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Chapter 603: Leaving Some Dignity for the Ministry of Magic
Harry’s fingers dug into the stone wall crack, his eyes wide as he stared at the scene unfolding at the end of the tunnel—so stunned he almost forgot to breathe.
The people lay motionless on the ground, unconscious. A few remaining scorpion puppets crawled aimlessly, checking for survivors, delivering a final paralysis toxin with their needles before dragging the bodies up to the ceiling and hanging them there.
At first glance, the swaying silhouettes looked like something out of a ghost story—enough to stop anyone’s heart cold.
But in truth, the puppets hadn’t wrapped their tails around any necks. They were simply suspending the bodies, like macabre decorations.
In his astonishment, Harry forgot to conceal his presence. He took an involuntary step back—his foot slipped on the damp moss beneath him with a slick shush, nearly sending him sprawling.
When he steadied himself against the wall and looked up, his scalp prickled.
Dozens of Scorpion Puppets had suddenly turned their heads toward him. Their bodies remained still, but their tails—each tipped with a needle—swayed gently, like a slow, deliberate dance.
Harry froze. His breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he raised his wand in defense. As soon as the wand lifted—the puppets moved.
They scuttled across the walls, ceiling, and floor with astonishing speed, their movements precise and coordinated. In perfect formation, they swept forward in a wide, converging arc—like a disciplined army, every unit knowing exactly its role.
Some even carried makeshift shields—leaves, debris, or boots and wands torn from the fallen—held up like armor.
Harry: “….”
If he didn’t cast a spell, he’d be next—hanging from the ceiling like the others.
But if he did cast one, he’d destroy Wade’s entire puppet network—something the alchemist had painstakingly built.
The holly wand in his hand pulsed faintly with heat. He raised his arm, but didn’t release the spell immediately. Instead, he bellowed:
“Wade—!”
His voice echoed through the tunnel, resonating in waves.
…
“Ah—!”
Olga screamed as she was yanked upward, hoisted high into the vaulted ceiling. Dozens of Scorpion Puppets—each housing a Golden Egg within their bodies—surged forward, stinging her with paralysis before suspending her like the rest.
Wade, hands forming a makeshift shade above his eyes, watched as the puppets wove a vine-like prison dress around Olga. Suddenly, a blue bird from the Chamber of Secrets fluttered upward, its wings beating the air as it circled curiously around the struggling woman.
For the first time, the camera lens shifted completely away from Wade.
He raised one eyebrow, turned his gaze, and then—like a ripple in the air—someone began to appear in the shadowy corner of the Horn.
Kingsley Shakle materialized, tall and imposing, his thick brows furrowed. With a flick of his wand, he cast a few spells around them, sealing the space.
“Done,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Now, no one outside can hear us.”
He looked at Wade, then exhaled.
“Mr. Gray… your mastery of Alchemy is truly astonishing. Your performance in this Tournament has been… unexpected. But—”
He glanced up at the ceiling, at the scene of hanging figures, at the puppet army. “This Tournament is meant to be a shared celebration among nations. While your actions haven’t broken any rules… if only a handful of competitors remain for the next task, the Ministry of Magic will be left with a very difficult situation.”
“Wade—!”
Before Wade could respond, a loud cry erupted from outside—echoing, layered, distorted by the tunnel’s acoustics.
But Wade recognized it instantly. It was Harry.
“Snap!”
Wade snapped his fingers.
In an instant, every single Magic Puppet across the Chamber of Secrets—and beyond—came to a complete halt.
Kingsley’s eyes widened. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His heart skipped a beat.
He’d seen Dark Wizards raise armies of undead corpses.
He’d faced Fire Dragons rampaging through Muggle villages.
He’d stared down Dementors from Azkaban.
But this… this was different.
Even now, his neck hairs stood on end. His fingers instinctively brushed his wand—then, with effort, he pulled them back.
Just a trick of the Alchemist, he told himself. A child showing off. He must have pre-programmed all these puppets from the start. That’s all.
But when he tried to speak, his voice came out dry, strained—unusually tight.
“Thank you for understanding, Mr. Gray,” Kingsley said. “Other magic schools need to preserve a few… split bodies.”
“I understand,” Wade replied, a hint of regret in his tone. “I suppose I’ve had my fun.”
He didn’t care about the Ministry’s dignity. But since Kingsley had stepped in—speaking on Dumbledore’s behalf—it meant the old man was in agreement.
They passed each other without a word. As Wade’s silhouette faded into the shadows, Kingsley cast a Disguise Charm. His body blurred, blending into the stone and darkness—then vanished.
He silently lifted the spell on the Blue Birds, letting them resume their filming duties.
But then—just as he turned—Kingsley froze.
A few of the Magic Puppets clinging to the ceiling were… watching him.
Not moving. Not reacting. Just… staring.
Even though they were just enchanted trinkets—simple constructs—Kingsley could have destroyed them all with a single, simple spell.
Yet, for the first time, he felt it again—the same creeping unease. The same unnatural sensation.
These puppets… they weren’t just tools.
They felt like an evolution of Wizard’s Chess.
But something about them… something in their stillness… made him feel as though they were alive.
As if they were waiting.
…
Then—like a spell of silence—every Scorpion Puppet that had been rushing toward Harry froze mid-motion.
They didn’t attack.
They didn’t advance.
Instead, they rustled back up the ceiling, retreating as if summoned.
The tunnel fell silent—except for Harry’s ragged breathing, sharp and loud in the stillness.
Slowly, he lowered his arm. He stared at the Chamber of Secrets ahead of him—now not just a room, but a dragon’s den, a tiger’s lair.
Moments later, Wade stepped out from the chamber.
With a flick of his wrist, the puppets surged back into the chamber like a tide, disappearing into the shadows.
“Wade?” Harry’s shoulders finally relaxed. “You’re okay?”
“I think you’re the one who’s got problems,” Wade said, frowning at the bloodstain on Harry’s robes. “Injured?”
“Ah… I’m fine…” Harry muttered. He’d nearly forgotten his wounds—until Wade pointed them out. Now, with awareness returning, the pain flared sharply.
Wade sighed. “Why run around with a wound like that?”
“I saw them coming this way… worried you might be in danger…” Harry stammered, awkwardly. He paused. “…Guess I was overthinking it.”
“If I hadn’t had control, I wouldn’t have brought them here,” Wade said, his tone shifting. “Did you get the Golden Egg?”
“No…” Harry hesitated.
Then, before he could say more, Wade snapped his fingers again.
This time, the sound was different—lighter, quicker.
A moment later, a plump Scorpion Puppet crawled out from the chamber, darting forward with surprising speed. It reached Wade, then split open its abdomen.
From within, it pulled out a golden egg—shining, radiant, pulsing with faint magic.
(End of Chapter)
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