Chapter 390: Rescue
"Mabel…" A boy tugged at the girl’s sleeve. "Haley… Haley might already be…"
The girl said nothing. Her eyes, fierce and unwavering, locked onto Wade. Her fists were clenched tightly, her thin frame coiled like a volcano ready to erupt.
Wade asked, "Haley was one of your companions?"
"Yes," Rita Skeeter replied. "She’s only nine… taken about an hour ago."
Wade studied their faces. He knew they weren’t lying. "Do you know where they took her?"
"I know," Mabel said forcefully, her voice trembling. "I know the route."
"Mihal," Wade said, raising a hand.
The Firebird appeared instantly, circling above with a warm, melodic cry before landing gracefully between the railings, its golden eyes fixed on the children below.
"You protect Rita and the others," Wade instructed. "Don’t let anyone harm them."
Mihal nodded, then settled into a vigilant stance, wings slightly spread, watching over the group.
Wade turned to Mabel. "Lead the way. We’re going to find that child."
"Follow me," Mabel said without hesitation, darting forward. Her brown hair streamed behind her like a banner.
Rita Skeeter watched them go, her eyes wide with longing. She opened her mouth, wanting to call after them—but closed it again.
The sound of the iron gate sealing shut echoed behind her. A sudden chill gripped her. She felt utterly exposed.
Rita’s magic ability was purely journalistic—she was a master of gossip, not combat. In fact, she was less capable in a fight than many third-years.
Wade’s gone… but Dumbledore should be here soon, right? He has to be. There are so many children here—no way he can ignore this.
But how could they all escape safely? Even Dumbledore couldn’t conjure a boat out of thin air.
If it were just the three of them… escaping would’ve been easy.
Rita Skeeter’s thoughts spiraled, but beneath them surged a deeper, uglier realization—she was ashamed.
In her heart, she saw herself as part of the same side as Wade and Dumbledore. A wizard. One of them.
But in their eyes? Probably not.
They’d come to save her. But if a choice had to be made—between her and the younger children—she had no doubt they’d choose the children.
Thinking of the monstrous Muggles on this island, and remembering how the children had protected her these past days, Rita’s anxiety spiked. She bit down hard on her nails, gnawing them into ragged holes.
Then—suddenly—a strange sound from behind.
Jumpy and on edge, Rita assumed the guards had awakened. She whirled around—just in time to see a burst of crimson petals explode outward.
"Boom!"
"Ah—!"
Rita screamed, unable to stop herself.
A red-haired boy, no older than ten, stood there, blood dripping from his hands. He’d ripped the baton from a guard’s grip and shattered the man’s skull with a brutal, soulless swing. He turned his blank stare toward Rita.
Luke stepped in front of her, voice trembling with fear. "She’s a wizard… she’s not like them."
One by one, the children from the cell formed a ragged line before Rita, their small frames forming a fragile wall.
Tears streamed down Rita’s face. She hadn’t wanted to be a burden—but they’d protected her again.
The red-haired boy said nothing. He raised the baton high, then brought it down with all his strength.
Thud.
Rita heard the crunch of bone. She couldn’t bear to look. She turned her face toward the Firebird, desperate for comfort.
Mihal tilted its head, preening a single feather with its beak.
Wade had only ordered it to protect the children and Rita. It didn’t matter to the bird whether the guards lived or died.
Though Mihal wasn’t human, it could tell who was its enemy.
Born from a place of chaos and fire, this Firebird was not like a Phoenix. It didn’t revere life. It craved destruction, its very nature indifferent to death.
Rita got no help from the bird. She crouched beneath it, pressed against the railing, trembling as she watched the scene unfold.
Led by the red-haired boy, even the children who had stayed behind now emerged. They surged forward, attacking the remaining guards with everything they had—bludgeoning with sticks, stabbing with knives, kicking and punching.
One child even dropped to all fours, biting into a guard’s flesh like a wild animal, eyes filled with hatred.
The scene was horrific—blood, screams, chaos.
Rita fought the urge to retch. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t close her eyes. A deep, primal fear gripped her.
These… are Muggles?
But Muggles aren’t like this. They’re clumsy, stupid, easily fooled—always unaware…
What’s happening on this island? Why are they so terrifying?
Mabel, though she’d forced a brave face, was exhausted. She’d barely climbed two flights of stairs from the dungeon, and already her breath came in ragged gasps.
But she didn’t stop. One second’s delay could mean life or death for Haley.
Then—she heard a voice, close by.
"Up."
She turned.
Wade was riding a broomstick—hovering midair.
Mabel gasped. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed his hand and leapt onto the broom, sitting in front of him.
"You guide us," Wade said.
"Right," Mabel said, steadying herself. "To the right!"
Wade kicked off the ground, and they shot forward.
This time, he was riding the Firebolt—the fastest broom in the world, capable of 150 miles per hour.
Inside the buildings, he had to slow down, but even so, they flew far faster than Mabel could run.
A streak of flame flashed past the window. Glass shattered.
Outside, the base was unrecognizable. Flames engulfed half the structure. Soldiers in black uniforms lay scattered, unmoving—dead or dying, no one could tell.
"You really only came with two people?" Mabel shouted over the wind.
"Of course," Wade replied, steering the broom as Mabel pointed.
They turned—and directly ahead, they saw several white lab coats clutching computers, fleeing in panic.
They froze when they saw Wade. Hands fumbled for guns.
Wade raised his wand. Crack.
The men fell like sacks of flour.
Mabel watched them writhe on the ground. "Don’t spare them!" she cried. "They’re demons! They all deserve to die!"
"Relax," Wade said. "They won’t be going anywhere."
The broom didn’t stop.
Mabel heard a sharp clatter behind her. She twisted around—just in time to see tiny black beads scattering across the ground.
Bombs? She thought, her heart leaping. I hope they’re blown to pieces.
Then—something changed.
The beads began to grow.
Rapidly.
They swelled—into monstrous mantises, centipedes, spiders, and scorpions, towering over human height.
Mabel’s mouth fell open.
A scream tore from her throat.
The broom turned sharply. The scene behind them vanished. Mabel stared ahead, frozen. Her heart hammered. Sweat poured from every pore. Her hands remained locked onto the broom, trembling.
"Mabel, which way now?" Wade asked.
"Oh—oh… left, two left turns, then up the stairs, right turn…" Mabel stammered, gasping for air.
"Scared?" Wade said gently. "Don’t worry. They’re just enchanted insects. They’ll shrink back soon."
"Insects?" Mabel thought, stunned. Not some prehistoric monster?
"Yeah," Wade said, as if answering her unspoken question. "Dumbledore made me promise not to kill. I agreed."
"Oh…" Mabel murmured, her mind racing. She wanted to ask, but didn’t know where to begin.
So using insects doesn’t count as killing?
Wizard logic… is it really that strange?
Everything today felt unreal—like a dream so vivid it blended her deepest fears with her most desperate hopes.
Had the base really been destroyed?
Could they actually escape?
Was this man behind her real?
She looked at the empty corridor. Papers scattered on the floor. Broken glass. Lights flickering and dying. Bloodstains on walls and floor.
A man lay slumped in a corner, gunned down. His glasses had slipped off. His face was frozen in shock.
Mabel remembered him. She’d watched him through the glass, calmly asking researchers:
“Results aren’t strong enough. Should we increase the dosage?”
“The blood seems unremarkable. Can we draw more bone marrow?”
“We need more comparisons. Failure doesn’t matter—just more supplies. New ones come next month anyway.”
Mabel dug her nails into her palm. The pain brought tears to her eyes.
This isn’t a dream.
She reached out, trembling, as if to touch Wade—just to confirm he was real.
Wade, though sharing the broom, remained alert. His metal-threaded cloak stayed on. He saw Mabel’s dazed expression, her hand reaching out—almost like she wanted to pinch him.
"Touch me," he warned, "and I’ll throw you off. You’re not forgetting why we’re here—Haley’s still out there."
"Haley!" Mabel snapped back to reality, shaking off the fog.
"The doors here need eye scans to open," she said. "We need someone in a green surgical suit…"
She didn’t finish.
Ahead, the metal door—normally locked—was ajar. A trail of bloody footprints, messy and chaotic, led from inside to outside.
A cold dread flooded Mabel’s chest.
She leapt off the broom, rolled, and scrambled to her feet, lunging into the room.
Wade glanced at the footprints—adult-sized. Then he flicked his wand.
Black beads flew into the air. Dozens of them.
Instantly, they swelled into giant insects. With mechanical precision, they scuttled forward, following the blood trail.
Wade stepped inside—and heard Mabel’s scream. Not pain. Not panic. Something deeper.
He rushed forward.
At first, he saw only conveyor belts—long, industrial lines, like those in a factory. Then he saw what was on them.
His stomach dropped.
Human bodies.
Raw, stripped of life. Flesh. Organs. Bones.
A processing line—built from people.
He remembered the guard’s confession:
"Blood, organs, marrow, skin—anything. As long as someone pays, we provide. Some even come for private collection—bones, eyes… especially butterfly bones…"
On the belt, a head—its butterfly bone removed—lay abandoned. As if the machine had stopped mid-process.
Mabel saw the hair.
She gasped, clutching her chest.
"No… it’s not Haley… Haley… she might still be alive… I have to find her…"
She staggered forward—then collapsed.
Her body convulsed. Her hands clawed at her neck, gasping like a fish out of water.
Wade rushed to her side. He forced a Healing Potion down her throat, then cast Petrificus Totalus to stop the spasms. He pulled her hands away.
Mabel’s neck bore a black collar, embedded into her flesh. It hummed softly. A faint smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Her neck was a ruin of red, blistered wounds—like someone had been decapitated.
Wade frowned. He tapped the collar with his wand.
Click.
It didn’t break. But cracks appeared.
The humming stopped.
Mabel gasped—then coughed violently.
Wade reached to remove it—but she pushed him away.
"Leave me… go find Haley…"
"…Alright. Be careful," Wade said.
He placed two small magic puppets beside her, then dashed toward the far end of the room.
If one end leads to body processing… the other must be the operating room.
He kicked open the door.
Beyond: a hallway filled with picture books and old toys. Then a sterile, empty operating theater.
And in the third room—
A bloodstained hospital bed.
A girl, barely more than a child, lay there—her abdomen opened, her skin pale as paper.
She looked so small. So fragile. As if her soul had already left.
Wade froze.
He hadn’t expected anything. But this—this was unbearable.
Then—his breath caught.
Her eyelids twitched. Just once.
…A flicker.
"Mabel," Wade whispered. "Haley’s still alive."
Mabel, still on the floor, coughed violently. She tried to rise—but collapsed again.
Her heart pounded like a drum. Her body felt hollow. She was dizzy, weak, her throat dry. Each breath was agony.
Then—she stopped moving.
She turned her head.
A sound.
A soft, familiar chime.
Ping… ping… ping…
She knew that sound.
(End of Chapter)
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