Chapter 609: Raise Your Glass, Ravenclaw!
Wade unconsciously leaned back, his chair legs lifting off the floor. Antoine’s enthusiasm for the book project was like a fierce storm—overwhelming and relentless—but Wade couldn’t help but feel the man was exaggerating. The significance of the book, he thought, was being painted far too brightly.
Back in his university days, Wade had once audited a few courses on Educational Theory just to help his friends. He’d become acutely aware that compared to the rigid, tradition-bound Magic world, Muggle society had long since embraced a dazzling diversity of teaching methods. Yet even so, the names behind these methods were rarely more than prefixes attached to their theories—like “Feynman Learning Method,” for instance. Despite its proven effectiveness—retention rates exceeding ninety percent—few people bothered to adopt it, simply because it was time-consuming and complicated. Most knew of it, but few truly learned it.
Still, he didn’t voice his thoughts. Instead, he said, “Thanks, Antoine… If you need anything from me regarding the book, just say the word.”
Antoine’s eyes lit up—but he quickly shook his head, chuckling. “You can’t be too proactive in this, Wade. Otherwise, a whole crowd of old-school wizards will think you’re too arrogant.”
“I’ll make it clear in the preface that this was a self-organized effort by students you’ve helped,” he continued, scribbling a few notes in a small notebook he pulled from his pocket. “Of course, the final version will still need your touch—your testing and refinement.”
Through the gaps between Antoine’s fingers, Wade caught a glimpse of the page:
【Third Spell Study Society Teaching Record… Summarized… Key problems identified in the learning process…】
The handwriting was messy, clearly jotted down in stolen moments between classes.
“Are you sure?” Wade sighed. “A professor from Salem School helping Hogwarts students publish a book… and not even signing your name?”
Antoine waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not Professor Antoine from Salem anymore. I’m Student A of the Spell Study Society now.”
He winked. “Thanks to the Book of Friends, I don’t even need to meet in person or reveal my real identity. That’s how we’ve managed to work so smoothly with the kids.”
Wade paused. “But how do you even have their contact info?”
“The Spell Study Society group chat, of course! You don’t have it? We’re talking nonstop every day!”
Antoine looked genuinely surprised. Seeing the faint stiffness in Wade’s expression, he burst into laughter. “Hahaha… They probably didn’t add you to avoid bothering you. After all, you’re already teaching for free twice a week. If they kept pestering you during your rest time, it’d be a bit much, wouldn’t it?”
Wade felt a momentary pang of annoyance—then laughed too. It was true. Even if he joined the group, he’d likely treat it like every other chat: barely active, mostly ignored, only checked occasionally, and rarely contributing.
“Anyway, I’ll take care of it,” Antoine said, already buzzing with excitement. “I’ll send you the first draft when it’s ready.”
He paused, then added, “Oh—don’t knock Hope out in the second tournament, okay? She’s the last Salem representative. If she gets eliminated early, Ms. Owens might drag the entire Salem team back home by plane overnight. And then I’d have no excuse to stay here openly.”
Wade frowned. “The second event’s already complicated. I wasn’t planning to narrow down opponents anyway.”
“But what if she can’t pass on her own?” he asked.
“Then let it be,” Antoine said bluntly. “We’re not babysitting her.”
“Good,” Wade said, turning his gaze toward the window. The last rays of sunset stretched long shadows across the lawn, casting silhouettes of several figures that looked, from above, like towering black giants.
“By the way,” he said softly after a silence, “what did Mr. Grindelwald say about this tournament?”
“Hmm?” Antoine paused, still absorbed in his notes, then blinked and turned to him, a mysterious smile curling at the corner of his lips. “He said you’re like a young Thunderbird—”
He drew out the words, watching Wade’s eyes shift toward him. “The first time you spread your wings, you stirred up a storm.”
A quiet stirring passed through Wade’s chest. He pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
Antoine leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Grindelwald also told me to tell you: walk your own path. Don’t look back at the shadows behind you.”
When Wade remained silent, Antoine grinned again. “Of course… if you’re ever curious, you know you can always contact him directly, right?”
Without waiting for a reply, he hopped off the desk and, with a flick, straightened Wade’s chair.
“All right, back to your House now. Your classmates are probably waiting to celebrate with you!”
He grinned. “I’m going to ask my darling Angelina if she’d like to be the second author. We’ve been chatting lately—really well.”
…
Alone on the Spinning Staircase, Wade passed by portraits on either side. They all turned to watch him, murmuring to one another, some waving or smiling. Word of the first tournament’s outcome had clearly spread through the castle’s magical gallery.
Griffiths even chased after him for a stretch, eager to hear every detail, and proudly recounted his own legendary dragon-hunting exploits from his youth.
“Back in Romania, I froze a black dragon myself. But then its mate showed up—and burned my favorite cloak to ash!”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I trapped a whole herd of Ukrainian Ironbellies? We were supposed to collect rockfrost, but ended up surrounded by five fire dragons—”
Suddenly, a loud, grating voice cut through from another portrait. “I heard someone’s been talking about hunting dragons?”
Griffiths froze mid-sentence. “Oh… no.”
A short, stout knight in full armor burst into Griffiths’ frame, riding a plump, stocky horse that clattered noisily across the painted floor. The original portrait’s owner was shoved aside, sputtering in fury—but no one paid attention.
“Hey! What’s this about taming tame, domesticated dragons?” the knight boomed. “Back in my day, I rode this old friend into battle against a Wyvern—and won!”
“The beast wanted to eat us all, but Sir Caradoc—brave as ever—pierced its tongue with a broken wand! And how did I set it on fire? That’s a feat no one’s ever replicated!”
While Griffiths was distracted, Wade quickened his pace, slipping through the stairs and into the Ravenclaw Common Room.
The door knocker chimed softly:
“Born of battle, adorned with joy; I am claimed by the triumphant, mourned by the fallen—Who am I?”
Wade smiled. “Victory.”
“Correct.” The door swung open.
Instantly, a cascade of shimmering blue light poured out. Fireworks erupted from the tips of wands, fireworks danced through the air. The long table groaned under mountains of food. Hundreds of smiling faces turned toward him, laughter and warmth rising like steam, blurring his vision.
“Raise your glasses!” Penelope stood on a stool, her face flushed with excitement, holding her goblet high. “To celebrate today’s victory—To Wade Gray!”
(End of Chapter)
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