Chapter 654: I Cannot
Draco stared wide-eyed, instinctively turning toward Moaning Myrtle—only to find the ghost, who had just been helping him, now cradling her face in her hands with an utterly flustered, surprised expression, as if completely oblivious to his predicament.
Before he could utter a sound, something was shoved into his mouth.
Sweetness flooded his senses instantly, and a dazed haze spread across his vision. It was a candy.
There was no time to think, no chance to resist. With a sudden thud, the young wizard transformed—bursting into a plump, fluffy, long-eared rabbit.
His body floated midair as a hand seized him by the scruff and tossed him into the pocket of a wizard’s robe. The rabbit’s eyes bulged, his entire frame trembling—but instead of being handed over to “Viper,” the person merely waved their wand twice and began washing their hands under the faucet.
“Oh, what a surprise!” Moaning Myrtle chimed in a sweet, singsong voice. “You came to see me?”
She completely ignored that this wasn’t her usual bathroom.
Draco couldn’t hear her voice, but his heart hammered against his ribs, his nostrils flaring with panic. He strained against the pocket fabric, peering out through the weave. There was the brick wall, the sink, and the constant splash-splash of running water.
Freedom seemed within reach. The hand holding him didn’t restrain him. He was poised to leap—
Suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open!
The rabbit whirled around—his eyes locking onto familiar faces. These were the same people he’d just been practicing the Cruciatus Curse with in the Chamber of Secrets. Their expressions were still cruel, their gazes sweeping the room with cold intensity.
Draco instantly let go, slithering deeper into the pocket, pressing himself into the fabric. He didn’t dare make a sound. His muscles tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest opportunity.
But his mind was already drowning in despair.
He didn’t see their stunned expressions—too fast, too sudden. But he did hear their voices, laced with unease:
“—It’s you?”
More footsteps flooded in. Then, the calm, measured tone of Percy Rosen:
“It’s not him. If he’d just crawled out of the pipe, even with a Scourgify Spell, he wouldn’t be this clean.”
From the pocket, Draco heard the person’s voice—cold, detached, and utterly chilling.
“Who are you looking for?”
The rabbit froze. Every hair on his body stood on end as if struck by lightning.
That voice… it was Wade Gray.
No one else could sound like that. Not even close. Not even with perfect mimicry. The tone, the cadence, the presence—it was unmistakable.
Draco had always known someone inside was calling him arrogant. But he’d never believed anyone could be more arrogantly insufferable than Wade Gray himself.
He stayed curled in the pocket, peering through the fabric’s weave. He could see the flicker of wariness, even fear, on Rosen’s group’s faces.
“None of your business, Gray,” Rosen snapped, waving his hand. The group began searching every compartment—behind doors, under sinks, even checking inside the toilet stalls.
When someone yanked open a door, Moaning Myrtle was inside, sitting on the toilet seat. She stared in horror, let out a furious shriek, and then plunged headfirst into the bowl. Water splashed everywhere in a chaotic splash.
Crabbe, soaked to the skin, wiped his face with a grimace, retched once, then quietly closed the door.
Rosen glanced up at the pipe entrance. The iron grating was intact, the dust piled along the edges undisturbed.
Then he turned back, eyes narrowing at Wade. His gaze swept over the boy’s pristine white collar, his neat cuffs, his neatly tousled hair, and the perfectly crease-free robe.
Even if Wade Gray was a master of magic, he couldn’t possibly have just emerged from a pipe in this condition.
But the most important thing? Even with numbers on their side, Rosen knew he had no real chance of victory.
Snape’s office was nearby. Any loud noise would draw the professor’s attention.
And Rosen knew—knew—that Snape wouldn’t hesitate to punish them all, just because they were Slytherins. The man had no mercy. He’d probably bury them all without asking questions.
The boy across from him wiped his hands dry, casually letting Rosen scrutinize him. His eyes flicked over the group with quiet amusement, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Rosen, anxious to avoid detection, quickly herded the others out. Once they were gone, he turned to the student beside him and asked, voice hoarse: “Your Tracking Charm—did it point here? Are you sure?”
“It’s… not exactly,” the student stammered, clearly disturbed. “The charm broke right here. I can only say… the man was near here, but that’s all.”
Rosen’s gaze swept the area. The bathroom was the obvious target—but no one was here.
Beyond it were a few classrooms, a storage room, a potion supply closet. Further down, the potions classroom and Professor Snape’s office.
“Search,” he rasped. “Find that man. Now.”
The group scattered.
As Rosen stood there, he heard a sharp, grating creak—then the door jiggled again.
Wade stepped out, then grabbed the doorknob and tested it twice.
“Zigzag,” he said, turning to face Rosen. “That hinge’s been twisted. Shouldn’t you fix it?”
Rosen glanced at the fourth-year student, calm and composed, and narrowed his eyes. He walked over, muttered a Restoration Spell at the hinge.
A shimmer of light passed through the wood. Wade gave the door another tug—this time, no noise.
He gave a satisfied nod.
Then turned and walked away.
For no reason, Rosen squinted, studying the boy’s shoe sole as he walked. There were normal wear marks—no sign of a powerful Scourgify Spell. But no fine black dust either—proof he hadn’t been in the pipe.
Rosen exhaled, relief washing over him. He turned his gaze toward the storage room—far more likely to hide someone.
…
Thud.
The rabbit vanished from the floor. In its place stood Draco Malfoy.
He looked like he’d been dragged through a warzone—his skin darkened by soot, his cloak crumpled as if crushed by a giant, dirt caked into every crevice of his nails.
“That shape-shifting gummy only lasts a short time, right?” Antoine asked, still in his student form, casually observing.
While the others searched, he’d slipped away and run straight to Wade.
Wade said, “I’m not using that one.”
“Wait—you saved a special batch? Like the time you turned into a merperson?” Antoine’s eyes lit up. “Can you make more?”
Wade glanced at him. “The last one had Gill Sac Grass. This one? Night Bark Mushroom. Ordinary ingredients can’t produce that effect.”
Antoine mentally tallied his treasure vault. “Yeah… I’ll pass. Pretend I didn’t ask.”
“Why did you help me, Gray?” Draco asked, pushing himself up from the floor, teeth clenched. “If you’re not willing, you can just shout it to Percy Rosen. Tell him you caught the eavesdropper.”
Antoine pointed at him, unimpressed. “Go ahead. We’re not stopping you. You can’t stop yourself.”
Draco froze. “I didn’t mean—”
Then he paused. A thought struck him. He narrowed his eyes at Antoine. “You’re not Bleach… Who are you?”
Bleach was a member of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Antoine had taken that form after drinking Polyjuice Potion—only that guise allowed him to blend into Rosen’s Dark Magic Study Group.
Draco knew the boy. He’d spoken a few words, and the moment he did, something felt off.
Of course, it was only because Antoine made no effort to hide it.
Antoine grinned, winking. “Guess.”
That expression—there was something very Dumbledore-like in it. Draco instinctively took a half-step back, spine rigid.
He didn’t get a reply. Antoine simply patted Wade’s shoulder.
“You two chat,” he said. “I’m out.”
Wade nodded. Watched him leave.
As he passed Draco, Antoine suddenly reached out and touched his hair.
Draco flinched like a startled rabbit, leaping back twice.
Antoine opened his palm. A dull, grayish little creature—half lizard, half gecko—was curled in his hand.
“Found this on your head,” he said. “Removed it for you. Don’t thank me.”
Draco stared, wide-eyed, as the stranger—this Bleach—walked out.
He turned to Wade. “Who is that man?”
Wade looked at him. “Why would I tell you?”
Draco’s face went blank. It hit him—his relationship with Wade Gray wasn’t exactly friendly.
But compared to Rosen’s gang… or that fake Miles Breech who’d stolen Bleach’s identity… Wade Gray felt warm. Reliable. Instinctively, Draco had already begun treating him like a companion.
While Draco stood silent, Wade studied his face—pale, slick with sweat, eyes still haunted by fear.
After a pause, Wade asked, “Why did you run?”
“Huh?” Draco hesitated. He instinctively lied. “Because they were chasing me…”
Wade looked at him. Slowly. “I mean… the Death Spirit Club. Wasn’t that your old group? Why sneak in to watch them practice magic? And then run when caught?”
Draco’s pupils dilated. A jolt shot through his mind, like lightning striking his skull. His ears roared. Cold sweat poured down his spine.
Wade spoke, calm and even: “You’re a Malfoy. If you’d walked in and said you wanted to join, Rosen couldn’t have refused.”
Draco’s throat tightened. His eyes darted across Wade’s face, searching for any sign—any clue—of what he really knew.
“Did that fake Bleach tell you?” he asked, voice dry. “Do you know what they’re doing? Or… are you one of them?”
A thought, wild and absurd, surged forward: Did Wade Gray create a “White Magic” study society… and then secretly manipulate Rosen to run a “Dark Magic” training camp on the side?
It made no sense. Yet—something about Wade’s tone, the quiet authority in his presence—made the idea feel real. Like he was the puppet master behind the curtain.
Wade raised an eyebrow. “Why would I join a low-level gang like that?”
Draco exhaled—relief flooding through him.
After days of exile, of constant tension and release, he was utterly drained. He no longer had the energy to spar, to fight back. He tugged at his damp house tie, then, after a long pause, admitted the truth:
“It was Moaning Myrtle… She took me there. I wanted revenge on the bullies. She said… there were people teaching Dark Magic in the school. I thought… if I learned it, I could make them fear me again.”
“Before you went,” Wade asked, “you didn’t know it was the Death Spirit Club?”
“How could I know?” Draco forced a bitter laugh. “I haven’t been in contact with them in ages. Since… since my father was arrested. They’ve barely acknowledged me since.”
“Didn’t you know they were teaching Dark Magic?” Wade pressed.
“We… we used to just pretend to study Dark Magic,” Draco said. “Just… pushing spells a little too far. Like curses. Some dark hexes…”
“Entrail-Expelling Curse?” Wade added.
Draco stiffened. “They said it was a prank spell. A joke. Even… a kind of medical care charm. The one who taught me didn’t know what would happen.”
“They told you that?” Wade arched a brow, smiling. “You believed that?”
“…In short,” Draco cut in, changing the subject, “I never thought they’d actually be learning Unforgivable Curses now.”
He shuddered, remembering the rats—how they’d screamed, twisted in agony.
“Now you know,” Wade said. “Do you still want to join them?”
Draco snapped his head up. Their gray eyes locked.
“I… I cannot,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t do that.”
Images flashed in his mind—living beings writhing in pain, eyes wide with despair. Rosen’s twisted grin. The way they’d enjoyed it.
For the first time, he questioned his parents.
His father—whom he’d always admired, who he’d seen as noble and powerful—had once done the same. Had he tortured people like that? Had his mother?
Wade smiled.
“That’s good.”
He tucked his wand away, stepped past Draco, and paused at the door.
“Clean yourself up before you go out,” he said. “Otherwise, you’ll give yourself away the second you step through.”
The door closed.
Draco turned. Stared at his reflection in the glass.
His face—dirt smudged by sweat, like he’d rolled in coal dust and then wept. But it was the eyes that shook him.
In them—raw, unspoken, undeniable—was fear. Weakness. A trapped animal, cornered, yet still trying to hold onto dignity.
(End of Chapter)
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