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Chapter 212: The Bustle
Chapter 212: The Bustle
"Do you remember at the start of the last semester when we met that black-robed witch in the Great Hall who was looking for Professor Forrest? It was her!"
Silke's appearance at Hogwarts back then was quite striking. After Harry's reminder, Hermione and Ron only needed a moment to recall the figure cloaked in black.
"Is her name Silke?"
Hermione wasn't sure how to address her, so she simply followed Harry and called her "sister."
"Professor Forrest introduced her as Vera Silke. She's very beautiful, more so than any of the girls at Hogwarts, but she seems to be blind, with a ribbon covering her eyes."
Ron's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Is she Professor Forrest's girlfriend? I've never heard of any of the professors at Hogwarts having a significant other!"
Harry shook his head, hesitating.
"The sister said they are friends, but it's unclear what kind of friends they are."
"Even if they aren't in that kind of relationship, they definitely have something special going on, living together and all."
"Let's see if the professor brings her to the Quidditch match tomorrow."
"Good idea!"
The three of them chatted about Sherlock's gossip on the sofa. Soon, Mrs. Weasley had dinner ready, and with the Weasleys' large family, the addition of Harry and Hermione made the atmosphere even livelier.
After dinner, they went to bed early. Just past midnight, when the sky was still pitch black, Mrs. Weasley woke them up to prepare for the Quidditch World Cup venue.
Sherlock, however, had no need to rush.
He slept until noon. When he woke up, he heard a series of clattering noises coming from the kitchen, which he found quite normal.
Ever since Silke's last failed attempt at cooking, she had become extremely fixated on it, as if not knowing how to cook made her unworthy of sitting at the same table as Sherlock.
Whenever she had the chance, she would enter the kitchen with a floating cookbook, trying to figure out how to make a proper cream soup or how to prevent the eggs from burning.
But even someone as intelligent as her had her weak points.
Her naturally sharp intuition seemed to vanish the moment she stepped into the kitchen. She was clueless about when to add spices, when to flip, when to use high heat, and when to use low heat.
In the end, Sherlock had to help her clean up the mess.
"Why are you so obsessed with learning to cook? You can always leave it to me."
Silke leaned against the wall, her lips pursed, watching Sherlock skillfully chop the broccoli into small pieces, reminiscent of the time he taught her to fold a paper airplane at the Leaky Cauldron.
"What time are we leaving?" she asked softly.
Sherlock glanced at the clock in the living room, estimating the time.
"Let's go after we eat. We still need to set up the tent, though that shouldn't take long."
"Have your students already gone?"
"You mean Harry? They do have to leave very early to use the Portkey. Our campsite is right next to the Weasleys', and I can introduce you to them. Those kids may not be the most well-behaved, but they're quite cute. Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley are also very nice people."
Since Silke had chosen to settle down in Britain, Sherlock didn't want her to remain as quiet and solitary as before.
After all, one needs to make more friends to become more outgoing.
They quickly finished their lunch and used Apparition to arrive in front of a desolate swamp.
On any normal day, this place would be deserted, and even in broad daylight, few people would choose to have a picnic here. However, the forest deep within the swamp was currently bustling with activity.
A middle-aged man stood guard at the entrance, with several Wizards walking around. He was clearly a Muggle.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Roberts", Sherlock greeted him.
Roberts glanced at him, his eyes showing a hint of confusion. It took him a couple of seconds to react to the greeting.
"Oh, right, good afternoon, sir. You’ve reserved a tent, correct?"
His behavior clearly indicated that he had been subjected to multiple Memory Charms recently. Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder which brilliant leader at the Ministry of Magic had come up with the idea of having a Muggle sell tents here.
"Sherlock Forrest, I’ve reserved two tents for one night."
Roberts stared at Silke, who was standing next to Sherlock, for a moment. He had never seen such a beautiful woman, far more stunning than any movie star. It was a shame she was blind.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and found Sherlock’s name on the reservation list posted on a pole.
"You can pay now, Mr. Forrest."
Sherlock looked at the dazed Muggle and pulled out a few pounds from his pocket to pay him.
Just as Roberts was giving him change, a loud explosion suddenly erupted behind him.
The large Ireland Quidditch team emblem, a three-leaf clover, burst open, showering the area with countless sparkling green lights.
Cheers erupted as several Wizards in green robes ran out of the forest, shouting continuously.
"Irish team, victory!"
From the mist-covered forest behind them, an even louder cheer rose, mixed with suppressed boos.
Roberts was clearly terrified. Seeing the green-winged Magical Creatures, which looked like glitter from a distance but were actually magical fairies, he trembled, his lips pale.
"My God! I knew something was wrong! This is too strange! This is too strange!"
As he shouted, an Auror suddenly descended from the sky, pointing his wand at Roberts and harshly casting a spell.
"Obliviate!"
The spell hit Roberts precisely, and he stood frozen in place. Meanwhile, five Aurors surrounded the rowdy Irish team fans, waving their wands and casting Stunning Spells.
The Wizards, dressed in green cloaks and green pointed hats, resembling Peter Pan, fell one by one, still shouting as they hit the ground.
"Irish team, victory! Victory belongs to Britain!"
The Aurors efficiently subdued the fanatics, and the lead captain, furious, yelled.
"Can’t lock them in Azkaban, so I’ll fine them! I’ll fine them until they’re bankrupt! Damn it! We’re already swamped, and these people are causing more trouble!"
Sherlock and Silke, who had been watching from the side, exchanged a knowing smile.
At the very least, this place was indeed lively.
(End of Chapter)
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