"Beautifully done!"
Michael threw an arm around Wade's shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance. "When those three guys surrounded you, I thought you were finished this time!"
"Come on, come on! Back to the castle! We're going to have a grand celebration feast!" Anthony shouted excitedly.
"Congratulations, Wade!"
"Amazing! I knew they wouldn't be able to do anything to you!"
Classmates and friends swarmed around him—some hugged him, some shook his hand, others stretched out their arms trying to pat his shoulder, and still some more pressed toward him as if meeting him for the first time.
Professor Flitwick's sharp little voice came from nearby: "I'm proud of you, my boy!"
Cedric and Harry, too, were surrounded by students from their own houses. People shouted and cheered above the noise, and the excitement made the air around the lake feel almost burning hot.
Students from the other schools looked rather sour. But so what? Hogwarts students were lost in their joy, and no one cared.
Fudge stood up with his stomach protruding and his face glowing with triumph.
Pretending to be dignified, he shook hands with the heads of the other magic schools, and with some visiting foreign wizards, though he couldn't hide the grin stretching across his face.
In front of the long table, a young reporter scrambled up and down to snap photos of the Minister. One moment he crouched low, the next he climbed onto the platform, determined to capture Fudge from every possible angle, ignoring the glares he drew from those around him.
Wade's gaze passed over the crowd and met Dumbledore's.
Those deep blue eyes were like a spring of water, shimmering with quiet amusement. He nodded slightly, the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth smoothed as he smiled, and his gaze was full of warmth and satisfaction.
Wade also nodded, the corners of his lips curving upward without him realizing it. His eyes bent with a smile, and his heart leapt with joy.
In that instant, the figures and voices around him suddenly blurred. The smiling faces seemed to dissolve into streams of light, and then into a shadowy cave, surrounded by damp, black-gray mud.
He saw a toad, with its body caked in soil, stirring as it awoke from hibernation.
Its limbs twitched, and its swollen eyelids slowly lifted, revealing a pair of gray, slit-pupiled eyes.
"Guh—"
Its throat sac swelled as it let out a low, muffled croak.
It lay there as though weighed down by gloom, as if still half-asleep. After what seemed like a long while, it finally lumbered forward and clumsily crawled out of its muddy nest.
Around it stretched a dim swamp. Cold mist floated above the mud, and Wade could almost smell the stench of rotting reeds and water weeds.
The toad crawled across the damp ground, leaving behind a winding trail. At last, it stopped beside a moss-covered log and let out a deep "gloo" sound.
For some reason, Wade felt as if he could hear sadness and despair in its voice.
The toad had barely croaked a few times when it suddenly froze—
From the other side of the log came a rustling sound, as though something was treading over withered grass and drawing closer.
Slime oozed from the toad's back.
It shrank its neck, about to find a hiding place, when a shadow suddenly loomed overhead.
The toad slowly lifted its head. The motion seemed unbearably difficult for it.
Above its head, a young wolf poked its snout out. Its nose was wet and glistening, and in its amber eyes flickered pure curiosity.
The wolf tilted its head and stretched out a paw, as though trying to grab the toad that had awakened too early.
The toad was instantly overwhelmed with terror. It leapt up to escape, its bulging eyes seeming to crash straight into Wade's line of sight—
…
The dream shattered in an instant. Wade's eyes flew open, his fingers instinctively clutching the edge of the desk, nearly springing him out of his seat.
Beside him, Michael was startled awake by his violent reaction. He blinked drowsily, muttered, "What's wrong?"
But before Wade could answer, Michael had already slumped back onto the desk and drifted off again.
The classroom was steeped in a heavy afternoon drowsiness. Professor Binns's monotonous voice droned on from the lectern:
"The root cause of the rebellion… ah… as stated in the third paragraph of the textbook, stemmed from the goblins' demands for the right to use wands. However, under the legislation…"
From the back rows came the steady sound of snoring. Most of the class had already fallen asleep, and Professor Binns pretended not to notice.
Wade's breathing slowly steadied, but he could feel his clothes clinging to his back, soaked with cold sweat.
"What's the matter?" Padma, who was fighting to stay awake, turned her head and whispered, "You actually fell asleep in History of Magic? Wade, don't tell me you came to this class just to take a nap?"
"Had a nightmare," Wade mumbled.
He looked down at the History of Magic textbook spread open on his desk, and in his mind he once again saw the toad's eyes…
That raw pain, disgust, emptiness… and when danger struck, the flare of terror in its gaze, mingled with a desperate yearning to live…
Those eyes held too many layers, making one instinctively feel that they were not the eyes of an animal at all, but of a human soul trapped inside an ugly shell.
And those gray eyes…
Wade instinctively raised a hand and pressed it against his eyelids.
The warm orbs rolled beneath his fingertips—no slit pupils, no grotesque bulging from his face.
Unconsciously, he let out a sigh of relief.
Hopefully, it wasn't a prophetic dream.
Wade certainly wouldn't let himself be so unlucky as to get turned into a toad with no escape.
Hmm… if one day Sirius were turned into a toad, Wade swore he would find him before that wolf killed him, and figure out a way to turn him back.
…
"Nightmare?" Theo asked at dinner, fork in hand, concerned. "What kind of nightmare?"
"Don't bring it up."
Wade let out a weary sigh. The images from his dream still lingered in his mind. He served himself a piece of fried egg and asked, "What were you saying just now about the Slytherins?"
Theo glanced around, then leaned in and whispered, "Malfoy seems to have fallen out with everyone."
"Is that supposed to be news?" Michael propped his chin on one hand, poking idly at a piece of pie with his fork. He rolled his eyes and said, "Haven't they always been at odds?"
"This time is different. Even Pansy Parkinson doesn't walk with him anymore," Ryan added in the same furtive tone. "The two of us even saw him secretly crying in the bathroom once."
Michael's fork paused midair. Frowning, he said, "I think I heard Daphne mention that his father still hasn't turned up."
"It's been half a year already, hasn't it?" Theo said in surprise. "Where on earth did he go?"
Before he finished, Ryan hurriedly jabbed Theo's arm and shot Wade and the others a warning look. They all fell silent in unison.
Wade looked up and saw Draco Malfoy walking down the central aisle, his gaze was cold and arrogant, as if no one was worth a second glance.
Wade blinked and his eyes followed him for quite a while, until Malfoy passed by and sat at an empty spot at the end of the Slytherin table—then suddenly turned his head.
His eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin line with a sharp and icy expression on his face, as though silently warning: "What are you looking at?"
Wade withdrew his gaze, a thought stirring in his mind.
How could I have forgotten?
Draco Malfoy's eyes are gray too… just like his father's.
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