Chapter 89: Kindness, Malice
Wade glanced at him, then shook his head.
“Uh…” Michael froze. “You’re not the one who came up with this idea? So what are you planning—”
“I’m going alone.” Wade said.
“—Got it.” Michael nodded. “I’ll round up everyone.”
“No, Michael. I mean—I’m going alone.” Wade repeated, firmer this time.
Michael’s eyes shot wide open, his face a mask of astonishment. After a pause, he scowled. “Who the hell are you? You’re not my friend Wade—some Gryffindor imposter, right?”
Wade sighed. “—I’m not joking.”
“Are you insane?” Michael snapped, voice tense with urgency. “They’re a group, and you’re just one person!”
“Yeah, I know.” Wade placed a calming hand on Michael’s arm, urging him to settle down. Michael’s reaction had been so intense it even drew a glance from Binns, who was droning on at his usual sluggish pace.
Michael quickly ducked his head, lifting his History of Magic textbook to shield his face from the professor’s gaze. Then he turned back, glaring at Wade with narrowed eyes, teeth clenched. “Every normal student knows—when a group wants to bully you, the correct thing to do is report it to the professor!”
“True,” Wade whispered back. “But then the Slytherins will think we’re just tattletales—cowards, bookworms. If this one fails, they’ll definitely be plotting their next conspiracy.”
“Then let’s give them an unforgettable lesson!” Michael’s eyes gleamed with fierce determination. “Listen, I’ve got a plan—Professor Snape has Potions class with the fourth years this afternoon. After it ends, you go up to ask a question—delay him. Then I’ll spread the word to the Slytherins, make them think you’re alone out there. They can start with a few Dung Bombs as a welcome greeting…”
“Then Professor Snape, overwhelmed by Dung Bombs, devours and dismembers them?” Wade asked dryly.
“How’s that for a plan?” Michael asked eagerly, grinning.
Wade nodded. “Brilliant.”
“So we’re set—”
“I’m still going alone.” Wade insisted, unyielding.
Michael fell silent. Then, after a long pause, he sighed, voice quiet and weary. “Don’t tell me… you were moved by watching Harry and Neville struggle, and now you’re trying to join Gryffindor?”
“Of course not,” Wade laughed softly. “I just… I can make sure I don’t get hurt. And… I don’t want to use Professor Snape’s kindness or sense of responsibility like that.”
Michael said nothing. He slumped forward onto the table, letting out a long, defeated breath. “Wade… people with too much moral integrity always end up getting burned.”
Wade couldn’t help but smile.
“At least not this time,” he said.
He truly appreciated Michael’s loyalty—how he’d risked alienating the Slytherins, even tried to manipulate Professor Snape’s authority. But there were things he couldn’t tell him.
For instance, Voldemort and the Death Eaters would return to Hogwarts every year. The challenges ahead would be far crueler than anything they faced now—many would die, even Dumbledore, who seemed invincible in the eyes of students.
Or that when Slytherin confronted him, several house-elves from the school’s inner circle would be watching, ensuring he’d never truly be in danger.
And yes… Michael was right. He had been affected by seeing Harry and Neville repeatedly beaten in the Umbrella Room, then rising again and again, training through pain. It reminded him of the boy in the story—still unable to master Expelliarmus, yet stepping forward alone to face Quirrell and Voldemort.
Of course, Wade still thought that boy was reckless.
But then again… wasn’t he, too, becoming too cautious? Wasn’t he showing a lack of courage by refusing to face a few kids’ threats head-on, instead relying on deception, luring in others’ power to solve it?
If he couldn’t stand up to a handful of children in a safe, controlled environment—where the odds were over 90% in his favor, and any surprise could be resolved instantly—how would he face Voldemort’s return?
Would he really cower and flee Britain then?
No. If he ever left this land, it would be with honor, openly and honestly—leaving behind friends, mentors, dreams, and futures, not like a lost dog dragging his parents away in fear.
Besides, this wasn’t just about Harry and Neville. Wade had been training too. Through combat, he’d observed, learned, grown. He’d realized even the best students—Harry and Hermione—relied on rigid stances when casting spells. They lacked adaptability, knew only a limited number of spells, and their power was modest.
When a spell came at them, they did want to dodge. But any movement shifted their wand gestures, and their own spells often failed or misfired. Both of them. And the Slytherin students? They weren’t magically superior either.
This was the normal level of a first-year.
So even if there were twice as many opponents, Wade couldn’t see any reason why he’d lose.
Coincidentally, the afternoon’s Herbology class was still shared between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Though they kept their distance, the Slytherins’ malice was nearly tangible.
They weren’t actors. Holding their secrets in for a whole day was already pushing their limits. But their eyes—darting toward Wade with smug, Schadenfreude-filled glances—said everything. Even students who had nothing to do with the situation could feel it.
“Wade,” Anthony Goldstein said quietly as they worked. “Slytherin’s up to something. After class, let’s all go together—don’t let them corner you.”
Wade glanced at him, then over his shoulder at the others, their worried expressions barely hidden. He smiled and shook his head. “Thanks. But no need. I know what’s going on.”
Goldstein turned to Michael. “Michael—”
“Don’t bother,” Michael shrugged. “He’s stubborn. No one can talk him out of it.”
When class ended, a few Slytherin students lingered outside the greenhouse, loitering. Meanwhile, the Ravenclaws left under Wade’s signal, following Goldstein.
“Mr. Gray,” Professor Sprout suddenly said. “These Liquid Sap Herbs need to be moved to another greenhouse. Could you help me carry them?”
Wade paused, then nodded. “Of course, Professor.”
He picked up one pot. Professor Sprout took another. As they stepped out of Greenhouse One, the Hufflepuff Head of House noticed the Slytherins still hanging around. Her expression darkened. Her voice turned cold. “Is there something else you need?”
Despite her usual cheerful demeanor, when she was angry, she radiated the silent power of a volcano about to erupt. The Slytherins flinched.
“No, no!” Malfoy stammered. “Nothing at all!” They scattered in a hurry.
Wade almost laughed.
Professor Sprout turned to him. Her face softened instantly. “Mr. Gray, need some help?”
Wade shook his head, his eyes clear, his smile gentle. “Thank you, Professor. Just a minor misunderstanding. I can handle it myself.”
(End of Chapter)
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