Translated Chapter

193. Nirvana

Wade noticed that Regulus had mentioned Voldemort’s greatest secret in his final testament—Horcrux. He hadn’t discussed this with Dumbledore before. Even someone as composed as Professor Slughorn would have been visibly shaken if a student brought up the topic of Horcruxes. Perhaps Dumbledore could draw some insight from their earlier encounter at the Gaunt House… Regardless of whether he had suspected the existence of Horcruxes before, he would now have undeniable confirmation.

At the same time, Dumbledore seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

“Horcrux…” He sighed deeply, looking at Wade. “I’ve often wondered what kept Voldemort clinging to life… There are many magics capable of sustaining existence. But the outcome—he chose the most evil, the most dangerous path: Horcrux.”

Wade said, “It sounds like it’s tied to the soul.”

“Voldemort split his soul,” Dumbledore said without hesitation. “He severed a fragment of it and sealed its existence within an object. That object is known as a Horcrux.”

“Even if he suffers a fatal injury, he cannot die—because a part of his soul remains intact, still lingering in the world, waiting for the chance to return.”

“But to exist in such a state is worse than death.”

“If resurrection fails, he will not be welcomed by the world of the dead, nor can he haunt the living. His soul weakens further with each passing day, growing more fragmented, until he forgets even who he is—vanishing into endless torment.”

After speaking, he gazed at his student, observing the slight nod, the absence of any fascination or longing. There was no shock, no awe—only quiet understanding.

Then he added, “When we burned down the Gaunt House with the Inferno Flame, a dark shadow emerged from the flames.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed with a solemn nod. “If I’m not mistaken, that was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Clever… He hid a piece of his soul in ruins no one would ever care about.”

Wade continued, “In fact, we’ve experienced something similar before.”

“…Not again?” Dumbledore blinked, taken aback.

“I found an old crown in the Room of Requirement,” Wade said. “It looked like Ravenclaw’s crown, but it was tainted with dark magic. I burned it with Remus and Michael in a cave.”

Now that Dumbledore had acknowledged Wade’s uncanny foresight, there was no need to fabricate excuses. Wade laid out the entire situation plainly.

When he mentioned the figure that had been consumed in fire, Dumbledore fell silent—long and heavy.

In the Stone Basin, the green potion began to rise again, slowly filling the chamber. If the locket had still been inside, only a faint glimmer of gold would remain.

“We should return,” Dumbledore said. “Remus must be waiting.”

They stepped onto the boats. The enchanted vessel glided back on its own, the light on the shore growing steadily brighter in their eyes.

“Wade,” Dumbledore said, “do not speak of Horcruxes to anyone.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Still have the crown?”

“I’ll bring it to you after we get back to school,” Wade replied. “But it’s already been burned by Inferno Flame. I doubt there’s much left to recover.”

“Magic always leaves a trace,” Dumbledore said. “I suspect you found something special at the Gaunt House too—aside from Mihal.”

“A ring, Professor,” Wade confessed. “But I believe it’s better kept in my hands.”

Dumbledore paused. His eyes widened slightly, as if struck by a sudden thought. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, staring into those clear gray eyes. After a moment, he exhaled softly.

“…Very well. If you say so… you must have your reasons.”

His fingers trembled slightly, then curled into a fist.

The boat bumped gently against the shore.

Remus Lupin reached out, pulling Wade up with a firm hand. He scanned them both with a careful gaze, relieved when he saw no sign of harm.

“You were gone a long time. Did you find anything?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, glancing toward Sirius Black in the distance. “Something… significant. It’s connected to Regulus.”

He pulled out the golden locket box.

“Professor,” Wade suddenly said, “I’d like to go back to school now. Is that possible?”

Remus looked surprised. “Is something urgent?”

“No,” Wade said, hesitating. He glanced at Dumbledore. “Could Fawks bring Harry here?”

When Sirius Black learned the truth, would he fall apart in grief?

Wade thought he would.

That Gryffindor was fiercely passionate—when he hated someone, he wished them dead; when he loved, he’d burn the world for them. But Wade didn’t want to witness that moment—the raw, shattering vulnerability of a man at his weakest.

Comforting someone in such a state was something Remus or Harry would handle better than he.

But Dumbledore shook his head.

“No. If Harry were here, he’d force himself to be strong. Today… we should give him space to be weak.”

“I understand,” Wade said.

Without a word, the Phoenix Fawks appeared. It landed on Wade’s shoulder, wings flaring. A few feathers drifted down. Wade caught them gently.

He turned to Remus. “Professor Dumbledore will explain everything. If you need help… I’ll always be ready.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, still bewildered, watching as Wade and Fawks vanished into a shimmer of crimson light.

—

Flame-light swept over him in an instant.

Wade stood once more in the familiar, quiet stillness of Dumbledore’s Headmaster’s Office.

Fawks landed heavily on its gilded perch, visibly exhausted. Its breath came in ragged gasps, its eyes dull and lifeless.

Wade whispered, “You’re ready for Nirvana, aren’t you?”

Fawks didn’t answer.

It lifted its neck, then—suddenly—flames erupted across its body. A scream tore from its throat, raw with pain, before it collapsed into ash, scattering like dust across the floor.

The cry stirred the sleeping portraits around the room.

One thin-faced headmaster shouted, “Hey! Student—how did you get in here? This is the Headmaster’s Office—only authorized personnel may enter! Leave at once!”

The other portraits murmured in agreement.

“So I’m here,” Wade replied coolly, “because Dumbledore permitted it. Is there another reason?”

The other portraits snickered, mocking the man.

Clearly, he was universally disliked.

Wade glanced at the name beneath the portrait—Phineas Black.

The most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history. Great-great-great-grandfather of Sirius and Regulus Black.

He sat cross-legged beside the ash, waiting.

Phineas narrowed his eyes, curious. “Dumbledore said you’re the finest student Ravenclaw has seen in a century. What great deeds have you done?”

His tone was mocking, dripping with arrogance.

Wade raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways.

Phineas’s smirk faltered. He frowned. “Why do I feel like you’re pitying me?”

“Impossible,” said a female portrait nearby. “Black, stop harassing the student!”

But Phineas stepped forward, pushing through the frame into the next portrait.

“Honestly!” the old man inside protested, clutching his hat.

Phineas advanced until he stood directly across from Wade, leaning into the frame.

“Did you go out today… because of my useless great-great-grandson?”

“No,” Wade said quietly. “It’s another.”

“What?”

“Regulus Black.”

“We found his body.”

Phineas’s smirk vanished. Silence fell. The other portraits stilled.

Even if they could breathe, they would have held it.

Then—movement in the ash.

A tiny, wrinkled chick emerged from the embers, blinking in the dim light.

Its wings were thin, skeletal, bare of feathers. It crawled through the dust, exploring the world with clumsy, trembling limbs.

Wade wondered: Does this bird remember anything? Is it still the same Phoenix, or something new?

“How should I care for it?” he asked the portraits. “Should it eat something?”

After a pause, an ancient portrait spoke.

“Dumbledore knew Nirvana was coming. He prepared. See the green crystal vial on the cabinet? Give it three drops of the potion.”

Wade found it immediately—right beside Fawks’s perch.

He unscrewed the cap. A delicate scent of bamboo leaves filled the air.

He hesitated, then carefully poured three drops into the chick’s open beak.

It gaped like any newborn bird, hungry as a bottomless pit.

Wade stopped after three drops. Though the chick cried out, he set the vial down.

Phineas watched in silence. Then, slowly:

“Regulus… how did he die?”

“By the weight of justice and the letter of honor,” Wade said. “He gave his life to fight Voldemort—so others could have a chance to defeat him.”

A moment passed. Then Phineas let out a bitter laugh.

“Sounds like a foolish Gryffindor… not a Black at all.”

He turned and walked out of the portrait, leaving only an empty frame behind.

Wade didn’t stay long.

From his bag, he took out the box containing the crown.

After Dumbledore’s invitation to the cave, he’d retrieved it once more from the Room of Requirement. This time, Sibbald hadn’t stopped him.

He placed the crown on an empty table.

To the portrait beside it, he said, “This is for Professor Dumbledore. When he returns, please give it to him.”

“Of course,” the portrait replied.

Another elder said, “These students nowadays—they’re bold enough to order around the headmaster!”

Wade ignored him.

He pulled open the door and stepped out.

It was evening. Students returning from Hogsmeade were filtering back into the castle.

From his high vantage point, Wade easily spotted two figures hiding behind a hornbeam tree, pressed close together.

The girl giggled. The boy leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Michael and Padma.

Padma blushed furiously, but Michael moved with the ease of a seasoned flirt—light, playful, like a dragonfly skimming water.

He’d glide in, touch, retreat, whisper something, then return again.

Effortless. Intimate.

Wade smiled faintly, then shook his head.

They were far too young for this.

In his mind, they were still sixth-year students, just children.

He knew some whispered he was old-fashioned—but he didn’t care.

As he descended the spinning staircase, his thoughts drifted.

The honesty with Dumbledore… the undead corpse… the two Black brothers… and now, Fawks’ Nirvana.

Though the Phoenix in this world couldn’t match the legends—no rebirth from ashes, no endless life—it still held power.

Its tears could heal most wounds, even those from a Serpent’s venom.

Its feathers had countless uses.

Wade planned to brew a few healing potions first. The rest could be used in alchemy.

Thanks to Fawks’ generosity, he had more feathers than he’d ever need.

Just as he reached the corridor leading to the Room of Requirement, a small, high voice called out.

“Mr. Gray… Wade Gray…”

Wade turned. It was Makki—a house-elf known for her cooking, and for cleaning the Slytherin common room and dorms.

“Makki?” Wade crouched down. “What is it?”

“I… I should not tell you,” Makki whispered, clutching her hands. “But something happened in Slytherin today. I must tell you.”

She looked ashamed—betraying her house’s secrets, even to a student.

But Wade was a Hogwarts student, and in theory, a master to her. So she didn’t punish herself by crashing into a wall.

“What is it, Makki?” Wade asked gently.

“Late afternoon… few Slytherin students were left. Most had gone to Hogsmeade.”

The sprite looked up, voice barely above a whisper.

“Two plump boys suddenly attacked others. Their magic was poor—they accidentally summoned a cow. It nearly broke their ribs.”

Wade frowned. “A mispronounced Hovering Charm? That’s not supposed to happen. That effect is nearly impossible.”

Since Professor Flitwick had told the story of the wizard nearly crushed by a cow, countless young wizards had tried to replicate it. But not one in ten succeeded.

Makki shook her head. “I don’t understand either. But… there’s more. Strange things.”

She paused, glancing around nervously, as if afraid of being overheard.

Then she leaned close.

“Someone inside is practicing dark magic… and in his dorm, there’s a little sprite from outside.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end