Chapter 44: The First Alchemy Artifact
Wade suddenly turned to look at Michael.
Michael stared back at him with an odd expression.
"—You never thought about confronting him over this?"
Wade: ……
He hadn’t.
In a way, the knowledge he possessed had clouded his judgment. He’d known from the start that Quirrell carried Voldemort on the back of his head. He’d also known no one had died this year. That awareness had bred a kind of superiority—the arrogance of a time traveler, a prophet—almost like he was playing a game. Discovering Voldemort’s secret hadn’t felt like a betrayal; it had just felt like a lucky accident, not something to blame anyone for.
But now, under Michael’s steady gaze, Wade carefully retraced the entire situation in his mind—his own thoughts, Dumbledore’s possible reasoning, and the ultimate fates of everyone involved in the story.
And still, he couldn’t bring himself to accuse or resent Dumbledore.
"Why?" Michael asked, puzzled. "He’s the Headmaster. He’s supposed to protect us."
"What would I gain by confronting him?" Wade asked seriously. "A confession? An apology? What good would that do? Holding a grudge against Dumbledore—would that keep us safer from danger?"
Michael fell silent.
"Rehashing what’s already happened is pointless, Michael," Wade said at last. "To scream at the only one who can protect us, to question him, resist him—that would be foolish. Only those who are loved with favor can afford to be defiant. We’re not loved with favor, so we shouldn’t waste our anger on emotion."
Michael stayed silent for a long time. Then, softly:
"Don’t you ever feel… hurt by this?"
"No," Wade said. "If I’ve learned anything from this, it’s this:"
"First—never place all your hope in others."
"Second—only those with power can truly do as they please."
"Third… when you can’t win, you must learn to endure."
"This is how the world works. Always has been."
…
Wade spoke with calm logic—but beneath the surface, he wasn’t untouched.
For several nights, he woke in the middle of the night, haunted by flickers of green light—death’s signature. Sometimes, he heard the grotesque, nasal voice of the faceless monster, cruel and mocking.
In the deep hours, he’d lie awake, staring at the stars on the ceiling, unable to sleep. So he’d get up and read.
He began dedicating more time to study—and to Alchemy.
By the final week before Christmas, Wade had completed his first Alchemy Artifact.
On a pale yellow parchment, golden light wove intricate, perfectly symmetrical geometric patterns. Inner and outer circles rotated at different speeds, while ancient runes pulsed with shimmering gold.
Wade saw clearly the flow of magic through the design, understood how the spell worked. He could even sense which parts needed fine-tuning, which materials should be replaced.
After a while, his eyes ached. He closed them to rest.
When he opened them again, the parchment was just an ordinary sheet of paper—nothing more.
But something had changed.
With the completion of his first Alchemy Artifact, Wade’s eyes had gained a new ability:
He could now see not only people’s true names and the way spells were cast—but also the magical diagrams embedded in Alchemy Artifacts, the patterns of magical flow, the applied spells, and the engraved magical script.
But it required intense focus. If his attention wavered, the vision vanished.
It was a blessing, yes—but Wade desperately wished his unique ability came with a manual.
At first, he’d thought he’d make a great Auror—nothing could hide from his gaze, not Polyjuice, not Metamorphosis.
Then he’d imagined teaching—every student receiving one-on-one, tailored guidance. He’d have a 90% success rate, at least.
Now, he realized: he was born to be an Alchemist.
But if he’d never encountered Alchemy, would he have ever known his eyes could see such wonders?
On Thursday, during tutoring, he handed Professor Mor his meticulously refined work.
"Oh, let me see…" Professor Mor adjusted his glasses, stopping Wade before he could explain. With long, slender fingers, he slowly traced the surface of what looked like an ordinary parchment.
"Hmm… plain parchment, with a touch of mercury, lamprey oil, and mountain mouse herb. Nothing extraordinary," he murmured, casting a spell with a gentle flick of his wrist, examining the magical circuit.
"Transformation Charm… Connection Charm… Erasure Charm… and an Invisibility Charm… Brilliant. Utterly brilliant."
His eyes lit up as he looked at Wade.
"I suspect you have another one just like this, don’t you?"
"Yes, Professor," Wade smiled, pulling out a small, hand-bound notebook. "In fact… I’ve made a whole stack."
Professor Mor grinned. He sat down, thought deeply for a moment, then wrote a single sentence on his parchment.
"Exceptional Wisdom Is Humanity's Greatest Wealth."
The words appeared instantly on both sheets—identical in content and placement.
"Exactly as I suspected," Professor Mor said, inspecting the magical circuit again. "The structure is flawless. Even I couldn’t improve it. And it’s not limited by distance—messages transfer instantly."
He stood abruptly, pacing the room with growing excitement, muttering incomprehensible phrases, eyebrows nearly lifting off his face.
Then, suddenly, he whirled around, strode straight to Wade, and gripped his shoulders.
"Child! Do you understand? You’ve changed the world! This—this is a revolution! Merlin’s beard, this is more meaningful than anything I’ve ever invented!"
"I can’t believe you’re only eleven!"
"This is parchment—but it’s not just parchment. It will change how wizards communicate forever!"
"Why didn’t anyone think of this before? It’s so simple… and yet, so magnificent!"
Watching the professor’s glowing eyes, the wild intensity in his expression, Wade’s heart began to race. He fought hard not to step back. His fingers curled slightly, almost reaching for his wand.
In that instant, a thousand precedents flashed through his mind:
The poet Song Zhiwen, who murdered his rival for a poem.
Newton, who crushed other scholars with power and influence.
A chill ran through him—like that day, when he’d heard Voldemort’s voice through a wall.
Dumbledore’s calm, pale-blue eyes seemed to be watching him now.
Carefully, Wade pressed a tiny button-sized bean in his palm—the safety measure he’d prepared for himself.
He kept his voice humble, his expression composed.
"Not my invention, Professor," he said with a smile. "I just borrowed an idea from Muggle network communication. Without your guidance, I never would’ve succeeded."
(End of Chapter)
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