Vid looked at Dobby's tense yet proud expression, feeling as if a stone had been thrown into his heart, causing shallow ripples.
He showed a hint of amusement in his eyes: "You're really smart, Dobby. You did better than I expected."
Most importantly, Dobby could naturally say words like "my master," although it was to resonate with other house-elves, it also proved that Dobby was gradually moving out of the shadows of the past.
Upon hearing this, Dobby excitedly jumped on the bed twice: "Dobby is truly happy, Dobby can help Mr. Vid Gray!"
He took a deep breath, his mouth uncontrollably curling upwards.
Vid chuckled and turned his gaze to the scroll of parchment Dobby had brought. He carefully unfolded it, the edges still carried a hint of cleaning agent and fireworks aroma.
Under the dim light, Dobby had scribbled down numerous trivial clues with his crooked writing, and ultimately all suspicions pointed to five names.
...
While Vid was sorting out clues in the United States, two men in ordinary suits were walking on the potholed roads at the edge of the city, with a faint smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.
The younger man, with red hair, skinny and tall, with freckles on his face —was none other than Percy Weasley.
He once almost reached a position close to the Minister of Ministry of Magic's side; even—Percy could say without modesty—Percy was once one of Minister Fudge's most trusted individuals, even able to act on behalf of the Minister on some important occasions.
However, all this glory disappeared with Fudge's resignation.
At this moment, he was full of resentment, his hair was not properly groomed, and even the suit he wore to disguise as a Muggle had a vibe of cheapness.
"Can't believe I've been assigned to do this kind of work!"
Percy Weasley complained, kicking away an empty crushed can on the road.
"Investigating on a mad Muggle's nonsense, coming to a place like this! If Mr. Fudge were still here..."
"Don't count on Fudge, Weasley. When he left everything behind to enjoy a peaceful life, he didn't think about us—not even a bit—all those big figures are like that."
The older man said with a numb indifference: "It's just routine, the higher-ups want a report, we give them a report."
"...As for the content? Who cares?"
He squinted, looking up at the dilapidated building ahead.
Only three floors high, the walls had large areas of peeling, exposing the dark bricks underneath. A rusty iron sign hung on the iron gate, leaning to the left, with the writing already obscured.
He exerted great effort to identify the words "Madison Sanitarium."
"This is the place. Let's go."
"Mr. Fuller, are we really going to endure this?"
Percy quickened his pace to catch up, speaking indignantly:
"Exiled, marginalized, handling trivialities like plumbing explosions!"
"And this guy left here to die in the sanitarium, what's there to investigate? It's a colossal waste of the Ministry's resources! We should be tracking down more important clues, not here!"
The elder Mr. Fuller looked indifferent, saying:
"What's so bad about it? Go in, ask a few questions, take some photos, then we're done, and we can go home early today."
He reached out to press the doorbell beside the main gate, unsurprisingly hearing no sound, and grabbed the chained gate to knock it hard.
"Ding ding ding ding—"
The ear-piercing sound echoed in the empty courtyard.
Then Fuller turned his head, seeing Percy still with a frustrated expression, annoyed at his companion's lack of ambition, he smiled mockingly and patted Percy on the shoulder.
"Silly boy, you'll understand in a few years—"
"This kind of work where you can move around, without fighting Dark Wizards, no responsibility, once the report is done, no one remembers—is the best job in the world!"
"You think standing in the center stage, holding power is real skill? Wrong! Peacefully muddling till retirement is true wisdom!"
Percy's shoulders stiffened, clearly despising this rhetoric yet could only swallow his dissatisfaction, his gaze turning darker towards the squeaky iron gate.
After a moment, a middle-aged man in a crumpled white coat, greasy hair came out, even seeing the two waiting outside the iron gate did not speed up, his mouth impatiently drooping.
The man's name badge read: [Warren Edwards, SLP].
Through the iron gate, Edwards asked impatiently: "Who are you? We don't welcome journalists, nor buy anything!"
Fuller calmly took out a black wallet, flashed it, said:
"National Special Investigations Bureau, Mr. Edwards, we need to know some about Cornelius Dawan who once stayed here."
"Him again! How long has that old fellow disappeared?!"
Edwards leaned close to inspect Fuller's credentials, eyes momentarily dazed, then unlocked the iron gate, still complaining:
"I shouldn't have taken such troublesome guys! First, those relatives of theirs never visited, then several research institutions came, now the National Bureau is here!"
"Seriously, that old thing can't even stand to pee, how much trouble can he cause?"
Fuller approached the gate, casually asking: "Don't you ever read the news, Mr. Edwards?"
"News? Listening to those politicians brag? I'm only interested in swimsuit shows and beauty pageants!"
Edwards muttered: "So what? Did that Dawan geezer make the news? The previous folks wouldn't say anything, just kept asking me questions!"
He led the two into the sanitarium office, pulled open a drawer, took out a stack of patient records, and threw it onto the table.
—Because many have come looking for Cornelius recently, each bringing documents he couldn't refuse, Edwards was forced to sort out all the records, conveniently for Fuller and Percy.
"A hijacking incident happened not long ago, thankfully no casualties, the unfortunate part being the entire plane burned."
Fuller chatted idly with him, saying patiently: "At that time, the hijacker on the plane claimed someone named Cornelius got a terminal illness, but was somehow cured..."
While recounting the events on the plane [the known version], he casually flipped through the records, hardly scrutinizing, only taking out a camera for a few photos.