Chapter 460: No Longer Afraid
On the pristine parchment, a feather quill wobbled slightly, then steadied itself. Wade stared intently at it, fingers twitching unconsciously—before Professor Mor tapped his wand lightly against his hand.
"Stop using magic, Wade," Professor Mor said with a smile. "Use your thought instead."
Wade took a deep breath, eyes locked onto the quill, brows furrowed in concentration.
After several seconds, the quill finally moved, scrawling crooked characters across the parchment:
【Mentis Imperio】
"Mind control?" Professor Mor stroked his chin. "A fitting name—quite different from your old Water moniker."
Wade gave him a wry glance.
Just then, the quill seemed to lose all strength and fell with a soft thud onto the parchment.
"Hard, huh?" Professor Mor pushed a steaming mug of hot chocolate toward him. "Have a sip. It’ll help."
Wade sipped the drink, frowning. "But Professor, I’ve seen others use Quick-Write Feather Quills before—they made it look effortless. Why is it so difficult for me?"
"Hmm... there are several reasons," Professor Mor replied. "First, your magic isn’t fully refined yet. The connection between you and the quill is fragile. You’ll need more time to study it properly. A high-quality Quick-Write Feather Quill can detect your thoughts faster and resist external interference far more effectively."
Wade nodded. He had felt it—the magical script circuit in his first attempt had been sluggish, uneven.
"Second," Professor Mor continued, "the wizard you saw likely used blood or saliva to strengthen the bond with the quill. It’s a shortcut. Quick, yes—but I don’t recommend it. Shortcuts breed laziness."
"Third," he added, "the longer you use a magical artifact, the closer the bond becomes between you and it. This has nothing to do with how powerful the magic is. It’s about connection."
"So, Wade, even if you don’t infuse it with special thoughts, treat the quill as family, as a companion, as a brother or sister—not just a disposable tool. When you do that, you’ll be rewarded."
Wade took the quill in hand and nodded. "I’ll remember, Professor."
He thought of the Black family manor. Sirius Black had returned only for Regulus’s funeral, still filled with hatred for the house. And the manor, in turn, had resisted him fiercely—dirt everywhere, clothes in the cabinet trying to strangle anyone who touched them.
Yet when the master had still been alive, it had been nothing more than a well-fitting magical robe.
Later, perhaps because Kreacher finally agreed to cooperate, or because Sirius gradually accepted his roots—driven by grief for his younger brother and a growing sense of responsibility—the house’s fury had quieted. It had become still, almost peaceful.
"Alright," Professor Mor said, "magic research can wait. Why don’t you take a look at the rest of these quills?"
He seemed concerned that Wade’s earlier failure had dampened his spirits. He summoned two boxes and began introducing the various enchanted feather quills inside.
"Covenant Feather Quill—crafted from fairy hair. The covenants written with it carry stronger magical binding. It was popular among wizards in ancient times."
He held up a pale golden quill. "But now, with better, more convenient covenant magic available, few use it anymore."
"Memory Feather Quill—records every word you write, then can replay it. Used by Wizengamot judges and clerks."
"Oh, and this one…" He pulled out a quill made from a single strand of unicorn horn hair. "Writing with this calms the mind. But it won’t record lies—extremely rare."
He went on to describe others. Rare materials often created unique effects—like a quill made from a Sphinx’s feather, which could automatically answer most questions. A dream tool for students.
To an alchemy master, these were mere pastimes—amusing distractions. But outside Hogwarts, each could fetch a fortune.
"I’ll teach you how to use them all, Wade," Professor Mor said, lounging with his hands folded over his belly. "But don’t limit yourself to what I teach. In the magical world, there’s always knowledge beyond what we know."
"For instance," he added, "there’s a feather quill in Hogwarts that still leaves me awestruck—The Pen of Acceptance."
"The Pen of Acceptance?" Wade asked.
"Yes," Professor Mor said. "It can sense a child with magical talent and write their name automatically in the Book of Admission—including you, Wade."
He pointed at him with a chuckle. "Its range covers the entire British Isles. It can detect even the faintest magical fluctuations—so faint, even the child’s parents haven’t noticed. Yet it identifies them with perfect accuracy."
"Some children are admitted at birth. Others only show their potential near their eleventh birthday. But no matter what, the Pen ensures no talented child slips through."
"I still don’t understand how it works," Professor Mor admitted. "But Dumbledore likes you, Wade. If you ever get the chance, you might want to study it."
"I hope so," Wade shrugged. "Though I doubt it’ll happen."
The Pen of Acceptance was surely one of Hogwarts’ most precious relics. Wade suspected Dumbledore would sooner lose Gryffindor’s sword than allow anyone near it.
"Actually," Professor Mor said, "it’s not that difficult. If one day you become Hogwarts’ headmaster, every secret within these walls will be open to you."
Wade blinked, then laughed quietly. "I haven’t even thought that far ahead, Professor. But I’d rather not spend my life sorting through endless children… maybe a life of pure alchemy suits me better. Like you."
Professor Mor smiled. "I’m not as pure as you think, Wade. I own shares in several companies. Back in my youth, I even took part in some… passionate causes."
He sighed. "You know, when war burns, no one can truly stay indifferent. Compared to me, Wovilet of the Wizard Purity Party is far more pure."
Hearing the name, Wade looked up sharply.
The silver-haired professor nodded. "Yes, we were friends once. Still are, not enemies."
"I heard about what happened during your holiday, Wade… That Wovilet fellow actually had the nerve to write me a letter, trying to steal my student."
A faint, dangerous smile played on his lips.
Wade was silent. He had received letters from Wovilet too—filled with longing for the Time-Turner. He’d replied firmly: Impossible. The Time-Turner is under Ministry surveillance. It can’t be borrowed.
He hadn’t expected Wovilet to send his letter to Professor Mor.
"By the way," Professor Mor asked, "did he give you his alchemy notebook?"
"Yes," Wade nodded honestly. "He stood by me when I was caught by the Wizard Purity Party."
"So?" Professor Mor leaned forward. "What do you think of them, Wade? The Wizard Purity Party?"
Wade paused, then hesitated. "They’re dangerous idealists. Strong in purpose, strong in resolve. Unlike most wizards in Britain, they don’t hold life in high regard. They’re driven more by belief and goal than by fear."
"An honest assessment," Professor Mor chuckled. "To many, they’re fanatical extremists—brutal executioners, Death Eaters under Gellert Grindelwald."
Wade looked at him. "I didn’t live through that era. My view is limited."
"We’re not gods, nor are we Merlin," Professor Mor said. "No one sees the whole truth."
He changed the subject casually. "Wovilet’s a fool. Just a few kind words, and he’ll hand over his entire alchemy collection. As for the rest—do what your heart tells you. Don’t let others dictate your choices."
Wade nodded slowly. "Yes, Professor."
"Oh, and I heard you received an invitation from Nicolas Flamel?"
"Yes," Wade admitted, hesitating. "I’m a little nervous. After all, it’s Nicolas Flamel… I don’t know how I should behave around him."
"Simple," Professor Mor said gently. "Just remember—don’t ask about the Philosopher’s Stone or the Elixir of Life. Otherwise, say whatever you like."
"Your manners, your passion for knowledge—those will be enough. Nicolas Flamel is actually quite approachable. You don’t need to feel anxious."
…
Wade still had Herbology class that afternoon. He didn’t stay long in Professor Mor’s office.
As he walked toward the greenhouses with the crowd, he glanced back—toward the professor’s office.
The castle’s many windows reflected the evening sunlight. He couldn’t tell if someone was watching from behind the glass, or if he was just imagining it. He couldn’t even pinpoint which window it might be.
He’d once misjudged Professor Mor, fearing he was the kind of professor who stole students’ research. But after months of patient care and selfless teaching, that fear had long since vanished—so much so that he now found his earlier anxiety almost laughable.
Yet just now… when Professor Mor asked about his thoughts on the Wizard Purity Party, Wade felt that familiar chill again.
He didn’t want to doubt the professor who’d cared for him like a father. But he couldn’t help wondering…
When Professor Mor said, “Don’t let others influence you,” who was he really talking about? Gellert Grindelwald… or Dumbledore?
"Everything alright, Wade?" Michael suddenly appeared in front of him, frowning. "You look pale."
Wade blinked, pulling his gaze back. "Just tired, I guess. You know, I’ve been attending some upper-year classes."
"Take it easy, Wade," Michael said. "I know the last incident hit you hard. But if you keep pushing yourself like this, I’m worried you’ll break."
"I know," Wade said readily. "I’ll adjust."
"Hey, how about joining Remus this Hogsmeade weekend?" Michael brightened. "Professor Hagrid caught a Boggart somewhere. Harry says Remus will use it to teach us the Patronus Charm—ideally, one that’s truly alive, like yours."
"I’m afraid I’ll have to miss it," Wade declined. "I’ve already promised Kariel—I’m visiting his parents."
"Visiting his parents?" Michael repeated, puzzled. "You two were friends before?"
"Back when we were younger," Wade said calmly. "They’re in Hogsmeade now. They wanted to meet me."
"Oh, too bad," Michael said, smiling. "When I get back, I’ll tell you what the worst thing is for each of them. Rumor is, Professor Troke didn’t let Harry face the Boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Why not?" Wade asked casually.
"Probably worried it might turn into something terrifying," Michael guessed. "Like a two-faced man with a face on the back of his head?"
"Maybe he overthought it," Wade said. "I’d say Harry’s more afraid of his Muggle relatives. After all, the Dark Lord’s the one who ends up at a disadvantage when facing him, right?"
Wade sighed. "Keep your voice down. Don’t let the Slytherins hear you, Michael."
"Come on," Michael shrugged. "They may not say it, but they think the same way."
He’d spent time with Slytherin students and could sense the subtle tension beneath their cold, distant stares—the quiet unease and fear they held toward Harry Potter.
Otherwise, Harry wouldn’t be targeted by only a handful of troublemakers like Malfoy.
Wade watched him, a strange feeling stirring in his chest.
—It felt like Michael wasn’t as afraid of Voldemort as he used to be.
Was it the growth of experience? Had courage truly grown with time?
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
