"Goddess?"
Weilan savored the word that appeared in the sentence and slowly walked to the Weasley tent.
Those few lines of text stayed in his right eye for only a very short time, then disappeared.
Summoning the right eye's vision panel again, in the skill bar, two un-upgradable skills, "Graceful Demeanor" and "Silverlight Protection," had appeared.
"Goddess..." He repeated the word, then pulled open the tent and entered.
Even breathing sounds were scattered, and no one from the Weasley had woken up yet.
Weilan gripped the handrail firmly and quietly climbed back to Ron's upper bunk.
His bled arm was itching. Weilan rolled up his sleeve and untied the tightly bound cloth strip used for stopping the bleeding.
The wound had stopped bleeding.
Putting the cloth strip away in his pocket, Weilan lay back on the bed, deep in thought.
"I've gained a hint of the 'Goddess' authority, receiving an increase in charm, accelerated healing, and resistance to magic."
"This aligns perfectly with the 'Goddess' blessing that Veela receive, although according to the skill description, my abilities should be far inferior to that Veela."
"Does this mean that the girl who met my gaze is the 'Circe' mentioned by the Veela?"
"But... aren't we enemies? Why would she help me?"
"Could it be that my escape caused a variable for them... and they need to re-plan and use me?"
The more Weilan thought about it, the more reasonable this guess seemed. His eyelids grew heavier, and he gradually drifted into sleep.
...
"Hey, brother, wake up! Hurry and pack, we're leaving."
When he opened his eyes again, it was Ron, the red-haired, round-faced boy, forcibly waking Weilan.
"Ha—"
Weilan stretched, shook his head, wanting to quickly shake off the groggy state.
"What time is it now?"
"I don't know, but many tents in the camp have already been packed up."
"I wanted to wake you up earlier, but Mom wanted you to rest more, so I waited until they packed everything before waking you."
Weilan immediately lost all sleepiness—he didn't want to cause too much trouble for the Weasley.
Quickly folding his quilt, Weilan jumped off the bunk bed and met Mr. and Mrs. Weasley outside the tent.
"For the rest of the summer, you'll stay with us."
"James said you live in a Muggle orphanage... but with all that's happened now, and the culprit not caught, that place isn't safe."
Weilan agreed to their suggestion and went to his spot in the campsite.
There, Weilan quickly packed up his tent, put on his large backpack, and pushed his ice cream cart, jingling along to catch up with the Weasley.
Mr. Weasley had already packed the magic tent into his backpack, so everyone walked towards the marsh where the Portkey was located.
After queuing up and receiving an old tire-shaped Portkey, Weilan followed the Weasley to Stoathead Hill.
"Be careful, the path here isn't easy!"
Molly looked worriedly at Weilan, who was carrying a huge backpack and pulling an ice cream cart down the hill, fearing that if he lost strength, he would tumble down the hill with both himself and the cart.
"George! Fred! Ron!"
Molly was carrying cooking utensils and her hands were not free, so she sternly called out to her three sons:
"Are you just going to stand by and watch poor Weilan get crushed?"
George responded, feeling wronged: "But Mom, we offered to help when we were in the marsh, and he firmly refused!"
"No, Mrs. Weasley, this isn't a very steep hill, I can manage."
Weilan pushed the cart, navigating around the puddles on the downhill path.
The Veela's "failed framing" still left Weilan with lingering fears; he no longer dared to casually hand over his belongings to others.
Weilan's caution, reflected in Molly's eyes, became a sign of his obedience and sensibility.
"George! Fred! You two rascals, if you had half of Weilan's obedience, your OWL exam results wouldn't be so dreadful!"
"Mom, grades don't determine a Wizard's life, just like it's said at Hogwarts, when Merlin was our age, he only got P (Poor) in his Transfiguration Class, Charms Class, and Potion Class exams!"
The twins, who had been called out, protested.
Weilan wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead. The example George and Fred cited reminded him of the classic toxic inspirational stories he had read in his previous life—
Deriving the uselessness of grades and studying from the example of Einstein getting only 1 point in math when he was young.
(However, in reality, the grading system was 1 point for the highest score, and 5 or 6 points for the lowest score.)
Weilan was unsure how this Merlin rumor spread, but Molly was clearly very angry about it.
"George! Fred—"
Molly's lioness roar echoed at the foot of Stoathead Hill, and Weilan saw the white clouds in the sky seemingly tremble slightly because of it.
"You two are punished to do all the housework today!"
...
When they returned to The Burrow, Percy was already standing at the door waiting for them.
This proud red-haired young man craned his neck, looking at his younger siblings with a disdainful gaze, like a triumphant red-crested rooster.
"Oh! This guy is showing off that he passed his Apparition test again!"
Ron walked beside Weilan, muttering:
"He wouldn't even come back with us, afraid his superior, Crouch, would know he came from a family like ours."
"Yeah!" Weilan vaguely agreed, but his mind was completely elsewhere.
He still had many things to deal with this afternoon! He needed to plan carefully.
So, after discussing with Mr. Weasley, Weilan, during a break in lunch, informed everyone of his planned afternoon activities:
"First, Mr. Weasley and I will go to Diagon Alley to return the rented ice cream cart to the magic general store and purchase this year's school supplies."
"Then, Mr. Weasley will take me to the orphanage; I need to pack some of my things."
"Finally..."
Weilan's voice gradually grew heavy: "I want to visit Mrs. Potter, Harry, and Mr. Black."
"Don't put too much pressure on yourself, Weilan."
Molly pointed her wand at the thick-bottomed pot simmering on the stove, where milky white fish soup was bubbling hotly.
With her spell, the pot flew steadily in front of Weilan, tilting its bottom to fill his bowl with fragrant fish soup.
Weilan used a spoon to scoop up the fish soup, tasting it in small sips.
The rich flavor stimulation did not disperse the cloud on Weilan's face. He was not optimistic about Dumbledore's involvement.
If Dumbledore had a talent for ancient magic, then in all these years in the Wizarding World, it should have been widely known by now.
After lunch, Mr. Weasley drove a light blue Ford car, slowly landing in the open space in front of The Burrow, honking the horn to remind Weilan:
"Put your backpack and cart on this, let's go!"
That's right, this was the flying car modified by Mr. Weasley in the original second year!
At that time, according to the plot, it should have been crashed into the Whomping Willow by Ron and Harry, who had driven it without permission... But the butterfly effect had flapped its wings!
Because there was no Lord Voldemort crisis, there was no meeting between Dobby and Harry, and Dobby did not use his elf magic to prevent Harry Potter from going to Hogwarts.
Harry and Ron boarded the express train on time in their second year, without needing to secretly start the flying car to go to Hogwarts, and naturally, there was no subsequent car crash plot... This Ford Anglia car and that precious Whomping Willow thus escaped disaster.
After settling the cart and backpack, Weilan took a window seat in the back and fastened his seatbelt.
The car gradually ascended, and Weilan looked through the window as the scenery below changed rapidly—from the green carpet-like natural landscape, to dense town dwellings, and then to the concrete and steel metropolis of London.
"We're here!"
Mr. Weasley excitedly landed the car on a busy street where Muggles were walking around.
However, the Muggles passing by were still in a hurry, showing no surprise at the car descending from the sky.
"Muggle-Repelling Charm."
Weilan immediately figured out the answer.
The car stopped directly opposite the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Weasley led Weilan across the street and into the dim, crowded Leaky Cauldron.
Tom, the owner, who was wiping glasses, stopped what he was doing and stared at the two with a meaningful gaze:
"You'd better hurry up; the folks next door to Diagon Alley have been unusually restless lately, for some reason."
Next door to Diagon Alley... Knockturn Alley? The gathering place for Dark Wizards?
Weilan exchanged a surprised look with Mr. Weasley, but Tom, the owner, silently lowered his head and continued wiping glasses, refusing to reveal any more information.
"Thank you!"
Weilan didn't press for details and turned to follow Mr. Weasley away.
He knew very well that Tom's Leaky Cauldron was only a wall away from Knockturn Alley, and spreading too much information would not end well.
Arriving at the small courtyard in the back, Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and tapped the brick three up and two across on the dumpster.
The brick wall, after being tapped, formed an archway, revealing the entrance to Diagon Alley.
And in busy Diagon Alley, nestled between Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, was the general store where Weilan needed to return the cart.
Mr. Weasley waited outside for him, while Weilan alone pushed the cart through the approximately half-foot wide doorway.
After a few steps, the view suddenly opened up.
This general store, named "Gravel Pit," looked very unassuming from the outside and was easy to overlook, but its interior space was very wide.
From various needles and threads to tables and chairs, and even larger storage cabinets and chandeliers... all kinds of items were available here, filling every inch of space in a dazzling array.
Mrs. Stonfield, who ran the place, had sunken cheeks, downturned lips, and three layers of folds on her eyelids, which often made Weilan wonder if it was due to years of squinting at people.
"She's a tough one..."
Weilan had fully realized this the day he rented the cart from her.
Weilan still remembered the series of absurd rental conditions Mrs. Stonfield had proposed.
And the reason he still chose to trade with Mrs. Stonfield was simple—
He was too poor and had no better options.
"Madam, your purple dress today is very charming!"
Weilan preemptively said, bowing gracefully to her.
"Oh, thank you, thank you... This was given to me by my little grandson; he earned some money working during the summer."
Weilan's sweet words brought a smile to Mrs. Stonfield's old face; this elegant and polite boy instantly made her feel good about him.
Normally, Mrs. Stonfield would surely nitpick during the item return inspection to deduct a portion of the deposit.
But this time was different.
