https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-309-Intelligence-Never-Acquired-Double-Chapter-/13685248/
Chapter 310: All Sides
The Ministry of Magic officials, though mostly going through the motions—masking reality—did have their strengths.
For instance, they were exceptionally skilled at the Forgetting Charm. With light, swift precision, they erased days of memory from a group of people in mere moments.
Then there was their mastery of restoration spells and Scourgify—particularly when it came to water-based cleaning.
Within just ten minutes, the Parking Garage had been completely restored. The mucus and bloodstains on the trucks vanished, shattered glass repaired by spiders, rearview mirrors reattached after being knocked off in a fight, and dents on the car bodies smoothed out as if nothing had happened.
As for the group of people lying unconscious on the ground, the Ministry staff—ever so considerate—had carefully placed each one into a separate vehicle. Not out of kindness, but to prevent suspicion. They feared someone might stumble upon a pile of unconscious bodies and call the police in alarm.
“What will they think when they wake up?” a young Ministry employee asked, glancing back at the people they’d thrown into the cars, worry in his voice. “Waking up on a boat out of nowhere? They’ll definitely call the cops. Might even cause a scandal.”
“No connections,” an older official chuckled. “All they need to do is ask their relatives or crewmates on board. They’ll find out they got on the ship themselves. As for the memory loss…”
Another chimed in, “There are countless reasons people forget—bumping their heads, taking certain drugs. How could a stupid Muggle possibly suspect magic?”
The group laughed, their amusement laced with disdain for another kind of people.
They chatted and laughed as they returned upstairs, the Ministry staff resuming their leisurely trip.
Behind a pipe, Wade Gray peeked out from his hiding spot, watching the Ministry personnel walk away with no trace of guilt. He shook his head in resignation.
How could someone like Fudge hold the position of Minister of Magic? If not for the undeniable proof of Voldemort’s return, Fudge might’ve easily smeared Dumbledore as a mad old fool and driven him out of Hogwarts. Most Ministry employees never openly opposed him—because for many, Fudge represented their ideal: a job with no real responsibility, no consequences for mistakes, no need to care.
Power shapes those beneath it.
After Wade left the Parking Garage and dealt with the bomb planted on the ship, he returned, waiting silently above the pipe, patient as he watched for the first signs of consciousness.
Not long after, someone stirred.
He awoke inside a strange car, panic flaring. He fumbled for a weapon, scanned his surroundings, then, once assured of safety, cautiously pulled open the door and slipped out, darting from shadow to shadow, keeping himself hidden behind other vehicles.
Soon, others woke up, each following the same pattern—nervous, cautious, fleeing the garage in the same stealthy fashion.
Because the Ministry had scattered them into different cars, each man assumed he’d been ambushed alone. None suspected that others were nearby.
A few were more careful—quickly gathering clues from inside their cars—but even they left within a minute or two, overwhelmed by unease.
The elderly white-haired man was the last to wake.
More accurately, he was awakened by a ringing telephone.
The others, once they’d pieced together their situation, had called him, only to find he was experiencing the exact same thing.
“Wait—don’t talk on the phone!” the old man said sharply, eyes scanning the car. “Gather the others. We’ll talk in the safe house.”
He hung up and hurried away.
Wade followed silently.
The “safe house” turned out to be a small room on the seventh floor—a bedroom and a tiny living area. Six or seven people crowded inside, tightly packed.
“…That’s the situation,” the white-haired man said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Carter, Julie, Tom, and I all lost three days of memory. Sitaia lost five. What do you all think?”
One after another, they spoke:
“Magic.”
“The Forgetting Charm.”
“I’ve heard of it—Obliviate!”
“But we were told the Alchemists were kidnapped by werewolves. Most werewolves can’t cast such spells.”
“True in general, but exceptions exist.”
“I think someone else was involved—maybe British Aurors sent to rescue the Alchemists.”
“The Forgetting Charm is exactly the kind of spell the Ministry loves to use.”
“If that’s the case, then the werewolves are already caught.”
“Can we still reach the person who sent us the message?”
“More importantly,” someone interrupted, voice trembling, “is this place even safe? What if a wizard’s hiding nearby right now, and we have no way of knowing?”
The room fell silent. Eyes darted to every corner, every shadow, as fear crept in.
“Don’t worry,” the old man said calmly, the only one not scanning the room. “I thought about this on the way here. The Ministry usually looks down on Muggles. If they wanted to know anything—or do anything—they’d have already done it while we were unconscious.”
“So panicking now won’t help. Carter, keep contacting the bounty hunter—see if the werewolves are still around. Julie, try to get access to the ship’s surveillance cameras.”
He assigned tasks, and everyone immediately got to work. Then he rubbed his temples, slumping back into the sofa.
After a long pause, the old man suddenly spoke:
“Wizard, if you’re here… what do you want? Or is there something you’d like from us?”
Silence.
Then, after a long while, he sighed.
“No one?” He rubbed his eyes. “Must’ve been imagining things…”
He struggled to his feet, tired, and shuffled toward the bathroom.
Only when he heard the sound of running water did Wade pull out his Book of Friends, shrink it with a Shrinking Charm until it was no bigger than a pebble, and slide it into a crack in his suitcase. Then, silently, he opened the door and slipped away.
Using the same method, he tracked down another group of wizards—those searching for a cure to cancer, and a Muggle driven by the same dream.
Wade understood their longing for magic. But he wouldn’t lie on an experimental table to be studied. He couldn’t allow others to be treated like lab animals.
> Wade: Rita, I need you to watch someone for me.
>
> Rita: No problem! This ship is already far more interesting than I expected. I have a feeling—I’m going to uncover a scandal that’ll shake the world!
>
> Wade: Be careful. The Transformed Beetle isn’t foolproof. Don’t get caught.
>
> Rita: I know, don’t worry… Honestly, you won’t believe what I’ve seen—Umbridge, that woman…
Rita’s excitement overrode everything. Her quill danced wildly across the parchment, and she forgot entirely that she was messaging Wade.
The unfinished words lingered on the page for a long moment—then faded into nothing.
Wade smiled faintly, then tucked the Book of Friends away.
Journalists’ pens are weapons.
He and Rita had a fragile, uneasy relationship—neither friends, nor allies. Just a mutual, temporary alliance.
And such an arrangement? Unreliable.
If one day Rita registered as an Animagus with the Ministry, she’d inevitably write something damaging about him.
So… how could he keep this blade pointed in the right direction?
Wade sighed.
He’d only wanted to accompany Professor Mor to a private exhibition. Then, he’d wanted to protect his relatives and friends from danger.
But the situation had grown far more complex than he’d imagined. His original goals felt distant, almost unrecognizable.
But now…
Since he couldn’t find the werewolf leader immediately, the issue of certain people valuing lives too much no longer mattered.
Perhaps it was time to seek their help.
…
The freckled driver and the mustached man didn’t notice their missing comrades until the next morning, when they changed shifts.
The truck was empty—completely stripped, not a hair left behind. Someone had cleaned it meticulously.
Who else knew the ship’s secrets?
“Damn it!” the mustached man snarled. “Darl left us behind—trying to steal the money for himself!”
The driver stared blankly. “…What money?”
The mustached man realized his mistake too late. His face darkened. With a sharp crack, he knocked the driver unconscious and dialed his phone.
“It’s me, Garo,” he whispered. “The situation’s bad. Darl and Donovan took the whole truck while we were resting. They’re definitely wizards—spies.”
A pause. Then a voice, barely audible: “Lars?”
“He’s checking Darl’s room. Maybe we can find clues.”
The mustached man kicked the fallen driver. “I’m sorry… the mission failed. But I swear, Darl’s the traitor!”
A long silence. Then: “…No. He’s not.”
The voice cracked. “Darl’s back… but he’s… he’s dead.”
The mustached man froze. “What? How? The ship’s still at sea! How could they have taken all the Alchemists?”
“No Alchemists,” the voice said, barely holding back tears. “No Donovan. Just Darl… and an Acromantula.”
A sob. “The wizard… they were cruel. They injected Darl with a fatal venom, then pierced his skull with a spider’s fang.”
In the clean hospital room, Darl lay on the bed—his head riddled with holes, blood black as ink.
He was dead, yet his face was twisted in a final scream of terror.
The voice on the phone dissolved into sobs. The mustached man held the phone, stunned.
After a long silence, the crying eased. He hung up.
He took a deep breath, steadied himself, then dialed another number.
“Donovan was a spy. He killed Darl and stole all the Alchemists.”
The voice on the other end was calm. “Did the Alchemists leave the ship?”
“Probably. Wizards can Apparate.”
“More chances to catch them later. But a traitor… must not live.”
“Understood. Find Donovan. Kill him.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send help. Do this right. Don’t fail me again.”
“Yes!”
“Eliminate the one beside you. Restart your cover. Heard about the Werewolf Mutual Aid Association in London? That’s your next target.”
“…Yes.”
He hung up, then dragged the unconscious freckled driver to the lower deck.
Below, the propellers churned, churning up foamy water.
He pushed the man overboard.
A dark red stain spread through the sea.
“Sorry, brother,” the mustached man murmured. “You weren’t bad. But with you here, I can’t stay hidden. Werewolves always find other werewolves, right?”
…
The ship finally docked.
The tourists had no idea their massive vessel had nearly sunk. They simply grabbed their suitcases and stepped off, cheerful and unaware.
This time, the American dock inspection was unusually strict—long, grueling. Passengers grew restless, but finally, they were cleared to leave.
“Honestly,” Umbridge complained to her assistant, “Muggles are so inefficient! If we’d handled it, we’d have finished in seconds—no need even to bother.”
Her assistant didn’t point out their own inefficiency. He just nodded politely, then complimented her.
Umbridge smiled, then hurried after a French official ahead of her.
A tiny beetle dangled from the hem of her robes. She didn’t notice.
Nor did she see the eyes that had turned toward her the moment she said “Muggle.”
Wizard…
They’re all wizards…
Whispers passed between the shadows. Some grew excited. Others glared with hatred.
Wade, however, didn’t stay.
As the ship neared America, he’d already transformed into a falcon, flown to the nearest airport, and bought a ticket to London, England.
Far easier than flying himself.
And he was in a hurry—because his Book of Friends had just lit up with a message:
> Harry: The Ministry’s taking Sirius Black. I can’t reach Dumbledore. What should I do?
(End of Chapter)
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