Chapter 42: Let Dumbledore Decide
The Weasley twins turned to Wade.
Wade hesitated, then decided not to mention what he knew from the future. Instead, he recited, word for word, the conversation he’d overheard that day.
His memory was flawless—more than a month had passed, yet his retelling was nearly exact.
An invisible chill crept up from the soles of his feet.
The Umbrella Room fell into a long, suffocating silence. No one spoke for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, Fred broke the stillness.
“I have to say—this isn’t funny at all. Did you get that, George?”
George nodded slowly, his face unnaturally pale.
“So… that means…” Liam frowned, struggling to process it. “Professor Quirrell isn’t really Professor Quirrell? No—wait. A dark wizard is possessing him? He wants to kill Harry Potter? Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor… is a Death Eater?”
He glanced around at the others, half-expecting someone to suddenly shout, “Gotcha! Scared you, didn’t I?”
But no one spoke.
Liam sank into a chair, gripping the table for support. After a long pause, he said, voice trembling, “We… we should go find Professor Dumbledore. Everyone fears him. If Dumbledore steps in, he can—”
Hermione gently shook her head.
“No, Liam, you don’t understand. Think about it—‘He stepped over my corpse to become a celebrity.’ Who else would say something like that?”
Color drained from the boy’s face. Liam clenched his fists, his body shaking.
“But… that’s impossible… He’s dead, isn’t he? Everyone knows he’s dead—killed by Harry Potter…”
He suddenly cut himself off, as if he’d bitten his own tongue.
Hermione looked at him with pity.
She could tell he already believed it—just couldn’t admit it.
As if denying it would keep the man from coming back.
There was nothing to laugh at here. She felt a chill too.
Hermione, born in the Muggle world, should have felt nothing toward Voldemort. But she’d read countless books before even stepping into the Wizarding World. She knew more about the man than most pure-blood students—about the horrors he’d unleashed.
Before his fall, his power had reached its peak. A terrifying shadow had stretched across the entire British Isles. Even Dumbledore—widely believed to be the only one Voldemort truly feared—hadn’t been able to stop the endless stream of deaths.
The fear had seeped into her, quietly, without her noticing.
And now, when she tried to say his name, her lips parted—but no sound came out.
It felt like speaking it would awaken something ancient and terrible.
“Voldemort… I mean, the Dark Lord…”
Hermione looked around at them. “If the Dark Lord really is inside Professor Quirrell… we must tell Dumbledore. Wade, why didn’t you go straight to him that day?”
Wade considered it.
“Maybe… I just couldn’t believe Dumbledore wouldn’t know.”
Fred nodded. “Dumbledore must’ve sensed something was wrong with Quirrell. He just hasn’t acted—yet.”
George spoke, serious. “He knows everything.”
“But what if?” Hermione countered. “What if Dumbledore only suspects, but is still gathering proof? What if he thinks Quirrell just joined the Dark side—without realizing the Dark Lord is in him? We should find Dumbledore, tell him the truth, and let him decide what to do.”
“Of course, Hermione,” Liam said. “Of course we should.”
“Then why aren’t we doing it now?” Fred stood up abruptly. “I saw Dumbledore in the Great Hall just during dinner. He’s still on campus.”
Hermione hadn’t expected such decisiveness. She hesitated.
“Should we… include Harry? I mean—this is about him. The Dark Lord wants to kill him. He should know where the danger lies.”
Wade thought for a moment.
“As you said, Hermione. Let Dumbledore decide.”
Hermione nodded, her eyes filled with worry. She looked like she expected Harry to be attacked the moment they left the room.
Standing in the corridor, Wade pulled out a silver whistle and blew a sharp, piercing note.
The sound cut through the air, clear and urgent. Moments later, an owl soared in from the west tower, wings slicing through the window, and landed precisely on Wade’s outstretched arm.
“Cool!” Fred whistled.
Owl Eva tilted her head at him, gave two soft coos, and fluffed her feathers.
Wade rolled up the note he’d written, tucked it into Eva’s beak, and said, “Take this to Professor Dumbledore. Bring back his reply.”
Eva nodded, then launched into the sky. The group watched her circle once, then dive toward a small turret window, vanishing inside.
Hermione bit her lip. “What if Dumbledore doesn’t take us seriously? Maybe I should’ve written more… made it clearer we’re not just joking around…”
But they didn’t have to wait long.
Within a minute or two, Eva returned through the same window.
She dropped the reply parchment into Wade’s hands. The note was written in a thin, looping script, with intricate swirls and loops—
> “Welcome to my office. The password is Bao Cai Sundae.”
“Bao Cai Sundae?” George muttered. “I’ve never seen that dessert in the Great Hall.”
Fred smirked. “It was at the end-of-term feast last year. You were busy—what were you doing? Oh right, you slipped a bottle full of cockroaches into Montague’s robes—”
“—and made him think he’d bought it himself,” George grinned, remembering the prank. “He hasn’t eaten a Cockroach Cluster since! Wait—did you steal my sundae while I was distracted?”
“Steal?” Fred protested, mock-offended. “I took it openly. You just didn’t see me.”
The two bickered playfully as they walked toward the Headmaster’s Office. Along the way, they ran into Michael returning from the Quidditch pitch. He waved, joined them naturally, and no one thought twice about it.
At the entrance, a grotesquely ugly gargoyle statue crouched by the door.
Fred dodged George’s playful shove and stepped forward.
“Bao Cai Sundae!”
The stone creature shifted aside. The wall split open, revealing a spiral staircase that began to rise slowly. One by one, they stepped inside. With a deep thud, the wall sealed shut behind them.
The stairs carried them upward, and Wade felt a quiet wonder.
In the Muggle world, moving staircases were common enough. But this was his first time seeing one in the magical world.
Why imitate Muggle technology like this?
Why put an elevator wherever the Headmaster needs to go?
As the group spun dizzyingly upward, they finally reached a gleaming oak door, its surface polished to a shine. A brass knocker shaped like a griffin gleamed in the dim light.
This was Dumbledore’s office.
(End of Chapter)
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