“Weilan!”
James, who was leading, rushed forward, supported Weilan’s exhausted body, and unfastened the restraints on his wrists.
“Quick, Ruben, take this child to the tent in the camp to rest properly.”
“Wait! Circe, Circe!”
Weilan, fearing he would forget the name once his nerves relaxed, struggled to tell James.
“That Veela said this name! She said her special ability was bestowed by this Goddess, and I suspect this operation was also instigated by that ‘Goddess’!”
“It’s alright, child, you’re out of danger now.”
James helped pat Weilan’s back to ease the pain in his lungs:
“As for that name—I’ve noted it down and will investigate thoroughly.”
“You cast the spell in self-defense, and I can testify to that. Don’t worry, you won’t be prosecuted for using magic outside of school as a minor.”
Upon receiving James’s assurance, Weilan finally let out a sigh of relief, sprawling out on the ground. After feeling his strength return slightly, he slowly followed the Auror caring for him back to the camp.
…
The campfire in the camp glowed red, crackling occasionally.
Weilan sat near the campfire, sipping a bowl of thick stew.
Soft, tender carrots and potatoes floated on the surface of the stew, glistening with a few drops of golden oil. Before they could take a few breaths of fresh air, Weilan slurped them up along with the viscous broth.
“Whew—”
Weilan exhaled deeply, feeling a warm sensation permeating every pore of his body.
Ruben Carson insisted that Weilan needed someone to look after him. After some discussion, he finally agreed that Weilan would temporarily be cared for by Weasley.
“Poor dear, you must have been terrified.”
“Merlin’s beard, you escaped the clutches of that evil Veela alone! I can’t imagine how much courage and wisdom that must have taken!”
The slightly plump housewife, Molly Weasley, sat opposite Weilan, dressed in her pajamas, toasting bread over the campfire.
Her husband, the red-haired Arthur Weasley, also in his pajamas, was talking with Carson not far away.
The Weasley children had already fallen asleep, and Weilan saw no need to wake them.
The Weasleys showed no annoyance from being woken from their deep sleep. After Carson recounted the harrowing events of the night, the couple immediately agreed to the task of caring for Weilan.
“Here, eat more. You’ve expended too much energy; you’ll faint if you don’t eat something.”
Molly handed Weilan a piece of soft, toasted bread.
Weilan took the bread, tore a piece, and dipped it into the stew. The outer layer of the bread instantly melted into the broth, while the honeycomb-like interior absorbed the meaty flavor, collapsing into a soft, mushy texture.
“Thank you both.”
Weilan looked gratefully at the kind couple before him.
Without them, Weilan would have been curled up in his stuffy, damp tent, drinking cold water and gnawing on rye bread.
Mr. Weasley ended his conversation with Carson at this point. He walked over and sat cross-legged next to Molly:
“You’re welcome, child. You’ll sleep with us tonight. Who knows if those bad guys are still after you? Oh, by the way, Molly, have you arranged a place for him to sleep?”
Molly nodded: “Little Ronnie (Ron’s nickname) has an empty top bunk, Weilan can sleep there. Once he finishes eating, we’ll go to bed—what’s wrong? Weilan, are you thirsty?”
Molly noticed Weilan had stopped eating, his eyes fixed on them across the flickering campfire.
“How are Harry and Mr. Black?”
Mr. Weasley immediately became flustered, rubbing his fingers and looking around, stammering as he urged Weilan to go to bed quickly.
A bad premonition welled up in Weilan’s heart.
Molly was also displeased with her evasive husband, hitting his thigh and questioning him:
“What exactly is wrong? Is there something you can’t say?”
“Alright.”
Mr. Weasley resignedly lowered his head:
“Harry and Black aren’t doing well. James is almost frantic now.”
“How exactly are they not doing well?” Molly asked, grabbing his shoulder, “Are their injuries too severe?”
“They’re not injured.” Mr. Weasley closed his eyes tightly, his voice trembling, “They’ve been enchanted.”
Weilan vaguely sensed the problem: “They don’t have an antidote for the enchantment?”
Mr. Weasley nodded, relaying the information he had received from Carson to Weilan and his wife:
“Generally speaking, as soon as a Veela disappears from sight, the enchantment caused by their magic also lifts.”
“But it’s not like that for Harry and Black. They are still deeply infatuated with that Veela’s beauty, refusing to cooperate with the Aurors and vowing eternal loyalty to her.”
“Furthermore, Narcissa Malfoy, as a woman, was also affected by the Veela’s magic.”
“The Aurors have already sent them all to St. Mungo's Hospital via a Portkey. The hospital has brought in the most professional healers, but they are still helpless. They said…”
“Said what?”
Weilan and Molly’s gazes were both focused on Mr. Weasley.
“What they are suffering from is an ancient magic that controls the mind. Unless ancient sages are reborn, otherwise…”
Mr. Weasley spread his palms: “Otherwise, there is no treatment whatsoever.”
Clang—
Weilan put down his soup bowl: “That’s impossible, there must be a way to treat it!”
Weilan’s distressed reaction made Molly quickly try to comfort him:
“Don’t be too anxious. It’s still late night. I believe by tomorrow morning, the hospital will have brought in some more knowledgeable Wizards, and there will be new developments!”
“Weilan, what you need to do now is get some good rest and not wear yourself out further.”
Weilan pressed his lips together and lowered his head, no longer discussing any topics.
When he had slurped up the last drop of broth, he put down the bowl and was led to bed by Molly.
Perhaps because of the incident, or perhaps because it was too late, the camp was quiet, with no celebrations held by the Irish team supporters.
The chirping of insects, the rustling of wind, the swaying of plants, and a comfortable bed, yet Weilan suffered from insomnia.
He was worried about Harry and Black.
Ancient magic…
Weilan knew this term; even in the magic school Hogwarts, it represented mystery and the unknown.
These crystallizations of wisdom belonging to the ancient sages, powerful magic that relied heavily on talent and bloodline, had largely been lost over the long river of time.
Harry and Black having their minds controlled by ancient magic was like being bitten by an ancient venomous snake for which there was no antidote. Their future lives were destined to be…
No!
Weilan didn’t believe this was an unsolvable problem!
Since Weilan could be immune to the Veela’s enchantment magic, how could Harry and the others be enchanted for life? As long as Weilan voluntarily offered his body for research to St. Mungo's Hospital…
No, this thought was extinguished by Weilan the moment it arose.
He had so many secrets. If he became a guinea pig for magic research, the consequences would be unimaginable.
But did Harry and Black have to remain like this for the rest of their lives?
Emotion and reason were at their limits, pulling in opposite directions. In the darkness, Weilan tossed and turned, not knowing how much time had passed.
“Can the Golden Finger help?”
With this thought, he made the panel in his right eye’s vision appear.
Then, to his surprise, he found that the number representing experience on the panel had increased!
【Experience Level: 1 (4/20)】
Weilan was not surprised by the increase in experience points.
According to his conjecture, this was a Golden Finger similar to Sherlock Holmes’s deductions. As long as Weilan continuously solved case mysteries, he could increase the Golden Finger’s experience.
And in the recent conversation with the Veela, Weilan had extracted the last missing piece of the puzzle from the Veela, completing the full picture of the case.
The increase in experience points was also reasonable.
But what greatly puzzled Weilan was that the experience points he gained from painstakingly solving the murder case were actually the same as the experience points gained from the wallet theft case?