https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-480-Silent-Shadow-Separation-Surgery/13685562/
Chapter 479: Hunger
The morning sunlight was warm, yet not harsh, accompanied by a gentle breeze that painted the small garden in soft, golden hues. Roses—pink, white, purple, red—bloomed in vibrant profusion, their layered petals unfurling with a lively, almost defiant energy.
A young man in a hospital gown sat on a garden bench, gazing at the view, his eyes flickering with a quiet longing and a trace of confusion.
His silver-haired father stood beside him, leaning down with concern. "How are you feeling? Is anything hurting?"
The young man smiled faintly. "Dad, I'm fine. I'm just… a little tired."
"Then we should go back to the ward," his mother said, forcing a smile despite her own exhaustion. "These flowers will be here for days. We can come back tomorrow."
"Alright," the young man said, slowly rising with his parents' support. As he walked out of the garden, he suddenly murmured, "I kind of… miss hotpot."
"Good," his mother choked out, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "When you're better, we'll go eat hotpot—roast meat, everything you've ever wanted. We'll eat it all."
"Really? All of it!" the young man said with a weak laugh, taking a few steps. Then, after a pause, he added, almost too quietly: "If I… don’t get the chance… you two should eat it all for me. That’d be nice."
"Stop saying nonsense!" his father snapped, voice sharp with worry. "The doctor said your condition isn’t serious. With proper treatment, you’ll get better. You have to keep fighting, do you hear me?"
"I hear you, I hear you…" the young man drawled, rolling his eyes. "I was just joking! Dad, seriously—why do you have to be so serious?"
"Mr. Gray! Wade Gray, sir!"
—Who was calling?
Ah, right. It was for me.
Wade, leaning against a garden pillar, shifted slightly. He knew someone outside was calling him, but he didn’t want to leave just yet.
He pretended not to hear, following the trio a little farther down the path, listening to their cheerful chatter about the boy’s recovery and their future travel plans. Their hope was so vivid, so full of belief, it almost felt like a dream that could come true.
Then, suddenly—another voice, faint and distant, as if filtered through a wall:
"Sorry, Master. If this doesn’t work… we’ll have to bring Dumbledore in."
—Dumbledore?
That name shattered Wade’s hesitation. He was mid-step toward the door when a jolt shot through him—like being struck by lightning. His body convulsed, and he shot upright in bed, gasping for air.
"Great! It worked!" Zoe cried, clapping her hands. "I thought Mr. Gray had been hit by some Dark Magic and was unconscious! It’s amazing you’re awake!"
Wade said nothing.
Seeing his HomeMaster radiating a storm of irritation, the Rubik’s Magic Puppet dared not boast. With a series of mechanical clack-clacks, it seized the other puppets and darted back into the closet space.
Wade stared after them, grinding his teeth.
"Mr. Gray, hurry up and get ready," Zoe tugged at his sleeve. "Or you’ll miss the train."
Wade exhaled slowly. "Thanks, Zoe. I’ll be right there."
By the time he’d finished washing up, the diligent house-elf had already loaded all his bags onto the train. Wade didn’t bother waiting for the carriage outside the castle. He said goodbye to the elf, suppressed the closet space, pulled open the window, and transformed into a falcon—soaring out into the sky.
The Hogwarts Express stood at the platform, already filled with students. Carriages continued arriving from the school.
Wade circled once, preparing to land in a quiet spot to change back. Then he spotted an open compartment window—Michael was leaning out, waving at him.
Wade folded his wings and dove. Michael barely had time to scramble aside before the falcon shot through the window and transformed into a human, landing neatly on the seat.
"Should’ve called me when you left," Michael laughed, eyeing Wade’s disheveled hair. "I thought you were deep in alchemy research or off meeting Dumbledore. Turns out you just overslept?"
Wade ran his fingers through his hair. "I had a really long dream last night."
"Sounds like a fantastic dream," Michael said, flipping open his pet magic puppet to pass the time. "So long you didn’t want to wake up?"
Wade fell silent. A sudden wave of melancholy washed over him. He didn’t answer.
The compartment door burst open with a loud bang. Theo hadn’t even stepped inside when his voice rang out:
"Harry didn’t see Wade this morning. He’s going back to his Muggle aunt’s house for the summer. I figured Wade must still be at school. Should we tell Professor—?"
He saw Wade then. But his words had already tumbled out: "...tell him."
Then he paused. "Wait—Wade? You left early?"
"No," Michael scoffed. "He just slept through the morning. Just flew in in a panic."
Wade raised a hand in greeting.
"Good thing you didn’t miss the train," Liam said, closing the door behind him. "Wouldn’t want to disturb the professors."
"Disturb professors?" Michael grinned. "Which professor doesn’t like me?"
They all laughed.
The train gave a long, mournful whistle and began to pull away from the station. Hogwarts Castle receded into the distance.
"Did you hear? Professor Troke resigned," Lechi asked.
"True," Michael said. "I overheard him telling Professor Flitwick this morning. He was only filling in for Professor Abigail temporarily—just for half a semester."
"So will Professor Abigail be back next term?" Theo asked, hopeful.
"Probably not," Michael shrugged. "Dumbledore’s already chosen the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He’s supposed to be incredibly powerful."
"I just hope he stays longer," Theo sighed. "Feels like we’re swapping professors faster than ever."
"But also better, right?" Michael said cheerfully. "Don’t worry. Dumbledore knows what he’s doing."
Then he noticed the silence in the compartment. He turned to Wade. "So, Wade, what’s your holiday plan? Wanna go see the World Cup together?"
Wade blinked, coming back to himself. "First, I have to visit someone… then, if time allows, I’ll probably go to the final."
"If I can, I won’t miss a single match," Michael said proudly. "My dad bought a whole set of tickets! This summer, I’ll basically be living around the stadium!"
Theo and Liam exchanged envious glances. They each had other plans at home and wouldn’t be able to make it until late June.
They traded stories about the teams, debated the famous players, recalled past matches, and speculated on who would win the tournament.
The Daily Prophet had been full of World Cup coverage—every team’s stats, strengths, and weaknesses meticulously listed. They pulled out newspapers, pointing at headlines to back their arguments.
The excited chatter around him began to blur into a distant, noisy hum. The stone necklace in his pocket felt heavy. Wade stared out at the distant mountains, and for no reason he could name, his eyes stung with unshed tears.
He fought the urge to pull out the necklace and step back into that corridor. Instead, he tore open a candy and popped it into his mouth, crunching it slowly. The sweet, sticky flavor spread across his tongue, triggering a faint, fleeting release of dopamine in his brain.
…
Deep in the icy sea, a towering fortress stood alone on a solitary island. Within its iron walls, ghostly voices echoed—whispers, groans, screams, frenzied laughter, sobbing cries. The prisoners’ voices wove together with the howling wind, creating a cacophony so intense it threatened to drive a person mad.
Boullock, a Ministry of Magic official responsible for prison management and maintaining the magical barrier, had three years left in his term. But now, with only a year and a half remaining, he was close to breaking.
The man shoveled two handfuls of coal into the fireplace, then wrapped his coat tighter and huddled before the flames, his eyes blank, fixed on the dancing light.
Time had no meaning here.
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there when a sudden flash of lightning split the darkness, followed by thunder rolling like a war drum.
Boullock shivered. Peering through a small hole in the wall, he saw countless black shapes fluttering through the storm-lit sky—ghostly, drifting figures that brought a chill even from afar.
"Dementors… How did they get back so fast?"
His heart hammered. He lunged to the wall, grabbed the lever, and stared at the sky, fingers trembling.
Thunder roared. Lightning flickered. The shadows danced in and out of sight, more terrifying than ever.
The lever was his only shield. Long ago, after the Dementors were assigned to Azkaban, the Ministry had installed a powerful magical mechanism. In this room, where Dementors couldn’t enter, pulling the lever would unleash a surge of magical energy—enough to wound or even destroy them.
As Boullock swallowed hard, a carriage suddenly shot through the sky, its banner bearing the unmistakable crest of the British Ministry of Magic.
Boullock exhaled in relief and slowly released the lever. Only when the carriage landed on the nearby platform and a wizard leapt out did he open the control room door.
The wizard stormed in, drenched from the rain, shaking water from his cloak. "This cursed weather! These cursed Dementors! Thank Merlin, this nightmare’s finally over!"
He pulled a scroll from his pocket and handed it to Boullock. "Handover. Ministry orders. The search for those strange creatures is complete. They’re to be returned to Azkaban."
Boullock unrolled the parchment, checked the seal and the magic. "Did you catch the escaped prisoners?"
"No! Not a single one. Not a single rat! These Dementors were useless. They even attacked civilians—caused us all kinds of trouble."
The Ministry official grumbled, his frustration thick enough to taste. "Honestly, the decision-making at the top is insane. We’re told to catch criminals, but not to approach people? How’s a man supposed to catch a fugitive who’s hiding in the middle of a city? Peter Pettigrew’s Animagus form is perfect for urban hiding—underground sewers, alleyways, anywhere!"
Boullock, used to silence and dread, felt a strange flicker of superiority.
"So, did you find the Silent Shadow?" he asked.
"No. They gave a false alarm once, then just wandered all over Britain. For a while, they even tried to cross the sea! Lucky I stopped them in time. I think they just wanted to escape!"
The official ranted on, then snapped, "Alright, is it done? Get these things inside. I’m out of here!"
Hearing he was leaving, Boullock’s mood—just beginning to lift—sank again. He checked the orders three more times, then asked, "If nothing was caught… why is the mission over?"
"Because of the World Cup!" the official snapped. "Everyone’s coming! How can we have soul-sucking monsters roaming around while wizards from across the world watch the final? The Ministry didn’t even remove them until the fourteenth—after the tournament started. It’s already late!"
The official pressed him again. Finally, Boullock handed over the scroll. He watched as the irritable wizard bolted back into the carriage. The Pegasus gave a long, mournful cry, and the carriage sped off into the sky, trailing mist.
Boullock stood at the small window, watching the carriage vanish. He let out a long, weary sigh.
He raised his wand, sealed the control room, then dragged his feet back to the fireplace. He wrapped himself in a tattered, soot-stained blanket, curling up like a large, dark coal.
…
Inside the prison, the number of Dementors doubled. The prisoners—after months of relative peace—began to scream. Then, one by one, their cries faded into silence, replaced only by faint, distant moans and sobs.
A Dementor, ringed in silver, drifted past cell after cell, finally stopping before the deepest one.
Behind the iron bars, a wild-eyed woman—her hair matted, her face hollow—stared with a frenzied, hollow gaze. She rocked back and forth, clearly insane. When she saw the Dementor, she didn’t panic. Instead, she grinned—a grotesque, toothy smile.
The Dementor stood still.
It remembered why it was here.
Bellatrix Lestrange…
But why?
After a moment of clumsy thought, it concluded: Probably to prevent her escape.
After all, only a few inmates had survived years in Azkaban without losing their minds—and they were all among the most dangerous wizards in history.
The Dementor opened its mouth, drawing in a slow, long breath. Something invisible, imperceptible, slipped into its form.
Bellatrix’s body convulsed. She let out a dry, rattling sound—trying to resist. Then, after a moment, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.
The Dementor paused. Then, moving down the corridor, it visited every cell. One by one, the prisoners fell silent.
It stood in the center of the corridor, its body still trembling with hunger, longing, rage.
But it was not satisfied.
It would never be satisfied.
(End of Chapter)
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