Translated Chapter
271. The Hero’s Fate
After learning Dumbledore’s version of the Slow Charm, Wade began occasionally applying it to SerpentStrange—just enough to slow the beast down a fraction. His magic, compared to SerpentStrange’s immense power, was barely noticeable, only managing to slightly hinder the creature’s movements. But even a delay of just 0.1 seconds could make all the difference when used at the right moment.
The students had no idea there was an unseen ally working behind the scenes. As they entered the Chamber of Secrets, Wade and Dumbledore had already cast a Disguise Charm, vanishing into invisibility.
Dozens of students surrounded SerpentStrange, initially panicking and disoriented—seven or eight of them were injured and carried out by professors. But gradually, the bravest among them stepped forward, forming a front line. The rest slowly regained their composure, no longer frozen in fear, and at least no longer fleeing in panic with wands dropped.
Even those who had fled earlier returned, faces flushed with shame.
Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw—four houses now mixed together, united in purpose, fighting side by side against SerpentStrange in a desperate, life-or-death struggle.
When they cast spells, they didn’t pause to consider whether their target was friend or foe. When they reached down to pull up a fallen classmate, they didn’t care about the house robes on their back. All that mattered was defeating the monstrous creature before them.
For wizards, mindset profoundly influenced the strength of their magic. And in that moment, the students managed to hold their own—matching the giant SerpentStrange blow for blow.
Watching the scene, Wade couldn’t help but wonder: How did Harry manage to defeat something like this all alone?
Perhaps it was because Harry had used a sword—while the students were relying on magic. SerpentStrange had an incredibly high resistance to magic; most spells simply bounced off its scales like harmless tickles.
But Wade was more inclined to believe that back then, Dumbledore had been right there—hidden, waiting, subtly using magic to slow the beast, silently watching as the young Savior drove Gryffindor’s Sword deep into SerpentStrange’s jaw.
As he turned to look at the Headmaster, Wade was startled to find Dumbledore watching him too—his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his expression filled with quiet emotion.
Wade blinked. “...Professor Dumbledore?”
“Truly magnificent, isn’t it?” Dumbledore said softly, his gaze warm and gentle. “To see children set aside their old divisions, to help one another, to stand together against a common enemy… It fills the heart with warmth. With hope.”
“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” Wade replied slowly. “But why are you looking at me? I’m not even in the fight.”
“But this moment,” Dumbledore said, his eyes fixed on the students battling, “is because of you.”
His voice carried a quiet depth, as if he were glimpsing something far in the future.
“Hogwarts’ house rivalry has lasted over a thousand years—since the school’s founding. Even during war, I’ve never seen them united like this.”
“But this unity is temporary,” Wade said calmly, dousing the moment with cold realism. “Once the threat is gone, they’ll go back to their old divisions.”
“Yet they’ve fought side by side,” Dumbledore said, undeterred. “Even one such moment leaves a mark on the soul.”
Wade thought: Peter Pettigrew fought side by side with James Potter countless times… and still betrayed him without hesitation.
But then he reminded himself—Peter was an exception. Not everyone was like that.
Suddenly, the great Serpent roared in agony, its tail thrashing violently as its upper body crashed heavily onto the stone floor.
By now, the beast was riddled with countless wounds—but only two were fatal.
Neville Longbottom, still clutching the sword Wade had given him, had driven it deep into the creature’s neck from below.
One of SerpentStrange’s fangs had been severed by a Cutting Charm. Harry, meanwhile, had seized the broken fang, mounted his broomstick, and soared above the beast—then plunged down like a missile, driving the fang straight into the creature’s bleeding eye socket.
The entire chamber fell silent in awe.
Wade was stunned.
In a moment when even the older students refused to retreat, it was still Harry and Neville who brought the battle to its end.
In an instant, Wade felt it—a strange, undeniable pull, as if some force beyond his understanding had just revealed itself.
Some people… were simply destined to become heroes.
Neville was drenched in black serpent blood, and as the beast collapsed, he stood there, trembling, too stunned to believe what he had done, hands braced on his knees, gasping for breath.
A heavy thud sounded beside him.
“Harry—” Hermione cried, sprinting toward him. George, closest, caught him before he could fall.
Laying Harry down, they saw his face turning black, his arms marked with deep gashes from the serpent’s fangs.
“Harry’s been poisoned!” George shouted. “Does anyone have an antidote?”
Michael, who had been staring in shock at SerpentStrange, snapped to attention. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a small vial, and dashed forward, waving it high.
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I’ve got an antidote!”
Without hesitation, the students cleared a path. Michael dropped to his knees, uncorked the bottle, and poured the liquid into Harry’s mouth.
The antidote worked instantly. Within seconds, the ashen blackness faded from Harry’s face, and the poison-black blood from his wounds turned back to normal red.
“I’m fine… I’m okay…” Harry mumbled, feeling several arms tightly wrapped around him. He pushed weakly at them, still dazed.
When he opened his eyes, he saw George, Hermione, and Michael standing beside him. Neville, wide-eyed with worry, crouched at his feet.
“That antidote is incredible!” said Robert, the Ravenclaw prefect, leaning down to clap Michael on the shoulder. “Michael, how did you get that?”
“Uh…” Michael glanced quickly at Professor Snape, who stood near the Chamber’s entrance, expressionless as ever.
Before the challenge, Snape had handed out one small vial each to a few students who’d performed well in Potions—specifically from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. He’d said they might need it.
This potion was rare—only enough for a single sip, and only a handful of vials existed. Snape’s private favor was not something Michael could reveal.
But Robert didn’t need an answer.
He stood up, scanning the room. “It was Wade, wasn’t it? You two have been close since the start. I heard he was even the one who designed this whole challenge…”
He paused, then added, “Where is he, anyway?”
“Because the referee is also competing,” a voice spoke from nearby.
(End of Chapter)
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