Chapter 733: Light and Shadow
As they left St. Mungo’s Hospital, twilight had already draped over London. On their return to Hogwarts, Harry remained silent. Streetlamps flickered on one by one, casting dappled shadows across his lowered face. Dumbledore deliberately slowed his pace, never turning back. Wade walked beside Harry, maintaining a thoughtful distance, refraining from打扰.
They all understood the weight of Harry’s thoughts—Madam Longbottom and Longbottom must have stirred memories of his own parents. Frank and Alice had endured unspeakable torment… and had lost fourteen years of their lives. Yet, in the end, they were still alive, supporting each other, slowly emerging from the pain of their past.
But his parents? They were gone. Completely. Irrevocably. Never to return.
For a fleeting moment, Harry imagined—just for an instant—that the figure stepping out of the ward could be his own parents. Worn, yes, but warm, real—enough to feel the heat of their presence, not just cold, lifeless photographs.
Then, shame washed over him. He forcibly blinked, swallowing back the tears, suppressing the aching yearning that threatened to consume him.
He snapped back to reality, realizing he’d fallen behind without noticing. His shadow, stretched and fragmented by the streetlight, lengthened and shortened with each step, swaying in his vision.
Harry quickened his pace, catching up. When he reached the two, he wasn’t sure why, but a quiet breath of relief escaped him—like loneliness and darkness were whispering devils, amplifying the strange, hollow things inside.
Wade glanced at him sideways, perhaps sensing something. Suddenly, he raised his wand.
The streetlamp nearby buzzed with a sharp zzzzip, then the glowing orb of light burst from the bulb—before even touching the ground, it transformed into a deer no larger than a teacup. Silver-white, the creature leapt through the air, dancing on nothing, and landed gently in Harry’s outstretched palm.
Harry cradled the tiny light-deer carefully, unable to suppress a smile. Though faint, its light was warm—enough to melt the chill within his heart.
"Why a deer?" Harry asked, recalling the fawn that had vanished into light just two days prior. He felt both surprised and oddly unsettled—too coincidental.
"Hmm?" Wade frowned. "Isn’t your Patronus a stag?"
"Oh… right!" Harry grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it is."
"Good," Dumbledore said, watching the glowing deer with approval. "Wade, you’ve mastered this spell’s application, haven’t you?"
"Not on the same scale as before," Wade admitted with a sigh. "I’ve tried many times. I can’t summon that kind of power again. For now, I can only do something like this."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Take your time, child. Magic is like a tree you’ve planted. It needs time—quiet, unseen growth in the dark."
Wade nodded, gently twirling his wand.
Dumbledore studied the silver-white deer, feeling its warmth and gentle luminescence. He gave a subtle nod, silently reconsidering the warning he’d almost spoken.
Just a little longer…
He told himself. Wait and watch.
"Ah!" Harry suddenly shouted, turning to Wade. "Wait—minor wizards aren’t allowed to cast magic outside school grounds, are they?"
"I’m with Professor Dumbledore," Wade said casually. "If the Ministry comes knocking, I’ll just say the spell was his."
Harry stared, wide-eyed. That kind of lie—a “frame”—spoken right in front of the Headmaster? Was this really appropriate?
But when he looked at Dumbledore, the old man was already chuckling, stroking his long silver-white beard with a playful nod. “Oh yes, absolutely correct. That was my magic—oh dear, did I just conjure a Patronus? My memory’s getting worse with age…”
The expression on his face was that of an ordinary, forgetful old man. Harry groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. Beside him, Wade was barely holding back laughter, shoulders trembling.
"Alright, that’s enough," Dumbledore said, as if nothing had happened, glancing around. "This is perfect. Quiet, secluded."
They stood in a dim alley, ivy crawling over cracked walls, a toppled trash bin nearby, beer bottles and cigarette butts scattered across the ground. Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Ideal. Now, take my arm."
As they each reached out and grasped his arm, a sudden sensation of vertigo swept over them.
Pop!
Harry staggered, blinking. Ahead, the towering lights of Hogwarts Castle came into view.
The three stepped into the dusk, walking toward the school. Far off, the iron ring on the massive oak door trembled. With a creaking groan, the door slowly swung open—Hagrid’s face appeared through the crack.
"Thank Merlin you're back!" Hagrid boomed, grinning. "Professor Dumbledore, was the trip a success?"
"Of course," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Wade and Harry were invaluable."
"I knew you’d make it!" Hagrid beamed, raising a thick thumb at the two boys. "Must’ve done something incredible, right?"
Harry and Wade exchanged a quiet smile.
"We saw Madam Longbottom and Longbottom," Wade said. "Neville’s parents. They’re looking much better."
"Yes," Harry added. "Frank even said they’ll be back in the fight once they’re fully recovered."
Hagrid’s eyes welled with moisture. "Oh, Frank and Alice… Merlin bless them. Good people… they shouldn’t have suffered like that. Death Eaters deserve to die. Lestrange deserves to die!"
He closed the main gate with a thud, then vented his fury with a string of curses against the vile Death Eaters. Then, shifting gears, he began planning a visit to the hospital—something to bring them, a gift.
"Give me a hint, Harry, Wade," Hagrid rumbled. "I never know what patients want. I’ve never even been sick."
"Anything but rock-crust pie," Harry said honestly. "I think that’d be a crime."
"Speaking of which," Dumbledore said, "you both must be starving. Head straight to the Great Hall for dinner."
"Tomorrow’s a good day to rest," he added.
Hagrid patted his stomach, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The kitchens must have stew and Yorkshire pudding left. I wonder if there’s any Maple Syrup Pie still hanging on…"
Harry and Dumbledore nodded farewell. Wade turned back for a moment, as if to speak—but then closed his mouth, saying nothing. Together, they followed Hagrid into the glowing heart of the castle, their laughter fading into the distance.
Dumbledore stood motionless on the staircase, his hand slipping into his pocket. He pulled out a small crystal vial, still faintly warm. The silver light of the memory shimmered inside, reflecting in the crescent-shaped lenses of his spectacles.
Now, there was no trace of gentleness or amusement on his face. Every line was taut, his expression as solemn and unyielding as an ancient stone wall.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
