"Do you remember at the beginning of last semester, when we met that black-robed witch in the Great Hall who was looking for Professor Cavendish? That's her!"
Vera's attire had been quite conspicuous at Hogwarts back then. After Harry's reminder, Hermione and Ron only had to think for a moment before they remembered the figure shrouded in a black robe.
"Is that lady's name Vera?", asked Hermione.
"Professor Cavendish introduced her as Vera Hilke. She's very beautiful, prettier than any girl at Hogwarts, but she seems unable to see, as she covers her eyes with a ribbon."(TN: Truly lacking awareness.)
A gleam of gossip flickered in Ron's eyes.
"Is she Professor Cavendish's girlfriend? I've never heard of any professor at Hogwarts having family!"(TN: ? To be fair it is a year-round job so it is possible. )
Harry shook his head and said hesitantly,
"That lady said she and the professor are friends, but I'm not sure if they are 'that kind' of friends."
"Even if they haven't reached that stage yet, their relationship is definitely unusual—they're already living together."
"When we go to watch the Quidditch match tomorrow, we can see if the professor brings her along."
"Good idea!"
The three of them chatted about Sherlock's gossip on the sofa. Soon, Mrs Weasley had dinner ready. The Weasley family was already large, and with Harry and Hermione added to the mix, it felt even livelier.
After dinner, they went to bed early. Just past midnight, while it was still pitch black outside, Mrs Weasley shook them awake to prepare to head to the Quidditch World Cup venue.
However, Sherlock had no need to rush like that.
He slept until noon. When he woke up, there was a clattering sound coming from the kitchen, which Sherlock was used to.
Ever since Vera's failed attempt at cooking last time, she had been extremely obsessed with it, as if she wouldn't be worthy of eating at the same table as Sherlock if she couldn't cook.
Whenever she had the chance, she would walk into the kitchen, a cookbook floating beside her, studying how to make a good cream soup or how not to burn the fried eggs.
But as clever as she was, there were still things she wasn't good at.
That innate, keen intuition seemed to disappear once she entered the kitchen. When to add seasoning, when to flip, when to use high heat, when to use low heat—she was completely clueless.
In the end, Sherlock still had to come and clean up the mess.
"Why must you be so obsessed with learning to cook? Isn't it fine to just leave that to me?"
Vera leaned against the wall, pursing her lips as she watched Sherlock skillfully command the kitchen knife to cut the broccoli into small pieces. She remembered how he had taught her to fold paper aeroplanes at the Leaky Cauldron back then.
"What time are we leaving?" she asked softly.
Sherlock poked his head out to look at the clock in the living room, estimating the time.
"Let's go after we finish eating. We still need to set up the tent when we get there, although that won't take long."
"Have your students already gone?"
"You mean Harry? They do have to go very early; after all, they have to use a Portkey. We're camping right next to the Weasley family's campsite. I can introduce them to you then. Those kids, while not exactly well-behaved, are very cute. Mr and Mrs Weasley are also nice people."
Since Vera had chosen to settle down in Britain, Sherlock didn't want her to remain the same as before, always a silent and withdrawn person.
She needed to make more friends so that her personality would become more cheerful.
They had a simple lunch and then used Apparition to arrive directly in front of a desolate marsh.
Ordinarily, this place was desolate; even in broad daylight, few people would choose to come here for a picnic. But the forest deep in the marsh was currently very lively.
Guarding the entrance was a middle-aged man. There were quite a few wizards walking around nearby, and he was clearly a Muggle.
"Good afternoon, Mr Roberts." Sherlock stepped forward to greet him.
The Muggle named Roberts glanced at him, a look of confusion deep in his eyes. It took him two or three seconds to react after hearing the greeting.
"Oh, right, good afternoon, sir. You booked a tent, right?"
His behaviour was clearly the after-effect of having been hit with many Memory Charms in a short period of time. Sherlock didn't know which brilliant leader at the Ministry of Magic had come up with the idea of finding a Muggle to sell tents here.
"Sherlock Cavendish, I booked two tents for one night."
Roberts stared blankly at Vera, who was beside Sherlock, for a moment. He had never seen such a beautiful girl—she was much better-looking than those stars in the films—it was just a pity she was blind.
He shook his head, and after regaining his senses, he found Sherlock's name on the booking list stuck to the pole.
"You can pay now, Mr Cavendish."
Sherlock looked at the confused Muggle, pulled a few pounds out of his pocket, and gave them to him.
Just as Roberts was getting the change, a startling explosion suddenly sounded behind him.
The massive Irish Team emblem, a shamrock pattern, suddenly exploded, and countless shimmering green lights and sparkly things flew everywhere.
Cheers erupted, and several wizards wearing green robes ran out of the woods, shouting incessantly.
"Irish Team for the win!"
Behind them, from the mist-covered forest, an even louder cheer erupted simultaneously, mixed with suppressed jeers.
Roberts was clearly frightened. He saw those magical creatures with green wings—which looked like sequins from afar but were actually magical fairies up close—shivering all over, his lips pale.
"My God! I knew something was wrong! This is too weird! This is too weird..."
Just as he was yelling, an Auror suddenly descended from the sky, pointed his wand at Roberts, and sternly chanted,
"Obliviate!"
The spell hit Roberts accurately, and he stood dazed on the spot. At the same time, five Aurors surrounded those crazy Irish Team fans and waved their wands, casting Stupefy on them.
Those wizards, draped in green cloaks and wearing green pointed hats, dressed like Peter Pan, fell to the ground one by one as they were hit by the spells, still shouting before they collapsed.
"Irish Team for the win! Victory belongs to Britain!"
The Aurors quickly dealt with these fanatical fans, and the leading captain cursed in exasperation.
"If we can't throw them in Azkaban, then fine them! I want to fine them until they're bankrupt! Damn it! We're already busy enough, and these people have to cause more trouble!"
Sherlock and Vera, who were watching the show from the sidelines, looked at each other and smiled knowingly.
If nothing else, at least it was certainly lively here.