Dumbledore crossed his hands and placed them on his abdomen as he lowered his eyes in deep thought.
Wade continued: "I don't know if my suspicions about Professor Abigail are correct, but I do know this… those people are coveting the technology of the magic dolls.
And so far, among those who have shown an unusual interest in them, this professor is the most suspicious."
Is it necessary to use magic dolls for Defense Against the Dark Arts?
Of course not. Many magical creatures can be found in the Forbidden Forest or the Black Lake. If necessary, Hagrid could be asked to procure some, and real magical creatures would provide students with much more hands-on learning.
Even considering Professor Abigail's unique teaching style, given her personality, she would more likely catch a few Red Caps from the Forbidden Forest to "surprise" the students rather than ask Wade to create teaching tools.
The main reason Wade was suspicious, however, was simply because she was the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
This cursed position had an uncanny attraction for problematic individuals, and no one had ever lasted more than a year in it.
Of course, Abigail was neither a vampire nor a werewolf, and there was no evidence linking her to either, which was why Wade and Dumbledore were still uncertain.
…
The wind howled, and thunder rumbled. From inside the room, one could see massive raindrops pelting against the glass windows with a loud pitter-patter.
This put Michael in a difficult position when he woke up. With messy hair, he sat in the common room and stared blankly at the dreadful weather outside.
Hearing footsteps on the spiral staircase, Michael turned his head and saw Wade.
"Morning, Wade," Michael said. "Look at this awful weather. The Quidditch match probably won't go on as scheduled, right?"
"Hm?" Wade asked, confused. "Has a school match ever been canceled due to weather before?"
He genuinely wasn't familiar with the detailed rules in this regard.
Michael sighed. "No… I don't want to miss the match, but I also don't want to get soaked."
"Take an umbrella," Wade said simply.
Michael pursed his lips. "With rain this heavy, an umbrella won't help much."
Wade spread his hands. "Then there's nothing I can do. Either get drenched watching the match or stay cozy in the common room and miss it—you have to choose one."
He knew Michael was just complaining. In the end, he would definitely choose to watch the match because he was a die-hard Quidditch fan, even though his own skills weren't great.
Sure enough, despite sighing and slumping against the couch in front of the fireplace, when Wade was ready to leave, Michael grumbled but still got up to follow.
"Wade, can a weather spell change this awful weather?"
"It can."
"Then can you..."
"No. A weather spell can change the weather, but my magic isn't strong enough to alter it on such a large scale."
"Sigh... Wade, did you forget to bring an umbrella?"
"I don't need one—I'm not planning to watch the match."
Michael became even more frustrated.
The two soon arrived at the Great Hall, and Michael's mood suddenly improved—because he saw people worse off than himself.
The Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams had already arrived for breakfast and they glared at each other across the long tables, as if trying to kill their opponents with just their eyes.
And when Michael thought about how these players would soon have to compete in the raging storm, getting a little wet himself didn't seem so bad anymore.
Caryll was also at the Gryffindor table. He was sitting next to Harry and animatedly talking to him.
"Hey, if you can't see clearly, then no one else can either. It's going to be a test of eyesight..."
"Thanks, Caryll," Harry said bitterly. "My eyesight is probably the worst on both teams."
As he spoke, he pushed his glasses up his nose.
"That's exactly my point! Why not turn your glasses into waterproof binoculars? And if they could automatically track the Golden Snitch, that'd be even better—just lock onto the game!"
Harry stared at him, shamefully tempted.
But he quickly snapped out of it and shook his head. "No way, that has to be against the rules!"
"Oh, come on, with this kind of rain, who would even notice your glasses are different? Everyone already knows you wear glasses all the time..."
Caryll was in the middle of persuading him when he noticed Wade and Michael enter. He cheerfully waved and, without hesitation, plopped himself down at the Ravenclaw table to share his idea with Wade.
"Don't you think I'm right? It makes perfect sense! Equipment is part of the game too!" Caryll said confidently.
Michael nodded repeatedly but hesitated. "Well... maybe... but if a professor notices, Harry might get disqualified..."
"Eh, we'll cross that bridge when we get there!" Caryll said enthusiastically. "Wade, can you make binocular glasses that look just like regular ones?"
Wade swallowed his toast before replying, "I can, but there's no need... pass me that plate of boiled pea pods."
"This one?" Caryll handed over the plate of boiled pea pods.
Wade tapped his wand against them, and the peas neatly lined up and popped out, leaving only the empty pods.
Then, he transformed the pile of pea pods into windproof goggles and enchanted them with waterproofing spells.
"Here, these goggles should last at least until tomorrow morning," Wade said.
Caryll cheered, "That's amazing, Wade! You're our savior!"
He clutched the goggles and ran back to the Gryffindor table. When he told Wood and the rest of the team, the Gryffindor players were ecstatic and gave Wade a grateful gesture.
"Put them away! Hide them!" Wood quickly ordered as the Weasley twins were about to put on the goggles. "This is our secret weapon for winning—don't let the Slytherins find out!"
The Gryffindors all nodded seriously and tucked their goggles into their pockets. They glanced over at the Slytherin table with triumphant smiles.
There were two pairs of goggles left. Caryll kept one for himself and handed the other to Michael, grinning. "Now we can watch the match without rain getting in our eyes!"
As Caryll returned to the Gryffindor table and blended in seamlessly as if he were a true member of the team, Michael quietly said to Wade:
"I finally understand why this transfer student is so popular in Gryffindor... He treats other people's problems as if they were his own. Of course, everyone likes being friends with him."
"Yeah."
Wade nodded. He remembered that Caryll had always had plenty of friends as a child—far more than he ever did.
A fragrant scent drifted by. Padma walked past them without a glance, then sat at the farthest end of the table.
The smile on Michael's face vanished. He poked at his steak as if he hadn't seen anything.
Wade sighed and tapped his wand on Michael's umbrella.
"I put a spell on your umbrella. When you open it, it'll be big enough for two people and won't be affected by the wind."
Wade added, "Take this chance to make up with Padma... The way you two are now, it's making things awkward for everyone else too."
Michael silently nodded.
…
After breakfast, students began making their way to the Quidditch pitch. The storm still raged on, and many umbrellas were snatched away by the fierce wind before they even got halfway.
But despite that, the students pressed forward through the howling wind and pouring rain, unwilling to return to the warmth of the common room.
Wade, however, headed alone toward the Room of Requirement.
Even though the Communication Beans were already complete, he hadn't stopped improving the Book of Friends. In fact, the final touches were nearly done.
By now, Book of Friends was barely making a profit. The flood of knockoff products had squeezed what little market space remained.
But Wade firmly believed that no matter how convenient the Communication Beans were, the Book of Friends still had a place in the world.
Even if, one day, the wizarding world developed something akin to mobile phones and Book of Friends had to fade into history, Wade wanted it to make a dignified exit—not disappear like some failed project, discarded and forgotten.
Bang!
Something suddenly slammed hard against the nearby window, startling Wade. He looked up to see a disheveled owl clinging to the glass, and its round eyes were staring at him.
Wade raised his hand, and the tightly shut window flew open. The owl burst inside, carried by the roaring wind and torrential rain!
The icy wind instantly billowed Wade's robes. He waved his hand to shut the window again and caught the storm-soaked messenger as it tumbled into his arms.
The owl was incredibly thin and freezing cold. It trembled violently, completely exhausted and collapsed, yet it still mustered the strength to lift its claw slightly, offering the small cylindrical container tied to it.
Wade took the container and murmured a spell, waving his palm over the owl.
The freezing rainwater vanished, and warmth returned to the bird's body.
The owl looked around in surprise, then noticed a small pile of owl food that had appeared before it. Without hesitation, it lowered its head and began eating eagerly.
Only then did Wade open the cylinder and retrieve the letter inside.
It contained a piece of narrow, rolled-up white paper. He rubbed it between his fingers. The paper had a rough texture, somewhat similar to parchment, but it lacked the familiar smoothness.
A realization slowly formed in Wade's mind.
This must be a knockoff version of the Book of Friends.
Taking the owl with him, Wade found an empty classroom and sat down. He examined the paper with his wand several times before finally picking up a quill and writing a single "?" on it.
He didn't risk writing his name.
Almost half a minute later, a messy line of words finally appeared—
[Help! Help me! He]
Wade stared at the abruptly cut-off "He," unsure if it was an unfinished plea for help or referring to a specific "He."
He picked up the quill and wrote:
[Calm down. Who are you? What kind of help do you need? Why did you contact me?]
After a long pause, the paper once again revealed a line of crooked, shaky handwriting:
[I am the one you gifted the Invisibility Cloak to—I am the beetle wearing glasses—please help me—I have no one else to turn to but you—]
…
[I have no one else to turn to but you—]
The frantic scrawl appeared on the parchment.
In a clean, brightly lit room with towering ceilings over ten meters high, enormous translucent glass walls surrounded the space. Behind the glass, a shark glided by slowly.
At the curved conference table, a woman in red analyzed the message:
"The handwriting is shaky, inconsistent, and unstructured. The spacing is erratic—whoever wrote this is terrified, panicked. It looks like that woman didn't escape."
Beside her, a man with a ponytail twisted his lips into a menacing grin.
"Good, that means she's still on the island! Sweep the place again—I want her found!"
"Yes, sir!"
The black-clad guards behind him responded in unison and immediately sprang into action.
"It sounds like she's trying to reach out to a wizard friend for help. Should we cut off the signal transmission?"
A short, chubby man with glasses asked.
"Cut it off? No, no—let them come!" The man with the ponytail sneered. "I was just worried that I didn't have enough test subjects."
He walked to the wall and pressed a button. A massive metal door slid open soundlessly, revealing a metallic platform beyond.
Stepping onto the platform, he gripped the railing and looked down.
Beneath his feet was a research lab resembling an industrial assembly line. Dozens of researchers in white lab coats were busy at work.
Everything inside was meticulously organized, progressing at an efficient pace. Their eyes, however, were all the same—lifeless and emotionless. The conveyor belts on the floor and ceiling moved silently.
Occasionally, a streak of blood would appear on the conveyor belts, but it was quickly washed away by thin streams of water. The only lingering scent in the room was the faint smell of disinfectant.
The man's lips curled into a disdainful smirk.
"—Wizards? Under the power of technology, they're nothing more than a bunch of medieval clowns."
—
"Buzzzzz—"
A strange humming sound suddenly filled the air again.
Rita Skeeter curled into a ball, wracked with unbearable pain, barely able to stop herself from screaming.
She bit down on the filthy, foul-smelling blanket and clutched herself tightly as she trembled on the worn-out bed. Every muscle and bone in her body felt like they were being gnawed apart by thousands of ants. The agony was driving her mad.
She held on with all her strength. She didn't know how much time had passed—maybe an eternity. She didn't even know if she was still alive. Tears and snot streamed uncontrollably down her face.
Then, after what felt like a century, the torment finally ceased.
When Rita Skeeter regained awareness of her body, she realized a pair of small hands were gently holding her face. Someone was using an old, tattered handkerchief to wipe the dirt from her cheeks.
She opened her eyes and saw the one who had saved her once again.
Inside the cramped prison cell, more than a dozen children were huddled together—boys and girls, the oldest no more than thirteen, the youngest barely four.
They wore loose-fitting white robes, with no undergarments, no shoes. Their bare feet pressed against the cold floor. Their complexions were deathly pale, the result of being deprived of sunlight for too long.
The one wiping her face was the thirteen-year-old girl.
Rita trembled and whispered, "Did they… leave?"
The girl nodded firmly. As if to comfort her, she even gave a small, reassuring smile.
Rita nearly burst into tears again.
Sniffling, she said, "Hold on a little longer. Someone will come to save us. They will—"
She looked down at the crumpled piece of paper clenched tightly in her hands.
There was only one sentence written on it—
[Where are you?]
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- +235 Chapters
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