Translated Chapter
214. A World of Clear Distinction
Wade thought—if he were to settle for being merely a protected child, leaving all problems to others—then one day, he’d find himself standing before a danger with no one left to shield him.
Nowadays, adults always regarded him as a child. But Wade couldn’t afford to truly be one.
Take, for example: If there were truly no threats, why had Dumbledore ordered the Grays to move? And why had he summoned Moody—retired, yes, but still one of the most dangerous Aurors of his time?
Or consider Mrs. Johnson. She’d been Obliviated. So why had she suddenly been murdered?
Could someone inside have leaked the message that Dumbledore intended to visit her? That’s why they’d acted so urgently—eliminating the threat before it could grow.
If that were true… who was the informant? Did Dumbledore have suspects?
These questions, the adults wouldn’t tell him. If he dared ask, he’d probably just get the same tired reply: Nothing’s wrong. Just focus on your studies. You don’t need to know these things.
Their protective instincts—what they saw as care—felt like an obstacle to Wade.
Fred and George, who had been silently watching Wade suppress the Book of Friends and now fiddling with the double-sided mirror, exchanged a glance.
“What’s wrong?” Fred asked.
“You looked… kind of scary just now,” George added.
“Nothing,” Wade said, sighing slightly as he shoved the Book of Friends back into his bag.
The twins suddenly made exaggerated faces.
“Listen to him—nothing’s wrong! Just because we’re in the same House doesn’t mean it’s any of your business!” George mimicked in a high-pitched, theatrical voice.
“Hey, I didn’t say that!” Wade protested.
“You thought it,” George shot back immediately.
Fred grinned at his brother. “I almost thought Mum had walked in.”
George imitated their mother: “Fred! George! You’re too young! Put that down! It’s too dangerous for you! Sit still and don’t touch anything!”
Wade stared, stunned. Then he realized—he wasn’t so different from the adults after all.
He couldn’t fully trust the young wizards’ abilities or maturity. He kept them out, just as the adults kept him in the dark.
He could take them to deal with a Horcrux because the whole thing was under his control—seemingly dangerous, but really no more than a field trip.
But this… this was something he hadn’t known from the story. So instinctively, he’d chosen a more cautious path—excluding everyone.
After a long silence, Wade finally exhaled. “Fine… to avoid having to say this twice, we’ll talk about it this afternoon in the Umbrella Room.”
“Fine,” the twins said, grinning. “We can wait.”
They returned to repairing the mirror.
In the room, scattered across shelves and tables were a chaotic array of alchemical experiments:
A spider-like old spyglass that scuttled across the floor and flinched at the slightest movement.
A teacup that burst into cackling laughter and emitted a stench of rotten water.
A candy that guaranteed nausea and vomiting if eaten.
These were the latest creations of the Weasley Twins—products of their endless curiosity and playful alchemy.
They’d both been fascinated by alchemy since childhood, studying it even before Wade. But without a teacher, they’d learned entirely by trial, error, and whimsy.
They didn’t understand Ancient Runes or Magical Arrays. But they could craft things that still left Wade stunned.
Their work, however, wasn’t traditional. Every piece carried a prank’s spirit—fun, unpredictable, wildly inventive.
Since joining the Umbrella Room, they’d been working with Wade regularly. He was the “House Alchemist”—solid foundation, disciplined practice. They were the wildcards—brilliant in bursts, clueless in others.
Wade could predict exactly what a project would become before he even began.
The twins? Halfway through, they’d slap their heads and shout:
“Hey—got a thought!”
“Brilliant! Why not try it?”
They didn’t know what their creations would turn into until the very end.
Their differences sparked brilliant collisions—and also created endless delays.
Like this double-sided mirror. According to Wade’s original plan, it should’ve been fixed by last term. But the twins kept interrupting with new ideas—“What if we change the layout?” “Can we add sound?” “What if it shows faces from different locations?”—and every time, they’d scrap the progress and restart.
Wade couldn’t deny it: he was often drawn in by their wild ideas. That was why he’d kept postponing the repair.
Still, sometimes, their absurd creativity made him wonder: Who’s really the one from the future?
“My idea is simple,” Wade said, sketching runes on a scrap of paper. “Turn the mirror from a two-way communicator into a one-way broadcast—like a single source sending messages to many receivers.”
He pointed to his drawing. “It’s basically Muggle television. One mirror acts as the broadcast station. The others are receivers. Features like light, sound, interaction, real-time projection? Future upgrades. But we don’t need to overcomplicate it now.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Can we change channels?”
“No, not yet,” Wade replied. “Muggles have millions creating new content. What do we have?”
“Then what’s the point of a TV that can’t change channels?” Fred asked. “Why not just convert a Muggle TV into a magical version? Like a magical radio?”
“Because TV signals are way more complex than radio,” Wade explained, sighing. “They rely on electromagnetic waves—something magic disrupts. You can’t translate them into images through mechanical vibration.”
He looked at their blank faces. “Magic interferes with electromagnetic fields. It’s not possible.”
After a long pause, Fred looked up seriously. “You know… my dad would love you. I swear.”
“Dad’s obsessed with Muggle tech,” George added. “But no one in our family understands it. He’s collected boxes of power plugs and batteries. Even bought a Muggle car to study.”
Wade bit his tongue—hard—to keep from asking: “Why?”
To wizards, collecting “magical” scraps—old rags, stones, feathers—was just as absurd.
Two worlds, so close in proximity, yet so utterly separate.
To Wade, it made sense that Muggles didn’t understand magic. The wards and protections kept them out, hidden from the truth.
But wizards lived among Muggles—walked through their cities, bought books from their shops, passed through their homes daily—yet remained utterly ignorant of the world just beyond their sight.
It was unimaginable.
And yet, the Muggle world was advancing at a pace that would eventually shatter the divide. Most wizards, however, remained blind to it—like deer that run straight into headlights, unaware they could be killed.
(End of Chapter)
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