https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-384-Rita-Skeeter-s-Exile-Journey/13685385/
Chapter 383: Help [Double Chapter]
Dumbledore’s hands rested folded across his abdomen, his eyes lowered in deep thought.
Wade continued. “I don’t know if my suspicion about Professor Abigail is justified… but I do know that those people are after the Magic Puppet technology. And among everyone who’s shown unusual interest in it, she’s the most suspicious.”
Must Defensive Magic Against the Dark Arts be taught using Magic Puppet?
Of course not. Many Strange creatures can be found in the Forbidden Forest or Black Lake. If needed, Hagrid could easily procure them. And real, live creatures would teach students far more than any artificial aid ever could.
Even if Professor Abigail’s teaching style is unique—her personality alone would suggest she’d be more likely to venture into the forest and bring back a few Red Hats for her students as a surprise, rather than having Wade build a teaching aid.
Of course, the main reason Wade felt uneasy was simply because she was the professor of this particular course.
Defensive Magic Against the Dark Arts was cursed—its very name attracted trouble. No one had ever held the position for a full year. Not one.
Abigail wasn’t a vampire. She wasn’t a werewolf. There was no evidence linking her to either. That was why Wade and Dumbledore remained uncertain.
…
The wind howled, thunder rolled across the sky. Inside the room, giant raindrops pattered violently against the glass windows.
Michael awoke to the storm with a heavy heart. He sat in the Common Room, hair a mess, staring blankly at the dismal weather outside, his eyes dull.
He heard footsteps creaking on the spinning staircase and turned to see Wade.
“Morning, Wade,” Michael said. “Look at this weather—Quidditch match can’t possibly go on, can it?”
“Huh?” Wade frowned. “Has there ever been a cancellation due to weather before?”
He genuinely didn’t understand the rules.
Michael sighed. “No… I don’t want to miss the game. But I really don’t want to get soaked.”
“Take an umbrella,” Wade said simply.
Michael grimaced. “With this kind of rain? Even an umbrella won’t do much.”
Wade spread his hands. “Then I can’t help you. Either get rained on while watching the game, or stay dry in the Common Room and give up on it. You’ll have to choose.”
He knew Michael was just grumbling. In the end, he’d definitely go—after all, he was a die-hard Quidditch fan, even if his own skills were… questionable.
Sure enough, despite his long, exaggerated sighs as if he were about to drag himself to the fireplace sofa, Michael followed Wade out the door the moment he was ready.
“Wade,” Michael asked, “Can a Weather Spell change this weather?”
“Yes.”
“Then… can you—?”
“No. Weather Spells can change the weather, but my magic isn’t strong enough to cover this kind of scale.”
“Ugh… Wade, did you forget your umbrella?”
“I don’t need one. I’m not going to the match.”
Michael groaned even louder.
They reached the Great Hall quickly. And just like that, Michael’s mood lifted—because he saw someone even worse off than himself.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had already arrived for breakfast. They sat on opposite ends of the Long Table, glaring at each other with murderous intent.
Seeing them about to brave the stormy pitch made Michael feel a little better about getting a little wet.
Kariel was already at the Gryffindor table, sitting beside Harry, gesturing wildly.
“Hey, you can’t see, nobody else can either—this is gonna be a test of vision!”
“Thanks, Kariel,” Harry said, deadpan. “My eyesight’s probably the worst on either team.”
He pushed his glasses up with a finger.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying! Why not turn your glasses into a waterproof telescope? If it could automatically track the Golden Snitch, that’d be even better—lock in the match right there!”
Harry stared blankly. For a moment, he almost felt tempted.
But he shook his head. “No. That’d be a violation.”
“Come on, in this kind of rain, who’d even notice your glasses are different? Everyone knows you wear glasses anyway!”
Kariel was still arguing when he spotted Wade and Michael entering. He waved excitedly, leapt up, and without hesitation, plopped down at the Ravenclaw table, eager to share his idea.
“You agree, right? Equipment’s part of the game!”
Michael nodded vigorously, then hesitated. “Well… still… if a professor notices, we might get disqualified…”
“Eh, who’d notice?” Kariel pressed. “Wade, can you make a pair of glasses that look ordinary but actually protect against rain?”
Wade swallowed his toast before answering. “Yes. But unnecessary. Pass me that plate of boiled peas.”
“This?” Kariel handed over the bowl.
Wade tapped the peas with his wand. The beans marched out in neat rows, leaving only empty pods behind.
Then, he reshaped the pods into a pair of windproof goggles, adding a waterproof, moisture-resistant charm.
“Here,” he said. “These will last at least until tomorrow morning.”
Kariel cheered. “Awesome, Wade! You’re our savior!”
He ran back to the Gryffindor table, shouting the news. The entire team erupted in excitement, giving Wade a grateful gesture.
“Put away! All of you, put away!” Wood shouted, busy. “This is our secret weapon—don’t let the Slytherins see!”
The Gryffindor players nodded seriously, stashing the goggles in their pockets, then turned to the Slytherin table with smug, confident grins.
Two extra goggles remained. Kariel kept one for himself, handed the other to Michael with a grin. “Now you can watch the game without rain getting in your eyes!”
Watching Kariel run back, fitting in perfectly among the team, Michael murmured to Wade:
“I finally get why this transfer student is so popular in Gryffindor. He treats other people’s problems like his own. No wonder everyone likes hanging out with him.”
“Mm,” Wade nodded. He remembered, as a child, how many friends Kariel had—far more than he’d ever had.
A faint scent drifted by—Padma walked past without a glance, sitting at the far end of the Long Table.
Michael’s smile vanished. He pushed his steak around his plate, pretending not to see.
Wade sighed, then tapped Michael’s umbrella with his wand.
“I enchanted it. When opened, it’ll shelter two people, and it won’t be blown away by the wind.”
He paused. “Take this chance to reconcile with Padma. This situation’s making everyone else uncomfortable.”
Michael nodded silently.
…
After breakfast, students began filing toward the Quidditch Pitch. The storm raged on. Many umbrellas were torn from hands mid-stride by the gale.
Yet still, students would rather be drenched and fighting the wind than return to the warm, dry Common Room.
Wade, however, walked alone toward the Room of Requirement.
Though he now had the Communication Earpiece, he hadn’t stopped refining the Book of Friends. The work was nearly complete.
Truth be told, the profits from the Book of Friends had long since dwindled—copycats flooded the market, squeezing out the original.
But Wade believed, deep down, that no matter how convenient the earpiece became, the Book of Friends would always have its place.
Even if, one day, magic society developed something like a wizarding phone, Wade wanted the Book of Friends to leave the stage with dignity—not as a failed project abandoned in scorn.
Boom!
Something slammed hard against the nearby window.
Wade startled. He looked up—only to see a disheveled owl, feathers matted, perched on the glass, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.
Wade waved his hand. The window burst open, wind and rain rushing in with a roar.
The icy gust nearly lifted his robes. He waved the window shut, catching the owl mid-fall.
It was thin, trembling, frozen stiff—but still managed to lift one claw, passing a tiny cylindrical tube tied to it.
Wade took the tube, whispered a spell, and passed his hand over the owl.
The rain vanished from its feathers. Warmth returned. The owl blinked in surprise, then noticed a small pile of owl treats before it. It immediately began pecking at them.
Only then did Wade open the tube.
Inside was a long, thin scroll of white paper. He rubbed it between his fingers. The texture was rough—similar to parchment, but lacking that soft, familiar warmth.
A faint recognition stirred in his chest.
This was the counterfeit version of the Book of Friends.
Wade took the owl to an empty classroom and sat down. He tested it repeatedly with his wand—then, slowly, wrote a single question:
?
He didn’t write his name.
After nearly half a minute, a shaky, messy line appeared:
Help! Help me! He
Wade stared at the broken “He.” Was it an unfinished plea? Or a reference to someone?
He wrote back:
Calm down. Who are you? What kind of help do you need? Why me?
Another long silence.
Then, a new, crooked line appeared:
I’m the one you gave the Invisibility Cloak to—the one who wears glasses, the Beetle. Please help me. I don’t know who else to turn to.
…
I don’t know who else to turn to.
The words trembled on the parchment.
A bright, spacious room. The ceiling soared over ten meters high. Transparent, curved glass walls lined the walls. A shark glided slowly through the glass behind them.
At the curved Long Table, a Red-Cloaked Woman spoke. “Trembling strokes, disconnected, inconsistent size, chaotic layout—this person is terrified. The woman didn’t escape.”
Beside her, a man with a ponytail smirked.
“Still on the island? Good. Recheck the entire area. Find her.”
“Yes!” The black-clad guards snapped to attention and scattered.
“Could it be she’s trying to contact wizard friends?” asked a short, stocky Eyeglass Man. “Should we cut off the signal?”
“No,” the ponytail man said coldly. “Don’t cut it. Let them come.”
He stepped to the wall, pressed a button. The massive metal door slid open silently, revealing a metal platform.
He stepped onto it, gripping the railing.
Below him: a laboratory like a factory of flowing water. Dozens of researchers in white lab coats moved swiftly and silently, their eyes dull, their movements precise. Conveyor belts ran across the ceiling and floor, carrying things unseen.
Occasionally, a faint bloodstain appeared—then washed away by a thin stream of water. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant.
The man smiled, a sneer curling his lips.
“Wizards? In the age of science, they’re just clowns from the Middle Ages.”
…
Buzzzzz—
A strange, eerie hum filled the air.
Rita Skeeter convulsed on her bed, writhing in agony, barely able to suppress a scream.
She bit down hard on a stinking, tattered blanket, arms wrapped around herself, trembling. Her muscles and bones felt like they were being eaten alive by a thousand ants.
She clung to consciousness by sheer will. Time lost meaning. She didn’t know how long it had been—maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe she was already dead.
Then, finally, the pain stopped.
When she regained feeling, she felt small hands gently lifting her face. Someone, frail and tattered, was wiping her tears with a ragged handkerchief.
She opened her eyes.
There he was—again.
In a tiny, overcrowded prison cell, a dozen children huddled together—boys and girls, from four to thirteen. They wore loose white robes, barefoot, pale from never seeing sunlight.
The girl who had wiped her face was thirteen.
Rita trembled. “Did they… leave?”
The girl nodded firmly—almost too hard—then offered a small, comforting smile.
Tears welled in Rita’s eyes.
She sniffled. “Just hold on. Someone will come. They have to.”
She looked down at the crumpled paper in her hand.
Only one line remained:
Where are you?
(End of Chapter)
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