Early the next morning, despite some minor mishaps, Vera still woke up on time from her sleep.
Of course, it might also be that she was too excited after last night’s incident and barely slept at all.
Vera changed into a set of casual clothes by herself early in the morning and sat before the dressing table, looking at the girl in the mirror.
Her pale complexion sharply contrasted with the dark green fabric of her clothes, revealing a morbid beauty.
Kreacher was carefully combing her long hair, his movements as gentle as if he were handling fragile porcelain.
“Miss looks very well today,” Kreacher mumbled, tying her silver-grey long hair with a dark green ribbon.
“Much better than yesterday.”
Vera lowered her eyelashes, unconsciously stroking her now healed wrist, a slight smile curving her lips.
Last night was also the first good night’s sleep she’d had since transmigrating.
Her fingertips subconsciously traced the hidden patterns on the armrest of her wheelchair—parts that Kreacher had specially modified.
Currently, it only had basic Levitation Charm and Cushioning Charm, as well as some defensive runes for emergencies.
If needed in the future, it could be further modified.
“Does Miss really want to go to Diagon Alley alone?” Kreacher asked worriedly.
“Old Kreacher is still uneasy…”
“I want to go see it by myself,” Vera said softly.
“Besides, Kreacher, you can’t follow me to school forever.”
Moreover, Kreacher should be considered dead in Lord Voldemort’s eyes.
If he were to appear in Diagon Alley rashly and be discovered by Lord Voldemort and Quirrell, she would be in trouble later.
Kreacher’s ears drooped, but he still nodded, silently pushing her out of the room and to the fireplace in the living room downstairs.
Vera grabbed a handful of Floo powder, sprinkled it into the flames, and pushed her wheelchair straight in: “Diagon Alley!”
The green flames instantly swallowed her figure.
Amidst the spinning dizziness, Vera gripped the wheelchair armrest tightly, feeling the discomfort brought by the spatial distortion.
When the wheelchair touched the ground again, she slowly opened her eyes, appearing in the dim fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron.
The noisy sounds of the pub instantly flooded her ears, and the air was filled with the smell of baked bread and beer.
Vera’s gaze swept past a crowd of Wizards, and the first thing she saw was the young man sitting at a long table, his back to her.
Quirinus Quirrell, Lord Voldemort’s servant.
It was July 31st, and Vera remembered that Quirrell had not yet invaded Gringotts at this time.
In the original plot, after Quirrell invaded Gringotts but failed to find the Philosopher’s Stone, he was possessed by Lord Voldemort as punishment.
This meant that the current Quirrell was not yet that dangerous.
Vera quickly glanced around, her gaze subtly pausing on Quirrell for a moment before immediately moving away.
The Leaky Cauldron’s decor was even more dilapidated than she had imagined.
Her wheelchair rolled over the rough wooden floor of the Leaky Cauldron, emitting a slight creaking sound.
It was only a short distance, but Vera already felt gazes from all directions—curious, pitying, and even mocking.
Clearly, in this magic world, a disabled Wizard child was a rarity.
“Look, a disabled little Wizard…”
“Poor little thing, sitting in a wheelchair. Wonder whose child it is.”
Faint whispers rose from various parts of the pub, but Vera completely ignored them.
Tom, the owner behind the counter, put down the glass he was wiping and leaned forward to ask, “Hey, little girl, are you alone in Diagon Alley? Do you need any help?”
Vera shook her head: “Thank you, I can manage myself.”
She pushed her wheelchair slowly out of the fireplace area, deliberately choosing a route away from Quirrell.
Fortunately, Quirrell merely glanced at her from a distance and then paid no further attention to her side.
It seemed as if he was specifically waiting for someone, and an unknown person like herself, even with a somewhat unusual appearance, did not pique his interest at all.
This was a good thing.
Vera remained vigilant, pushing her wheelchair to the courtyard at the back.
Following Kreacher’s instructions, she took out her wand and tapped the wall a few times.
As the bricks moved, the sunlight of Diagon Alley poured down.
What greeted her eyes was a bustling crowd, colorful shop signs, and the mixed scent of various Potions and candies floating in the air.
Sunlight fell on her pale face.
Vera squinted, adjusted slightly, and pushed her wheelchair slowly into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.
Moving slowly along the cobblestone street, the wheels of her wheelchair rolled almost silently under the influence of magic.
Vera keenly noticed that with the activation of her Magic Circuit, the flow of magic in her surroundings became tangible in her eyes—
The protective charms shimmering on shop windows were like translucent films, and the residual spell traces at the tips of pedestrians’ wands floated in the air like tiny fireflies…
“Truly incredible,” Vera murmured, her fingertips unconsciously touching the flowing magic patterns on the wheelchair armrest.
Carefully maneuvering her wheelchair to avoid the crowd, she stopped outside the display window of an ice cream parlor called Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.
In the reflection of the display glass, she noticed that the golden tint in her pupils had faded, but when she concentrated, a faint halo would appear around the edges of her pupils, like amber pierced by sunlight.
Vera gently exhaled, preparing to push her wheelchair forward again, when a middle-aged man quickly moved through the children gathered around the ice cream parlor and came up to her, somewhat agitated.
“Miss Deline… you…” The man’s excited expression froze when he clearly saw Vera’s appearance, then he forced a smile with some difficulty, “Sorry, I mistook you for someone else.”
Vera looked up at the sudden appearance of this middle-aged Wizard, watching the disappointment almost overflowing from his grey-blue eyes.
“It’s alright, sir,” she responded softly.
The man nodded reluctantly, his gaze still lingering on her face: “You… look very much like my sister when she was young.”
His voice was almost inaudible, then he suddenly seemed to startle, stepping back half a pace, “Oh, please wait a moment!”
With that, he quickly turned and walked into the ice cream parlor behind him.
A moment later, he emerged with a raspberry ice cream.
“Please accept this. I am the owner of this ice cream parlor,” he said, handing the ice cream to Vera, his voice filled with a certain earnestness.
“Consider it an apology for my abruptness.”
The pink surface of the ice cream was sprinkled with chopped nuts, glistening invitingly in the sun.
Vera hesitated for a moment before accepting the ice cream and thanking him.
Florean Fortescue’s gaze softened: “I hope you like it. If, if you ever meet a Witch named Daylin Fosco, please tell her that her brother has been looking for her.”
His voice grew softer and softer, eventually becoming almost a murmur to himself.
Finally, he lowered his head and returned to the shop, looking distraught.
Author’s note: Recommendation: ‘The Villainess’s Path of the Cucumber Witch’