Translated Chapter

187. What Would You Like to Ask Me?

“Oh, sorry.” Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, feigning composure. “Memories of the past… they always stir the heart. For us, those were difficult times.”

Wade nodded silently, not looking back at the man’s face.

The ghostly figure shimmered, then dissolved—reforming moments later to reveal Ariana lying pale and lifeless on the ground, her eyes hollow, her spirit gone.

Aberforth lunged forward, clutching his sister. Young Dumbledore stood frozen, his expression blank, as if his soul had been torn from him.

Gellert Grindelwald stepped back, panic flickering across his face. He stared at Dumbledore, as though wanting to say something. But before the older man could meet his gaze, he turned and fled—hurried, desperate.

A diamond-shaped pendant flashed in the scene, its central gem pulsing with a vivid, dazzling red light.

The scene blurred, shifting rapidly. A funeral procession passed in a heartbeat. Wade saw Aberforth rage, smashing Dumbledore’s nose. Dumbledore stood, blood streaming down his face, not resisting.

From that moment, the once-vibrant young man grew silent, shattered. All his dreams had ended. Ambition turned to dust.

Back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore resumed teaching. Students came and went like shadows in a long, unreal dream.

Then—again—Gellert Grindelwald.

He had grown tall and powerful, his wand now the legendary Elder Wand. He walked through nations, speaking from towering platforms. The fear and hesitation had vanished from his face. His expression was sometimes stern and calm, sometimes wild with fervor, yet always sincere. His eyes burned with power—magnetic, compelling. People flocked to him, drawn by his vision.

His followers grew—sharp-eyed, fierce, loyal. Not like the Death Eaters, kneeling to kiss Voldemort’s shoes. No. These were warriors of purpose, driven by belief.

The Wizard Purity Party unleashed terror: the elderly, pregnant women, infants—anyone standing in their way was erased without hesitation. They bombed cities, burned homes, never sparing a thought for the innocent caught in the crossfire.

Among them, a few still carried conscience. They felt pain, shame. But Gellert Grindelwald would place a hand on their shoulder, his voice heavy with sorrow and resolve.

> “The few sacrifices now are necessary for the future of the wizarding world. This is a tragedy we must endure to move forward. Believe me, child—my heart aches with it too.”

>

> “If victory could be won by words alone, we wouldn’t need war.”

>

> “The people are blind. The Ministry is corrupt, weak. They refuse to see—this world is one of strength and survival. For wizards to live with dignity, we must speak in blood and fire.”

>

> “Child, though lives are lost, we must carry their will forward. To continue, to fight—this is harder than dying.”

>

> “For the parents and children watching from behind, for those whose lives we must take—let us bear the blame, the hatred, and burn ourselves to light the way.”

>

> “I believe—we can rise. We can break the Confederal Act. We can force Muggles to acknowledge our superiority. I will dedicate my life to this cause—until every wizard can live without fear.”

>

> “Stand tall, child. You have done no wrong. You trade the few for the many, the present for the future.”

>

> “Even if no one understands your pain, even if no one knows your sacrifice—your struggle will give others the chance to live freely. History will prove us right.”

>

> “If you cannot understand… then don’t try. I will think for you. I will carry the guilt. All you need to do—”

>

> “Follow me.”

Black waves of fire swept across nations. Wizards in uniforms bearing unique sigils marched forward, resolute, unwavering. Their mission was sacred. Behind them, the land was littered with corpses.

They ignored the screams, the fear. But Dumbledore could not.

Finally, he made his choice.

But bound by a blood oath—never to harm Gellert—he could not fight himself. So he entrusted the mission to Newt Scamander.

Wade had read about this in history books. He’d seen it in films.

He had walked beside Dumbledore, watching Gellert again and again reach for greater power—unmatched mastery—only to be stopped, time after time, by Dumbledore and Scamander.

When the Muggle world war drew to a close, so too did Gellert’s rise.

He challenged Dumbledore to a final battle. He lost.

Dumbledore claimed the Elder Wand. Gellert was imprisoned in the highest cell of Nurmengard.

Time rushed by.

The spectral Dumbledore aged—his form shifting, fading—until he stood before Wade as the man he knew: long white hair and beard, seated in an armchair, eyes full of wisdom, still, and deep.

A man in a dark-blue uniform stood before him—lean-faced, short-haired, meticulously groomed.

> “He regrets what he’s done,” the man said. “He wants to see you. To apologize in person.”

Long silence.

“No,” Dumbledore said at last. “If he truly feels shame for the terror he brought to the world… then he should confess to those he harmed.”

The vision dissolved like mist.

Wade blinked. He was back in the Headmaster’s Office.

Nothing had changed. The Phoenix Fawks and the Sorting Hat played with tiny magical creatures. The portraits on the walls slept—or pretended to.

Dumbledore sank into his chair, utterly weary, as if every breath cost him everything. Yet his spine remained straight.

Wade sat beside him, eyes lowered, not looking.

After a long pause, Dumbledore spoke.

> “If you have questions… now is the time.”

Wade thought: What does he think I’ll ask?

His relationship with Gellert? His momentary fall from grace?

The Elder Wand in his hand? His pursuit of the Deathly Hallows?

Wade shook his head.

> “I don’t have anything to ask.”

A beat.

Then, softly:

> “What about you? What would you like to ask me?”

Dumbledore looked down at him. His eyes were glistening—faintly, like Ariana’s had been in the vision.

He knew.

Wade’s question carried the same unspoken weight as his own.

Ask me anything. I’ll answer. Confess. Tell the truth. I’ll give you my soul.

Wade wasn’t easily open. But when a man bared his most painful wound—raw, bleeding—just to teach you right from wrong… what reason was there to hide?

And for Dumbledore, one sentence was enough.

He saw Wade’s trust.

Just as, once, he had seen the cold cruelty beneath Gellert’s eyes.

A century ago, he’d ignored the warning in his own heart.

This time, he would listen.

> “I have nothing to ask,” he said.

> “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me… whenever. Whatever happens.”

The conversation ended.

Wade knew it was time to leave.

He stood, ready to depart—then hesitated at the door.

> “Professor,” he turned. “Do you have any plans for next weekend?”

> “Other than drinking a few Butterbeers with three broomsticks,” Dumbledore smiled, “nothing urgent.”

> “Well… there’s a place I’d like to invite you to.”

Dumbledore’s eyes lit up.

> “I’d be delighted.”

...

December 8th. Another full moon.

The night was clear. The giant moon hung high, casting deep, shifting shadows that danced like whispers across the ground.

Wade pulled out the mandrake leaf. Sirius Black examined it closely. Nearby, Remus Lupin had already transformed—his body now that of a werewolf, lying on the ground, peering at the leaf with alert eyes.

He’d taken the Wolfsbane Potion. The transformation was complete, but his mind was still his own.

Sirius leaned against the werewolf, unfazed.

> “Perfect. Absolutely intact.” Sirius grinned. “Just to be safe—have you kept it in your mouth the entire month? No slips?”

> “No,” Wade said, carefully placing the leaf into a transparent crystal vial, letting the moonlight bathe it.

Remus exhaled in relief.

> “I’ve watched you speak normally, like nothing’s changed. I thought it had failed.”

Wade didn’t mention it. He respected the boy’s pride.

Remus said nothing more—only thinking ahead, wondering what small tricks he could use next month to help Wade through the next phase.

He didn’t doubt Wade would quit. He only worried about how the boy might feel after setbacks.

Sirius couldn’t help it.

> “How did you do it? I practiced for weeks. Always ended up swallowing the cursed leaf. Failed so many times, I had to glue my own teeth back together just to survive the month.”

Wade smiled.

> “I used a Sticking Charm. I just… got used to it.”

Sirius shook his head, still incredulous.

> “Alright,” Remus said. “Next step.”

Wade nodded.

He plucked a single hair from his head, added it to the vial. Then a silver teaspoon of dew, and the chrysalis of a ghost moth.

Sirius took the vial, gently swirled it, observing how the ingredients blended.

> “Good enough,” he said, setting it down.

They carried the vial into the cellar beneath the courtyard.

The cellar was already deep. Remus had dug a narrow, deep hole—just right to fit the vial.

Wade placed the vial inside, covered it with straw, then sealed it with stone and felt.

Sirius locked the hatch.

> “It won’t be opened until the next thunderstorm,” Remus said. “And we’ve cast protective spells—no mice, no rats, no meddling.”

The crystal vial needed silence, darkness, stillness. No disturbance. No eyes.

So many had buried their vials in remote forests—only to return a year later, only to find them dug up by curious animals.

Sirius and Remus had learned from every mistake. They’d gathered every bit of knowledge. They’d prepared thoroughly.

> “Remember the spell,” Sirius instructed. “Every sunrise and sunset, point your wand at your heart and say: Amado, Animo, Animado, Animagus. No exceptions. Miss one day, you start over.”

> “Yes,” Wade nodded. “I’ve set an alarm. It reminds me every morning and night.”

> “One’s not enough,” Sirius said, face grim. “Add more. Just in case you sleep through it.”

Wade and Remus both laughed.

After the laughter faded, Remus sighed—quiet, thoughtful.

> “The storm could come at any time. But you’re ready only when you feel the second heartbeat.”

> “Even then,” Sirius added, “keep the ritual. No skipping. Not one day. Until the moment comes.”

Wade remembered his earlier worry.

> “Do you know… is there any way to influence what form you’ll take?”

> “What did you have in mind?” Sirius asked.

> “Well…” Wade hesitated. “I can’t imagine turning into a slug or an ant. What good would that be?”

Sirius burst out laughing.

> “There’s no way, Wade! I and James Potter both wanted to become lions. He became a stag. I became a dog.”

Remus added, “If you want to guess your Animagus form, try learning the Patronus Charm. Usually, the Patronus resembles your animal—but not too differently.”

> “But I think you’re safe,” Sirius said. “Your Animagus form reflects your soul. It’s not going to be a slug or an ant.”

They talked for a while—sharing stories from their own Animagus practice—until the night wore on.

Finally, Wade decided to return to school.

It was still Tuesday. They had classes tomorrow.

As he prepared to leave, he said, “Remus. Let’s go out this weekend.”

Remus blinked, then his expression grew serious.

> “This time… again?”

Wade nodded.

> “Yes.”

> “Alright,” Remus agreed. Then, after a pause: “Just us?”

Wade paused.

He looked at Sirius—whose eyes were curious, but respectful, not prying.

> “Mr. Black… do you have time?”

> “Of course!” Sirius grinned. “I’ve been dying to know what’s been so mysterious. Remus never tells me anything.”

Wade smiled.

> “This time, Michael and the others won’t be involved. But Professor Dumbledore will.”

Remus’s eyes widened slightly. Then a smile spread across his face.

> “With Dumbledore there, everything will go smoothly.”

Remus had long worried that Wade didn’t fully trust Dumbledore.

Both had changed his life. Both had given him much.

He didn’t want to see them clash.

Now, seeing the trust between them—unseen by him—filled him with quiet joy.

After Wade left, Sirius immediately grabbed Remus’s neck.

> “Now tell me—what’s the secret?”

Remus thought for a moment.

> “I don’t fully understand it myself. But I can tell you what happened. You decide for yourself.”

> (Note: A werewolf who remains conscious after transformation can speak.)

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end