"His name is Cornelius Dawan! Go check it out! Use your all-powerful media resources to investigate!"
"See if there really is such a person, see if he has the same illness as my daughter, and if he's still waiting to die in a hospital bed!"
Quivin Martin's roar was transmitted loudly to Vid's ear through the Communication Pea.
He adjusted his ear uncomfortably and cast a Small Magic spell on the Communication Pea hidden in his ear canal to quiet the sound a bit.
Then, he casually flipped through several pages of the Friendship Book, where lines of brief text quickly appeared, only to vanish before fully forming.
Through the magical network, the command was silently relayed.
...
In distant Edinburgh, a scruffy-bearded vagrant dragging his cluttered handcart was wandering aimlessly by the roadside.
Suddenly, he stopped and ducked into a hidden alley, pulling out a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper from his dirty clothes.
As he unfolded it, a series of flowing characters appeared one by one.
"Cornelius? A scientist among ordinary people?"
He stroked his beard and muttered, "Indeed, this seems like a good opportunity, but it still requires meticulous planning."
Then, the vagrant turned and spoke to his handcart, "Alright, folks, time for us to get to work!"
Talking to his cart made him appear quite insane.
But even more astonishing was that his seemingly low-tech cart actually spoke:
"My goodness! Merlin bless, God bless, Buddha bless, Three Pure Ones bless, I'm almost convinced I'm really a stinky cart!"
At that moment, a crooked broom hanging on the cart also voiced its thoughts:
"At least you get to move around with Lock! I've been playing dead all day long, it's unbearable!"
The handcart emitted a chuckle, "Ha! You're being dragged by me, what are you complaining about? The last time, some idiot even threw trash directly on me!"
"Nothing we can do, Lock insists on playing a vagrant."
The broom grumbled, "If you ask me, I'd rather fly around with you guys until we find some Dark Wizard, find a way into their social circle, and finally blend in with the Dark Lord. Isn't that way more interesting?"
"But then we'd be exposed before that!"
The handcart, or rather the Cube Poppet, retorted, "You brainless fellow, have you forgotten that Lock isn't a real wizard? He can't do magic and doesn't have a Dark Mark; he'd be recognized by Voldemort at first glance."
Lock nodded and said, "So I can't go looking for them; I have to let them find me... and make it seem reasonable that I can't use magic."
He glanced at his left shoulder—where there should've been an arm, but Lock had removed it to conceal the absence of a Dark Mark.
The short, plump Poppet sighed, "Sigh... I didn't expect this to be so hard..."
The broom sympathetically added, "You can't actively go to the wizards' places, but you need to let the Aurors inadvertently discover you as a 'fugitive,' and then have them capture you into 'Azkaban'."
"Such a simple task, yet it's taken you so long without any results, Lock... you're really down on your luck..."
Mentioning this, Lock lowered his head in dejection, his entire Poppet appearing dim.
Before setting out, he anticipated this mission might take a bit more time; he didn't expect that after feeling surrounded by wizards, leaving his master made encountering even one so difficult.
What's more, the one he wanted to encounter ideally was a sharp, highly magical, criminal-pursuing Auror who could recognize his 'wanted status' despite Lock's disguise.
But the Aurors meeting those criteria were either by the Minister of Ministry of Magic's side, carrying out important tasks, or retired already; none of them happened to be conveniently 'encountered' by Lock.
This resulted in the Cube and broom wandering with him for a long time.
Thinking of their ambitious dreams when leaving home compared to their current lack of achievements... they were like kids who moved to the big city for work, unable to return home until they had the means to do so, forced to eke out a living day by day.
At this moment, finally receiving news from their master, the Cube perked up and said excitedly:
"Hey, enough with the chatter! Lock, what's the master's command?"
"An opportunity to reconnect with the Magic World."
Lock looked up at the sky and said, "We must return to London... after dark; we'll need your help, broom."
"No problem!" The broom said cheerfully, "I can't wait to show off my skills!"
The Cube piped up, "Hey, clear out that pile of junk on you first before anything else!"
The broom chuckled, "No, no, once we're back in London, Lock still needs to keep up the disguise!"
The Cube fumed, "Doesn't London have another vagrant? Is it so hard to collect another set of junk? Broom, watch out, or I'll dismantle you!"
A claw suddenly shot out from the handcart, swiftly grabbing the broom handle, then unfolded a variety of tools like wrenches, scissors, daggers, and pliers, brandishing them towards the broom.
"Aaaah—" The broom screamed, "I'm going to die! Spare me... I'm sorry, I was wrong! Isn't that enough... I still have important missions to carry out; Cube, you better stop!"
The Cube said nothing and brutally pinned the broom to the garbage pile, grinding it against the ground with trash, even trying to "massage" it with old shoe polish.
Lock stood by, helplessly saying, "Keep it down; you two are going to attract attention!"
The Cube and broom's noise ceased instantly, and a second later, a passerby walked by the alley entrance, hearing faint sounds of the commotion and curiously glanced inside.
When he saw the dim, deep alley holding only a vagrant, the passerby wore an extremely subtle and peculiar expression.
Then, possibly out of a mindset of "respectful but not intrusive" or "stay away from weird strangers," he hastily sped away.
Lock: "..."
He couldn't help but hold his forehead, letting out a deep sigh.
Even as a Poppet, he wanted to say... he needed to save face too.
Looking at the other two who were causing a scene...
Hmm, a cart, a broom... what dignity do they care about? They literally didn't have "a face" to lose.
"Clatter, clatter, clatter..."
The handcart's wheels creaked as they rolled over the pothole-covered ground in the alley, dragged by the vagrant through the streets and alleys of the city.