It was 1994, England, the wilderness, and dusk was falling.
Today was a rare good day for Quidditch fans from all corners of the world.
The wizarding world's quadrennial sports event—the Quidditch World Cup—was about to kick off here.
Today was also a rare good day for the unremarkable young Wizard, Weilan Costa.
After all, on such a grand and hot day, who could refuse a cool and delicious ice cream cone?
In just one afternoon, the black-haired, black-eyed Vilan, pushing his rented second-hand cart, sold out three large tubs of ice cream.
Making money is always relaxing and enjoyable, though the process might not be so pleasant.
Condensation from the cold ice cream tubs dripped down from the top, soaking Vilan's shoes and socks, making him extremely uncomfortable.
And just as Vilan was swamped with work, an unpleasant, pale, pointed face appeared before him.
"I want two ice cream cones, mint flavored."
The person spoke in a long, lazy drawl, making a whole list of demands:
"Don't let your dirty hands touch the ice cream scoops. I won't eat ice cream that's been dirtied."
"The cone must be wrapped in paper, so the melting ice cream won't drip onto my hands."
"Scoop the ice cream from the very bottom; the top part has melted a bit and doesn't taste good."
"Hmph—if it weren't for this hot and humid weather, my mother and I wouldn't even bother with your cheap ice cream cart!"
Vilan gritted his teeth, staring at the Malfoy mother and son before him.
They completely disregarded the other impatient people waiting behind them, slowly squeezing out a pile of demands at a snail's pace.
Finally, they didn't forget to disparage Vilan's homemade, cheap ice cream, claiming it didn't match their noble status.
"Alright."
Vilan forced a smile:
"One scoop of ice cream costs one sickle."
"Why is our ice cream so expensive!" Malfoy shrieked immediately.
Vilan glared at them, retorting sarcastically:
"Because I'm afraid that a five-Knut ice cream scoop would lower your standing, Young Master Malfoy."
Facing Vilan's blatant mockery, Malfoy was furious.
A hand adorned with an emerald ring timely rested on his shoulder, preventing any potentially irrational actions.
Malfoy looked up and saw his mother, Narcissa.
A noblewoman with an equally pale complexion.
Narcissa spoke coolly:
"Just give it to him, Draco. We don't lack that bit of money. There's no need to haggle with a greedy peddler at a time like this."
Malfoy snorted coldly and opened his black velvet purse.
The purse was exquisite, with the surname "Malfoy" embroidered on it in gold thread.
He deliberately walked around to the back of the cart and held it close to Vilan's face.
After pulling out a shiny Galleon from the purse, he dangled it under Vilan's eyelids:
"A Galleon, have you ever seen one? Costa, you pauper from the orphanage! Keep the change."
Snap!
Malfoy slammed the Galleon onto the ice cream cart's counter.
The Galleon disappeared.
This was a small magic feature built into the second-hand cart.
It automatically collected coins placed on the cart by customers into a compartment in the middle layer of the cart, right next to the ice cream tubs, and also provided the correct change according to the owner's instructions.
Vilan only needed to confirm that the customer had paid the correct amount, then he could directly scoop out the corresponding ice cream, place it on the cone, and hand it to them.
Ding—
A pleasant clinking sound came from inside the cart.
It was the sound of a complete Galleon falling into the money compartment.
One Galleon for two scoops of ice cream.
In an instant, Vilan developed a profound respect for Draco Malfoy.
More than half of the ice cream had been sold, and the remaining ice cream on the tub walls smeared onto Vilan's hands.
Vilan's hands were covered in sticky ice cream cream.
He didn't mind, smiling as he handed the Malfoy mother and son two mint-flavored ice creams.
After the haughty mother and son left, Vilan continued to run his small business.
He was the only vendor selling ice cream nearby, and on this hot and grand day, his business was incredibly good.
Listening to the pleasant clinking of coins, Vilan was in a great mood. The fatigue and annoyance from pushing the ice cream cart on a long journey vanished at this moment.
"No choice, who told the Ministry of Magic not to allow Apparition and Disapparition near the Quidditch stadium?"
"Otherwise, I would definitely ask a few kind, adult upperclassmen who have learned Apparition to help me transport the ice cream cart here."
"Ha, luckily the profit this time is substantial, so the hard work is worth it!"
The ice cream dwindled, and the coins clinked and accumulated.
"Hi, Vilan!"
Harry, with his messy black hair and round glasses, appeared in front of the cart.
"I'll have one chocolate, one mint, and one strawberry."
"Are you also here to watch the Ireland versus Bulgaria match?"
Harry wore a large green shamrock on his chest; he clearly supported the Ireland team.
Vilan scooped out ice cream while answering him:
"No, I don't have a ticket."
"I'm here to make money."
The woman standing behind Harry exclaimed loudly:
"You're still so young, and you're already out earning money by yourself?"
She was a beautiful and elegant Witch.
She had long fiery red hair and a pair of green eyes.
Lily Potter, Harry's mother.
"Vilan is my classmate in Gryffindor!" Harry explained to his mother:
"He grew up in a Muggle orphanage and has had no parents since he was little."
"He's always been very poor and has never worn new clothes."
"At Hogwarts, he has to sell toys, stationery, snacks, and other items everywhere to earn a little money."
"Just so he can afford to enjoy a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks on Saturdays."
After hearing her son's explanation, Lily felt even more pity for the boy in front of her.
Her green eyes looked at Vilan, brimming with tears.
However, to his misfortune, at such a crucial moment, several sharp squeaks of a mouse suddenly came from under the cart.
Vilan quickly estimated the direction of the sound and kicked the mouse away.
He didn't want to leave an impression of questionable food hygiene in the mind of such a beautiful Witch.
His ice cream containers were clean; it was unavoidable that cream accidentally dripped onto the ground, attracting wild outdoor mice.
Handing over three ice creams, Vilan awkwardly avoided Lily's pitying gaze.
As a Transmigrator, he originally thought his life was happy.
The happiest part was that in this timeline he transmigrated into, Lord Voldemort was assassinated by a mysterious and powerful White Wizard at the peak of his power.
Harry's parents were therefore alive and well.
Vilan had safely passed his first three years at Hogwarts.
No need to be anxious, not so many bothersome things, he could steadily earn a little money.
How was it that in Harry's eyes now, he was such a tragic person?
"Fifteen Knuts."
Vilan stated the ice cream price.
"One silver sickle, keep the change."
The tall, thin man who resembled Potter threw over a silver sickle.
James Potter, this was Harry's father, with a green shamrock knit hat covering his black hair.
They bought their ice cream but were not in a hurry to leave.
Instead, they whispered not far away, occasionally casting concerned glances at Vilan.
The light gradually faded, and the match was about to begin.
On the wide road, the few remaining figures quickened their pace, converging towards the stadium entrance.
Vilan prepared to pack up and count his earnings.
Harry ran over, clutching a crumpled ticket in his hand:
"Vilan, are you watching the match?"
"This is Hermione's ticket, but she's not coming today."
"Mum said you can come with us to watch the Quidditch match!"
Vilan was so excited he almost overturned the cart.
Please, please.
According to his memories from before transmigrating, there were Veela dancing before the Quidditch World Cup this time!
Perhaps some people weren't interested in Quidditch, but who could bear to refuse beautiful Veela?
"I'm going! Thank you, Harry!"
Vilan didn't have time to wipe the cream from his hands.
He reached into the money compartment.
Ready to count the money and then go with the Potters to watch the match.
From a distance, Vilan saw a blurred figure running out of the stadium, rushing towards him.
He didn't think much of it.
Until Harry exclaimed:
"Malfoy!"
"The match is about to start, why is he suddenly running out?"
Vilan's hand hovered in mid-air.
The figure got closer; it was indeed Malfoy.
He looked furious, his pointed face so red it looked like it was about to explode.
"Costa! You thief!"
Malfoy's angry roar came from afar:
"How dare you steal my purse!"
Vilan was indignant and immediately retorted:
"Who stole your purse? I've been busy the whole time, where would I have the leisure!"
Malfoy finally reached him, pointing at Vilan, his eyes wide with fury:
"My purse has been in my pocket the whole time! Besides paying you, I haven't taken it out again!"
"Our family uses the noble passage; we've never been crowded with anyone!"
"So pickpockets wouldn't have had a chance either!"
Vilan rolled his eyes: "Anyway, your purse won't be here!"
"I don't believe it," Malfoy insisted, "I'm going to search your cart!"
Lily stood in front of Vilan, her fiery red hair swaying in the wind:
"Child, it seems your father gave you noble blood, but didn't teach you proper manners."
"You don't have the right to search others arbitrarily! Arrogance is one of the most detestable qualities."
Vilan took down the fluorite lamp from the cart and used it to illuminate the money compartment.
"You don't need to waste your breath, Mrs. Potter."
"A brat like him deserves to be slapped hard by the facts. If it's not there, it's not there, it's absolutely impossible for it to appear out of thin air... Ah?!"
Vilan's eyes widened.
He saw a dry black velvet purse lying quietly in the money compartment.
The purse even had the surname embroidered in gold thread—
"Malfoy."
But how could this be?
Vilan clearly knew that he hadn't stolen anything.
"Aha!"
Malfoy was triumphant about catching him red-handed:
"You dirty thief, I'm going to tell Dad about your despicable behavior! Don't even think about finding a decent job after you graduate!"
Harry couldn't defend Vilan.
Surprise flashed in James and Lily's eyes, followed by deep, unshakeable disappointment.
Vilan unconsciously clenched his fists.
This matter had to be explained clearly today.
Missing the Quidditch match ticket was a small matter.
If his reputation was ruined, how would he continue to run his small business at Hogwarts? How would he earn money?
Deep breath, calm down.
There must be clues to prove his innocence.
The air was muggy, and cream dripped from Vilan's fingertips.
Vilan wanted to shake off the uncomfortable ice cream cream, but his hand suddenly stopped in mid-air.
Cream?
Cream!
"I didn't steal your purse!" Vilan swore to Malfoy:
"Check your purse carefully!"
Malfoy turned his purse over and over, checking it several times.
Aside from a large area of dust on the velvet, he didn't find anything special.
Vilan prompted him:
"There are no traces of ice cream cream on your purse!"
James looked at Vilan's cream-covered hands, then at Malfoy's dry purse, and suddenly understood:
"This boy got his hands covered in cream while scooping ice cream."
"If he really took your purse when you weren't looking,"
"Your purse would definitely have cream on it!"
Vilan nodded and added:
"My wand is in my right pocket. I carry it with me only for unforeseen circumstances and haven't used it since the end of summer vacation."
"Mr. Potter, you can pull it out and check."
"There's no cream on the wand."
"If you know how to use the Priori Incantatem spell, you can also check that the last spell cast by the wand was a Scouring Charm—I used it to clean my socks at the end of my third year."
Subsequently, James stepped forward to check Vilan's wand usage.
Vilan held his hands high, afraid that the cream on them would drip—
This cream was now crucial evidence to prove his innocence!
James checked Vilan's wand and confirmed that he hadn't used his wand today.
As each piece of conclusive evidence was presented, the scale of trust in the Potters' hearts began to tip towards Vilan.
Malfoy's pointed face turned from crimson to ashen.