The Auror who had just finished using the Memory Charm on Roberts still looked completely frazzled.
Wearing a pair of wide bloomers, he spotted Sherlock immediately.
"Sherlock! My God, man! You actually have the leisure to watch the match!" The Wizard in bloomers looked shocked, but then he seemed to remember something. "Ah, I forgot, you're supposed to be teaching at Hogwarts now. Kingsley mentioned you've changed a lot since becoming a teacher, not as withdrawn as you used to be."
Hearing this, Hilke glanced at Sherlock with a hint of confusion.
Sherlock didn't notice Hilke's gaze; he was sizing up the Wizard in bloomers. This was clearly a former colleague, but he had no memory of him at all, so he could only speak vaguely.
"I happened to have some time today, so I came along with my ni—friend."
Only then did the Wizard in bloomers notice Hilke standing beside Sherlock. A look of amazement flashed in his eyes, and he clicked his tongue in wonder.
"I never would have thought... I originally figured you'd spend your whole life with magic books. Not bad, kid."
Sherlock shook his head, feeling a headache coming on.
"It's not what you think..."
Just as he started to explain, the Wizard in bloomers interrupted him.
"Sorry, man, I don't have time to chat right now. It's just too busy. You saw that Muggle's condition; the side effects of the Memory Charm are too obvious. I need to find some jubilance potion for him, otherwise he'll be depressed before long. See you next time."
With that, he hurried off to find the potion for Roberts.
Sherlock shrugged, feeling no real annoyance towards such a boisterous former colleague.
Beside them, Roberts, who had returned to normal as if nothing had happened, counted out the change and gave them directions in a flat voice.
"Your campsite is at the very back, and the tent is there too."
Sherlock gave the Muggle a sympathetic look, took the change, and walked into the misty woods with Hilke, who was carrying a travel bag.
They passed through the white mist, and the view suddenly opened up as they arrived at a clearing.
Tents were pitched everywhere, with Wizards of all kinds moving through the campsite. There were African Wizards in white robes roasting rabbits, American Wizards gathered by a tent with a bright flag, chatting and laughing, and several Asian Wizards with scarves wrapped around their heads playing cards on a picnic blanket.
Looking at all these people, Sherlock felt as if at least half the Wizards in the world had come here.
A little girl riding a toy flying broomstick, seemingly unskilled at flying, clumsily crashed into Hilke and fell off her broom, landing hard on her bottom.
Hilke helped pull her up. Perhaps because Hilke's appearance naturally inspired goodwill, the little girl—who was missing a front tooth and spoke with a lisp—wasn't shy at all and thanked her graciously.
Then her mother grabbed her by the ear and hauled her away with a scolding, giving Sherlock and Hilke an apologetic smile before leaving.
Sherlock watched Hilke, who had an unconscious smile on her lips, and asked with a grin of his own.
"How do you like it here?"
"It's not bad." Without realising it, her hand had gripped Sherlock's arm.
Sherlock didn't notice, continuing to walk forwards in high spirits.
"If you like it, you should come out more for events like this in the future. If you just stay cooped up at home thinking about divinations and prophecies all the time, you'll become withdrawn."
"Was Sherlock like that before too?"
She had taken the conversation between the Wizard in bloomers and Sherlock to heart, realising that the old Sherlock didn't seem to have this kind of personality.
Sherlock tilted his head in thought.
"I really didn't like communicating with others before. Later, some things happened and I started talking more, which is how I know it's not good for you to avoid contact with people all day. Also, what job did you actually find? I've asked you so many times and you won't tell me."
Hearing his question, an intoxicating smile couldn't help but spread across Hilke's face.
"It's a secret."
"Let me say this first: any job is fine, just don't go to the Ministry of Magic to be an Auror like your old man."
"I don't like the Ministry of Magic."
"That's good. No normal person has a good impression of those politicians, though there are still some decent people in there, like this one."
As they talked, they reached their assigned campsite. Mr Weasley, who was outside the tent stubbornly refusing to use magic and trying to light a fire with a lighter instead, happened to look up and saw Sherlock.
"Hi! You're just in time, Sherlock! We're getting ready to make lunch!"
But when he saw Hilke holding Sherlock's arm, he froze completely.
His mouth hung open wide enough to fit a Bludger, his eyes bulged like two ox eggs, and the lighter in his hand slipped to the ground unnoticed.
Sherlock was also a bit dazed by Mr Weasley's shock. As he stared back at Mr Weasley, just about to speak, he heard a loud, trembling shout.
"Molly! Come out! Come out quickly! Molly!"
Mrs Weasley, who was inside the tent preparing ingredients, hadn't come out yet, but her huffy voice drifted from within.
"What are you making such a fuss about now! Stop fiddling with that lighter! If you don't get the fire going soon, we can forget about having lunch!"
"No, no, no! Come out quickly!"
Soon, the plump Mrs Weasley emerged from the tent with an ill-tempered expression after Mr Weasley's repeated calls.
She saw the wood still untouched and was about to glare at Mr Weasley when she noticed Sherlock and Hilke standing nearby.
Seeing those slender, fair fingers gripping Sherlock's arm, Mrs Weasley froze on the spot as if she had been hit by Petrificus Totalus.
Only then did Sherlock realise the cause of their shock. He helplessly pulled his arm free from Hilke's grasp, brought her forward, and introduced her to Mr and Mrs Weasley.
"This is Vera Hilke, my friend and neighbour. I'm on good terms with her father, and I've always looked at her like a sister."(TN: I'm sure they are thinking, 'Suuuuure bud.')
After hearing Sherlock's introduction, Mr and Mrs Weasley exchanged a glance, while Hilke furrowed her slender, beautiful brows and emphasised a sentence she had already stressed countless times.
"I'm a year older than you."
"I know, I know, you're a year older than me, but so what? You want to be my older sister?"(TN: Typical mc. Dense as hell. Though, I can understand why he is behaving like this.)