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Chapter 298: He's Not My Friend
The breeding speed of Acromantulas was alarmingly fast, and the cramped Closet Space allotted to them offered barely enough room. As a result, they often turned on one another—devouring mates, even their own young.
Wade didn’t release the beasts immediately. Instead, he sat down, pulled out the Book of Friends, and flipped through its pages.
On the SSC Members’ section, several new lines had already appeared—Fred and George Weasley were sharing stories of their recent trip to Egypt.
The Weasley family had just won the Daily Prophet’s annual award, prompting the entire household to pack up and head off on an unplanned vacation. Their eldest son, Bill, was already working in Egypt.
Soon after, Hermione joined the conversation, recounting her experiences from a holiday in France. Theo informed her that there was a prestigious magic school there—Beauxbatons.
Clearly, the Book of Friends’ communication system had been fully restored.
Wade had no intention of sharing his own troubles with his classmates. He flipped the book further, pausing briefly at Remus Lupin’s page, then turning to the section linked to Dumbledore.
【Professor Dumbledore, I’ve just encountered…】
He began to write, but paused mid-sentence. His pen hovered, then stopped.
After a moment of hesitation, he erased the words.
Then, he suppressed the Book of Friends, even sprinkling a fresh layer of gold powder over Professor Mor before pouring out a vial of Life-and-Death Elixir to form a shimmering mist. The fog enveloped the space beneath, ensuring that whoever was inside—no matter how they pretended to be dead—could not awaken mid-simulacrum, as he had.
Next, Wade suppressed the Closet Space entirely, extracting only the Acromantulas and Mihal—enough to fill the interior completely.
After so long without fresh air, the spiders surged with excitement, waving their pincers and clicking their chitinous limbs in eager anticipation.
“Quiet,” Wade murmured.
The entire space fell silent.
Acromantulas were intelligent creatures. Though cold-blooded and brutal, they understood survival instinct.
The young wizard’s blood still pulsed with warmth—enticing, delicious. But beside him, a tiny Firebird no bigger than a sparrow hopped about, curiously observing the foul-smelling chamber.
The spiders hid their predatory glint, their movements suddenly docile—like obedient dogs.
Wade leaned against the wall, eyes closed, weighing his options.
Calling the Headmaster would guarantee safety. It would eliminate the threat.
But Dumbledore’s method of “resolution” was not the same as Wade’s.
Sending those who sought to harm him to Azkaban—where mass breakout was a real possibility—was not true resolution.
And worse, they knew his origins. They’d seen his face. They might trace his parents.
Even if Wade himself was safe, what about his parents?
Should he rely on Moody—the paranoid, jittery man? Or Dumbledore—the ever-busy, overburdened wizard?
Magic allowed wizards to perform wonders beyond the imagination of ordinary people. But it also bound them in ways ordinary humans never knew.
An ordinary man killing—by knife, gun, rope, or bare hands—inflicted harm on another. The killer might suffer mental scars, or none at all.
But a wizard who murdered—whether through magic or physical means—would scar their own soul.
Wade’s gaze drifted to the spiders beside him.
—What if the murder was done by a Fantastic Beast instead?
…
The box truck sped down the highway, London Bridge’s lights fading behind it, swallowed by the dark. It merged into the stream of traffic bound for the docks.
Suddenly, a hole the size of a tennis ball appeared on the truck’s roof. A deep brown bird emerged from within, its neck marked with blue-tinged patterns that shimmered faintly.
It glanced around.
A small car by the roadside lurched violently, followed by a chorus of angry whistles.
“Bloody hell, you scared me to death!” came a voice from the passenger seat. “What’s wrong with you? Were you asleep on the highway?”
“No…” the driver stammered, shaken. “I… I just thought I saw a child on top of that truck.”
“What?” The passenger leaned forward, squinting. “Where?”
The truck’s roof was empty.
“Maybe… maybe I just imagined it,” the driver said uncertainly.
“You were definitely asleep!” the passenger snapped. “We should stop at the next service station and rest.”
“…Alright,” the driver replied weakly, though doubt lingered in his mind.
The whistles faded.
Wade glanced back, confirming no accident had occurred. He turned away, uninterested.
He was still on the roof, having only just resumed human form before reapplying the Invisibility Charm.
Originally, he’d planned to follow the truck, to see where it was headed. But once he’d emerged, he realized how foolish that was.
Inside the Closet Space, yes—the air was foul, the conditions brutal, and countless hostile eyes watched him.
But flying above a moving highway? That would be a colossal test of endurance.
And if the truck entered a closed facility—say, a warehouse—then a Falcon following closely would be unmistakably conspicuous.
Among Will’s group, even if none were official wizards, they’d certainly know about Animagus magic.
So, since he was already out, Wade had no intention of returning to the spiders. He simply sat on the truck’s roof, then cast a series of Wind and Cold Protection Pastes, ensuring he could remain comfortable and secure.
He didn’t care if they couldn’t trace his movement. Let the Ministry of Magic try to pin down his location on the open highway. They’d have to prove the spell was his, too.
If the Ministry were truly efficient, they’d have to catch the drivers first.
Night deepened. The truck and a delivery van ahead of it drove straight along the dock road, merging into the vast cargo ship. After a series of sharp turns, they stopped at the prearranged spot.
The van, heavier than the truck, remained several parking spaces away.
Soon, both drivers stepped out. They’d removed their masks, allowing Wade to see who was inside.
“Now we can relax,” Will said. “I’ve got to go back. I have to work tomorrow morning.”
“I’m sorry,” the counter lady said, placing a hand on his shoulder, her smile edged with threat. “You’ll have to stay with me until the ship departs. You understand, don’t you? We’re worried you might sneak off to tell your Werewolf friend.”
“Remus Lupin isn’t my friend,” Will said flatly. “He’s just an arrogant, self-righteous charity case. Every time I smile at him, I feel sick.”
“That’s good to hear,” the broad-shouldered man with the thick beard said, clapping Will on the back. “He’s the son of that Ler Lupin. He got into Hogwarts, made friends—how could he possibly understand us?”
“Yeah,” the man laughed. “According to those people, we’re not even human. We don’t even have souls. Ha-ha!”
“Shut up,” a round-legged, bushy-browed man snapped. “You’ll draw attention.” He turned to the driver. “How are the wizards?”
“Gold powder’s still working,” the driver grinned. “They’ve been quiet the whole way.”
“Go check,” the man with the thick eyebrows demanded.
“Do we really need to?” the freckled driver muttered, half-hearted. “What if opening the door blows the powder away?”
“Go,” the man growled, his voice tight with suppressed anger.
“…Fine.” The driver sighed, reluctantly reaching for the intercom device, then walking to the rear of the truck to unlock the iron gate.
The gate creaked open.
Hundreds of green eyes turned toward them—unblinking, cold, and hungry.
(End of Chapter)
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