wade was born with something Dumbledore himself had never truly believed he possessed: love.
...
Dumbledore departed, taking with him a dessert gift Fiona had prepared, and leaving behind a quiet burden on Wade’s heart.
Finally, Wade found time to return to his role as "Wenar," contacting Clare—the werewolf girl he had left unattended for over a week.
Though another bearded werewolf was already handling tasks similar to Snape’s, Wade felt no harm in maintaining this line of contact. After all, it cost him only a small salary.
And if, by any chance, he could solve the werewolf transformation issue, it would be a tremendous help to so many.
From Remus Lupin, Wade knew: although the transformation granted immense power, it was pure torment for the afflicted. Only a rare few—those born with deeply antisocial personalities—might even enjoy it.
For his first contact, Wade didn’t meet Clare in person. Instead, he asked her to send hair and blood samples—before and after transformation.
In the magical world, many curses are bound through blood and hair. When Clare’s werewolf friends heard her request, they all withdrew in fear. But Clare sent them without hesitation.
“I’m not afraid of dying.”
She wrote on parchment.
“If this could end it all sooner, death would be a blessing.”
Wade held the package in his hands. For a moment, he felt a weight settle on his shoulders—as if the girl’s hopes were pressing down on him.
He kept part of the sample for magical research. The rest he entrusted to a private laboratory—paying a large sum to ensure meticulous testing.
For thousands of years, wizards had failed to solve the werewolf problem. Wade didn’t believe he was smarter than the greatest magic masters.
But perhaps… Muggle methods could offer a new angle. A microscopic analysis of the differences between werewolves and ordinary humans.
On the eve of term, Wade read a shocking headline in The Daily Prophet:
"The Dark Side of a Ministry of Magic Official—What You Never Knew About Dolores Umbridge"
Wade nearly choked on his breakfast. He gulped down a large mouthful of water and flipped open the newspaper.
"Hmm? I remember Rita Skeeter—she’s a sensationalist journalist," Ferdinand said, glancing down at the paper. "Is Umbridge really being brought down? How could they allow this kind of article?"
Wade froze.
Oh no… Did I actually say those things to Fudge?
Wait—was Fudge really this decisive?
Wade flipped through the paper, eager to see what Skeeter had written.
...
(End of Chapter)
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