Chapter 550: The Cost and the Society
With the dismissal bell ringing, the students nearly stampeded out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Wade remained behind, lingering under Michael’s smug, Schadenfreude-filled gaze.
Even with extra tutoring, most couldn’t help but envy the students who received Moody’s special treatment—those rare few who stood out.
Once everyone had departed, Moody turned to Wade, his voice slightly softer than usual. “Your SpellWater charm was decent. But in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class, you’ll face far tougher opponents… afraid?”
“No,” Wade said without hesitation.
“Good lad.” Moody grinned, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth. “From now on, reserve one hour every Sunday. I’ll show you what illegal dark spells really look like—and how to survive them.”
Wade frowned. “You’re not going to teach this in class?”
“Class?” Moody snorted, shaking his head. “With a bunch of youngsters who haven’t even developed a basic instinct for self-defense?”
Wade hesitated. “Well… they weren’t that bad, really.”
He meant it. Just moments ago, several students had successfully cast Disarming Charms, and a few even managed Shield Charms. He remembered from the original books that many hadn’t learned those spells until fifth year—some even included advanced students like Qiu Zhang.
“Their magic was stronger than I expected,” Wade admitted. “But I saw their eyes. They’re just kids wearing grown-up robes—pitiful. If you dropped them onto a real battlefield, they’d be gone in two rounds.”
Moody leaned on his staff, the iron claw of his prosthetic leg hooking a chair and dragging it close. He exhaled slowly, a deep, weary breath.
“Some doors,” he said, “should never be opened.”
He stared into the distance, his voice hollow. “I’ve seen too many young ones stumble into darkness—some maimed, some broken, others locked up in Azkaban. Sometimes, dying quickly would’ve been mercy.”
Wade looked up. “So you don’t worry I’ll fall?”
Moody glanced at him, sharp as a blade. “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve faced darkness—but you don’t enjoy it. I bet you think Voldemort’s a fool, don’t you?”
Wade smiled, saying nothing.
“Arrogance is dangerous,” Moody muttered. “But better than being stupid and greedy.”
He popped the cork off a bottle and took another long drink. Wade wrinkled his nose. He caught a faint whiff of potion.
He glanced again at Moody’s head—then relaxed.
Moody noticed the glance and grinned. “Not wine, boy. That’s the cost.”
“The cost?”
“Some dark magic wounds can’t be healed. It’s not just a scar on your skin.” Moody’s face twitched. His voice dropped, low and grim. “It never stops hurting. Like ants gnawing at your bones. Like someone inside your skull scraping your nerves with a dull blade. The potion helps me suppress the pain. Keeps my mind clear.”
Wade studied the man’s ravaged face, his scarred hands, the missing chunk of his nose. He remembered how hard it was for Moody to rise from his chair—this fierce, roaring lion reduced to a man in constant agony.
“Is there no other way?” Wade asked, genuinely concerned. “Phoenix tears? Unicorn blood? Dragon’s heartfire?”
Moody chuckled. “Go on, child. Don’t forget to come back for class.”
Clearly, he’d tried everything. Now, hope had long since faded.
And besides, Moody was a veteran Auror with decades of experience. How could someone still buried in books possibly know more than he did?
Wade said nothing more. He turned and left the classroom.
…
Later that afternoon, with assignments and textbooks in hand, Wade made his way—after a long absence—to the Umbrella Room.
As he pushed open the door, he heard Padma recounting the day’s class to Hermione.
“…Then I hit Pansy with a Trip Charm, and she went down before she even had time to breathe. Then Michael—that traitorous git—slipped in from behind and attacked me!”
“Sorry,” Michael said with a grin. “You were just too easy a target.”
Neville turned pale. “So… when we start Defense Against the Dark Arts, we’ll be fighting like this?”
“Neville!” Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been through mazes plenty of times. Isn’t this just like fighting the insects in the maze?”
“Big difference!” Theo shot back, exasperated. “Insects at least warn you before they attack!”
“You’re not scared, are you, Theo?” Michael teased, raising his voice.
“Michael,” Liam suddenly asked, “why did you only tell us about the second duel? What happened the first time? You didn’t mention it at all.”
Michael froze. He began silently gathering his thoughts, searching for a way to spin the truth.
Then he spotted Wade entering the room.
His eyes lit up. “Oh, great! Wade! You sneaked a sneak attack on me!”
Wade smiled. “Sorry. You were just in such a perfect position.”
Michael stared, speechless.
Padma burst out laughing, and soon everyone else followed.
They settled into writing their essay assignments, practicing spells—before realizing, with a jolt, that dinner time had arrived.
After dinner came the scheduled spell tutorial.
Anthony had been quick: he’d sent a message on the Book of Friends at lunch, claiming he’d already cleared out the club room. To apply for the space, he’d chosen a modest, unassuming name: Spell Study Society.
Wade doubted the SSC members actually needed this—after all, it was their own private group. But since it was the first official gathering, everyone came along to see what it was all about.
They climbed up to the fifth floor of the main keep, winding through corridors, until they reached a long hall lined with classroom doors. Each bore a sign—some enchanted with decorative magic, others simply labeled with a name in plain ink.
Wade spotted signs for the Gobstone Club, the Wizard’s Chess Club, the Potion Research Society, the Fantastic Beasts Enthusiasts Group, the Spell Innovation Society… and one with a wooden cake-shaped sign, sweetly fragrant, labeled Baking Magic Society.
At the very end, he found it: Spell Research Society.
The sign was freshly carved. The ink still damp. Intricate, refined patterns lined the edges. Upon closer inspection, Wade realized they weren’t just decorations—they were coiled silver serpents.
He blinked. Anthony hadn’t even had time to add such details… unless…
This sign had been here before. He’d just changed the name.
Wade pointed his wand at the sign and whispered, “Trace Revealed!”
Faint silver light shimmered beneath the ink, slowly forming a sequence of letters:
【Midnight Society · V】
Wade stared at the final “V.”
The font… it was familiar. Too familiar.
His lips twitched.
That “V”… couldn’t possibly be Voldemort’s “V,” could it?
The classroom Anthony had secured—this very room—had once belonged to Voldemort in his student days. A secret society. A hidden past.
(End of Chapter)
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