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Chapter 331: It Was Time All Along
Hermione had openly challenged Professor Trelawney, insisting that the shapes of the tea leaves residue bore absolutely no relation to ill omens. This sparked another round of debate among nearby students about whether Harry’s tea leaves truly resembled a black dog.
Harry listened in silence, utterly weary of everyone speculating whether he was dead or alive. He didn’t want to say a word—until Wade approached, at which point he lowered his voice and muttered:
“If it does look like a black dog, it’s Sirius Black. What does that have to do with bad luck?”
“Hmm… yeah,” Wade replied vaguely, picking up Harry’s teacup and rotating it slowly.
Almost instantly, a vivid image of a large black dog flashed in his mind.
Physically, the pattern wasn’t that similar—could just as easily be a wolf, a fox, or even a wild boar—but the mental image was unshakable.
That was a black dog.
“Honestly,” Ron chimed in, miming the shape with his hands, “it looks more like a hippo. See, this part here? Looks just like a hippo’s nostrils.”
“Maybe a little,” Harry admitted.
“So… uh… that means you’re gonna face some challenges,” Ron said, flipping through his book.
Wade set down the teacup saucer and turned to Neville, who looked anxious.
“Even if it’s an omen, it doesn’t mean death. It might just mean trouble—some difficulty, some danger. That’s the point of prophecy: to warn you early so you can prepare and deal with it. Not to sit around thinking you’re doomed and give up.”
Neville smiled. “You’re right.”
After Divination class, the next one was Transfiguration—there wasn’t much time between. Students hurriedly set down their teacups and rushed toward the classroom. Wade moved a little slower, and by the time he arrived, most of the others were already gone.
He walked forward, backpack slung over one shoulder, glancing casually at the teacups left behind by other students—cat, goat, wolf, dagger, hat, raven…
Many of the tea leaves residue formed unsettling shapes.
But the students didn’t seem to notice. They laughed, made up silly predictions, and—just like Wade had done earlier with Neville—mostly spun optimistic interpretations. After all, the people around them were mostly close friends, and no one wanted to spoil the mood.
Only Professor Trelawney stood frozen, holding her saucer, utterly perplexed.
“How can this be? Is misfortune truly descending upon Hogwarts? No… no, it must be that these students heard my earlier prophecy and secretly tampered with the leaves afterward. Such recklessness!”
She muttered under her breath, scolding the students for their antics, before gathering up all the cups from the table.
Then, turning around, she suddenly saw one student still left behind—and jumped in surprise. Her expression instantly hardened into a serious, distant look.
“My child,” she said, “do you have any further questions?”
Wade shook his head.
“No, Professor.”
Outside the classroom, in a quiet corner of the corridor, he swiftly turned the Time-Turner again.
“…If you seek noble hearts and iron will, don’t forget to call upon Sir Caradoc!”
The stout knight shouted from his portrait, bolting across the frame so fast he didn’t notice Wade, who was just one corridor away.
Moments later, Wade heard his own voice echo down the hall:
“Good morning, everyone!”
He didn’t move. He waited several minutes, listening until the corridor was completely silent. Only then did he summon his broomstick and fly straight to the Library.
On a Monday morning, most students without classes were still asleep in their dormitories. The Library was nearly empty—just a handful of quiet students scattered among the shelves.
Wade pulled down several books on Divination, sat cross-legged on the floor, and began reading.
True prophetic talent, like Cassandra Pull’s, was exceedingly rare. Most wizards simply compiled experiences, identifying recurring patterns. Some combined Arithmancy and celestial observations, using a more “scientific” approach. But tea-leaf reading? It was almost always the former.
The more authoritative books merely listed more reference images—guiding students toward possible interpretations during learning.
Or, if a prediction turned out wrong, the wizard would only blame their own misreading of the leaves, never the book itself.
There was no precedent in any of the books for someone like Wade—someone who instantly recognized a clear, undeniable image.
He gently touched his eyes, a faint sense of unease creeping over him.
Having prophetic ability was certainly a gift…
But he worried that fate had marked this gift with a steep price—its invisibility.
An hour passed in the blink of an eye. When Wade judged it was time to leave, he borrowed the books from Madam Pince and met up with Michael, who had just finished his Arithmancy class.
To Michael, they looked like they’d just come from Arithmancy.
But in truth, Wade had already attended one full class and spent an hour reading.
If this kept up, the mental strain from time inconsistencies alone—let alone the exhaustion of extra classes—would be unbearable.
Thinking this, Wade couldn’t help but admire Percy.
He’d always sensed that Percy Weasley, despite earning twelve OWLs, was only good at studying and exams—not truly exceptional compared to other wizards.
Yet he’d maintained this relentless, busy routine for three years, all while handling his Prefect duties, managing his two younger brothers’ pranks, and never showing any real cracks.
It was astonishing.
Soon, everyone gathered in the Transfiguration classroom.
On the first day of the new term, Professor McGonagall began teaching about Animagi, then transformed right before their eyes into a cat.
Some students clapped. But those fresh from Divination were still caught in the fog of death prophecies—only a few responded with real enthusiasm.
After asking for awareness, Professor McGonagall said with clear disdain:
“Divination is one of the least accurate branches of magic. Few can truly see the future. And Professor Trelawney…”
She paused, visibly suppressing her irritation, then let out a sharp sniff through her nose—enough to convey her contempt.
“Potter,” she said, fixing Harry with a stern look, “if you do die today, I promise you won’t have to hand in your family assignment.”
The class burst into laughter.
Michael, sitting beside Padma, chuckled too—then paused, catching a whiff of something sweet and cloying drifting from her.
Familiar.
“Padma,” he asked casually, “did you see Wade and Hermione in Divination today?”
“Of course I did!” Padma replied, giving him a strange look. “They took every class—of course they took Divination too.”
Michael inhaled deeply.
“I see…”
So… it really was time.
(End of Chapter)
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