Chapter 572: News Coverage
The celebration in the Ravenclaw Common Room lasted well into the night. Since the next day was Sunday, everyone let loose—dancing, laughing, and reveling without restraint—until even they themselves had forgotten why they were celebrating in the first place.
Wade didn’t stay long. When it was time for his usual bedtime, he quietly slipped back to the dormitory, leaving his Magic Puppet behind in the Common Room to endure the endless rounds of toasts and cheers.
Before sleep, Wade didn’t forget to send a quick message via Communication Pea to his parents, informing them he’d been selected.
The entire Gray family had already discussed the Tournament in advance. Both Wade’s parents knew his intentions. Hearing the news, they weren’t shocked—only gave him a few more reminders: “Stay safe.” “Don’t take the competition too seriously.”
By dawn, the Common Room had finally begun to quiet down. Most people, too exhausted, staggered back to their dorms. Some, completely drunk, simply passed out on the sofas or on the carpet.
Just before sunrise, no one in the room was still awake. At last, a house-elf cautiously emerged from the shadows, beginning to tidy up with careful hands.
A figure on the sofa suddenly twitched.
Zoe, busy clearing bottles, nearly jumped in surprise. She turned—and saw the familiar silhouette. Her face lit up with joy as she rushed toward it.
“Mr. Wade Gray… huh?”
The figure was unmistakably Wade Gray in appearance—but something about the aura was utterly unfamiliar. The house-elf froze, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“I’m not him,” the figure said with a faint, quiet smile. “You’re right. I’m not Wade Gray.”
Habi and Fell, two other house-elves cleaning nearby, immediately joined Zoe, their bodies tense with alertness, eyes locked on the impostor. Yet, despite the threat, the figure’s calm demeanor unnerved them.
“Who are you?” Habi demanded. “What do you want? Where’s Mr. Gray?”
The figure pointed to his ear. “You can hear every sound from every dormitory, can’t you? Why not just listen?”
Then, rising smoothly, he brushed off crumbs from his robes and walked toward the spiral staircase, leaving the Common Room behind.
The man who had downed dozens of beers all night showed no sign of intoxication. Each step was perfectly measured, the rhythm and stride unchanged—unnervingly precise.
The house-elves’ large ears twitched. They listened as the figure walked all the way to Wade Gray’s dormitory. Inside, the steady rhythm of sleep—normally uniform—paused.
Then came Wade’s muffled voice: “The party’s finally over?”
“Yes, Master,” the figure replied.
“What time is it?” Wade grumbled, glancing at his timepiece before collapsing back onto his bed. “You can go rest too, Vesper…”
The little sprites exchanged glances.
“Magic Puppet?” one whispered.
“Probably the Magic Puppet.”
“Not bad for Mr. Gray.”
Only then did they relax and return to their work.
Zoe carefully nudged a sleeping student aside and pulled an empty bottle from his grip.
…
The Magic Puppet named Vesper received its command. It slipped through the closet door and stepped into the vast, hidden space beyond.
Inside, endless tasks awaited. At that moment, seven tall, slender figures were already at work—some crafting objects, others poring over books, and a few assembling intricate machinery. These were the most intelligent of the Magic Puppets, capable of learning new knowledge and mastering new skills on their own.
Each bore a badge on their chest, inscribed with names like 【Vidas】, 【Vedel】, 【Vilan】, 【Vito】, 【Veen】—names chosen at random, meaningless on their own, but together forming a clear impression: whimsy.
Vesper pulled its own badge from its pocket, pinned it to its chest, and took the tool from Vedel’s hands, tapping gently against a set of metal tubes.
“Vesper,” Vedel asked, “Will Master let you take his place in the Tournament?”
“Impossible,” Vito said flatly. “If the headmasters find out, they’ll disqualify us for cheating.”
“No need,” Vesper replied. “Master can win on his own.”
“Except you, we’ll all have to leave soon,” Veen sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice.
The others remained expressionless. “Pfft,” they muttered in unison.
“Don’t pretend, Veen,” Vito said without emotion. “Save that act for the outside world.”
“Come on, just practicing for the future!” Veen laughed, running a hand through his brown hair. “After all, soon I’ll be the heir of the Wizard Purity Party—Braun!”
…
The next morning, countless owls swooped in, delivering The Daily Prophet and feathers directly onto students’ breakfast tables.
Wade heard Fleur Delacour let out a loud, disgusted “Ugh!” before muttering complaints about Hogwarts’ hygiene.
“Honestly! Can’t these owls deliver letters at a decent hour? Why must it be now—right when we’re eating? I can’t even swallow a bite! Just thinking about bird droppings in my pumpkin juice makes me sick!”
Several Beauxbatons girls wrinkled their noses and set down their spoons.
The Ravenclaws, accustomed to Fleur’s dramatics, mostly ignored her. A few girls exchanged silent, mocking glances behind their hands.
But Wade wasn’t paying attention. He unfolded the newspaper and immediately saw the front-page headline: the Tournament selection list.
“Speedy indeed,” Michael said, peering over. “The paper must’ve worked all night. Look—the top three names… oh, and photos.”
Harry’s photo showed him mid-attack on the serpent monster—captured from an old streaming mirror news archive. Cedric’s was a formal portrait, standing stiffly in front of the school’s castle.
Wade’s photo was from an old session at Machionni’s Magical Workshop, surrounded by alchemy tools—clearly showcasing his identity as The Alchemist. There was even a subtle suggestion that he was more of a bookworm than a fighter.
Wade sighed. Now, when I step outside, I won’t be able to walk around without being recognized.
He skimmed the article. It was brief and neutral—clearly rushed to meet the deadline. No extra details about the schools’ champions.
Then, at the end, the byline caught his eye: Rita Skeeter.
Wade blinked. That woman? Writing a real news piece?
He’d always thought Rita only specialized in sensationalism—twisting facts, chasing rumors, spinning stories out of thin air.
But this… was actual reporting.
He turned the page.
His eyes froze on the next headline.
“Mystery Death in Glenarve Forest—Possible Dark Magic Experiment”
(End of Chapter)
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