Chapter 387. Metal Shielding
"Wheeeez…," Rita Skeeter whimpered, her teeth clenched around a wooden stick as she curled into a trembling ball on the narrow bed. For days now, she’d been hiding in this Prison Cell, enduring the torture at unpredictable intervals—sometimes every half hour, sometimes after two or three hours. The island’s captors clearly believed she was still here, launching surprise attacks without pause, their searches relentless.
At first, Rita had hoped they’d assume she’d escaped, giving her a chance to slip away. But she’d come to understand—her messages to Wade Gray must have betrayed her position.
She regretted, for the thousandth time, not having brought the Book of Friends with her.
Fortunately, the children in this cell had been shielding her. They shared their food, let her sleep on the only bed, and when her agony made her cry out, they’d scream in unison to mask her voice. When someone patrolled outside, Rita would transform into a beetle, slipping into the shadows to avoid the black-clad watchers.
After days, she’d noticed: some of the children were wizards—certainly possessing magical ability. Every time the Humming Sound began, they’d freeze, pressing themselves flat to the ground, faces twisted in pain, yet silent, as if they’d grown numb to it.
But Rita knew—no matter how many times she endured it, she’d never get used to this.
When the pain eased, she’d whisper again and again to the children, to herself:
“It’s coming… they’re almost here… we’ll be rescued.”
“Who?” A soft voice asked. Haley, a girl with pale, translucent skin and faint golden hair, spoke with quiet curiosity. Her green eyes were wide and innocent. But her appearance was anything but pleasing—her teeth were crooked, her chin jutted forward sharply. She looked strange, even grotesque.
Among all the children in the cell, only Mabel was anything close to pretty. The rest were unattractive by any standard.
At first, Rita had mocked their looks inwardly, scribbling cruel little descriptions in her mind. But after days spent among them, she finally understood: never judge by appearance.
These were the ugliest children she’d ever seen—yet also the kindest.
Rita paused, then said seriously:
“They’re the most powerful wizards in the world… and the future greatest Alchemist.”
“Wizards?” Haley tilted her head. “They can’t do anything here… magic doesn’t work.”
“It’s different,” Rita insisted, though her words rang hollow. She added quickly: “A powerful wizard could burn this entire island down with one spell.”
“That would mean we’d die too,” Mabel, a slightly older girl with dark brown hair, said coldly. “I hate magic. If it weren’t for magic, I wouldn’t be here.”
She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a scarred, layered arm—countless needle marks etched into her flesh.
Rita fell silent.
She’d come to realize the children were divided into two kinds: those like Haley, who had no magical ability, and those like Mabel, who did.
And the latter suffered far worse.
Haley and the others were only occasionally taken for blood tests. Otherwise, they were imprisoned, fed decently, and left alone. They didn’t starve.
But Mabel and another boy, Luke, were taken nearly every day. When they returned, they were weak, bruised, and marked with fresh wounds. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, they’d vomit, convulse, or burn with fever. The other children would clean up, care for them, and the guards would bring medicine to ease their symptoms.
Luke was terrified of being taken. Rita feared he’d break under pressure and betray them for a chance at relief.
But to her surprise, no matter how afraid he was, he never spoke a word.
Mabel seemed to sense Rita’s thoughts. After tending to her wounds one night, she suddenly said, “Your worry is pointless.”
Rita stared at her.
Mabel leaned against the wall, expressionless. “Our value lies in the magic we can’t escape. Even if you betrayed us, you’d just become another test subject. There’s no way out.”
“Test subject?” Rita’s voice rose. “Are these Muggles trying to steal your magic?”
Mabel didn’t answer. She stared at the small window, her voice barely a whisper:
“If only it could be stolen… if only it were that easy.”
“That’s impossible,” Rita protested. “Without magic… without magic… what would we even be?”
She stopped, her voice fading.
What would it be like, if magic were gone? Like becoming disabled overnight?
But then she thought of Mabel—of the pain she endured—and couldn’t finish the thought.
Suddenly, a jingle echoed outside the cell—metal keys and bells clinking rhythmically, like footsteps moving down the corridor.
Rita didn’t hesitate. She transformed into a beetle, darting toward the filthy pillow. But then she froze.
Every child in the cell leapt up, rushing to the far side of the iron bars. They gripped the metal, pressing their faces against it, straining to see.
Rita hesitated, curiosity pulling her forward. She flew to Mabel’s hair. Mabel flicked her head in annoyance, but didn’t brush her off.
Rita saw them: a group of large, imposing men walking down the corridor. The leader wore a mask, a chain of shiny silver keys dangling from his belt, a clipboard in hand, his steps accompanied by that familiar, jingling rhythm.
They passed.
But not just this cell—every cell along the corridor had its children pressed against the bars, silent, motionless, eyes fixed on the retreating figures.
Rita didn’t understand. She raised her antennae to poke Mabel’s cheek, wanting an explanation—then suddenly, the jingle grew louder.
They were coming back.
This time, one of them was different—a teenage boy. Thin, gaunt, his eyes hollow, filled with despair. He moved like a puppet, his body moving forward without will.
The jingle stopped.
The man paused in front of Mabel’s cell, glanced at his list, and said:
“Haley Cox.”
Haley’s face went pale. She froze, rooted to the spot.
The other children stared in shock.
Mabel gasped. “No—how can it be Haley? She’s so young!”
The masked man looked up, smiling. “Mabel, isn’t it? Let’s give her a lesson.”
Before she could react, one of the men drew a fat, round gun and aimed it at Mabel.
Mabel’s eyes widened in horror.
Luke lunged forward. “Mabel!”
He threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. Rita felt the world tilt—she tried to fly, but Luke pinned her down with one hand. His voice trembled:
“Don’t move.”
Rita froze.
Luke pressed her beneath him, then Mabel’s body, and finally his own—two trembling bodies shielding her.
They screamed—raw, agonized cries, like wounded beasts.
Rita felt a familiar, searing pain, as if her magic were rebelling against her. But the children’s bodies blocked most of it. She only felt a faint sting.
Mabel and Luke—those who never cried out during the Humming Sound—now writhed in agony.
Through the gap between Luke’s fingers, Rita saw the cell door open. Haley stood rigid, then was lifted like a chicken by a man and dragged away.
The jingle faded. The door locked.
Only then did the children move. Some sighed in relief. Others began whispering, moving around.
The children in this cell rushed to help Mabel and Luke, lifting them to the bed.
“You were reckless, Mabel,” one said, breathless. “And you too, Luke. I thought you’d be taken!”
“I couldn’t help it,” Mabel said, staring at the ceiling. “We’re valuable. Precious test subjects.”
Luke hung his head, still trembling.
“Rita, are you okay?” Another child asked gently. “I was so scared you’d turn back.”
They all knew—when the Humming Sound came, Rita would lose control, revert to her beetle form.
Rita shifted back, shaking her head. “I’m fine… they protected me.”
She looked at their quiet, sorrowful faces. “Haley… what will happen to her?”
“Don’t know,” Mabel said, her eyes empty. “No one who’s been taken… ever comes back.”
No one could deny it. The answer was clear.
Rita gripped her parchment tightly, despair creeping in.
She knew Wade hadn’t been gone long—but still, she silently pleaded:
Please… hurry… come faster… find us…
…
In the forest, Wade suddenly lifted his head. A spider was weaving a web between leaves.
But this web was incomplete—uneven, asymmetrical. As if something had disrupted its creation.
Even insects here were affected by some unseen, negative influence.
Wade turned away, looking ahead.
Dumbledore waved his wand. Silver thread and copper wire wove through the air like a spider’s web, forming a latticed Metal Cloak.
He’d always known magic disrupted electromagnetic signals. That was why no electronic device worked in Hogwarts. Even a powerful wizard’s emotional surge could flicker nearby lights, distort radios, disrupt TVs.
But Wade hadn’t expected ordinary humans—Muggles—to have already mastered ways to counter wizards.
If magic could disrupt EM signals, then strong EM signals could disrupt magic.
For wizards isolated from the Muggle world, such attacks would be devastating—Dumbledore himself might fall victim if he wasn’t careful.
But Wade knew how to shield against it.
The world’s technology level was still within his grasp.
As an Alchemist, Wade always carried alchemical materials in his pencil case. As a Transfiguration master, Dumbledore could shape raw materials into any form.
Soon, two electromagnetic shielding cloaks were complete. Dumbledore even wove the Hogwarts crest into the fabric—perhaps a small indulgence of his imagination.
Wade slipped into his cloak. It fit perfectly.
“Even your weaving charm is flawless,” Wade said. “What can’t you do, Headmaster?”
“I simply enjoy knitting,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “It’s a good pastime. You should try it.”
Wade chuckled. “If I live as long as you, maybe I’ll find something to pass the time.”
“Incidents never stop,” Dumbledore said. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, Wade.”
“Seeing Rita’s suffering… I realize I still have so much to learn.”
Dumbledore paused, then nodded. “You’re right. First, survive. Then, everything else follows.”
They walked down the muddy path through the forest—seemingly aimless, but actually tracking the faint traces left by magic.
The cameras on both sides remained silent, dark as black stone. No reflections. No images.
“So this… blocks the magnetic field?” Dumbledore asked.
“Complete blocking isn’t possible,” Wade said. “But we can reduce it to a manageable level. Copper and silver are highly conductive—excellent for blocking high-frequency magnetic fields. But full shielding would require superconducting materials. Best to cut the power.”
“Superconducting materials?” Dumbledore tilted his head. “What are they? How do you make them?”
Wade sighed. “That’s beyond my knowledge, Professor. I’m still just a student.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “Wade, I believe your mastery exceeds most ordinary people. I’ve met Muggle professors—some know less than you. Ah, here we are.”
Before them rose a towering wall, impossibly high.
(End of Chapter)
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