### Chapter 377: Memories
"So, the leader not only wants Wade Grey, but wants him to willingly join us?" Abigail summarized.
"That's right."
Byrd nodded. "We can't use the brainwashing methods we use on those youngsters on him—you know, whether it's the Confundus Charm or the Obliviation Charm, they make the brain sluggish and dull. His mind is too precious; we can't risk that."
Abigail nodded. "So you sent that child."
"Ideally, we'd find Wade Grey's parents… but unfortunately, they're nowhere to be found, and the comrades assigned to that task have also disappeared."
Byrd said regretfully, "Dumbledore is protecting this student like never before. I suspect Mr. and Mrs. Gray might be hidden in a house protected by the Fidelius Charm."
"So the leader hopes that you and Carlyle, as a professor and a friend, can get Wade Grey to embrace our ideals and feel a sense of belonging to The Organization."
"Of course, we've also arranged for a few pretty girls; young men like him are easily blinded by love. But they can't enter this school for now, so for the moment, it's just the two of you."
"This is a long-term mission, no need to rush. Even if it takes ten years, it will be worth it… but you can start now by guiding him to develop an interest in the Philosopher's Stone…"
Byrd gave many detailed instructions, even telling Abigail to find an opportunity to convey to Wade their willingness to fund his experiments.
Regardless of whether the Philosopher's Stone is successfully created or not, each time it requires alchemical materials that are quite expensive, enough to bankrupt an ordinary middle-class family.
In Byrd's view, the biggest obstacle preventing an Alchemist from being curious about the Philosopher's Stone was money!
Abigail didn't object. After agreeing, she exchanged recent intelligence with Byrd, then got up to leave.
"I need to go back—no professor should miss the Halloween Feast."
Abigail put on her cloak, pulling up the hood as she asked, "By the way, what's that Carlyle's real name?"
"Just Carlyle," the slightly plump woman said. "Caryll Johnson."
"…I see."
Abigail murmured, pulling open the door and stepping out.
Night had already fallen, and the shops on both sides of the road were lit by candlelight.
Some students returning late hurried towards where the carriages were parked, laughing and playing as they ran.
Many people rushed past Abigail, like silhouettes in time. Only Abigail walked slowly, step by step, neither flustered nor impatient.
Because now, her mind was filled with a past event.
It was a day shortly after she joined the joint investigation team. While everyone else was busy with their own affairs, Abigail secretly sought out Landon Johnson, who was staying at a Muggle hotel.
That was her first mission in this country—to clean up after her American colleagues.
Those careless people, when they were supposed to cast the Obliviation Charm on Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, delayed because they were drinking.
When they found people at the hotel, they mistakenly identified a repairman who was fixing the phone in the room as "Landon Johnson." After two Obliviation Charms, they reported "mission accomplished" and confidently went to amuse themselves.
Mrs. Johnson forgot she had a son, but the real Mr. Johnson didn't. By the time The Organization discovered this oversight, Landon Johnson had already fled back to Britain.
—The Organization's influence in Britain was the weakest among European countries.
They finally managed to track down Landon Johnson's whereabouts through some connections in Muggle society but couldn't find him.
By then, the matter had already caught Hogwarts' attention, and Mr. Johnson had actually been arranged a secret residence by Dumbledore.
Later, Abigail, who had been active in other areas, joined the investigation team.
She remembered that man—
Landon Johnson, a man so thin he was skin and bones, his hair almost completely gone, kneeling on the ground looking like an alien.
He was easily tricked out of the encirclement, and when a Wand was pointed at his heart, he showed no surprise or fear.
The man knelt on the ground, tears streaming down his face, and said, "I know you're with them… if you want to kill me, kill me. I won't run or resist… Please, for my sake, since I'm about to die, tell me—"
"Carlyle… my child… is he still alive?"
"Carlyle?" Abigail said casually. "Who's that? I've never heard of him."
She quickly erased all traces and turned to leave.
In such an island nation, disposing of bodies was easier than in America.
This incident was just a small interlude in her life.
Abigail quickly forgot about it, because figuring out how to get along with Wizards from various countries already occupied all her thoughts.
But now, she remembered everything again. That disheveled, ugly face flashed repeatedly in her mind, and a father's last voice echoed in her ears—
"Carlyle… my child… is he still alive?"
Abigail walked into the faculty seating and sat down, looking up at the Gryffindor table.
A flock of bats fluttered past overhead, and many orange streamers spewed golden-red flames. Pumpkin lanterns made the Great Hall brighter than usual.
Carlyle was actually easy to spot.
Among a large group of ravenously eating students, there was one Gryffindor slowly eating a steak that was probably only rare, looking somewhat bored and enduring.
It must be said, the young boy's demeanor seemed particularly unique. Several girls around him cast him flirtatious glances, but Carlyle acted as if he didn't see them, showing no reaction.
"—Hmm, he's still alive."
Yes, Abigail replied in her mind, then chuckled self-deprecatingly, shaking her head.
As she smiled, her expression suddenly froze.
Carlyle had practically been raised by The Organization. Because he was so stubborn and had an exceptionally strong will, The Organization had to create a false reality for him, based on his memories, where his parents were still alive, just to get him to cooperate.
—What about me, then?
Abigail thought about how she'd been orphaned at a young age, and suddenly she didn't know what in this world was real and what was fake.
But after a few seconds, that thought was slowly suppressed by another.
What's fake is fake.
Byrd wasn't Landon Johnson; there were actually many flaws in their pretense as a married couple. If Carlyle spent day and night with them, he would definitely notice something was off.
But Abigail was different.
There were no obvious inconsistencies or contradictions in her memories; all of them were coherent and logically sound.
Abigail sighed, whether in regret or relief, as the delicious dinner suddenly lost all its appeal.
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