Hogwarts: Not Even Voldemort Can Stop Me From Learning Chapter 414: The Ultimate Grinder - Novel Cool

Chapter 414: The Ultimate Grinder

The man standing at the entrance looked almost exactly as he had before—exhausted, haggard, his clothes stained and torn, a patch mended clumsily over one elbow.

Remus Lupin had only just learned of the attack on the Hogwarts Express that morning, and had rushed over without delay.

"Sirius Black really wanted to come see you," Remus explained, "but Dumbledore hasn’t let him leave yet—he still has a task to complete."

"Which task?" Harry asked curiously. "What have you all been busy with lately? You haven’t even had time to read the Book of Friends."

To be honest, when Harry had woken from unconsciousness and found no messages from Remus or Sirius Black in the Book of Friends, and saw no familiar faces on the platform, a quiet resentment had stirred in his chest.

Now, seeing Remus in person, he almost opened his mouth to complain—but the words died in his throat.

He didn’t want to ruin the joy Remus clearly felt.

"I’m sorry, Harry," Remus said, his voice apologetic. "It’s a secret. I can’t… well, I can’t just tell you without Dumbledore’s permission."

"Oh… okay," Harry muttered, turning his head slightly, but still stepped forward and hugged Remus tightly. "I’m really glad to see you, Remus."

"Me too," Remus said, gently ruffling Harry’s hair. He paused, then smiled. "You’ve grown again already—just a month apart, and you’re taller than before."

He spotted Wade and Michael descending the stairs and grinned. "Long time no see, Wade, Michael. How’ve you been?"

Harry remembered the other two friends in the house and awkwardly let go.

"No relationship issues—you can hug him longer," Michael teased. "I’ll still mock you anyway."

"We’re doing fine," Wade said, eyeing Remus’s ragged appearance. "But you? What happened to you? You look like you’ve been through a war."

"Oh… this?" Remus glanced at the patch on his sleeve, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Just been too busy to buy new clothes. Tonks—uh, a kind friend—patched it for me."

"Friend?" Michael raised an eyebrow, drawing out the word with mock suspicion.

For some reason, Remus suddenly felt uneasy under the boy’s knowing gaze and quickly changed the subject. "I’m just relieved you’re both safe… uh, if it’s convenient, I’d like to freshen up first."

…

When Remus emerged from the bathroom, the table was already laden with food.

Of course, there were no magical house-elves in this house, but being in central London made ordering takeout incredibly easy. Just a short walk away was a Chinese restaurant—Wade’s favorite, known for its authentic flavors.

After eating, Harry couldn’t wait to bring up the incident with the Dementor. He frowned, frustrated. "I had mastered the Patronus Charm, but when it happened… I just went weak in the knees. I couldn’t summon it at all."

Remus looked at him gently. "The Dementor affects you more than most, Harry. That’s because no one else has lived through what you’ve endured. There’s nothing shameful about it. Anyone who’d faced what you have would’ve fainted too."

"Wade said the same thing. But I…" Harry clenched his teeth. "I don’t want to feel so useless again. If I meet another Dementor, I want to fight back. Remus, is there any way to prepare?"

Remus paused thoughtfully. "There is one way… Harry, do you know what a Boggart is?"

"Of course!" Harry nodded eagerly. "Professor Abigail taught us about it in class."

"Then I won’t have to explain. I’ll find a Boggart. It’ll transform into a Dementor when it sees you."

"Will it feel as terrifying as the real thing?" Harry asked, uneasy.

"Yes," Remus said firmly. "It takes the form of your deepest fear—body, aura, everything. It’ll mimic the terror perfectly. Of course, it doesn’t actually have the same powers."

"I understand," Harry said, taking a deep breath. A mix of nervousness and eager anticipation filled him. "I have to master the Patronus Charm. For real this time."

Remus smiled at the fire in Harry’s eyes. "Hogwarts is old enough to harbor a few Boggarts. I’ll write to Hagrid—see if he can help me find one."

"Uh… can Hagrid actually catch a Boggart?" Harry couldn’t help but doubt.

Hagrid was an excellent teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, but when it came to spellwork—well, Harry could only say that Hagrid usually won fights with his fists.

A Boggart wasn’t something you could beat with brute force.

Remus chuckled. "Hagrid’s kindness and innocence give him an edge. It makes him less threatening to a Boggart."

Harry didn’t fully grasp it—but he did understand he might soon face a fake Dementor. The thought made his stomach twist with tension.

After Remus left to write his letter, Harry began practicing the Patronus Charm in the empty living room.

Michael, having finished his game alone in the attic, grew bored and came down. He leaned against the staircase railing, watching as a silver-white stag galloped through the air, its hooves barely touching the floor. For a moment, the air seemed to hum with a soft, rhythmic clip-clop, warm and gentle as it passed by.

Any creature transformed into a Patronus was breathtaking—more radiant than even a unicorn.

Michael watched the stag stay close to Harry, and suddenly, a pang of envy stirred in his chest.

He wrestled with himself for a moment, but the desire to not be a burden overcame his laziness.

"Teach me the Patronus Charm, Harry," Michael said, closing his eyes and steeling himself. "After school, I’ll come practice potions with you every day!"

Even though Snape always had a soft spot for needles—especially when it came to Harry—nothing could stop Snape from giving fair marks if Harry performed well in class.

Harry blinked in surprise, then grinned. "Sure! I’ll teach you—no conditions. But why didn’t you ask Wade? He’s better at it."

Michael sighed. "He’s too busy. You know how it is… sometimes it feels like he’s squeezing every second out of his breath."

"Yeah… I know," Harry said, glancing at Michael.

They looked at each other, then sighed in unison.

Having a “grinder of grinders” among your friends wasn’t exactly pleasant. But they couldn’t bring themselves to scold Wade for working so hard—even if he made them feel like slackers.

Even Harry, usually so oblivious, could sense it: Wade seemed always chased by something, pushing himself relentlessly. He was already so talented—why did he still look so pressured?

Maybe… because Voldemort hadn’t truly died yet. That thought nagged at Harry, stirring a strange, old shame—like he’d failed his own duty.

…

"I know these events shouldn’t be told to a child," Remus said to Wade, "but Dumbledore believes you have the right to know."

"The island’s owner was a Muggle businessman named Rogel Milton. When our people found him, he’d already been dead for half an hour—by suicide."

Wade frowned. "Suicide?"

"That’s what it looks like. The Ministry’s Aurors found no signs of violence."

Wade fell silent for a moment. "Remus… do you trust the Ministry’s conclusion?"

Remus smiled. "Some Ministry officials may have left a bad impression on you, but not all are like that. Especially the Aurors. They’re not just brave—they’re the best. Anyone without real ability wouldn’t survive long in that role. Kingsley Shakle? He’s the cream of the crop."

Wade nodded slowly. He remembered Kingsley Shakle—though he’d appeared only briefly in the original story, he was sharp, capable, and eventually became Minister of Magic.

"This wasn’t a single act," Wade said. "Not with a machine that targets wizards. Have you checked Milton’s letters? His computer, phone—anything?"

"Shakle’s good at this," Remus said. "He brought in a Muggle expert—someone who works for the British Prime Minister. But…" His voice darkened. "You can guess what we found."

They hadn’t found anything useful.

But not finding anything was itself a discovery—one that pointed to a deeper shadow.

Yet knowing that only deepened the dread. It didn’t help.

Remus forced a bright smile. "Anyway, I haven’t thanked you yet. The Communication Pea is incredible—it’s been a huge help. I heard it’s going on sale in Diagon Alley tomorrow?"

"Exactly," Wade said. "Machionni’s preparing for Christmas—this will be a major profit run. The sale version is stripped down, not as complete as the original, but the core features—especially the calling function—are stronger."

"It’s already better than a Muggle phone," Remus said. "No charges. No magical interference."

"Get some rest tonight," Remus added. "Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Diagon Alley."

…

Machionni’s advertisement had been massive—everyone who needed to see it, and some who didn’t, had seen it.

"Communication Pea? A magical phone?" Majer Byerd muttered, flipping through the newspaper. "The fools in the research lab—Book of Friends isn’t even figured out yet, and now they’re rushing out a new product? Still… not much use to us. You’re the only one who’d actually use it, Serah. Did you hear anything about this pea during school?"

Abigail remained expressionless. "No. I’m the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—not an alchemist."

Ahead of them, a giant magical puppet sat on the ground, yawning lazily and scratching its nose. Its small, sharp eyes darted around, calculating.

It looked annoyed—but obeyed its command, sitting still. A massive wooden staff lay beside it, nearly as tall as a man.

The puppet reeked of rot and decay, almost as foul as a real giant. Yet beside it stood a man, unmoved, pressed tightly against it—his nose seemingly dead to the stench.

His face was pale, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. His clothes were a chaotic mix of colors, wild and jarring.

He circled the puppet, muttering in awe. "Oh my god… perfect! A masterpiece! Look at the muscle definition! The thick arms! The little eyes—so expressive!"

He climbed onto the puppet’s arm, reaching to tweak one of its eyes. The puppet growled, then grabbed his arm and flung him aside with a loud crack.

"Ah!" The man screamed in pain—but when someone hauled him up, he was grinning wildly. "Look! It’s got a temper! Haha! I love it!"

He circled the puppet again, then collapsed at Abigail’s feet. "Please! Give me your Werewolf and Vampire puppets too! They’d help my research so much! Just one each!"

"No," Abigail said coldly, looking down. "They’re not as obedient as this one. You’d get torn apart."

"But you’re here!" The man persisted. "You can control them!"

"Have you even learned?" Abigail’s voice was icy. "These puppets aren’t mindless. They have thoughts, personalities—potential to grow. They’ll obey, but if you anger them, they can refuse."

"Irrali," Majer Byerd added, "these puppets are built for battle. They’re naturally aggressive. They’re safe for most wizards—but your body is just ordinary."

They’d long since discovered that wizards, even without magic or potions, had stronger physiques, more resilient cells, and faster recovery than Muggles.

But Irrali—someone who barely moved, obsessed only with alchemy, never diving into real magic—had lost that natural edge.

"Fine…" Irrali grumbled, reluctantly letting go. "But you must bring me Wade Gray. This research can’t go forward without him."

Abigail’s eyebrows twitched—but when Majer Byerd turned, her face was calm again.

"Can’t you just copy the design from the finished product?" Majer Byerd frowned. "You’re not one of Nicolas Flamel’s students?"

"I was just a student at Beauxbatons," Irrali snapped. "I picked up a few tricks from the old man. But Mor didn’t just teach Wade Gray—he guided him into the world of alchemy. That’s real mastery."

He glared at the puppet, bitter and envious. "And this? I doubt even Nicolas Flamel could build something like this. Damn genius…"

(End of Chapter)

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