Chapter 84. Handling the Torch
Adrian Wesson lightly rubbed the crystal-clear leaf between his fingers and studied it for a while where he stood.
Aside from its gem-like translucence, it didn't seem to have any other special traits.
But according to the information given by the Tree of Wisdom, it possessed pure soul power.
Then, what was its use?
Adrian turned his gaze to the Tree of Wisdom.
[Name: Eldra (Tree of Wisdom)]
[Species: Oak]
[Level: 3]
[Traits: Analysis of Things, Soul Link, Soul Purification]
[Status: Growing (99.9%)]
At some point, the Tree of Wisdom had gained a new entry—Soul Purification.
This leaf must be the product of that ability.
Over the next few days, Adrian kept researching the leaf and gathering relevant materials.
Time passed; the Christmas holidays were fast approaching.
Adrian also finally wrapped up his stint as the acting Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Happily, perhaps because it wasn't for long, that legendary curse didn't take effect on him.
At the very least, Adrian felt no sign of any curse.
There were three days left until Christmas.
At dawn, Adrian, as usual, was drinking tea in his office.
Lately he had the House-elves bring all three meals to his office.
It saved him the time of going to the Great Hall to eat.
Added up, that was no small amount.
All of a sudden, an urgent rapping on the window broke Adrian's train of thought.
He looked up to see a hooded crow tapping its beak against the glass, a dark-green envelope clutched in its talons.
Adrian set down his teacup and opened the window to let the crow fly in.
The unfamiliar bird held its head high. After dropping the letter onto the desk, it flew off at once, not even sparing the treat in Adrian's hand a glance.
"All right, looks like you're not hungry…"
Adrian spread his hands, set the biscuits down, and picked up the letter on the desk.
He recognised the familiar handwriting at a glance—an elegant, flowing italic; each letter ended with a small flourish.
It was his adoptive mother's handwriting.
Adrian couldn't wait to open the letter.
[Dear Adrian,
Merry Christmas!
Snow is falling outside the window, and I've put a glowing Christmas tree by your sister's bed. Recently I even found a photo of you two in front of the Hogwarts Express.
She's the same as ever, still in a coma, but your father says she's been in decent condition lately.
And luckily, we've got a bit of a lead on her illness.
That's good news, isn't it.
Also, the hospital has introduced a new batch of potions from the East. They're said to be very effective against injuries caused by Dark magic. I really hope they can help…
Lastly, remember to come home on time for Christmas.
Love,
Mum ]
It was a very short letter. After reading it, Adrian folded it carefully and slipped it into a drawer.
In past years, he had always gone to the United States to spend Christmas with his family.
This year was no exception, of course.
Ever since his sister fell into a coma, his parents had been stationed long-term at a wizarding hospital in America.
Adrian had once tried to persuade them to come to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries—after all, their home was here.
In the end, though, his parents still chose to stay there.
They insisted the treatment there was more effective because they used Muggle and wizarding methods at the same time.
Since the wizarding approach hadn't worked, they thought they might as well try the Muggles'.
That was how they saw it.
Although it had never really had any effect…
Just then, another round of knocking on the window cut across Adrian's thoughts.
This time it was an owl bearing a parcel and an envelope.
After flinging both onto the desk, it hurriedly flew away again.
"Looks like the owls are busy today…"
He picked up the envelope. The Ministry of Magic's gold-stamped crest shimmered on it, with large letters below reading "Portkey Office."
"So it's finally here…"
Adrian murmured, tore it open, and a fine sheet of parchment slid out:
[To: Professor Adrian Wesson
Upon review, your application for an intercontinental Portkey use permit has been approved.
The Portkey you requested (a silver teaspoon) has been dispatched.
Destination: Visitors' Reception (New York).
Notes: Do not use the Portkey for the transport of illegal items. Violators will face a fine of up to 500 Galleons. ]
Yes—this was a Ministry of Magic permit to use a Portkey.
For a small sum of Galleons, one could borrow a Portkey from the Ministry.
Of course, these Portkeys were strictly regulated.
But because Adrian was a Hogwarts professor, he had no trouble receiving approval from the Ministry.
And why apply for a Portkey?
Long-distance Apparition wasn't in Adrian's plans—that sensation was not pleasant.
By comparison, Portkeys were far gentler.
At least, Adrian much preferred how a Portkey felt.
And he needed to stay in the United States for two weeks; this would also avoid some unnecessary trouble.
He set the letter down and opened the parcel.
Inside was a grimy silver teaspoon, looking as if it had been used for ages.
People always liked to make inconspicuous things into Portkeys—just like the heavily worn silver teaspoon in Adrian's hand.
As a result, it wasn't uncommon for someone to lose a Portkey by accident.
This was also why the Ministry strictly controlled them.
That afternoon, Adrian, carrying a case, arrived at the door of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.
Just a few days earlier, his old professor, Silvanus Kettleburn, had told him he'd found a way to house the Torch.
Pushing open the Three Broomsticks' wooden door, he was met by a wave of warm air laced with the sweet scent of Butterbeer.
He immediately spotted Kettleburn in a corner.
"Professor." Adrian walked over and hung his cloak on the back of a chair.
He noticed that Kettleburn's one remaining arm had picked up a new injury; a strip of bandage stuck out from his sleeve.
"Good afternoon, Little Ade," Kettleburn said with a squinty smile, sipping his mead. "You're looking lively today."
Adrian pulled out the chair and sat down, casually setting the suitcase on the table. He pointed at the bit of bandage poking out. "And that is—"
"Ah, this?" Kettleburn waved his arm carelessly. "Only a nip from a small dog, that's all. Mm… I rather wish it had bitten the other one. That prosthetic you made is much tougher than my real hand."
"I can replace this hand with a prosthetic as well," Adrian said.
"Get lost," Kettleburn chuckled, cursing good-naturedly.
He raised his tankard and took a deep swig of mead, golden foam clinging to his beard.
"Madam Rosmerta," Adrian called toward the bar, "one Butterbeer to this table, please."
"And another mead," Kettleburn added loudly.
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