95

Chapter 96: Memory

Almost all newborn creatures possess a natural charm, even the naked Norwegian Ridgeback was no exception—when the little creature stretched its wings and playfully showed its teeth and claws on the table, it looked more mischievous than menacing.

But when it opened its mouth, revealing long, slender fangs, its cute facade quickly faded, replaced by a subtle threat.

In Hagrid's eyes, however, this dragonling, no bigger than his palm, was utterly adorable. He quickly adopted the role of its surrogate mother, unable to resist touching the dragonling's head and wings, only to receive an indignant burst of fire in response.

"Look, it can breathe fire!" Hagrid exclaimed proudly, patting the sparks off his beard.

"Hagrid," Hermione interjected worriedly, "How quickly do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?"

"Oh, not too quickly," Hagrid reassured fondly. "But they can reach fifty feet once fully grown."

"Fifty feet!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yeah—tiny little thing now, ain't it?"

Hagrid didn't quite grasp Hermione's concerns. Fetching a bucket of brandy from the corner and retrieving some prepared chicken blood, he asked cheerfully, "Any takers for feeding?"

Harry and Ron eagerly raised their hands, while Hermione leaned back, her refusal evident.

Initially intrigued, Wade soon withdrew his hand upon seeing the others' excitement, cautioning, "Careful—its teeth are venomous."

Hagrid demonstrated first, then handed over this esteemed task to the Gryffindor pair.

Wade observed for a while, satisfied his curiosity, and then excused himself—mainly because Hagrid's hut had grown unbearably hot in the efforts to incubate the baby dragons, causing him to break out in a sweat within minutes of being inside.

After a while, Hermione emerged as well. Wade waited for her and remarked, "I thought you were heading back to the Gryffindor common room with Harry?"

"I was planning to. But I thought...well...they might need some space for a good chat."

…

Inside the hut, Harry and Ron avoided eye contact, taking turns feeding dragon without disrupting each other. Hagrid prattled on about his affection for the dragonling, pondering over what to name it.

"Maybe I should consult a book—books always have the answers," Hagrid mused, retrieving an old tome from his cabinet cluttered with bottles, cans, and tin pots, and flipping through its pages with his thick fingers in search of the perfect name.

Harry absentmindedly fed the baby dragon, unaware of his slow pace until the creature snapped and bit him without warning!

"Careful!"

Ron swatted Harry's hand away, causing a spoonful of brandy to spill across the table.

Dragon huffed indignantly at its caregiver, on the verge of spitting out a fireball. Harry quickly nudged the remaining chicken blood brandy closer, allowing the dragonling to drink on its own.

The black dragon dipped its head into the beverage, flapping around in a panic. Soon, it discovered the delicious liquid and drank eagerly. Simultaneously, the tense atmosphere between Harry and Ron eased naturally.

After a brief hesitation, Harry finally voiced the thoughts that had weighed on him for days. "Ron, I've been meaning to say... I wanted to ask something that day, but the club's rule is—nothing happens unless everyone agrees. Introducing new members requires unanimous consent... I thought...maybe I should have asked for private opinions first..."

Of course, he didn't feel the need to mention that the first person he approached had shut him down.

Ron exhaled deeply, relaxing his tense shoulders. "You know what I thought? I thought you made some cool new friends, but then you started drifting away from us..."

In truth, Ron had also been feeling uneasy during this time. Malfoy had taunted him as well: "Why, Harry Potter finally realized that some people can't cut it on stage, so he dumped him? I must say, even though he's a git, he made the right call."

Ron had been so furious that he ended up in another scuffle with Malfoy, leaving him with sore ribs. But the emotional pain of drifting apart from friends hurt more than any physical injury.

"No! Not at all! How could you think that?" Harry was taken aback, hastily denying, "You're my first friend ever!"

Ron suddenly smiled and asked curiously, "So, what do you guys usually do in that club?"

With the question asked, he finally felt relieved—he could discuss this calmly now.

Harry explained, "SSC is a study group where we usually write papers together. But after hours, Wade teaches us some spells not taught in school, mainly Defense Against the Dark Arts spells. Recently, I've been learning the Disarming Charm and the Shield Charm—it's been tough, and I've gotten hurt a few times learning them. Interested in learning?"

"Is that okay?" Ron sounded unsure. "Wouldn't that break club rules?"

"No, Wade said we can teach others...although my teaching might not be that effective..."

…

For Wade, the shifting dynamics among school friends were of little concern at the moment. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

Early one weekend morning, Wade arrived outside the Room of Requirement and paced back and forth three times, concentrating on his request: "I need a room with a Pensieve... I need a room with a Pensieve... I need a room with a Pensieve..."

A simple mahogany door appeared on the wall, and Wade opened it, stepping inside.

The room resembled the quarters of a contemplative monk. It contained only basic wooden furniture—a bed, low stools—and, beside them, a stone pedestal half a person's height. Resting atop it was a shallow stone basin, its rim inscribed with intricate ancient magical runes and encircled by thumb-sized gems, lending a striking contrast to the room's simplicity.

This was the Pensieve, a magical artifact used to store memories and thoughts, allowing individuals to revisit and relive past experiences. It held potent and intricate magic—Professor Murray had openly admitted he couldn't replicate its creation.

Wade pointed his wand at his temple, softly chanting the incantation, focusing on recalling memories long faded by time.

After a moment, he withdrew the wand, pulling out a thin silver strand that extended from his temple, growing longer and longer. Wade gently twirled the wand, collecting the thread like winding silk onto a spindle. After a few turns, the silver strand finally snapped.

It floated delicately on the wand's tip like spider silk, one end nearing the Pensieve. Wade tapped the wand gently against the Pensieve, and the silver thread descended into it, swirling inside like mist, emitting a faint glow.

This was... the memory of his previous life, nearly forgotten.

Wade took a deep breath and immersed himself in the silver memory.