"Thump—thump—thump—"
His heart was pounding violently and his sweat-soaked clothes were clinging to his body. As the cold wind blew, the chill seeped into his bones.
This was the closest Wade had come to death since his rebirth.
In the original story, it may have seemed like first-year Harry Potter easily dealt with the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell, as if it were just a game.
But that was only because Harry was protected by the magic his mother left behind. If it had been Wade in that situation, even though he knew ten times as many spells as Harry, being discovered by Voldemort would almost certainly have meant death.
Wade wasn't particularly afraid of dying in his second life. He could accept dying for a grand cause, or sacrificing himself to protect the ones he loved.
But he couldn't accept dying for such a ridiculous reason—being killed because he accidentally overheard the villain's secret. To die as a nameless, unnoticed casualty was something he couldn't bear.
Worried about running into Quirrell again after leaving, Wade stayed hidden on the secluded platform for a long time.
At some point, he had dozed off leaning against the wall. When he suddenly awoke, he realized it was nearly dawn, though the sky was still quite dark.
The Quidditch pitch was long since empty, and across the vast school grounds, the only movement was from an adult wizard with silver-white hair walking along the edge of the Black Lake—probably a professor, though not Dumbledore, as Dumbledore has a long white beard.
Wade couldn't make out the man's face, but didn't pay it much mind. As long as it wasn't Quirrell, he was relieved. Bracing himself against the wall, he stood up, but immediately felt dizzy. His body swayed, and he nearly lost his balance.
Something is wrong.
Wade touched his forehead, but didn't feel particularly feverish—though his palms were burning hot. His breath felt scalding against his nostrils, and Wade had the strange impression that if he placed an egg next to himself, his body heat alone could cook it.
Climbing back through the window into the empty classroom, Wade dragged his weakened body toward the hospital wing.
Most of the portraits in the hallway were still asleep, but one, depicting a young red-haired wizard, was lounging idly in its frame. When he saw Wade, his eyes lit up with curiosity, and he asked, "What happened to you? Are you sick?"
"Why aren't you back in your dormitory at night?"
"Madam Pomfrey's probably not awake yet! Need me to wake her for you?"
"Haha, just kidding! There's no portrait of me in her room."
"Why aren't you saying anything? Come on, talk to me! I'm bored, being the only one awake!"
Wade was in no state to respond, but the red-haired wizard had remarkable persistence, following him through several portraits, talking nonstop.
Despite getting no reply, he didn't seem the least bit embarrassed—surely the original person must have been an incorrigible chatterbox.
It wasn't until they reached a stretch of corridor with no portraits that the red-haired wizard reluctantly gave up. He called out from a distance:
"You must not have many friends with that personality! Come find me when you're better! I'll keep you company!"
Wade, burning with fever and feeling as if his head might split open, found the wizard's chatter unbearable, scattering his concentration.
By the time he noticed another set of footsteps in the corridor besides his own, the sound was already close—almost right around the corner!
Wade froze.
Instinctively, he wanted to hide, but his sluggish body didn't respond in time.
Thump!
The footsteps approached…
Thump!
The world seemed to shrink before his eyes, his vision growing blurry, though his hearing remained sharp.
Thump!
A figure appeared from around the corner.
"What's wrong, child?" a voice asked him.
But Wade's mind, like rusty gears, failed to respond for a moment.
"Oh, you have quite a fever." The person gently guided him, "Come with me, child—this way—luckily my office is nearby."
Silver-white hair swayed before his eyes, somewhat resembling Dumbledore's, and Wade lowered his guard.
…
A few minutes later, Wade sat holding an empty cup with steam rising from his ears, and he stared blankly at the wizard in front of him, which made him look rather dazed.
The person who had appeared in the corridor wasn't Quirrell, who he was worried about, nor was it the expected Dumbledore, but an unfamiliar wizard.
He looked at least eighty years old, wearing a deep blue robe. His short silver-white hair was neatly combed, and he had no beard.
What stood out was that underneath his robe, he wore a Muggle shirt and suit pants, with a perfectly knotted tie—something wizards usually struggled with. In the front pocket of his robe hung a pair of oddly designed, gold-rimmed glasses.
At that moment, the wizard appeared in the corridor, noticed that Wade wasn't feeling well, and brought him to his office, offering him his own revitalizing potion.
It had to be said that it worked much better than the school infirmary's remedies. After drinking it, Wade's groggy mind cleared up considerably. Apart from the steam still rising from his ears, he felt much better and could now clearly see his surroundings.
It was a circular room, brightly lit by several magical lamps of varying sizes. The shelves and desk were filled with strange and fascinating objects:
A golden hourglass slowly spinning, a series of small crystal balls strung on a silver wire, glowing and dimming as if they were breathing, and on one cabinet was an incredibly lifelike model of an estate, complete with thumb-sized people and an even smaller dog living inside. They were fetching water and cooking.
The room also contained some Muggle technology— a refrigerator, an oven, a TV, a computer, a washing machine, and even a disassembled car engine.
This was, without a doubt, the strangest room Wade had ever seen.
The wizard who had brought him there was fiddling with a radio. A moment later, the cheerful voice of a woman came through:
[Good morning, dear listeners and busy witches and wizards! A wonderful day starts with 'Witching Hour.' This is your favorite host, Glenda Chittock.
First, let's enjoy Celestina Warbeck's new song—'You Stole My Cauldron But You Can't Have My Heart'…]
"Oh, good, I didn't miss it. This is my favorite radio show," the wizard muttered and then turned to Wade with a warm smile. "Feeling better, child?"
"Yes, much better. Thank you for your help, sir," Wade replied cautiously. "May I ask who you are?"
"I'm Professor Terence Murray, the Alchemy professor," Professor Murray said with a smile.
"If you manage to achieve an 'Outstanding' in Charms, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes during your fifth-year O.W.L.s, and at least 'Acceptable' in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Potions, you can take my course in your sixth year.
Do you like alchemy, child?"
He glanced down, noticing that Wade's book On the Diversity of Species was sticking out of his bag. Wade quickly tucked it back in and said, "Yes, Professor, I'm self-studying alchemy."
"For you, this material might be a bit advanced. You should start with the basics, like Spellman's Syllabary."
"I've already memorized Spellman's Syllabary, sir. As well as Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, Rune Dictionary, and Ancient Runes Made Easy. I've also read An Introduction to Alchemy and An Analysis of Alchemy by Nicolas Flamel."
Professor Murray was stunned.
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