Vison gently stroked the crystal-clear leaf, studying it quietly for a while.
Aside from its jewel-like appearance, it didn't seem particularly remarkable.
However, according to the Tree of Wisdom, this leaf possessed a pure form of soul power.
So, what was its true purpose?
Vison shifted his gaze to the Tree of Wisdom.
[Name: Eldra (Tree of Wisdom)]
[Species: Oak]
[Level: 3]
[Traits: Object Analysis, Soul Connection, Soul Purification]
[State: Growing (99.9%)]
At some point, the Tree of Wisdom had gained a new trait—Soul Purification.
This leaf was clearly a manifestation of that ability.
Over the following days, Vison immersed himself in research, attempting to uncover the mysteries behind the leaf.
He compiled observations, collected related information, and noted every change, no matter how subtle.
Time passed quickly. The Christmas holidays were drawing near.
Meanwhile, Vison's brief tenure as acting Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had come to an end.
To his relief, the position's infamous curse hadn't affected him—possibly because his time in the role had been so short.
At least, he hadn't noticed any unusual symptoms or strange occurrences.
Only three days remained until Christmas.
Early that morning, Vison sat in his office, drinking tea, as had become his habit.
Lately, he'd had house-elves deliver his meals directly to the office, avoiding trips to the Great Hall and saving considerable time.
A sharp knock at the window pulled him from his thoughts.
He looked up to see a tawny owl tapping insistently at the glass, a dark green envelope clutched tightly in its claws.
Vison set down his teacup and opened the window, allowing the owl to flutter inside.
The unfamiliar bird landed, held its head high, and dropped the letter onto the desk before flying off again—completely ignoring the owl biscuit Vison offered.
"Alright, seems you're not interested..." Vison said with a small smile, placing the biscuit aside.
He picked up the envelope and immediately recognized the handwriting—elegant, flowing italics, with soft curls on each letter.
It was his adoptive mother's handwriting.
Eagerly, Vison tore it open and began to read.
[Dear Eldrein,
Merry Christmas!
Snowflakes are falling outside the window, and I've placed a glowing Christmas tree next to your sister's bed. I also came across that photo of you two standing by the Hogwarts Express.
Though she's still in a coma, your father said her physical condition has remained stable.
The good news is—we finally have some leads on her illness. Isn't that something?
Also, the hospital just brought in a new batch of Eastern potions. They're rumored to be effective against dark magic. I truly hope they help...
Lastly, remember to come home in time for Christmas.
With love,
Mom]
The letter was short.
After reading it, Vison folded it with care and placed it in his drawer.
Each year, he returned to America to spend the holidays with his family. This year would be no different.
Since his sister had fallen into a coma, his parents had remained stationed at a magical hospital in the United States.
He had once suggested they transfer her to St. Mungo's in London, closer to home.
But they had refused, insisting the American hospital's combined use of Muggle and Wizarding treatments might offer better chances.
Since traditional magical methods had failed, they were willing to try anything.
So far, though, those efforts hadn't brought results either.
Another knock at the window interrupted his train of thought.
A second owl had arrived, carrying a parcel and another letter.
It dropped them both on the desk and flew away without hesitation.
"Busy day for owls, it seems…" Vison muttered.
He picked up the letter first.
Stamped in gold was the Ministry of Magic emblem, with the words Portkey Office beneath it.
"Finally arrived..." he murmured.
He broke the seal and pulled out a piece of fine parchment.
[To: Professor Eldrein Vison,
Your application for intercontinental Portkey usage has been approved.
Your designated Portkey (a silver teaspoon) has been dispatched.
Destination: Foreign Personnel Reception, New York.
Caution: Do not use Portkeys to transport illegal materials. Violators may be fined up to 500 Galleons.]
This was the official permit.
For just a small fee, one could borrow a Portkey from the Ministry of Magic. However, their usage was tightly controlled.
Fortunately, Vison's position at Hogwarts had made the application process smooth.
But why not simply Apparate?
Long-distance Apparition was disorienting and uncomfortable.
Portkeys, while still unpleasant, were far gentler in comparison.
Vison strongly preferred them.
Besides, he would be staying in America for two weeks. That should help him avoid certain... complications.
Setting the letter aside, Vison opened the package.
Inside lay a worn, tarnished silver teaspoon—its age and wear made it the perfect inconspicuous object.
Ordinary items were often chosen as Portkeys for their lack of noticeability.
The downside was that they were also easy to misplace—another reason why the Ministry monitored them closely.
That afternoon, Vison, with a suitcase in hand, arrived at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.
A few days prior, his former professor, Kettleburn, had told him he'd discovered a new way to manage the Torch.
Vison pushed open the pub's wooden door.
A wave of warmth and the scent of butterbeer drifted over him.
In the corner, he spotted Kettleburn.
"Professor," Vison greeted him, walking over.
He hung his cloak on the back of the chair and noticed bandages wrapped around the older man's only remaining arm, just visible beneath his sleeve.
"Good afternoon, Archer," Kettleburn said with a grin, taking a swig of mead. "You're looking sharp today."
Vison pulled out the chair and sat across from him, setting his suitcase by his side.
He gestured to the bandaged arm. "What happened there?"
"This?" Kettleburn laughed, waving the arm nonchalantly. "Just a puppy bite. Honestly, I wish it had gone for the other arm—your prosthetic is tougher than my real one."
"I could fit you with a prosthetic too, if you want," Vison offered casually.
"Get lost," Kettleburn said with a chuckle and a half-hearted glare.
He raised his tankard and took a long drink, froth clinging to his beard.
"Madam Rosmerta!" Vison called to the bar. "One butterbeer, please. Over here."
"And a mead!" Kettleburn added enthusiastically.?
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