Chapter 391: Rampage
Clang... clang...
The chime of the bell and the metallic click of the key rang out, clear and sharp.
To Mabel, that sound meant only one thing: another child was being taken away.
She wasn’t the oldest in the dungeon, but she had endured the longest.
Because of her Magic Ability, she’d been labeled a valuable resource the moment she arrived—experiments too brutal to be inflicted on her body were spared.
But later, as more children with magical gifts arrived, her value diminished. The experiments grew crueler.
Yet she never submitted to the Organization.
Mabel’s talent was undeniable. Had she not chosen to die rather than surrender, had she not retained an unyielding hatred toward the Organization even after losing all memory, had she not even killed an important figure—she would have become one of their specimens long ago.
Years spent in the dungeon had made her witness to countless children being thrown in. They’d cry at first, but within days, they’d learn their place—become docile, obedient.
They clung to hope. They believed, if they behaved well enough, they’d be allowed to leave—return home. They imagined their parents, the police, coming to rescue them.
It was hope that kept them going.
But Mabel watched with cold eyes. She knew that day would never come.
Once, a researcher had accidentally been bitten by her. Furious, he yanked her hair, dragging her from the third floor all the way to the fifth.
To that hellish place.
Pointing at the scattered remains of a Split-into-Parts Spell, the man sneered, “See that, my precious Mabel?”
“If you weren’t still useful, that would be your fate.”
“Next month, two Minor Wizards are coming. Then you won’t be the only one with magic. How long do you think your special status will last?”
“Don’t get so arrogant, Mabel! When I get my hands on you, I’ll peel your skin off—piece by piece. How about a pair of boots? Your face would make a perfect sole.”
Mabel barely heard him. Her ears roared, her scalp burned as if it had torn free from her skull.
Forced to keep her head high, unable to close her eyes, she stared blankly at the shattered remains.
Even in ruin, she recognized the familiar curls.
That was the only friend she’d ever had.
She retched violently, as if her heart might come up with the bile.
Clang... clang...
Yes. The man who wanted to flay her alive—the one who wore the bell—was the source of that sound.
Just hearing it sent her body into a shudder. Instinctive fear, pure hatred.
Slowly, she turned her head toward the sound.
The researcher entered, dragging a box, staggering forward. His mask was gone. Bloodstains spread across his chest.
He froze when he saw Mabel. “Mabel… you dare to escape?”
He drew his gun in an instant, aiming it at her. Then realization struck. “Ah—right. The attacker was one of your kind. They freed you, didn’t they?”
Staring at the trembling girl on the ground, at the conspicuous collar around her neck, he understood everything.
The collar was designed to suppress a Wizard’s Magic Ability.
Some young Wizards, even without formal training, could suddenly unleash overwhelming power—causing catastrophic damage to the lab.
So whenever their magical fluctuations crossed a threshold, the collar activated automatically, suppressing their magic.
The method? Painful beyond imagination.
The attacker must have intended to rescue everyone. But during the chaos, Mabel’s collar activated—turning her into a liability.
So she was abandoned. Left behind to die.
The researcher scanned the room. No one else in sight. He relaxed.
He grabbed Mabel by the collar, yanked her up, and shoved her forward.
“Get up, witch! Don’t play dead on the floor—I know you’re still alive!”
“Haley…” Mabel whispered weakly. “Haley… you took her… where is she?”
“Haley?” The researcher laughed coldly. “She’s dead. Her heart was ripped out ten minutes ago. Where is she? Maybe she’s in the meat grinder by now. Stop loitering! If you don’t want to end up like her, move!”
He jabbed her head with the gun.
Inside, he was already calculating. If he ran into attackers later, Mabel could serve as a shield.
If the enemy was a Wizard, she’d be a valuable hostage.
If he managed to escape with her, she’d be his “valuable asset”—a child he’d personally saved.
On the island, the non-magical children, the buildings, the soldiers—they meant nothing.
But Wizards? Even as lab subjects, they were precious.
If he could prove he’d reduced losses, the Organization might reward him with a better base.
As for responsibility? That would fall on Ziq and Veronica.
What did a mere bookworm like him care about the fate of a base?
The researcher smiled, then kicked Mabel hard when she didn’t move.
“Move! You want to die?”
The blow sent a jolt through her.
She hadn’t understood why, but suddenly, the pain vanished—like a barrier had shattered.
She heard her own ragged breath. The rush of blood through her veins. The thunderous surge of magic rising within her.
Click.
A soft sound.
Close.
From her neck.
Mabel reached up, touched the collar.
It had cracked completely in half—now barely holding its shape.
The researcher stared, panic flickering. Then fury surged.
How dare a weak little mouse under his control defy him?
He raised his gun—odd, ancient in design—and fired.
Boom!
A blue beam struck Mabel—yet passed right through her.
It hit the conveyor belt’s axle, exploding in a shower of sparks.
The man gaped.
How could this happen? A glitch in a living body?
Black smoke poured from Mabel’s form. She turned, her eyes now completely white.
Where the bullet should have hit, her body dissolved into wisps—black tendrils like smoke, writhing and snaking.
The researcher screamed.
Frozen in terror, he opened his mouth in a silent shriek—until the tendrils wrapped around him.
Then came the scream.
A blood-curdling, soul-rending cry.
---
Wade had been examining the girl on the bed.
He didn’t understand.
How could a child—her blood drained, her organs torn out—still be alive?
It wasn’t comforting. It was unsettling.
He stepped closer, waved his wand, casting diagnostic spells.
He’d studied many magics, out of concern for the future. Healing spells were among them. So were testing incantations—his specialty.
After a moment, he lowered his wand, stunned.
She had been gutted.
But her organs were still inside.
Her heart and kidneys had been removed—but reinserted within moments.
Only magic could do that.
Like plugging a USB drive back in.
She had no Magic Ability herself—but her body had been exposed to magic.
The blood spilled across the floor, yet she hadn’t bled to death.
Because she’d drunk a high-grade blood-restoring potion.
Her unconscious state? A Life-and-Death Elixir.
Could it be Dumbledore?
Wade thought. Then shook his head.
The explosions outside hadn’t stopped. He’d seen machines flying through the air, colliding mid-flight, crashing down in a storm of debris.
Dumbledore couldn’t have come.
There was no time.
Time…
Wade’s mind cleared.
It was me.
I saved her.
But why?
So many had died on this island.
Yes, she was tragic.
But why risk using the Time-Turner outside Hogwarts?
He’d promised—only for study.
He’d broken that promise often, but always within school grounds.
Using it beyond Hogwarts? That could trigger Ministry detection.
He could lose his Time-Turner.
Worse—face punishment for violating the ban.
Then—
A scream.
A voice.
Wade glanced at the girl on the bed, poured a healing potion onto her wound, then sprinted toward the sound.
He burst through the door just in time to see a man being yanked into the air by a writhing black substance—then torn apart.
Blood sprayed.
Wade’s pupils contracted.
Silent Shadow.
That was the name.
The black, shadowy substance—like tainted magic—immediately brought that term to mind.
When a Wizard suppressed their magic too long, or suffered extreme physical and psychological abuse, their magic would twist, forming a destructive, soul-burning power called Silent Shadow.
It was uncontrollable.
Unstoppable.
And in the films, it had only ever manifested in one family—Dumbledore’s.
Ariana Dumbledore. And her nephew, Cleddens Baribown.
Wade couldn’t believe it.
He’d seen it in an ordinary girl.
But then he remembered the conditions.
Suppressed magic. Constant abuse.
Wasn’t that exactly Mabel’s daily life?
Not just her.
Every child here had endured the same pain.
Each was a potential host.
Strange…
Dumbledore had once warned: This will lead to terrible consequences.
The consequences had come.
But how bad would it get?
In an instant, the Silent Shadow tore through the man, then unleashed chaos across the building.
Conveyor belts snapped. Machines twisted, crushed. Walls bulged, then split open. Brick and dust flew.
The air itself was thick with wild, frenzied magic.
Wade struggled to breathe.
To fight back? Impossible.
The thing moved like lightning.
He threw up Shield Charms and Obstacle Spells—just enough to stay alive.
This was the power that even Gellert Grindelwald had coveted.
And now it was born in a child—still developing, still fragile.
Yet it was already devastating.
Wade felt it again—his own weakness.
He didn’t know if Mabel still had control.
The Silent Shadow hadn’t attacked him.
Instead, it tore through the floor, vanishing downward.
The sound of destruction echoed—machines, walls, systems—crumbling one by one.
It was heading for the lab where Mabel had suffered.
Then the dungeon.
The children were still down there.
Wade’s pant leg twitched.
He looked down.
Two of his Magic Puppets—left behind earlier—stood at his feet.
“I’m sorry,” one whispered. “We failed.”
“We couldn’t protect her… Her magic was too strong. We couldn’t move.”
The two small figures hung their heads, ashamed.
“It’s not your fault,” Wade said, smiling faintly. “I couldn’t stop it either.”
He placed them on Haley’s bed.
“Now, protect her. I need to go.”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
They sat quietly beside Haley, watching their master leave.
A second later, another figure tumbled through the window.
The puppets gasped, mouths wide open.
Wade smiled, raised a finger—shush—then walked back to the bed.
He examined Haley’s wounds again.
Sighed.
“Healing is too slow… My potion is still far behind Professor Snape’s.”
He uncorked a crystal vial, poured fresh potion into the wound.
The skin stitched itself together—visible, rapid.
(End of Chapter)
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