Chapter 69: Grey Eyes
Michael had already left.
Wade turned his head, staring at the window glass.
The reflection in the glass showed a pair of grey eyes—neither as deep as black, nor as bright as blue. They resembled the still surface of a lake in late autumn or early winter, calm and untroubled, with no trace of intense emotion.
Sometimes, those who met his gaze felt an unusual chill, as if his inner world mirrored the same cold cynicism they sensed in his eyes.
Through the reflection, he could see the grounds outside the castle: a group of students trudging through the rain-slicked lawn, their broomsticks clutched tightly in hand. Mud coated their faces and clothes, their features nearly obscured, as though they’d rolled through a swamp. Yet among them, one small figure stood out unmistakably.
Then, a man wrapped in a scarf shivered and scurried past in the distance, hunched against the cold.
Moments later, another figure strode into the castle—a dark silhouette like a bat, moving with purpose. His robes flared out behind him in the wind, rain seeming to part around him as if afraid. His face was as stormy as the sky above, and every student in his path fled in alarm.
Wade couldn’t help but smile faintly.
Harry Potter. Voldemort. Severus Snape. The Savior. The Dark Lord. Former Death Eater.
Four figures whose identities were contradictory, even hostile—yet now, in the same castle, they coexisted as teacher and student, waiting silently for the final confrontation.
Thinking of Michael’s expression when he left—so serene, as if his soul had been cleansed—Wade’s lips curled slightly upward.
He gathered the clutter on the table, neatly organizing his latest assignment and notes, then slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the Astronomy Tower.
—Of course Harry Potter had to be included. And not just included—Wade would do everything he could to strengthen him. Otherwise, if Voldemort ever returned… or, by some ripple in fate, gained even greater power—then who would stand against him?
Would it be Wade, still weak and unproven? Michael, who spent most of his time with little girls? Or Dumbledore—doomed in the prophecy to fall from a high tower?
Harry Potter. Despite all his flaws—reckless, impulsive, lacking discipline—despite mastering only a handful of spells, and excelling only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was undeniable: the one weapon specifically forged to defeat Voldemort.
From infancy, it was clear. Since school began, Voldemort had faced Harry Potter once a year—always losing. And in the final year, Harry had been almost supernaturally gifted, uncovering every Horcrux Voldemort had hidden in a matter of weeks, then delivering the final blow that ended the Dark Lord’s reign—himself nearly unscathed.
Whether it was the protagonist’s aura… or sheer luck… Wade didn’t care.
He lacked the power to defeat Voldemort now. So he would not turn down such a friend.
And even if, one day, he surpassed Voldemort in strength, he would never shut the door on Harry Potter.
The world was unpredictable. Harry Potter would always remain a vital card in his hand.
Outside the castle, the rain fell relentlessly. Lightning flashed across the sky, casting jagged, fleeting shadows through the window—brief, sudden, then gone.
…
“Terrible weather, isn’t it?” Professor Mor poured himself a cup of hot tea, paused, then added a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar before settling into his chair. “Comforting, really.”
“Yes,” Wade replied, cradling his own steaming cup. “But I have to admit—I kind of like this kind of weather. It’s perfect for sleeping in. Muggles call it white noise—a steady, uniform sound that masks other frequencies, supposedly helping people sleep better.”
As Wade grew more familiar with Professor Mor, he realized the professor no longer avoided discussing Muggle theories or technologies. In fact, he seemed genuinely curious.
“White noise…” Professor Mor mused, smiling. “They do come up with some remarkably strange, yet oddly fascinating ideas, don’t they? I once read a report—something about the length of a person’s ring finger and their level of wisdom.”
Wade nodded. “There are some truly fascinating studies too—like the interaction between dreams and reality, time travel, or the potential forms of extraterrestrial life. They’re even reaching beyond Earth. If interstellar travel ever becomes real… I’d love to be one of the first passengers.”
“Me too,” Professor Mor chuckled. “But at my age, I doubt I’ll live to see it. You, on the other hand—there’s still hope. Or, like Nicolas Flamel, you might one day brew the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Wade smiled. “I read that the Philosopher’s Stone can create the Elixir of Life. Does that mean Nicolas Flamel is still young in appearance?”
He remembered the film—Flamel as a pale, fragile ghost, bones so brittle they cracked at a touch. He wondered if things were different here.
“Hmm…” Professor Mor paused, considering. “I can only say this—the Elixir of Life does allow one to evade death. But six centuries of accumulated time… that’s a force no potion can fully counteract.”
“So immortality, in the end, might not be so appealing,” Wade said, tilting his head.
Professor Mor laughed. “Only someone as young and vibrant as you would say that so easily. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand—when death draws near, fear and longing both intensify. We cling to life, desperate to hold on a little longer.”
“Even you, Professor Mor?” Wade asked.
“I’m just a man,” Professor Mor said, gently stroking his teacup. “Of course I fear it. But Albus once said—death is a great adventure. No one knows what comes after. It might be terrifying, as legend claims. Or beautiful. Or simply nothing at all…”
He paused, as if lost in memory.
“So I both fear it… and look forward to it. I want to keep walking—see what lies ahead.”
Wade watched him silently.
Then, suddenly, Professor Mor snapped back to the present, smiling. “All of this is too much for you, I suppose. Anyway—did you come up with an answer to the question I gave you?”
“Yes.” Wade reached into his pocket and placed a small box on the table. “But, Professor… this is too valuable.”
“Value isn’t measured in money,” Professor Mor said gently, encouragingly. “It’s in how you use it. Tell me—what’s your idea?”
Wade opened the box.
“This is a piece of Bird-Serpent hide. Steven Mor told me about this creature—it can stretch and contract at will, growing as large as a dragon or shrinking to fit inside a teapot. It mostly eats insects and mice…”
Professor Mor nodded. “And?”
Wade took a deep breath.
“It’s the finest material for an Invisible Expansion Charm.”
(End of Chapter)
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