Chapter 525: Big Fish and Shrimp
"Master, I'm not used to this look of yours," the Cloak muttered, its voice thin and reedy as it stood upright. "Just don’t talk nonsense," Wade said. "Make yourself look ordinary."
"Wouldn’t invisibility be better?" the Cloak grumbled, its surface shifting like dye spreading through water, turning from shimmering to a dull, seamless black—almost indistinguishable from the night.
Wade glanced around, then reached down and helped a fallen young student to his feet. "You okay?" he asked.
"Fine…" the girl stammered, lifting her head—and freezing in shock. "Y-you're… Harry Potter!"
In the darkness, someone nearby immediately turned toward them.
Harry had appeared so many times on the Streaming Mirror that he was now a global celebrity among wizards. Even students from other countries could spot him instantly.
Wade frowned. "It’s chaotic here—get into the woods quickly."
"Y-yes, sir!" The girl stammered, eyes glued to his face, before Wade gently shoved her forward. She stumbled off into the trees.
Wade scanned the scene, then set off toward the heart of the chaos—just like the other well-meaning wizards. But unlike them, his small stature made him stand out like a sore thumb.
He’d just stunned a Boggart when suddenly, a hand clamped down on his arm. He turned—and saw Sirius Black.
"Harry!" the man called out, voice tight with worry. "What are you doing here? Never mind—come with me!"
He yanked Wade toward the trees. Wade didn’t resist. He studied the man’s back, then gave a subtle, disdainful sniff.
As they passed a grand, palace-like tent, the man suddenly yelped and collapsed, tumbling into the shadow behind it, clutching his leg and groaning in pain.
"What happened?" Wade asked, stepping closer, genuinely concerned.
"My leg… I think it’s broken," the man gasped, reaching out. "Help me up, Harry."
"Oh." Wade nodded. He reached out, gave a quick tap on the man’s hand—then pulled it back.
The man grasped at nothing. He stared at Wade’s calm, earnest face, his mind racing. Did I just say “help me up,” or did I accidentally ask for a high-five?
He forced himself to feign agony, preparing to repeat the request—when Wade suddenly reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and pressed it into his palm.
The man looked down.
What was this? A badge?
"What’s this?" he asked, frowning, holding it up.
"One-Way Ticket," Wade said with a smile, waving a hand. "Enjoy your trip, Mr. Troke."
Garr Troke—disguised as Sirius Black—froze in disbelief. "How—?"
Before he could finish, a sudden, sharp pull ripped through his abdomen. His feet left the ground. He shot upward like a launched stone.
"Boom!"
He crashed into the ground, rolled twice, and looked up—only to see a massive, glowing stove ahead of him, its fire blazing red-hot, the heat so intense it made his hair sizzle.
Garr scrambled backward, scrambling on all fours, his back slamming into a pair of legs. He turned—and saw an old man wearing strange, ancient-looking protective goggles, holding a long-necked glass vial, staring down at him.
"...Wade?" the old man whispered, uncertain.
"Wade Gray?" Garr’s heart stopped. He whipped his head around, half-expecting to see that terrifying face staring back at him. But no one was there.
"Not him?" Wovilet muttered, disappointed. "I thought he’d finally used the Portkey I gave him… Who are you, young man?"
"I…" Garr stammered, his pulse racing, trying to gauge the man’s identity—when the tent door burst open.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Before he could even see the newcomer’s face, a spell struck him. He fell like a wooden plank, rigid and unmoving, limbs pressed tight against his body—only his eyes darting wildly.
"Got him," Antoine said, grabbing one of Garr’s legs and dragging him toward the door. He grinned. "A wanted criminal, Wade’s currently too busy to deal with him. So I brought him straight to you."
"Oh, right," Wovilet said, still dazed. He didn’t really care who the man was—only that it wasn’t Wade. He bent down, picked up the badge Garr had dropped, blew on it, then wiped it with his thumb.
"Such a careless kid," he grumbled. "Gave him a life-saving item… and he just tosses it on the ground."
With a sigh, he reactivated the Portkey spell, placed the badge in a small pouch, labeled it “Wade Gray (For Delivery)”, and sent it off with an owl.
Watching the gray bird vanish into the night, Wovilet exhaled softly.
"Being noticed by Gellert isn’t easy… Wade, you have to stay safe."
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of camp, Wade—still pretending to be Harry—wandered through the chaos, unaware of the storm he’d just avoided.
But the real Sirius Black? He was now in a deeply awkward situation.
Two and a half hours earlier, the match had ended. Crowds began streaming out of the stadium. Sirius Black knew Harry’s safety was in the hands of the Weasleys. So he slipped away, quietly following the Malfoy family as they left their compartment.
The crowd was thick and packed. Lucius Malfoy never sensed he was being followed.
In fact, the chaos made it nearly impossible to track anyone. Within five meters of the stadium exit, Sirius Black was lost in the sea of bodies.
But he wasn’t worried. He swayed, and in the crowd’s press, a large black dog appeared—no one noticed.
His Animagus transformation was flawless. The night was dark. No one sensed a thing.
The dog sniffed the air, catching a faint trace of perfume—then surged forward, weaving between legs and feet. Soon, he spotted the familiar pale golden hair.
Draco Malfoy twirled his wand absently, mimicking Krum’s dive from the stadium, grinning excitedly.
"I thought he was going to crash—perfect Longbottom feint! Genius tactics! If I could master that, I’d never lose to that scar-faced Potter!"
"Then what?" Lucius Malfoy cut in, cold amusement in his voice. "Break your own neck trying to impress the crowd? Draco, I thought you knew—Quidditch is just a game. You don’t need dangerous stunts to win applause."
"I…" Draco stubbornly insisted, "I just… I just want to beat Potter! I hate losing to him!"
"Then practice your spells!" Lucius snapped. "I’d rather see you outperform Harry Potter in class—or defeat him in a duel!"
Draco’s pale face flushed crimson.
"Your father’s right, Draco," Narcissa said softly, brushing her son’s wind-tousled hair with long fingers. "Don’t risk your life over a game. The Quidditch World Cup isn’t worth your safety—especially not a school match."
Hidden nearby, the black dog snorted through his nose, eyes filled with contempt as he watched the spoiled golden boy.
They reached a quiet tunnel, far from the main crowd.
"Narcissa, take Draco into the forest. Stay there until the chaos settles," Lucius said. Then he turned to his son. "Stick with your mother. Don’t wander—otherwise, no pocket money for the rest of the term."
Narcissa looked displeased but said nothing, merely nodding in silence.
Draco, however, pressed, "Dad, what are you going to do?"
Lucius leaned on his cane, a cold smile curling his lips.
"Tonight’s celebration needs a little… entertainment," he said. "We’re going to find some Muggles to… liven things up."
(End of Chapter)
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