The truck was unexpectedly packed with gigantic spiders.
Gray stiff hairs like steel needles, shiny eyes glimmering with greed, some opened their mouths, and the sharp appendages seemed to glint with cold light.
The Pockmarked Driver instantly showed an expression of extreme horror, his mouth agape, yet no sound came out.
At that moment, his expression suddenly became a little dazed, and his terrified and despairing eyes turned blank.
Beside the car door, a furry leg that was about to touch him paused for a moment, then retracted.
The Pockmarked Driver calmly shut the door, turned around, and said in a muffled voice, "They're all still in a daze, I said there's no need to check."
The expression of the Thick Eyebrows relaxed slightly, but he said, "Those are Wizards, who knows how much dangerous Magic they know. Before the people sent by the leader arrive, we must be cautious at all times."
"Got it."
The Pockmarked Driver appeared much more amicable this time, responding casually.
Although his attitude was still filled with perfunctoriness, the Thick Eyebrows was already quite satisfied.
He arranged the tasks for the group and had Will leave the ship accompanied by the receptionist.
Finally, he left two people to guard the truck while the others left separately.
The Pockmarked Driver was one of the two left behind, the other had fluffy curls and a Little Moustache, looking like he was half asleep.
"I really don't know what's worth guarding here. With Gold Powder on them, they definitely can't wake up. Could anyone really steal someone off the truck?"
Little Moustache yawned lazily, saying, "I'm going back to the car to sleep for a while, don't rat me out to the leader!"
He pulled open the car door, just about to climb in, when suddenly he heard the sound of trickling water behind him.
Little Moustache frowned, turning around angrily, "Hey, if you're going to pee, go a bit further..."
Turning back, his voice stopped abruptly.
The Pockmarked Driver stood honestly behind him, looking a bit pale, his expression dazed.
Looking down, his pants were soaked, and the wet mark was spreading further elsewhere.
Little Moustache only felt this state was bizarre and incomprehensible, puzzled as to why his companion was standing there peeing his pants.
Soon he sprang to alert, grasped the whistle hanging on his chest, ready to put it in his mouth, when a calm voice suddenly sounded by his ear—
"Obliviate! Stupefy!"
Little Moustache fell to the ground with a "bang" like a puppet that lost power, then floated up, swaying and landing in the passenger seat.
Soon after, a figure walked out of the air.
"Really, why did you get scared and wet yourself? The Acromantula didn't even pounce on you, you're a Werewolf, what's there to fear?"
Vid said speechlessly, "Lucky you didn't do this earlier, otherwise everyone would have noticed."
The Pockmarked Driver's eyes were wide open, a ring of blood around his irises, looking somewhat eerie.
Vid didn't actually let him speak, but pointed his Magic Wand at the Pockmarked Driver, whispering again, "Obliviate!"
The light of the Spell hit the Pockmarked Driver, and he leaned back, similarly falling down.
Vid still moved the Pockmarked Driver to the car, arranging him to look like he himself was slacking off and sleeping, though he felt somewhat uncertain.
This was his first time using a Forgetfulness Spell on a living person.
The skilled Memory Erasure Officers of the Ministry of Magic could easily erase a specified portion of a target's memory, usually when the target is a Muggle witnessing certain magical events, to ensure the secrecy of the Magic World.
Lockhart is a Master of Memory Charms; this Spell originally had little power as it mainly affected memories. But Lockhart can use Memory Charms to blow up an entire stone corridor, with a power comparable to a bomb.
This incompetent professor doesn't care how the people whose memories he erased live, so his Forgetfulness Spell generally resets a person's brain to factory settings, crude and simple.
Though Vid controlled the power of his Spell earlier, he wasn't certain if he had deleted precisely the portion of memory where these two realized the truth.
Furthermore, with the sea passage's unknown duration, he couldn't possibly guard here all the time.
He needed a helper.
Vid thought about this, a series of names floated in his mind, which he then ruled out.
Either their skills weren't good enough or their temperament was off.
Some had high capabilities but an overly high moral value, potentially causing conflict with Vid's expectations on matters of right and wrong, life and death.
Friends who would unquestionably support him, their magical skills just weren't proficient enough, leaving them at risk in this place.
Poppet wasn't possible as the Werewolves already knew, couldn't serve as surprise troops; Flow Mirror's size is limited, easily noticed; the House-Elves all have jobs.
Vid pondered for a moment, suddenly having an idea. He looked at the time and place, gave Mikhail a couple of instructions, then came to the window, transformed into a Peregrine Falcon, and silently glided along the sea surface under cover of night.
...
It was already quite late; in a small pub on a London street corner, three people still sat.
"Are we still waiting, Rita?" a lean man carrying a camera asked, "Perhaps they left through another exit."
"Impossible!" Rita Skeeter said decisively, "Gul didn't set fireplaces at the venue, nor allow anyone to Apparate, so after the exhibition ends, they will definitely come out from the elevator!"
"But..."
"No 'but'! This is the last exhibition of that Gul, it's said there might even be a Magic Mirror to communicate with the dead! Do you know how valuable this news is?"
Rita Skeeter impatiently interrupted him, seeing the man become silent, before she picked up her crocodile leather handbag, casually instructing, "I'll go to the restroom, keep an eye on things."
"...Okay," the male photographer said, lowering his head.
Then he saw that polarizing figure, yet one whose every article indeed went viral, the female journalist stepping out in high heels, clattering as she walked away.
Rita Skeeter was not really trying to use the restroom; she was merely puzzled at why no Alchemist had left for so long, suspecting that these exhibition items might be more precious than previously anticipated.
"I want to see what good stuff Gul actually brought this time." Rita Skeeter muttered, quickly stepping into an empty alley. Moments later, a beetle struggled to flap its wings and flew out of the alley.
This was Rita Skeeter's secret tactic for consistently providing explosive news - she was an Animagus, capable of transforming into even a small insect.
The beetle had just flown a short distance when it suddenly felt an obvious air vibration followed by the descent of a "mighty creature"—
A brown-gray bird landed, its eyes like black jewels fixed upon her.