Hogwarts: Voldemort, don't stop me from studying

Chapter 958 Silent Fear
so similar!
It's so eerie it sends chills down your spine.

It was as if those people who had just been carried out had tidied their hair and clothes and walked back as if nothing had happened.

Chris felt his palms begin to sweat. His fingers, gripping the wheelchair handles, tightened unconsciously, his nails almost digging into the soft leather covering the handles.

What exactly are these things?
A magic puppet?

But he had seen puppets before—the vampires and werewolves on stage, and the giants hidden in the underground garage. Although they looked realistic, their eyes were empty and their movements were mechanical. Upon closer inspection, one could immediately tell that they were not human.

But what's in front of me...

Chris forced himself to keep his breathing steady, but his mind was in turmoil.

These things can smile, have subtle changes in expression, and make small movements that are almost identical to those of the original owner.

When "Mrs. Margaret" passed by "Mr. Harold," "Mr. Harold" even naturally stepped aside to let her pass, and returned a standard and polite nod and smile.

Suddenly, just before she was about to sit down, "Mrs. Margaret" stopped in her tracks.

Chris followed its gaze and saw a sapphire necklace lying on the ground, the large gems shimmering with a deep, ocean-like luster under the light.

Those were the jewels that slipped from the neck of the real Mrs. Margaret as she was being carried away by her bodyguards.

Then, Chris saw the "old lady" gracefully bend down, pick up the necklace with her white lace-gloved hand, and slowly put it back around her neck.

Then she sat back down in the seat that originally belonged to Mrs. Margaret, her back straight and a faint smile playing on her lips.

A chill ten times stronger than before instantly gripped Chris's heart.

They are mimicking social interactions... they are playing the role of "people".

Chris tried his best to remain calm, but his breathing still became rapid involuntarily.

in case……

A terrible thought uncontrollably crept into his mind:
What if these puppets... are not satisfied with being controlled by the Stonefield family, and want to replace real people... or even rebel against the Stonefield family?

"See that, Chris?"

William's voice suddenly rang out, deep and satisfied:
"This is the Stonefield family's true 'masterpiece'."

Chris snapped back to reality.

He saw his grandfather slightly tilting his head back, his gaze sweeping over the "guests" who were entering the hall one after another, a kind of loving light shining in his aged eyes—

Like a collector examining the most precious jewels in a glass case.

"This is a perfect creation that combines Illari's puppet technology with our forty years of scientific research."

William’s voice was filled with undisguised pride: “It’s not just about imitating appearance and behavior. They also learned all the public and private data on the target’s speech, body language, and interaction patterns over the past five years.”

"Of course, if that's all there is to it, they can only mimic a superficial appearance, and it's easy for those who are truly close to them to see through their disguise."

"But our dear 'guests' will be staying at the manor for the entire night!"

He paused, as if savoring his perfect plan, and said:
"Tonight, Illari will extract those people's memories and inject them into the consciousness of these new puppets, so that they can complete their role perfectly!"

Chris frowned, sensing a hint of danger: "Does the success of the plan depend entirely on that Mr. Illari?"

—Is he still reliable in the face of such enormous profits?

William understood his unspoken meaning, smiled, and said:
"Don't worry, your grandfather isn't so incapable of judging people."

"Moreover, Illari was unaware of how important what he was doing was—like most technicians, he was intelligent but lacked ambition and had little interest in things outside his research."

"Besides, we don't need to let these new magical puppets exist for too long..."

A cold smile curled at the corners of William's lips:

"If they can survive for two or three days without being suspected of their identities, that will be enough... enough for them to sign some important agreements and smoothly transfer power to the people I have arranged."

"And then..."

"A sudden heart attack, a car accident, a yacht disaster, or even being 'accidentally killed' by burglars during a home invasion... Once the imposter dies, what other trouble could there be?"

Hearing that he only had two or three days to fill in, Chris put aside his worries, took a deep breath, and his eyes were practically overflowing with greed:

"So, all these people's assets... will be handed over to the people you've arranged?"

"of course not."

William looked at his grandson with satisfaction and said, "These assets will eventually flow into offshore accounts controlled by the family through financial operations."

He can't even completely let go of the puppets under his control, let alone humans who have their own thoughts and ideas, which may be even more complex and greedy.

William said, "We will retain some of our businesses, sell some off, and some... will become leverage to control their former allies. Once these people 'die unexpectedly,' the Stonefield family will become a truly unshakeable force."

"Not by magic, but by the oldest and most effective thing—"

"Money, and fear."

“By then,” Chris said with a bright smile, “we will truly have no rivals left.”

He smiled, and unconsciously glanced again at the key point of the plan—the new puppets, most of whom were already seated in the audience. He still felt a chill run down his spine, as if his body had been electrocuted, and the hairs on his body stood on end.

“Grandfather,” Chris couldn’t help but ask, “are these things’ contracts reliable? I mean… they look too real. What if they develop a rebellious streak within two or three days…”

"Scared, Chris?" William's voice was calm, even tinged with a hint of amusement. "Scared of what you created?"

Chris didn't deny it. He swallowed and nodded.

William smiled, a smile that held a world-weary wisdom.

"Good. Knowing fear means you haven't been blinded by greed yet."

“Remember this feeling, Chris.”

"Always be in awe of powers that are beyond your comprehension—whether those powers are yours or given to you by others."

He paused, then turned his gaze back to the quiet "guests" in the hall, his voice becoming low:

"As for them... I've naturally taken the highest level of protection. If any of them deviates from their intended course, the bombs planted inside them will instantly reduce them to ashes!"

“Most importantly, they have no ‘soul,’ Chris.”

"No matter how much they look like humans, they are just machines that execute instructions."

"Like a precise clock, even after spinning thousands or tens of thousands of times, it will not suddenly have the idea of ​​'I want to go in a straight line'."

He patted his grandson's hand; his palm was cold and dry from age.
"So don't worry, child. They're safe. At least... safe for the time when we need them."

Chris listened to his grandfather's words and forced himself to nod, but the chill in his heart did not completely dissipate.

Perhaps it's because... whenever he makes eye contact with those new, seated puppets, he feels a deep-seated fear...

It was as if those sitting there were living corpses.

He was looking at them.

And some of them seemed to be observing him out of the corner of their eyes...

But Chris knew he couldn't say any more.

His grandfather was clearly very proud of his plans and works, and raising questions again and again at this time would only enrage him.
In severe cases, it could even lead the grandfather to believe that he is timid, weak, and incapable of taking on important responsibilities, thus questioning whether he has the ability to take over the Stonefield family business.

Thinking of this, Chris felt a chill and quickly adjusted his breathing rhythm to make him at least appear much calmer.

Only the blood vessels in his temples were still trembling slightly.

“Let’s go check on the progress on Ilary’s side,” William said. “Chris, you haven’t seen a wizard extract memories before, have you?”

Chris quickly turned the wheelchair around and said, "No."

“Then you should take a good look,” William chuckled. “It’s a truly wonderful scene; you can never get tired of seeing it no matter how many times you watch it…”

William was about to leave when he suddenly noticed the hesitant expression on the servant's face by the door.

He turned his head and saw that a group of Stonefield family members were lying dead in several of the private rooms.

In order to mislead the guests, he hadn't specifically isolated or protected his family members. But seeing the group staggering about, his eyes immediately turned cold.
"These useless trash... can't even tell there's something wrong with the air they're breathing. Throw them into the underground cell for two days to reflect on their actions and let them think about what they really are!"

“If they’re smart, they’ll obediently collect their share of the profits. If they’re not smart…” He patted Chris’s hand meaningfully, leaving the sentence unfinished, but the meaning was clear.

Chris couldn't help but let a quick smile creep up his lips, then lowered his head to hide his excited gaze.

The bodyguards, who had been waiting outside the private room, immediately sprang into action. They pushed open the door and quickly moved the person out.

The first to be lifted was John's niece, Emily. She was limply carried, her high heels dragging on the carpet with a slight scraping sound.

The second was his cousin Robert, who was heavier than expected, forcing the bodyguard to adjust his posture.

The third was Aunt Martha; she was tall and thin, her long, thin neck drooping down like a stalk that could not bear the weight of its weight…

Meanwhile, Wade was slumped on a single sofa at the back of the private room, his head tilted to one side, his breathing even and weak, appearing to be in a deep coma.

Even with his eyes closed, he could clearly sense the bodyguards approaching.

—Let's take action?
Or should we continue to pretend and be taken away?
Being locked in a "dungeon" could be an opportunity, but if there are devices in the dungeon that can restrict magic, or if the disguise is exposed... the risks are not small.

Just as the bodyguard's fingers were about to touch Wade's shoulder, and Wade's fingers trembled slightly—

"boom!!!"

A muffled bang came from the side door of the venue, followed by shattered glass, twisted metal, muffled groans, and even scattered gunshots!

The bodyguard in the private room suddenly sat up straight, his hand immediately reaching for the weapon at his waist, and he turned warily toward the door of the private room.

"Bang-boom!"

Another, even more violent impact!
Two black figures—the bodyguards who were originally guarding the side door—flew in from outside and crashed heavily to the ground!

A tall, gloomy figure, radiating suppressed anger, strode into the venue, stepping over shards of glass and wood chips.

It's Brolin.

The new leader of the purges looked utterly pathetic at this moment:

His once impeccably tailored black trench coat was now covered in dust and torn in several places; his hair was disheveled, his face was covered in frost, and his whole body was burning with the anger of someone who had been betrayed.

His gaze, like a poisoned dagger, instantly locked onto Sir William.

The hall fell silent for a second.

The new puppets seated in the guest seats maintained their "elegant posture," but their eyes all turned toward the intruder.

The vampires, werewolves, and other puppets waiting on stage slowly adjusted their postures, facing the two sides where the conflict was about to erupt.

William's wheelchair came to a stop. He turned to look at Brolin, his face showing no surprise, only a calm bordering on weariness.

"Mr. Brolin."

William said coldly, "What's the matter so late? I don't recall inviting you to today's exhibition."

He turned his gaze to another person who hurriedly followed Brolin into the venue.

Ilari, sweating profusely and extremely nervous, explained:

“I…I didn’t mean to. Mr. Brolin suddenly came to find me. He saw those people…and then asked me what happened…”

He had followed Brolin for a long time, and when questioned, he simply couldn't lie.

"Oh, that's not very polite of you, Brolin."

William said, “You are all my guests, unlike before when you hid in the sewers, where you would argue about who was superior and who was inferior even when sharing a piece of moldy bread.”

Iraqi lowered his head.

Brolin gave a cold laugh, his laughter filled with barely suppressed sarcasm and resentment:
"Politeness? Sir William, talking about politeness with someone who has refused to see you for over twenty days and whose assistants are making up all sorts of excuses to fob off your 'old friend'? Isn't that a bit ridiculous?"

He took a few steps forward, his boots crunching loudly on the broken glass.

"I'm waiting for news in your manor like a rejected dog!"

“Those fat, big-eared VIPs can swagger in, be attentively entertained by your assistants, and attend your groundbreaking exhibition.”

"And I—the one who provided you with the most crucial technical support, helped you resolve countless troubles, and even staked the remaining forces of the Purge on you—can't even receive an invitation?"

His voice grew louder and louder, and his anger, which had been suppressed for many days, finally erupted:

"Sir, is this how the Stonefield family treats its partners? Use them and then discard them? Destroy them after they've served their purpose?!"

"Watch your words!"

Chris couldn't help but step forward, blocking his grandfather's wheelchair, his face filled with displeasure and contempt:
"Who do you think you're talking to? Stonefield doesn't need to explain our arrangements to anyone! Especially not to a stray dog—"

William raised his withered hand and gently patted his grandson's arm, signaling him to step back.

Chris obediently took a half step back, but his eyes remained fixed on Brolin.

William's gaze returned to Brolin. He smiled, leaned forward slightly, and asked with an unusually serious expression:
"So, Mr. Brolin, what value do you think you still have in the current situation that would make Stonefield continue to cooperate with you?"

These words were spoken with utmost calmness, yet they were more damaging than any insult.

Brolin's body trembled visibly. Not from fear, but from extreme anger and humiliation.

"Value? Hahahaha..."

He let out a series of short, sharp laughs, his fists trembling slightly from being clenched so tightly.

"William Stonefield, are you senile, or do you think I, Brolin, am a fool?"

He suddenly raised his hand and pointed to the new puppets sitting quietly in the hall:

"Hey! That guy sitting in the third row, I just saw Illari extracting his memories, how come he's back in the venue unharmed in the blink of an eye?"

He raised his eyebrows smugly and said confidently:
“You want to replace these people, William Stonefield! You want to swallow up these families’ fortunes without bloodshed! Am I right?”

"The plan is about to succeed, and you can't possibly abandon our puppets! And yet you still want to kick me aside and take all the benefits for yourself?"

Brolin scoffed, looking at the two speechless Stonefields, and said angrily:

"Very well. Since you think I'm worthless... naturally others will know how much benefit I can bring them! Also, your plan... soon the whole world will know!"

"Even Stonefield couldn't possibly withstand an attack from hundreds of families at the same time, could he?"

He gave a confident sneer, but in reality, Brolin had no intention of doing so.

He simply wanted to increase his influence in the negotiations and gain more benefits.

But on the surface, Brolin turned around without hesitation and said:

"Illari! Take all the puppets and come with me! The Stonefield family isn't worth our time!"

The sound echoed in the empty hall.

No one responded.

The puppets—whether seated "guests" or standing "performers"—remained quietly in place, without any movement or even eye contact.

Ilarie shrank back against the door, glancing at Brolin, then at William Stonefield, and finally turned to her assistant Paul for help.

Brolin's face began to turn pale.

He shouted again, "Illari! You dare disobey me? I said leave!! And all of you—"

He pointed at the puppet and roared, "Obey orders!"

The silence remained suffocating.

Chris's lips curled into an uncontrollable smile, while William slowly shook his head, a cold smile mixed with pity and mockery on his face.

“Mr. Brolin, do you really think... these puppets need to obey your orders?”

He snapped his fingers lightly.

Snapped!
A crisp sound.

The next second, all the puppets in the venue stood up and turned in unison towards Brolin.

(End of this chapter)