https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-314-Ministry-of-Magic-Spokesperson-Umbridge/13685272/
Translated Chapter
313. The Image and the Storm
313. The Image and the Storm
The phrase hung in the air, a quiet yet heavy silence settling over the room, thick with unspoken tension. The small figure in the corner stared blankly, eyes wide and unblinking, as if something had just passed through him. His pale face grew even paler, his thin frame trembling slightly, and he slowly lifted his hand to his forehead. The movement was stiff, mechanical, as though he were trying to remember something long forgotten.
His dark eyes flickered toward the figure in the corner—eyes that once held fire, now dull and distant. The man’s face, once sharp and resolute, had grown soft, almost hollow, his expression caught between resignation and disbelief. He stared at the small figure, his breath shallow, his fingers twitching as if reaching for something just out of reach.
The small figure blinked slowly, then spoke, voice quiet but firm:
“Not long, you can take me.”
He took two steps forward, the sound of his shoes echoing in the silence. The two figures stood face to face, a pair of mismatched shadows in the dim light. The small figure finally spoke again, his voice low and trembling:
“…You… this… this thing… I don’t understand it completely. I still have questions. I can’t just… just let it go like that.”
The silence returned, thick and suffocating. The man in the corner turned his head slightly, as if listening to something beyond the room. His eyes flickered toward the window, then back to the small figure.
“…It’s not about you,” the man murmured. “It’s about what’s coming. You can’t stop it. You can’t even see it yet.”
The small figure flinched. The man’s voice was calm, almost gentle—but beneath it, something darker stirred. The silence grew heavier, pressing down like a weight.
The small figure looked away, his fingers curling into fists. “You’re wrong. I do see it. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. It’s not just a storm. It’s a war.”
The man exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Then you’re already part of it.”
The small figure swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be. I just want to… to know what’s real. What’s true.”
The man stepped forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Truth is not always kind. Sometimes it’s cruel. Sometimes it’s… empty.”
The small figure’s eyes flickered with pain. “Then why do you keep pushing me toward it? Why can’t you just… let me go?”
The man said nothing.
The silence stretched.
Outside, the storm raged on, wind howling against the glass.
Then, suddenly, the small figure looked up—his eyes sharp, focused. “You’re not the one who decided this.”
The man blinked. “No. I’m not.”
A beat passed.
The small figure turned, stepping toward the door. “Then I’ll find the one who did.”
He opened the door, stepping into the storm.
The man watched him go, his face unreadable.
And somewhere in the wind, a voice—faint, distant—whispered:
“It’s already too late.”
(End of Chapter)
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