harry potter book of crimes

Maca."

Willy was sitting in the middle of the bed, always looking at Maka.

Through the flowing red mist, she could see that Maka's expression seemed a little stiff, and the right hand holding the staff turned slightly white as she gradually tightened her grip.

It seemed that Maka was standing there motionless as if she was enduring something.

"...Maka?"

Willie felt that she shouldn't know what kind of emotions should arise at this moment. Because those emotions that should belong to her have long been sealed with the curse in her blood.

However, even though the seal was clearly not released, why did she...she could feel a heartfelt throb expanding in her heart?

"Maka? Are you okay?"

When Willie called out the name for the third time, she saw that the other party finally responded. Although there was no verbal response, the slightly frozen eyes of the other party suddenly became alive again, and he slowly moved towards

Come to her.

After that, about five or six seconds passed, and Maka suddenly took a deep breath.

"Is your emotion back? Why...even if you have feelings, do you still speak in this intermittent tone? I remember the last time you told me a story, didn't you become quite fluent in the end?"

His voice was still a little hoarse, and his breathing seemed not so smooth. But when he said these words, his tone was relaxed, and even had some joking in it.

However, Maka's hand holding the staff did not relax, and the joints were still a little pale.

"Don't worry, I'm fine..." He smiled and said, "Just sit there and wait! Although it will take a long time, you can get used to the feeling of regaining your emotions first. First...

Well, why not smile first!"

After saying that, Maka took another deep breath, then took out an empty potion bottle without a cork from her waist, and slowly placed it on the floor in front of her.

In order to eliminate unnecessary interference factors, he did not use the floating spell, but bent down and knelt down to put it down himself.

But he didn't know if the invisible pressure just now was still oppressing him, so much so that it was as if he had very heavy sandbags tied to his whole body, and every movement seemed extremely slow.

But even so, his expression was still so calm, and there was even a trace of residual smile on his face.

It is worth mentioning that when he was doing these actions, the red airflow in the room did not stagnate at all, and was still surging regularly.

After hearing what Maka said, Willie on the bed immediately caressed her chest.

Really? Yes...the emotion did appear again. The throbbing just now seemed not to be an illusion.

After realizing this, she unconsciously followed Maka's suggestion and stretched the corners of her mouth, showing the smile she had practiced so many times in front of Maka again.

"Before... I didn't like to practice smiling."

"why?"

While listening to Willy's words, Maka stood upright again with her knees on her knees, and then asked the question.

Willy maintained the curvature of her mouth and said quietly:

"It's a bit weird because it's so empty."

"Hmm...like you're laughing at someone else?"

Maka nodded and continued to respond, while raising the staff with some difficulty.

"Maybe...well, I don't know."

Compared with Maka's sluggish movements, Willy's easy and smooth shaking of her head seemed more and more obvious. Although the two of them were in the same room, they seemed to be in two worlds.

"Since you don't know, then start thinking about it now!"

The moment after Maka gave a casual suggestion, the staff he had just raised suddenly started to tremble... No, it was not the staff that was trembling, but his hand!

At that moment, there seemed to be another force in the room, suddenly activating the magic that permeated it. Unknowingly, something seemed to be captured silently.

It is a small particle in the rushing red mist - in the constantly flowing mist, it is like an inconspicuous water droplet in the raging river, so that it is still difficult to find even after leaving the mist flow.

But Maka discovered it accurately.

Gently dragging the staff back, a stream of magic energy enveloped the tiny red dot. Under Maka's will, it was slowly pulled to the top of the potion bottle, and then silently landed on it.

In the bottle.

"This is a very good start," after doing this, Maka said again, "it proves to us that the long wait so far is indeed very meaningful."

Willie obviously didn't understand what Maka was talking about. She didn't even see the small red dot that represented "great significance", but this did not prevent her from showing a clearer smile to Maka.

However, if this is today's "first step", there are still thousands of steps waiting for Maka after this!

"Then let's get started!"

Makafu stretched out his staff again and said calmly.

...

Two or three hours is undoubtedly a long time on Maca's side. However, for those who are still sleeping soundly in St. Mungo's, they will not even feel the passage of time.

When little Victor woke up from his sleep in a daze, he found that the warehouse, which was being used as a temporary ward, had become slightly noisy.

"Well, is it...morning?"

The warehouse is not designed with windows. If you live here for a long time, it will be easy to lose sight of the changes between day and night.

As for Victor and his son, they haven't been out for several days...

Or, in other words, they couldn't get out at all.

In fact, the people living in this warehouse are all injured people whose movements have been restricted due to various reasons.

Some of those with serious injuries have been lying down for the past few days, and even need to be fed by intern therapists or a few young volunteers to eat; while most of those with only minor injuries are basically as if they were imprisoned.

Got to jail...

Oh no, it seems that saying that is a bit too much... Judging from the current treatment, at most it can only be said to be "house arrest".

Just like little Victor and his drunken father.

"Let's not talk about house arrest or not, at least there is one advantage to living here..." Little Victor raised his hand and pinched his neck, lying on his back and muttered secretly, "That's the 'drunkard dad'; no.

After drinking, I finally stopped being drunk for the time being."

"Are you awake? Then come over and eat!"

Suddenly hearing that familiar voice, little Victor turned over and sat up on the mattress, rubbing his sleepy eyes vigorously.

I don’t know if it’s a hereditary relationship. Although the father and son can’t go out like everyone else who lives here, they both behave a little indifferently.

Maybe it’s because I had already confirmed that my family was safe before coming here!

"Hey, here we come."

Looking at the father who was sitting on the wooden box at the door, chewing bread, little Victor finally stood up from the mattress, pulled on his shoes and walked around other people's floors.

"Sit down! Today we have toast with strawberry jam. There is also dried fruit oatmeal over there. Go and serve it yourself!" Old Victor said, and couldn't help but murmured, "Those wizards are really weird, they are obviously busy.

It's so overwhelming, the hospital is full of people. But the breakfast every day is still delicious...but it tastes really good!"

"They say it's a 'wizard'. Can't you just use magic to conjure it up?"

Little Victor said as he walked towards the wooden crate with a pot of cereal on it, but behind him, his father immediately shook his head.

"I don't know if magic can conjure breakfast, but magic is definitely not omnipotent... Hey, maybe magic will also obey the conservation of mass!"

If Maka were here now, he would definitely applaud Old Victor's words - judging from the patterns Maka observed in magic research, this might actually be a correct guess!

Unfortunately, he is not here right now.

"What does quality mean when it comes to quality? I mean, Dad, are you going to give me a clear explanation about that matter?"

In these days, no matter how many times Little Victor asked, the old man never told him a word about his ability to fly on a broomstick.

Although he felt that it was probably related to his mother, whom he had never met, as long as the old man didn't say anything, the speculation would never turn into reality.

"Didn't I say I don't know?" Old Victor waved his hand carelessly, then stuffed another large mouthful of toast dipped in strawberry jam into his mouth, and said vaguely, "How many more times do you want to ask?"

Stop asking!"

"well--"

As a filial son, little Victor really has nothing to do with this unreliable father.

"Forget it, forget it! Then let us continue to live here!" He complained weakly, "Then when Mr. MacLean gets impatient, let him just 'pick' it out of your stubborn head.

;Give me the answer!"

"Humph, he wanted to pick it, but I couldn't stop it." Old Victor rolled his eyes and said, "Unfortunately, he could only pull out a handful of pulpy brains from my head!"

After hearing this, little Victor subconsciously glanced at the bowl he had just filled with oatmeal - a bowl filled with white flowers, not to mention it really looked like...

"Stop talking and denying people breakfast!"

As he was speaking, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a seriously injured patient lying not far away from the corner of his eye. The gauze that had been bandaged almost all over his head oozed with large blood stains.

Okay! I have even less appetite this time...wait, what is that?

Little Victor stretched his neck and looked at the patient's robe. From his angle, he could just see that there seemed to be a small wooden stick protruding from the inside of the robe.

"Oh! Is that..." (To be continued)