Chapter 661: The One Who Escaped
This Saturday was an unusually bright day. Sunlight poured like melted butter, golden and warm, spilling across the stone walls and staircases of the Castle. Students, long cooped up by the dreary rainy weather, had finally burst out of the castle’s halls, sprawling across the grass or leaning against the corridors, basking in the embrace of the sunlight.
Fred and George had even set up a makeshift stall by the Black Lake, selling their latest invention—“Underwater Competition Memorabilia.” Whether inspired by the merchants of Hogsmeade or not, most of the items were tiny statues. Grendilo flailed wildly on a parchment blanket, while the Mermaid Statue was a near-perfect replica of its original, strange and haunting. When held, some figures would suddenly let out a loud, gurgling fart—“Pffft!”—others released a stench so foul it made bystanders gag, and a few even sprouted two long, spindly legs and scampered across the grass, screaming in panic: “Don’t touch me! Help! Help!”
A crowd gathered around the stall, laughter and startled shrieks erupting in waves. Many students emptied their pockets in excitement.
“Five silver Sickles each! Limited edition—first come, first served!”
“I want the Escape Grendilo!”
A gentle breeze rustled through the meadow. Wade and his friends sat beneath a beech tree, far from the chaos, yet still faintly heard the Weasley Twins’ cries drifting over from the lake.
Harry, idly spinning a model flying broomstick in his hands, glanced over and asked, puzzled: “Have Fred and George been short on money lately? I keep seeing them hawking things in the common room.”
“No,” Hermione said without looking up from her book. “But they’re planning to open a shop right after graduation. The more funding they raise now, the better.”
“That’s nice,” Michael sighed, lying on his back with his hands folded behind his head, gazing at the endless blue sky. “They’ve already mapped out their future. Step by step, chasing their dream. Me? I don’t even know what I’ll do after graduation. Try to get into the Ministry of Magic? Sounds… pointless.”
“You’re thinking about this too early,” Harry said, surprised. “We’ve got years before we even graduate!”
Hermione shot him a sharp look. “No, actually, we’re already behind. There’s only one year left.”
“What?” Harry frowned.
Hermione’s expression turned serious. “If you want to become an Auror, Harry, you’ll need at least five top-level NEWTs, with academic performance exceeding expectations. That means, in next year’s OWLs, you’ll have to pass five subjects with outstanding results—excellent grades—to even qualify for further study.”
Michael added, “Take Professor McGonagall’s Transfiguration class—only students with ‘good’ or better performance are allowed. And Professor Snape? He only admits those with ‘excellent’ in Potions to his NEWT-level class.”
Harry’s face paled slightly. “Potions… excellent?”
His Potions grades weren’t terrible, but getting Snape to acknowledge “excellent” was like climbing the moon. And the professor’s constant, pointed criticism—though it hadn’t driven Harry to quit—had turned every Potions class into a trial. His fundamentals remained shaky.
“And if you want to join the Ministry or become a Healer,” Theo sighed, “the NEWT requirements are just as strict.”
“So even though you don’t have to take the final exams this term, Harry,” Liam added quietly, “you really should start preparing now.”
Liam nodded, his face tightening slightly. The good weather had done nothing to lift his mood—his earlier ease had vanished completely.
Compared to their peers, their academic records were already strong. But until the final results came out, who could guarantee they’d earn the best possible marks?
Harry said nothing.
He’d been aware he wouldn’t need to take the final exams—thanks to the upcoming Magic Tournament—so this year, he’d let his studies slide. Now, a sudden wave of urgency and panic washed over him.
In that moment, he envied Wade. He knew Wade could probably walk into a NEWT exam right now and still get “excellent.” Unlike them, who were still sweating over finals, Wade was worlds apart.
Then he realized something—Wade hadn’t joined the conversation at all.
Had he found them too childish?
Harry turned to look. No. Wade was propped on one elbow, eyes half-lidded, staring blankly at the students playing on the lawn, as if lost in thought.
“Wade,” Harry asked, curious, “what are you thinking about?”
The black-haired boy turned, his gray eyes blinking slowly, as if pulling his thoughts back from far away.
Theo suddenly remembered something. “Wait—Wade, weren’t you and Rolf back at the castle together the other night? Someone saw you both cross the Great Hall. Rolf looked pale as a ghost. And he’s been acting strange ever since. Do you know what’s going on?”
They all knew Wade well, and Theo, Liam, and the younger Rolf shared a solid friendship within Hufflepuff.
Wade paused, then recalled. Since the professors hadn’t mentioned confidentiality, he recounted the events of that night.
He wasn’t a natural storyteller. His voice was flat, without dramatic flair or suspense—more like reading a Potion research report. But the story itself wasn’t dry. It was something that had happened right here, close to them, clinging to the scent of death. And even now, it still threatened the safety of everyone inside.
The group fell silent. The air felt thick, still.
Hermione unconsciously crumpled her book in her hands, knuckles whitening. Michael sat up, a chill crawling along his scalp. Theo swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet.
“That’s… terrifying,” Hermione whispered, rubbing her arms. “If the killer can impersonate someone… who can we trust in this school now?”
Wade replied calmly: “Transfiguration can change appearance and personality. But can it replicate every little detail of how you interact with friends? I only told you after confirming you were all still yourselves.”
His gaze swept over their heads, then drifted away.
To be honest, Wade’s ability to “see names above people’s heads” had become almost invisible—like an extra, unused feature. Who stares at people’s heads all day? And unlike in games, where characters are small and names stand out, real people look similar. Clothes often match. Only names differentiate them.
In real life, the name above a head was just a faint line of text, colored like hair, barely visible from a distance. Looking at faces and silhouettes was far simpler.
Over time, Wade had even forgotten he had the ability—only pulling it out when meeting strangers or doubting someone’s identity.
And from yesterday to today, he’d been watching. But nothing stood out. No mismatch between name and face. Even after scanning dozens of students, nothing felt off.
Maybe that was a good sign. Most people were still safe. Or perhaps the killer wasn’t even at Hogwarts.
“Why would the killer hide the bodies in the bushes?” Theo asked, rolling a leaf between his fingers. “Why not just dump them in the Black Lake? Then they’d never be found.”
“You’re wrong, Theo,” Michael said. “The killer couldn’t have done that.”
He paused. “Didn’t you notice during the second tournament? After it ended, the Merpeople rose from the lake and spoke with Dumbledore at length. If bodies had been thrown in, don’t you think they’d have told him?”
Liam mused: “So the skeleton wasn’t buried in the Forbidden Forest either. The headmaster’s close with the centaur tribe, and Hagrid patrols regularly…”
“But why not just destroy the body?” he asked. “Can’t? Or is there another reason?”
Hermione guessed: “Maybe some kind of ritual?”
“Or maybe the killer just didn’t think of it,” Harry muttered. “Who’d expect students to dig up a bush for no reason?”
Silence fell.
Of course… that was possible too.
Perfectly hiding a skeleton? That was beyond most students’ imagination. And the meaning behind the burial method? They couldn’t begin to guess.
The only thing clear now was this: from this moment on, they’d have to watch for anyone acting strangely.
Hermione tugged at her hair, frustrated. “I’ll go to the library. I remember reading about several Dark Magic rituals involving bones…”
Harry warned: “But Hermione, no professor will sign your book borrowing slip!”
She spun around, eyes sharp. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Uh… no, I—” Harry stammered. “I just meant—”
Hermione cut in: “Is your Invisibility Cloak still in your trunk?”
“Yeah… you’re not thinking of—?”
Harry’s eyes widened. He understood.
“We’re doing it tonight,” Hermione declared, decisive. “Operation.”
Harry blinked, then nodded. “Okay… midnight? Everyone should be asleep by then.”
“Hermione,” Michael suddenly called out, snapping her attention. He lifted his chin, giving a subtle nod.
—Over there, Krum was striding toward them.
The Durmstrang champion walked with purpose, his brow furrowed. Ever since the Christmas Ball, he’d been making excuses to talk to Hermione. Though she remained mostly focused on her studies, Krum’s intentions were clear—like a clumsy, earnest whale-headed stork trying to court.
When he reached them, he greeted Hermione first—then turned directly to Wade.
“Wade Gray,” he said, voice low and serious. “Can I speak with you?”
His dark eyes were intense, the atmosphere around him heavy. The others instinctively stayed quiet.
“Sure,” Wade said, giving his friends a quick signal. He stood, brushed grass from his robes, and walked with Krum to a quiet, secluded patch of ground.
Krum stopped mid-step, staring at Wade. “Headmaster Karkaroff is missing.”
Wade: “…Huh?”
His mind was still on Krum’s clumsy courtship of Hermione. He’d expected a question about their friendship with her.
The words “We’re just friends” almost slipped out—but he swallowed them.
His pupils narrowed. His expression hardened.
“How do you know he’s truly missing?” Wade asked carefully. “Maybe he just took a temporary leave? Visited Hogsmeade for a few days. Had a Butterbeer. Or returned to Durmstrang for urgent matters?”
Krum shook his head. “If he were coming back, he’d have told us. And… he took everything. His valuables—his personal magical artifacts, even two bottles of wine he never wanted to part with.”
Wade paused. Then, after the shock faded, a grim sense of inevitability settled in.
Karkaroff was the kind to shift with the wind—cowardly, opportunistic, marked by the Dark Mark’s twisted influence. Running away? That made sense.
If the Dark Lord was caught and vanished again, Karkaroff might reappear later, claiming he was chasing suspects.
Wade remained silent for a moment. Then: “We found a skeleton near the Maze.”
Krum’s black beetle-like eyes snapped open. His thick brows shot up.
“Who died?”
“—That’s the problem,” Wade said. “Only bones remain. No way to confirm identity. It might be the reason Karkaroff fled.”
He paused. “If you want more details, speak to Professor Dumbledore.”
Krum’s shoulders tensed. A vein pulsed at his temple. After a long silence, he said, “I will.”
Wade studied him. “Without a headmaster, what happens to your tournament? Will Durmstrang send a new professor?”
“No,” Krum said flatly. “The tournament continues. We don’t need babysitters. Karkaroff stayed locked in his cabin the whole time. He wasn’t like your headmaster.”
Sunlight caught his high cheekbones, carving sharp, resolute lines into his face.
Wade nodded. “The detective’s already gone. His departure… might be a good thing for you.”
Otherwise, on the journey back to Durmstrang, if Voldemort found him—well, that wouldn’t be pleasant.
Krum’s expression grew even darker.
They didn’t like Karkaroff. But hearing a rival school’s student—especially one they competed against—say such things? It stung, just a little.
Yet he heard the sincerity in Wade’s tone. And beneath it, a quiet suspicion of his own.
So Krum said nothing.
(End of Chapter)
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