When the topic came up, Ron’s round face tightened:
“Remember the devil’s powder that killed those House-elves at the start of the term?”
“In the southernmost village, I met a vendor selling something similar!”
“Of course, he didn’t call what he sold ‘devil’s powder.’ He called that stuff ‘Power Pills,’ and it was ridiculously expensive; 1 Galleon only bought 1 pill…”
“The stuff looked like small green pills, but according to him, eating them could enhance a Wizard’s magic. Some weirdos from who knows where were also there, randomly testifying about how weak they used to be and how incredibly strong they were now.”
“Then I saw many people scrambling to buy it. I pulled a few Wizards aside and asked them how they felt after taking it.”
“One of the male Wizards told me he felt great. After taking it, he saw his great-grandmother, who had been dead for many years, and she even taught him various ancient spells!”
“Many of them had an unsightly greenish tint to their skin. I guessed they were likely deeply poisoned, just like those House-elves whose skin turned green when they died.”
“But they were all too crazy. Many people told me they felt terrible if they didn’t take the Power Pills for a day. Despite the high price, despite going bankrupt, they still borrowed money to buy them.”
“I tried to dissuade them, but I was mercilessly kicked out, sigh—”
Ron angrily slammed the table, his wide eyes full of incomprehension:
“Why doesn’t the Ministry of Magic immediately ban such a harmful thing?”
Weilan thought of the Ministry of Magic’s recent odd behavior and shook his head:
“It’s hard to say about those officials. I just hope this stuff doesn’t flow into Hogwarts again.”
…
On Monday morning, Weilan learned from The Daily Prophet that the serial killer had struck again yesterday.
This time, one of Sirius Black’s brothers died—yes, another pure-blood Wizard.
The victim’s head was cut off and placed on a table. And not far from that head, the killer placed a diary.
The diary’s pages were stained with blood, yet every page inside was blank.
On the day Lord Voldemort died, a blank diary was one of the five items that appeared with him.
The Daily Prophet’s exaggerated female reporter, Rita Skeeter, specifically opened a new column for this matter and selectively quoted and stirred up trouble in it.
She widely publicized the news of Lord Voldemort’s imminent return and, with her skilled ability to distort facts, disparaged the Aurors who were running around, calling them useless fools.
By the time Weilan finished reading the newspaper, his breakfast was almost done. He casually used that copy of The Daily Prophet to wipe the grease from his plate.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ron looked at him. “Why use a perfectly good newspaper to wipe a plate?”
“Nothing.”
Weilan snorted, “The magic world is truly amazing; even pigs can publish articles in newspapers.”
…
Weilan didn’t have to wait too long for his first off-campus commission; it arrived in the Gryffindor common room on Wednesday evening.
This was all thanks to Hermione specifically attaching Weilan’s record of solving the poisoning case at the end of the letter.
“Let me see… from George Pippin, the owner of a Potion shop in Hogsmeade. He has recently experienced continuous loss of Potion shipments.”
“Many distant customers are accustomed to ordering Potions from Mr. Pippin via owl. Mr. Pippin would send the requested Potions to the customers via owl after receiving the letter and money.”
“But recently, all the Potions he sent to the Fetterot region have disappeared en route. No customers residing in the Fetterot region have received any Potions sent by Mr. Pippin.”
“The owls Mr. Pippin used to send the Potions did return as promised. Although they did not complete the delivery task as usual, the cargo packages tied to the owls’ legs were indeed gone.”
“Unfortunately, owls only hoot and cannot provide Mr. Pippin with useful clues about the disappearance of the goods.”
“Mr. Pippin also sought help from the Magical Enforcement Team, but after their personnel took a statement, the matter sank like a stone and there has been no news since.”
“Mr. Pippin’s Potion shop has been continuously suffering losses due to this matter. He is very anxious, so he commissioned us, hoping we can find the bandit who robbed the Potions.”
“He sent us a 2 Galleon deposit. And he promised that if we can identify the bandit, he will give a 50 Galleon reward; if we only find some useful clues, we will still receive 25 Galleons.”
Weilan looked up from the letter and at his two companions:
“The letter’s description isn’t specific. My idea is to first visit Mr. Pippin in Hogsmeade tomorrow and ask for more detailed information.”
“Like the agreed shipping time, the places passed along the way, the color of the owls, etc. What do you think?”
Hermione and Ron had no objections. So that night, Weilan put away the letter and the deposit together, and carefully placed them in his school bag along with the Invisibility Cloak.
But even after doing all this, he did not feel at ease.
Once they left Hogwarts, unless they encountered a life-threatening emergency, the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry Act would not allow them to cast magic.
He needed to prepare some other means.
“Hey, George, hey, Fred, are you asleep?”
The two twins sat up at the same time, their eyes gleaming as they looked at him.
“Doing business? I want to buy some of your prank magic items.”
Not being able to cast magic doesn’t mean not being able to use magic items; otherwise, the twins in the original story wouldn’t have been able to prank Harry’s cousin, Dudley Dursley.
“Oh, are you joining Hogwarts’ prank army too?”
The twins chuckled, fumbling in the dark to open a large box and display their arsenal to Weilan.
Weilan lit his wand and, with their enthusiastic introduction, purchased some very useful prank items for practical use.
The next day, after all their classes, they simply packed their belongings and went to Pippin's Potions in Hogsmeade.
This was a shop converted from an ordinary two-story residence.
The spacious area on the first floor contained various Potion shelves and counters, while the many rooms on the second floor were the residence of Mr. Pippin and his family.
Entering the shop on the first floor, Weilan’s eyes scanned the Potions on the shelves, finding many of them covered in dust.
“It seems Mr. Pippin’s Potion business mainly comes from online owl orders. No wonder he’s so anxious.”
Weilan speculated, at the same time intentionally glancing at the price tags below the Potions.
“Invisibility Potion, 40 Galleons.”
“Thunderbrew, 90 Galleons.”
“Healing Potion, 20 Galleons.”
…
Galleon, Galleon, Galleon… Weilan’s heart was almost filled with this word.
“Looking at it this way, Snape is still conscientious.” Weilan sighed with emotion, “At least he brews Potions for the school’s teachers and students for free, not even charging for the Potion ingredients.”
“I must follow Snape and learn to brew Potions well in the future.”
The owner here, Mr. Pippin, was about 50 years old, a tall, thin man with a goatee.
Seeing someone enter the shop, Mr. Pippin came out from behind the counter and greeted them warmly.
However, this warmth quickly turned into worry after they presented the commission letter:
“You must help me find out the whereabouts of those Potions.”
Mr. Pippin worriedly squeezed out wrinkles on his forehead:
“The total value of the lost Potions has already exceeded 600 Galleons!”
“But that’s not the most important thing; in the future, Potions near Fetterot won’t be able to be delivered. This is a considerable business loss!”
Weilan seemed to hear the sound of Mr. Pippin’s heart breaking.
As someone who had also done business, Weilan could deeply understand Mr. Pippin’s feelings.
That feeling of watching Galleons grow wings and fly out of one’s pocket was not pleasant.
