Chapter 182: A Tragic Life?
Isn't this a bit much? Ryan thought. It was true that he liked being praised and building up his glorious image.
But the current level of adulation felt excessive. He had a feeling that when he returned to Hogwarts, Dumbledore would want to have a "chat."
Even if he did nothing from this day forward, every Squib in the world would respect and revere him from the bottom of their hearts.
He had given them light. That was an unshakable fact.
Having already experienced two uprisings led by charismatic 'problem students,' Dumbledore is going to be worried that I'll turn bad... Ryan mused.
He gave up thinking about it. It was an unsolvable problem. No one could stop the Squibs from rushing toward the light.
But he could still maneuver.
He felt he needed to form a united front. He couldn't be like Dumbledore, carrying everything on his own shoulders. Regardless of his intentions, his every word and deed now had the potential to cause massive disruption.
Ideally, I should form a Pan-Magical Alliance Joint Council, bringing representatives from all races together for a meeting...
After Martin, the other Squibs came forward one by one to try.
The results exceeded everyone's expectations. Virtually every Squib, aided by the special Magi-Alloy wand, managed to produce a small burst of light.
This was better than even the boldest predictions made by Ryan and Nicolas Flamel.
They had thought that, at best, about half of the Squibs would be able to cast magic by believing in themselves, and even then, they would need considerable assistance.
But in reality, perhaps because Martin's performance had been so inspiring, setting an example for everyone, they all believed that simply holding the Magi-Alloy wand would allow them to cast spells.
And so, fueled by their longing for the future and the torment of their pasts, their powerful conviction shook the stone-like magical cores within them on a psychological level, releasing the light.
Of course, this included the regret-filled middle-aged entrepreneur. Unable to let go of his yearning for magic, he swallowed his pride and joined the end of the line. Quietly taking the Magi-Alloy wand from the person before him, he lit his own light amidst excitement and trembling.
Ryan stepped down from the high platform, walking towards the cheering Squibs. The grandeur of the French palace rose behind him, and golden cashmere carpets lay beneath his feet. "Cheer! Celebrate our tomorrow!"
Madame Maxime had already arranged for the house-elves to prepare a feast.
It was a joyous celebration, ending with the Squibs drunk on wine and dreams, collapsing one by one.
In the herb garden, Ryan found Martin, reeking of alcohol.
"Professor Ryan." despite the smell of drink, Martin's speech showed no sign of intoxication. Ryan noticed his eyes were clear.
"What is it, Mr. Martin?"
"Professor Ryan, I am grateful to you. We are all grateful to you. For so many years, you are the only one who has thought to help Squibs..." Martin choked up as he spoke, reminiscing.
"I know your time is precious, but I... I just can't help myself. I want to tell you about my past." He swayed slightly as he sat in the garden gazebo, his clear eyes filled with pleading and hope.
"It would be my honor, Mr. Martin. Listening to different life experiences always brings new insights and inspiration." Ryan sat opposite him in the gazebo, leaning against a pillar.
Martin tried to sit up straight, speaking slowly, hoping his words would have substance.
"I don't know the wizarding world. I'm an orphan, abandoned when I was very young. I grew up in a village, looked after by everyone. When I was eleven, I discovered I was a Squib. I didn't get an acceptance letter. I couldn't earn a single Galleon. Naturally, I left the wizarding world early. Before today, I was just scraping by in the Muggle world."
"Do you know, I work so hard, but my weekly wages can't even cover three meals a day? Even though the Muggle government has laws, I'm not protected by them because I'm undocumented. I work extremely long hours every day, basically from eight in the morning until five in the evening..."
Ryan had expected to hear a story of a destitute youth struggling against the odds in Muggle society. Instead, he was hearing a story about an undocumented worker working a 9-to-5 job...
Wait, is this right?
You're undocumented, working 9-to-5, and you can't afford three meals a day? That's... weird.
"Working eight hours a day, I can only eat convenience store food. Every day, it's cheap turkey, roadside hot dogs, and burgers. Only once or twice a week can I eat something decent..."
Ryan: Are you bragging?
"You can't imagine! France, this land of romance, is vigorously importing people from Africa! These people get high pay and benefits for doing nothing! I heard some famous French universities even have mixed dorms with blacks and women! If this goes on, the Gallic Rooster will turn into a Gallic Black Chicken!"
Ryan: ...Brother, are you a Seer too?
Martin poured out his grievances, believing France was doomed. People at the bottom like him lived hard, tiring lives with no hope. His generation, struggling in society, couldn't see a way forward, dared not speak too much, dared not do too much.
"Professor Ryan, maybe this sounds like a fantasy to you, but I have to say, wizards just need to wait a few more decades. The Muggle population will naturally decline. Take France, for example; the birth rate has been dropping since 1890... everyone is just muddling along..."
Ryan: Could you be a little clearer!
Three days after the banquet.
The invited Squibs—no, they shouldn't be called Squibs anymore.
They had categorized themselves separately from wizards who could naturally use magic from birth. They called those who enrolled at eleven "Natural Wizards." They called themselves, who could cast spells through external aid, "Magi-Metal Wizards," because the wands that enabled them were made of Magi-Alloy.
These newly minted Magi-Metal Wizards had all changed into brand-new wizarding robes today.
"Why can't we leave today? I want to go to Diagon Alley!" one said.
"Me too. Want to go together? I heard Gringotts exchanges pounds for Galleons. I'll cover the expenses for you brothers," the balding middle-aged man said, thumping his chest. No one paid him any attention.
"Reporters from The Gargoyle's Roar are coming to interview us today!" Some of the Magi-Metal Wizards didn't know much about the wizarding world, but they knew being interviewed for the paper was a big deal, a chance for fame.
"That's the most professional and influential newspaper in the French magical world! You can think of it as the official paper, with no competition! It's like a combination of Le Monde, France-Soir, and Le Figaro." His companion, born into a wizarding family and still maintaining some ties, explained the paper's status to the others.
The three newspapers he listed were the three giants monopolizing the French news landscape in 1991.
Hearing this, everyone understood and hurriedly began to straighten their appearances. They had heard that wizarding photos were different from Muggle ones—they moved.
If they looked disheveled, it would reflect poorly on their character.
"Get ready, everyone. The reporters from The Gargoyle's Roar will interview us one by one," Martin said, walking in to address his companions.
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