https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-384-Rita-Skeeter-s-Exile-Journey/13685385/
Chapter 385: Rita Skeeter's Exile Journey 2
Rita Skeeter had never been so grateful to have learned Animagus transformation.
She lay on the ground, panting, barely conscious. Somewhere in the distance, she heard scattered footsteps and the barking of dogs. Fumbling for her wand, she tried to cast a spell—but magic still refused to obey her. Just as despair crept in, the world around her suddenly expanded a hundredfold.
She had become a beetle.
An Animagus—this rare form of magic that allowed transformation without a wand—had once seemed useless to Rita, a mere tool for eavesdropping. But now, it had saved her life for the second time.
Shivering beneath a leaf, she watched as a dozen guard dogs roamed through the forest, snuffling and growling, their nostrils flaring. Yet they never found her. The black-clad soldiers held dangerous Muggle weapons, searching the woods thoroughly. One tapped his earpiece and muttered, “The woman’s disappeared.”
Moments later, he reported to the others: “Keep searching. The Magnetic Field will activate again in thirty minutes.”
“Understood!” they replied in unison, splitting up and scouring every inch—tree canopies, underbrush, even the soil—yet not a single one noticed a tiny beetle clinging to a blade of grass.
Rita trembled, her heart pounding. She forced her six wobbly legs to move, inching across a patch of grass before taking flight. A large black guard dog suddenly lifted its head, sniffing the air. It caught her scent—fat, clumsy, and unmistakably edible.
Rita nearly fell from the sky. She steadied herself, flapping her wings desperately. But even at full effort, she could only manage two meters per second. One lunge from that dog would be enough to crush her.
Every second felt like a breath from the Grim Reaper.
Then, abruptly, one of the soldiers tugged on the dog’s leash. “Alright, partner. Insects aren’t worth your time. Come on—over here.”
The dog turned, gave the beetle one last suspicious glance, then followed its master toward another section of the forest.
Rita exhaled in relief—but didn’t stop. She had to escape. She knew she had no more than thirty minutes.
But when she finally glimpsed the massive, sunlit white complex ahead—so serene and holy in the daylight—she realized with a jolt that she’d gone the wrong way.
Too late to turn back. With a grim resolve, she soared over the wall and into the compound.
No matter where you were, there were always water pipes and ventilation shafts.
She slithered into a dark, narrow crack, ignoring the stench, and collapsed, gasping. Even in Animagus form, such exertion drained her completely.
Thirty minutes passed. The familiar hum returned—like a thousand bees buzzing inside her bones. The magic she’d always felt as part of her body suddenly surged, wild and painful. Rita screamed as she twisted back into her human form, biting her lip to stifle the cry. Blood filled her mouth.
This time, the hum lasted longer—but perhaps the pipe offered some protection. The pain was less severe than before.
Then came the exile again.
She crawled forward through the cramped darkness, the silence pressing in around her like a blanket. Safe. Sheltered. For now.
She pulled out her wand and whispered, “Lumos.”
A faint light flickered, illuminating the grimy pipe and the pale, exhausted face of the woman inside.
Rita exhaled in relief. Thank Merlin—this simple spell still works.
She bit down on the wand and began crawling again. The beetle form was perfect for hiding, but her body was weak, starving, and utterly uncooperative. In human form, she could still force herself to move, driven by will alone.
The floor was littered with dust, dead insects, and the brittle remains of mice. An ordinary person might have screamed at the sight. But for a witch who’d brewed potions from frog brains and leeches, it was nothing more than background noise.
She crawled blindly, not knowing where she was going, but too terrified to stop.
Unaware that she was moving through a system of pipes that subtly sank under her weight—something she’d never have recognized, given her complete ignorance of Muggle technology.
…
Inside the lab, a row of green indicator lights blinked one by one.
On the screen, a section of the ventilation system triggered an alarm.
“The pressure sensor in the ventilation pipe has activated,” a voice said calmly. “The signal strength suggests it’s not a rat.”
“Send in a scorpion-shaped probe,” the man with the ponytail said with a grin. “I’ve always liked how the hero in the movies escapes through the vents. That’s why we installed the sensors. We used to just kill a few stupid rats. But today… finally, a real reward.”
The red-cloaked woman chuckled. “Caught a magical mouse?”
“More like a bold one.”
…
Then the strange humming sound began.
Rita’s fur stood on end—she nearly panicked.
But then she realized: this wasn’t the ancient, mind-ripping resonance that disrupted magic. It was a toy car.
A small, scorpion-shaped vehicle rolled into view, its head-mounted cylinder glowing with a bright beam of light.
Rita froze—then raised her wand. “Split-into-Parts Spell!”
Boom.
The car exploded into pieces. The cylinder rolled to a stop at her feet, then began emitting thick, white gas.
Rita inhaled—just once—and her vision blurred. Dizziness washed over her.
She barely managed to hold her breath, scrambling away. Her hands trembled as she fumbled through her crocodile-skin handbag.
When she’d fled Britain, she’d packed essentials—certainly including antidotes.
She uncorked a vial, downed the potion in one gulp, and felt her mind clear instantly. Then, with shaking fingers, she pulled out her Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around herself.
To Muggle technology, invisibility remained undetectable.
But she was too exhausted to run farther.
She tore open a few chocolate bars, wolfed them down, then drank a whole bottle of honeywine. Only then did she feel like she’d survived.
—How long has this hour passed?
She reached for her watch—then froze.
Another hum echoed through the pipe.
This time, it came from both ends.
A dozen vehicles advanced in formation, some equipped with guns, adjusting their aim. These were the only Muggle weapons she recognized.
Rita’s blood ran cold.
She was invisible. So why could they find her?
Boom!
The explosion rocked the pipe, echoing through the tunnels like thunder. Even in the deepest prison cells, prisoners looked up in confusion, wondering what had happened.
…
Minutes later, the man with the ponytail stood before a table. On it lay three things:
A torn, bloodstained coat.
A dragonhide boot, its sole shattered.
And a tattered Invisibility Cloak—now just a dull gray hide, its magic broken.
On the screen, a short video played: the scorpion probe closing in on an empty space. Then—light burst from the center, a wave of force tearing through the vehicles. The feed dissolved into static.
Technicians paused it at the final frame. A faint green outline—someone in a green robe—was barely visible.
The man with the ponytail laughed. “Why don’t these wizards just give up? Why do they keep fighting to the end?”
No one answered.
“Open the Magnetic Field,” he ordered coldly. “I don’t know how many more times she can survive.”
“The magnet’s still cooling,” the man with glasses cautioned. “It’ll take about ten minutes. If we activate it too soon, we’ll burn out the system.”
The man snapped. “I told them ages ago—those crystal chips needed replacing. The higher-ups would rather spend money on women than invest in long-term research. They’ll pay for this someday.”
“Don’t get angry,” the red-cloaked woman said, unfazed. “She won’t escape. And you can use this to justify another funding request.”
“True,” he admitted, tone softening. “Then… ten minutes.”
“No,” she said. “Wait twenty. Let her think she’s safe. Then strike when she least expects it. More satisfying.”
…
Rita huddled in the pipe, heart pounding—but the expected agony didn’t come.
After a minute, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She burst from her hiding spot.
Her body reformed into a beetle. Only in this form did she feel safe.
She crawled along the pipe, occasionally peering through a grate. She saw strange machines, caged owls being studied, bustling researchers, chaotic storage rooms, and towering warehouses stacked with goods.
Then she stopped.
At the back of a warehouse, stacked neatly on shelves, were dozens of counterfeit Books of Friends.
Rita froze. Her breath caught.
This was the moment she regretted most.
She had thrown away the Book of Friends she’d kept with Wade Gray.
Back then, her reasoning had been simple: she couldn’t fulfill his request, and she feared he’d take back her Invisibility Cloak. So she’d severed contact—on her own.
She knew some Books of Friends had tracking functions. She’d worried Wade Gray’s might be one of those—so she’d left it behind.
In truth, she still had a stack of other Books of Friends in her bag. But she had no real friends—only people she’d blackmailed, or those she’d used for favors. They were useful for gathering gossip or smoothing relationships, but none would ever risk their lives to save her.
Wade Gray was still a child. Maybe he couldn’t help. But he had Dumbledore.
Rita might have mocked Albus Dumbledore—called him a senile old madman—but deep down, she knew: only Dumbledore would reach out to a stranger, even an enemy, in a place like this.
And she’d thrown away the only way to contact him.
Regret gnawed at her like insects. After a long hesitation, she reached into her bag and pulled out a single vial of potion—rare, precious, golden in color, shimmering like molten sunlight.
Felix Felicis. Luck potion.
She’d only ever gotten a tiny amount by chance. Its effect lasted about an hour. She’d never dared use it.
Now, she tilted her head back and drank it.
Her body surged with energy. Her mind cleared. Magic flowed like water through her veins. She felt powerful, invincible.
But not everything was possible.
She opened her eyes—calm, focused, utterly free of fear or fatigue.
She knew she couldn’t escape in an hour. She didn’t even know where she was. No ordinary homes. No clear exits.
But she wasn’t helpless.
The strange confidence, the uncanny intuition—urged her to act now.
She transformed into a beetle, slipped through a grate, and landed in the warehouse.
The warehouse guard turned, busying himself with shelves—completely unaware of the intruder.
Rita quickly snatched two counterfeit Books of Friends, then hid her crocodile-skin bag in a hollow beneath a shelf. She stuffed only a few potions into her pockets.
The rest—her notes, her interviews, her life’s work—meant everything. If she lost them, she’d die inside.
Then, with a tiny Hovering Charm, she sent the two fake Books of Friends through the grate into the ventilation shaft. Before the guard turned around, she transformed again—flew away.
This time, she carried the books back to the room with the imprisoned owls.
Luck was on her side. No one was there.
“Of course,” she thought, smiling. “The stars are finally with me.”
The owls were kept in ordinary cages—loosely secured. A simple Unlocking Charm would free them.
Her intuition told her to pick the weakest-looking owl. She rolled up one of the fake Books of Friends, tied it to the owl’s claw.
The bird looked at her calmly.
She wrote Wade Gray and his address on the scroll, then pressed her forehead gently against the owl’s head.
“Please… deliver this. I’m counting on you.”
The owl hooted softly—almost like a promise.
“A Pull, Ho!”
The dozen owls burst into flight, wings flapping as they squeezed through a narrow window and vanished into the open sky.
Outside, chaos erupted.
Rita, now a beetle, landed swiftly on the back of a long-legged fishing owl and rode it through the window.
Boom!
A gunshot rang out.
The fishing owl screamed, plummeting to the ground, splattering blood and feathers. A beetle darted into a crack in the wall.
She didn’t move.
She watched—eyes wide—as the others fell, riddled with bullets, raining down like dead leaves.
But the small, frail owl—her only hope—wove through the fire, flying toward the horizon.
The hum had no effect on it.
Had she been clinging to the bird’s back, she’d have been a broken doll, tumbling like a wind-blown kite.
In agony, she smiled—a twisted, desperate grin.
When the torment ended, she leapt up again, following the potion’s faint guidance deeper into the underground maze.
The air grew thick and foul. She passed row after row of narrow prison cells.
And inside them—children. Young. Too young.
Her heart ached.
The hum returned. She didn’t flinch.
She had a mission.
And for the first time in a long while, she believed—truly believed—she might survive.
(End of Chapter)
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