Chapter 389: I Need You
Even Wade and Dumbledore could confirm—Rita Skeeter was definitely on this island, having sent out a distress signal. The place undeniably housed a Needle weapon capable of targeting wizards. Yet neither of them immediately saw the people here as enemies.
The magical puppets that launched the attack appeared terrifyingly fierce—but each one followed a single, strict command: Do not kill.
Maiming, dismemberment, broken ribs—these were trivial matters in the magical world.
The two infiltrated the island, beginning their investigation into the identities of those involved. But before they could uncover more, they came across a chilling collection: stacks of experimental reports, attendance rolls, and trade catalogs.
> [0203: Mario Hogan, 15 years old, heart match, blood match, healthy… processed.]
> [0241: Benedict Duke, 13 years old, kidney match, blood match, healthy… processed.]
> [0128: Molly Camille, 14 years old, liver match, bone marrow match, heart match, healthy… processed.]
> [1957: Anastasia Joy, 9 years old, heart-lung match, bone marrow match… infected with disease, destroyed.]
Each line of cold, clinical text was accompanied by grotesque images of organs—flesh and blood, the remnants of lives violently extinguished.
Wade had only skimmed a few files. The rest were neatly arranged on shelves, countless and unending.
Inside folders marked [Magic], the personal dossiers were far more detailed—pages of intimate, invasive data. The first page held photographs of young children. Then came records as thorough as security clearance forms: bloodline connections traced back to great-great-grandparents. Medical reports so precise they tracked the exact speed of hair growth. And endless logs of experiments utterly devoid of humanity.
Under these brutal procedures, young wizards were reduced to disposable commodities. Some, in their desperation, unleashed terrifying bursts of power—causing massive damage to the base. In response, the facility learned to suppress magic through interference between electromagnetic and magical energy fields.
Now, every minor wizard wore a Restriction Ring—a collar that rendered their magic useless. Unable to fight back, unable to escape, unable even to end their own suffering, the children endured endless cruelty, trapped in a cycle of agony with no way out.
“Foolish Muggles,” Dumbledore said, his voice icy cold after seeing the files. “This will lead to catastrophic consequences. I only hope they haven’t already gone too far.”
Wade glanced at the security guard slumped beside them—a plump, round-faced man with round eyes, resembling a harmless raccoon, the island’s guardian.
When they entered, Wade had only stunned him with a simple spell. But after reviewing the documents, he used Veritaserum to force the truth from the man.
“I don’t… know how many were brought in. I never counted… No one needs to know…”
“Children come every month—twenty or thirty in quiet times, up to a hundred during wars or disasters. No pattern, really. Just more when chaos strikes.”
“They’re kept until a buyer comes. Blood, organs, bone marrow, skin—anything can be sold.”
“Even if there’s disease and the organs can’t be used… someone inside collects bones and eyes. Butterfly bone—the flat bone at the front of the skull… that’s the most sought-after, the most expensive.”
“Truth is, we only get the rejects. The ones with good looks, or strong magic, or easy to brainwash—those go elsewhere. We’re just the trash heap. The leftovers. The ones no one else wants.”
The man spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather.
A few more questions revealed that this seemingly innocent man had blood on his hands—several murders, in fact.
Originally, the role of “cleaner” wasn’t his. But to relieve job stress—because it was “fun”—he’d personally deliver the “gifts” to other staff, begging to be allowed to take part.
Just as Wade prepared to act, a low humming sound echoed through the room. Both men braced against the surge of magical pain. The fat administrator collapsed again, unconscious—this time to prevent any sudden move.
When the wave passed, Wade turned to Dumbledore.
“Professor… do we still need to hold back?”
He’d wanted to appear more noble, more righteous in Dumbledore’s eyes. But now, he couldn’t pretend anymore. His hands trembled with restraint.
Dumbledore sighed. “I never wanted you to be overly kind to enemies, Wade. I only ask that you never despise the value of life.”
“I understand,” Wade said.
He raised a hand. Firebird Mihal, eager and radiant, popped out from the closet space. Flames danced along its feathers, and the room’s temperature spiked instantly.
But Dumbledore raised a single finger. With a quiet gesture, he pressed down on Mihal’s head.
The bird blinked, confused, then obediently sank back into the closet.
Wade frowned. “Professor?”
“It’s not your burden, Wade,” Dumbledore said. “I won’t let your soul be scarred.”
Before Wade could react, Dumbledore raised his wand. A blazing inferno engulfed the unconscious man.
The guard jolted awake, lunging up—only to collapse again, mouth open in silent agony, frozen in the moment just before a scream.
Wade didn’t look back at the heat. He stared at Dumbledore.
“And what about your soul, sir?”
Dumbledore’s voice was gentle. “To save innocent children from suffering, to send the demons haunting this world to hell—where they can no longer harm anyone—that is what keeps my soul whole.”
“I’ve lived through two wars, Wade. I didn’t survive by shouting slogans or trying to love our enemies into change. I know when to make the hard decision.”
“But you’re still young. I don’t fear your magic—your power. I know you can destroy anyone in front of you. They’re like straw men to you.”
“I’ve always been proud of you. Your maturity, your strength—it’s remarkable. But I worry… I fear you’ll forget the difference between fighting to protect, and fighting to kill. I fear you’ll become addicted to the power of life and death—seeing it as a normal, acceptable solution.”
“I’ve seen the greatest wizards fall. I’ve seen young people, once driven only to defend the oppressed, become the darkness they once fought. They believed their power and sacrifice were for the greater good. But in their quest to save, they lost everything.”
“They lost reverence for life. They lost compassion for ordinary people. They’d slaughter an innocent infant, and all they’d mourn was their own pain—never the child’s.”
“So wait, Wade. Not because I doubt you. But because I want your soul to remain untouched—until you’ve built a fortress strong enough to withstand this world’s cruelty.”
Wade said nothing.
In that moment, he wished Dumbledore would treat him like he had with Harry—either ignoring him completely, or outright forbidding him from acting. That way, he could have done what he wanted, guilt-free.
But he couldn’t resist the quiet, sincere wisdom of this man’s words. The gentle, patient guidance.
There was no time for speeches, no room for debate.
“What should I do, then?” Wade asked. “Just stand here and watch?”
“Of course not,” Dumbledore smiled. “I need you to protect the children. And to find Rita Skeeter—ensure their safety. Can you do that?”
“Of course.”
…
Boom!
Boom!
Boom—
Explosions ripped through the air. Flames roared into the sky. Power poles snapped, cables twisted and writhed in midair, arcing like dying serpents. Machines buried underground burst upward, exploding mid-flight.
After the first surge of intense magnetic field, Dumbledore had already mapped the locations of all key systems.
He didn’t need to understand how they worked—only that they must be destroyed beyond repair.
He knew, as only a wizard who’d faced the worst could, how fragile Muggle machinery truly was.
Black-clad attackers fell in waves. White-coated researchers fled in panic—only to clutch their chests and collapse mid-stride.
This time, the Headmaster showed no mercy.
Only then did Wade truly see the terrifying presence that had made Gellert Grindelwald tremble and Voldemort fear.
He knew—because there were still innocent children here, and stranded wizards caught in the chaos—Dumbledore had held back.
Otherwise, the entire island would have been reduced to ash. No one would have escaped.
But—
When needed, he’d say: “Let me teach you magic.”
When not, he’d say: “You’re still too young, Wade.”
As Wade ran toward the dungeon, he grumbled silently in his heart.
But he obeyed Dumbledore’s command—his request—without hesitation.
He had no choice.
“I need you.”
That simple phrase, ordinary in words, carried a power that could move mountains.
The dungeon’s location was well known to the fat administrator. It wasn’t a standalone building, but concealed beneath the lab—two full floors beneath the surface.
So even as chaos erupted above, the dungeon remained eerily calm. The corridor between cells was patrolled by guards who moved back and forth without pause.
When the humming stopped, Rita Skeeter instantly transformed back into a beetle, deliberately blocking the view of the children on the bunks.
Footsteps echoed again.
The children sat on the floor, watching the guards frown and pace, occasionally whispering into earpieces or exchanging tense glances—then resuming their rounds.
Inside the cells, the children whispered among themselves.
“What’s happening?”
“They’ve never patrolled this often before…”
“Do you think they’re needing more workers?”
“No… it feels like something’s gone wrong.”
“Mabel? What do you think?”
Mabel stared blankly at the ceiling. After a long silence, she whispered, “I don’t know.”
Luke glanced at the window, then looked away, indifferent. His hand, scarred from an old wound, kept licking at the raw skin—like a cat cleaning a claw.
Rita wanted to speak. But she knew—silence was safest. The only way to protect them.
She wriggled across the old blanket, restless and anxious.
Suddenly—thud.
Thud.
The guards dropped like stones, their heads cracking against the floor. Their noses flattened with sickening force.
Footsteps approached.
Silence fell. The children stared, wide-eyed, frozen in fear.
Then a boy’s voice asked, “Just these few? Any others guarding this corridor?”
No one answered. The children just stared, uncomprehending, as if they didn’t understand English.
Rita froze—then shot forward, transforming back into human form, grabbing the bars.
“Wade! Wade Gray! Is it really you? You came to rescue us?”
She pressed her face against the bars, nearly tearing her own features, forgetting she could simply fly away as a beetle.
“Rita?” Wade sounded surprised. He hurried forward. “Merlin’s beard, you’re safe. I didn’t expect you to be in here.”
He raised his wand, casting an unlocking charm. The cell door swung open.
Rita burst out, rushing to embrace him—only to freeze, staring at the wand pointed at her nose.
“Hold on. Prove you’re really Rita Skeeter.”
Her joyful expression shattered. She lifted her hands, desperately trying to recall anything she’d shared with Wade.
“I… you gave me an Invisibility Cloak…”
“That was borrowed,” Wade said. “But whatever. Where’s the cloak?”
“It was destroyed,” Rita said, anxious. “Never mind that—how many are with you?”
“Two.”
“What? Only two?”
Rita screamed.
“The other is Dumbledore,” Wade said.
“Then it’s okay,” Rita exhaled. “We can escape from here.”
She looked around frantically. “Where is he? Did you fall for a Muggle trap? That humming sound—”
“Not sound,” Wade interrupted. “It’s the magnetic field.”
He stopped himself. He realized she wouldn’t understand. He closed his mouth.
“Get ready. I’ll get you out.”
He waved his wand. All the cell doors unlocked.
The pale, skeletal children looked at one another. After a long silence, one stepped forward—then another.
“If you can save us,” a girl suddenly shouted, “please save Haley too. They took her away!”
The corridor fell utterly silent.
(End of Chapter)
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