https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-552-Spell-Study-Society-Shield-Charm/13685702/
https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-554-Auror-Taught-Dark-Defense-Class/13685704/
Chapter 553: The End of the Spell Study Society
The bell rang. With reluctant sighs, the students suppressed their wands.
“When’s the next meeting?” a fifth-year Gryffindor asked eagerly.
“Next Friday,” Wade said.
“Can I bring my roommate? She’s writing an essay tonight and couldn’t make it,” asked Astoria from Slytherin, raising her hand.
“Of course,” Wade replied. “As I said before, the main gate of the Spell Study Society is always open. You can come and go as you please.”
“Awesome, Wade!” A Ravenclaw prefect ran over, slapping Wade on the shoulder. “We’ll definitely be back next time.”
As they left the room, a group of students still lingered inside, excitedly discussing:
“Did you see? My spell just worked!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t block my Rictusempra!”
“I just need more practice! Once I go over it a few times, the power will definitely improve!”
“Shall we keep practicing in the Common Room?”
“Sure!”
They walked back arm-in-arm, laughing and chatting, sharing their triumphs and feelings with each other.
Even after they had all disappeared down the corridor, Wade could still hear someone shouting from inside:
“I’ve never felt learning a spell could be this easy! My mom always said I had talent!”
He glanced down, smiling faintly, then waved his wand. The scattered items in the classroom floated back into place.
“Hey, wanna celebrate? Our first session was a total success,” Anthony said, finishing up the cleanup. He grinned. “I left a few bottles of Butterbeer in the Common Room. We could grab a couple after we get back.”
“Dream on,” Michael said, slinging an arm over Anthony’s shoulder. “Wade’s gotta go back to studying Alchemy, right?”
Wade chuckled. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. You guys go ahead.”
“Alright,” Anthony said, not pressing. “Don’t miss curfew.”
One by one, they departed. The classroom quickly fell silent, save for the flickering glow of candles casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Wade glanced back at the empty lectern, extinguished the candles, and shut the door behind him.
He paused again, looking at the wooden sign hanging on the door. The corridor was cold and still. Moonlight seeped through the window, and the air seemed to shimmer with a faint, bluish haze.
For a moment, Wade felt a strange sense of déjà vu—like he could almost picture it, decades ago, Tom Riddle walking these very halls, alone, night after night.
He had used fear and Pureblood supremacy to awaken the darker desires in young minds, giving them power to torment the weak—gathering his earliest followers.
But after graduation, Voldemort hadn’t continued that path. Instead, he’d run off to Borgin and Burkes, taking a submissive job as an employee.
Perhaps in Voldemort’s mind, the pursuit of immortality, the search for the founders’ relics, was far more important. But in the hearts of his followers—wasn’t that a betrayal?
Young Gellert Grindelwald had been much like Dumbledore—brilliant, gifted, naturally pulling ahead of his peers. Their pride made it impossible for them to lower themselves to make friends, or waste time on shallow connections.
Until Grindelwald found his purpose and began gathering followers. Dumbledore, however, had chosen loneliness—broken by family tragedies and personal loss.
—So what about me? Wade asked himself. What do I want? What’s my goal?
The classroom was now completely empty. Only the smoke from the candles curled upward slowly.
After a few seconds, the candles suddenly flared back to life with a soft whoosh, burning steadily once more.
A ripple seemed to pass through the air. In the shadows of the hallway, figures began to emerge from invisibility.
“Did Wade catch us?” Professor McGonagall asked.
“Ha! That’s for Moody to answer,” Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. “I saw him deflect a student’s spell! That movement gave us away. Lucky Wade didn’t expose us!”
“That was a Dance Spell!” Moody grumbled. “You can’t expect me to hobble around the classroom on a false leg.”
Flee barely registered his words. Standing on a table, he clapped his hands. “What a magnificent lesson! I nearly clapped every time!”
“Truly unexpected,” McGonagall said, a hint of approval in her voice. “Honestly, Wade’s teaching methods are worth studying—even for someone like me, who’s taught Transfiguration for decades.”
She stepped toward the blackboard, examining the colorful chalk diagrams of wand movements.
“These kids are eager,” Moody said, looking at Dumbledore. “Maybe we should include more tournament-relevant material in our teaching. All the other schools do.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “No. Stick to the standard curriculum. We all know most students won’t even get the chance to compete. The Wizard Certification Exam is what truly shapes their future.”
“And this current enthusiasm…” Dumbledore flipped through a notebook left behind by a student, studying the cramped handwriting. “…once the champions are chosen, most of them will likely lose interest.”
“What about Wade’s Spell Study Society?” Flee asked cautiously.
After a long pause, Dumbledore said, “Let it continue. He’s doing well. The students are learning valuable things. Any interference from us would only be unnecessary.”
“But Dumbledore,” Moody said, voice low, “you know Fudge’s thoughts on you. He’s always worried you’re training an army within the school. If he finds out about this study group… he’ll take it as proof.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Dumbledore replied, pulling a Honey Drop from his pocket and popping it into his mouth. “I’ve been getting along just fine with Cornelius lately.”
Moody rolled his eyes. He knew full well—no matter how close they were, Dumbledore would never reveal his true thoughts.
“Regardless,” Dumbledore said, gazing out the window, “the Tournament is coming. This isn’t a game. Our top priority must be the safety of the students.”
“Fudge just hopes you’ll win the trophy,” Moody muttered. “That way he can boast about it in his own records!”
“Oh,” Flee said, glancing at the others, “well, with Wade around… right?”
Dumbledore remained silent for a long moment.
“If he doesn’t truly want to take part, don’t push him, Filius.”
“Of course not,” Flitwick said. “But it’s not just us who care about Hogwarts’ honor, Albus.”
(End of Chapter)
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