Chapter 304: Will: He's the Traitor
After breakfast, Wade departed without delay.
As the Falcon soared across the sky, he lowered his head and caught sight of Ferdinand and Fiona standing side by side at the window, watching him go. The two were pressed close together, Fiona forcefully waving at him.
Every time she saw Wade transform into the Falcon, she couldn’t help but feel electrified with excitement.
Next door, Moody stood on his own balcony. When Wade glanced over, Moody was bent forward, drinking from a bottle—but the blue magical eye, ever watchful, still seemed to follow Wade’s path through the air. Wade could feel the weight of that gaze, as if he were being scrutinized from afar.
…
The morning Diagon Alley was still quiet, with only a few shops beginning to open. But inside the Aslan Magical Workshop, the place was already packed with more than a dozen customers.
"Give me a hundred Streaming Mirrors! A hundred—right now!"
"I want one hundred fifty! I’m buying in bulk—sell to me first!"
"I represent the Brazilian Ministry of Magic, sir—please observe proper protocol!"
"And I represent the Russian Ministry! What’s your point?"
The two men began shouting at each other at the counter, nearly tearing each other apart. The workshop staff, practiced in such chaos, swiftly stepped in to separate them.
"Please don’t worry, gentlemen—we have ample stock. Both of your requests will be fully satisfied…"
Business was booming even before the day had truly begun. Will, having hauled up a dozen crates, let out a tired yawn—so wide he nearly knocked over a Streaming Mirror he’d been preparing to place on the counter.
"Go take a rest," a coworker said, clapping him on the shoulder kindly. "The real rush hasn’t even started yet. Now’s the perfect time to sleep. Did you sleep well last night?"
"Yeah," Will rubbed his eyes. "Thanks, brother. I’ll take over for you in a bit."
Though he knew a little magic, Will didn’t master advanced techniques like Apparition, nor could he afford a car. So the night before, he’d run for miles on foot, finally catching a taxi back to the temporary house he’d rented. Now, before sunrise, he was back at work.
Exhausted and drowsy, his feet felt like they were floating. He stumbled into the common room behind the warehouse, collapsed onto the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
This time, he slept for a long, long while.
When Will finally woke, he felt as if he’d been gone for ages. He was confused—why hadn’t anyone woken him?
Then it hit him. He wasn’t lying on the small bed in the workshop’s common room. He was sitting upright in a chair, his hands and feet bound by chains. A black cloth covered his eyes, obscuring his vision. All he could sense was the faint scent of grass and flowers drifting through the air.
Will strained every muscle, tugging at the chains. They rattled loudly—but offered no give.
Soft footsteps approached. Someone stepped into the room.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Will demanded.
No reply.
Then, his body went rigid—paralyzed, as if turned to stone. A cold drop of liquid slipped into his mouth.
—What is this? What did they give me?
Terrified by the terrifying power of potions, Will fought to keep from swallowing. But it was useless.
Within moments, his mind began to blur. His thoughts scattered. He no longer knew who he was.
…
Wade held the crystal vial, watching as the man beneath the Veritaserum’s influence relaxed completely, his head lolling forward like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
"Tell me your name," Wade said.
After a pause, the man answered: "Will Flint."
Wade gave a slight nod—confirming the truth serum’s effect.
—Will’s registered name in the magical workshop was Will Flon. But Wade knew the man’s real surname was Flint.
One of the twenty-eight ancient families who preserved pure bloodlines. In truth, like the Blacks, they had long expelled any member deemed to have tainted their bloodline.
The Weasley family was similar—though they had Muggle relatives, they never spoke of them, and certainly never maintained contact.
Wade pulled his thoughts back. He spoke in a gentle tone:
"Will Flint. Who instructed you and your friends to kidnap a group of The Alchemists? Who gave the order? And where were the captives to be taken?"
Will’s eyelids fluttered. "The task… was given by Kurt Dahl. I don’t know where they were to be taken. I… I don’t have the right to know."
Wade knew. Kurt Dahl—the thick-browed man from last night.
The man’s authority over his subordinates seemed surprisingly weak. Wade almost felt sympathy for him.
"What about Jennifer Padillia? The one who was watching you? Where is she?"
"After the ship sailed, she separated from me," Will answered honestly. "She has her own job. She’s still working today."
"Where does she work?"
"In London… in a Muggle company… I don’t know the exact location…"
"Not knowing this, not knowing that—how can you claim to be part of this? What kind of life is this?" Wade sighed. "You don’t even know the secrets. How could you ever join them? Tell me—how did you come to be involved?"
"Clare was sick," Will said. "I couldn’t find a job. I had no money… so I stole. I was beaten nearly to death—then he saved me."
He continued, voice hollow: "He said we’re all people the world rejects… Werewolves, Vampires, criminals, frauds, the insane… We all have power to survive. But the world refuses to let us live. Yet we mustn’t abandon ourselves."
"We must build our own community—protect one another like siblings. We must have our own land, where we can live freely as we are. And our children must be able to go to school, without fear of discrimination."
"I believed his letter. So I joined. Whatever he says, we do. That’s all."
Wade fell silent for a long moment. He pressed further, but found Will knew almost nothing.
He was just a disposable pawn—ignorant of key details, swept along by others’ dreams, clinging to a fantasy of a utopia.
Will had only been involved in this operation because he’d applied for a job at the Aslan Magical Workshop, which had elevated his status.
Though he’d done only menial labor, he’d felt deeply satisfied—so much so that even under Veritaserum, he kept slipping in phrases he’d been fed, slogans meant to brainwash him.
On the surface, they sounded like idealistic revolutionaries. But one sentence haunted Wade.
"You said earlier—you truly believed Remus Lupin was a hypocrite, a disgusting charity case. Was that how you really felt?"
"Of course," Will spat, venom in his voice. "Who does he think he is? Why can he go to school? Why weren’t his parents ashamed of him? Why can he sit there, dressed nicely, sipping coffee—while I’m stuck in a stinking warehouse, hauling crates?"
"He’s a traitor to his kind! One day… one day… I’ll rip out his throat and watch him scream as he dies!"
(End of Chapter)
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