Hogwarts: Lacus doesn't want to be a witch who destroys nations.

Nicolas Flamel was not surprised by the chaos and bloodshed around him; the legendary alchemist, who had lived for over six centuries, had seen far too much. He moved slowly toward the platform.

His gaze fell on Vera, the little girl whom Dumbledore had carefully moved to the clean ground with the Levitation Charm. The girl's small body was still twitching unconsciously, blood was flowing from her seven orifices, and an ominous dark red was faintly visible under her skin, as if she might collapse at any moment.

Nicolas Flamel slowly knelt down beside Vera, his fingers, etched with the wrinkles of time, gently resting on the girl's wrist, and then lifted her eyelids to look at her unfocused, pale gray-blue pupils.

"It's 1938 already, how can anyone still believe that the Philosopher's Stone was created from human transmutation? I remember debunking that myth back in the 17th century."

Nicolas Flamel shook his head, then slowly took out a small crystal bottle from the inner pocket of his robe.

The bottle was crystal clear, containing about a mouthful of liquid. The liquid was not the usual color of medicine; it was very complex.

The cork was pulled out, and an indescribable fresh scent instantly filled the air, dispelling the surrounding blood and filth. It invigorated everyone nearby and made them realize that this might truly be an elixir of immortality.

Nicolas Flamel dipped his fingertip into a drop of liquid and gently and precisely placed it on Vera's pale, chapped lips.

The drop of liquid instantly seeped into Vera, and the turbulent dark red under the girl's skin quickly subsided. Her painful convulsions stopped, her tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed, and although her breathing was still weak, it became steady and long. The bloodstains on her face also quietly disappeared in the halo of light.

Nicolas Flamel carefully put the cork back on, tucked the vial back into the depths of his robe, and looked up at Dumbledore and Amon.

"This kind of human-derived...magic stone, well, it should be called a soul stone, has only one function..." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the masked man on the ground who was being held captive by an Auror.

"It absorbs the life force of others and gives it to the user. In terms of shape and final effect, it does look very much like a magic stone. This method of making it was lost for hundreds of years because it was too evil. People who can make soul stones can only be said to have no respect for life."

Dumbledore nodded deeply, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Amon walked slowly to the blood-red stone, picked it up with his dragon-skin gloves, frowned slightly, and said in a low voice, "It's not a pure alchemical product; it contains a strong curse and resentment, making it a potent evil curse."

"Take off their masks," Amon ordered the Aurors he was holding captive.

The mask was violently removed, revealing a hideous face that Lux seemed to have seen in the Potions Shop in Diagon Alley.

Amon looked up at Dumbledore: "Albus, I'm afraid I need to entertain these 'Saints' properly, even though we already have most of the information."

"Of course, and that one too." Amon's gaze inadvertently swept over the ebony box containing the opal necklace that the Aurors had taken, and a barely perceptible smile appeared on his lips.

Dumbledore understood immediately: "No problem."

He turned to the Auror beside him: "Ensley, the scene is in your hands. Take all those involved, especially these three 'Saints,' back to the Ministry of Magic's highest-security interrogation room under strict guard. I will be there in person later."

"Yes, sir!" Ensley solemnly accepted the order and directed his men to begin cleaning up the scene and escorting the werewolf away.

Dumbledore's gaze finally settled on Lux, and on Holmes beside her, whose face was somewhat pale.

"Miss Lux," Dumbledore's voice held a hint of helplessness and indulgence, "it seems you had a rather...fulfilling Christmas holiday?"

Lux immediately put on an innocent face: "Dean, I was just fighting against evil forces and maintaining peace in the magical world. At the very least, we saved this girl, didn't we?"

Holmes coughed violently in agreement, demonstrating through his actions how difficult it was.

Dumbledore watched the old man and the young man, one feigning innocence and the other feigning weakness, working together flawlessly, and couldn't help but rub his temples.

"...Perhaps we could start by explaining why you and Tom didn't return to Woody's Orphanage, and how this Muggle Sherlock Holmes managed to cough his way from 221B Baker Street all the way to the London underground werewolf gang?"

In the dim light of the sewers, Nicolas Flamel's gentle gaze fell on Lux, with a hint of pure curiosity. Amon, on the other hand, crossed his arms, a half-smile on his face, as if he were watching a wonderful drama unfold.

Lux: "..." Damn it, it's going to be difficult to fool Old Deng. Old Deng in his middle age is a bit too sharp.

Upon hearing this, Holmes abandoned his pretense, straightened his posture, and looked directly into Dumbledore's eyes. "Nice to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes. The person said you already possess most of the information. May I ask?"

Dumbledore glanced back at Amon, who nodded in agreement. Dumbledore stroked his beard and explained.

"Actually, this werewolf organization was observed by the Auror Office when it was still relatively small. At first, they didn't do anything outrageous, until Martin Townsend, the masked leader, approached Fenrir. He introduced himself to Fenrir as a member of the Sorcery Party, but he was actually an international potion smuggler. He used the name of the Sorcery Party to deceive Fenrir into doing things and then promised him benefits."

"He used Fenrir to rob convoys transporting potion ingredients, attacked potion merchants in Diagon Alley, and then inflated potion prices, making a fortune during this special time. However, his potion shop has been shut down."

Holmes nodded. "What about the Philosopher's Stone?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, "The Philosopher's Stone can be used to make the elixir of immortality and can transform matter at will. It is the crown jewel of alchemy and the lifelong pursuit of alchemists. Martin somehow learned about this alchemical ritual and carried out a terrorist attack that made the Auror Office think that it was really Grindelwald's sorcerer party."

"The Auror Office Director, Amon, came to me to discuss countermeasures. At that time, three wizards and three Muggles had already tragically perished. The numbers three and six have special meanings in the magical world, so I sought out my close friend Nicolas Flamel to accompany me. He was a great alchemist and the creator of the Philosopher's Stone."

"Although we have investigated the cause and effect of this matter, Eamon is still afraid that it was Grindelwald's doing, so he set a trap for Fenrir and came over after knowing the exact location of the Fang Gang."

Lux suddenly realized what was going on. She wondered why it would require all three of them to be deployed at the same time to fight a level 7 Fenrir and an level 11 Martin. Now, the mystery has been largely solved.

Only one mystery remains: who wrote Holmes' letter?

"Mr. Holmes, you seem to still have some doubts, about this girl, don't you?" Dumbledore's voice broke the silence.

Holmes did not answer, but his expression tightened even more. His hand, which was in his coat pocket, gripped tightly the letter from Watson, which he had been repeatedly stroking and which now seemed particularly heavy.

He seemed to have deduced something.

Dumbledore sighed softly, as if he could see through the turmoil in Holmes' heart. He raised his hand slightly, his movements gentle, his fingertips not touching Vera directly, but slowly tracing a line in the air above her forehead.

He placed his other hand on his forehead, using himself as a makeshift Pensieve.

"Capturing thoughts and ideas."

A thin, cool mist seemed to condense in the air, and within the mist, blurry images began to ripple outwards, silently appearing before their eyes:

In a cozy room, the flames of the fireplace flickered, illuminating a gentle yet weary-looking woman—Mary Watson. She cradled young Vera in her arms, softly recounting the story, her eyes filled with reminiscence and pride: "...This is the story of the eccentric detective who lived on Baker Street. He had a terrible temper, but Grandpa said he was the smartest and most trustworthy man in the world..."

The scene shifts to a dark alleyway corner where young Vera lies terrified on the lawn, bleeding profusely. A shadowy werewolf pounces, and the intense pain, biting cold, and boundless fear instantly overwhelm everything. The screen trembles violently, filled with silent screams—this is the beginning of her transformation into a werewolf.

After another werewolf transformation, Vera ran away from home. Even as a werewolf, she still retained her memories, but she could no longer control her body. She didn't want to hurt anyone anymore, even though she trembled constantly from the pain of the werewolf transformation.

In a damp corner of the sewers, Vera, whom the Fangs had taken in, huddled among a pile of sacks, her fingers white from straining. She carefully folded the completed letter and stuffed it into a tattered envelope. The Fangs were about to do some bad things, and she hoped someone could stop them. She remembered her mother's words: "...Father said Holmes is a strange man. He won't read a nice letter; the stranger you write, the more curious he becomes..."

The letter was repeatedly returned and sent out until, several months later, Holmes, who was studying beekeeping in Sussex, finally received the strange letter, which successfully piqued his curiosity.

The torrent of memories receded abruptly.

Holmes suddenly woke up, staggered back a step, and bumped into the cold wall to steady himself.

This is not Watson's suicide note!

This is a little girl struggling in the dark, using her limited wisdom and courage to mimic her grandfather's tone and send him a distress signal to the old detective, who is described as "eccentric".

Her goal wasn't even to save herself, but to stop the Fang Gang from committing murder.

She had never met her grandfather Watson, and everything she knew about Sherlock Holmes came from stories her mother told her, but she was willing to risk everything just to pique his curiosity.

In Vera's mind, Sherlock Holmes was already the most amazing person in the world.

"She..." Holmes's voice was dry, like sandpaper being rubbed.

Vera, lying on the ground, trembled violently with her long eyelashes. Perhaps it was the miraculous effect of Nicolas Flamel's drop of the elixir of immortality, or perhaps it was the mental pull brought about by Dumbledore's Legilimency, but she seemed to have woken up.

Those light gray-blue eyes slowly opened, filled with the confusion of waking up and the fear of the drastic change in their environment.

She instinctively wanted to curl up, but her body was too weak to move. Her gaze swept around: hurried Aurors, ethereal old men, strangely dressed wizards... Finally, her gaze settled on one person.

The old man, leaning against the cold stone wall, wearing a tattered coat, his body hunched over but struggling to stand upright, was staring intently at her.

Vera's small mouth opened slightly, and her pupils widened instantly in disbelief.

She recognized the man almost instantly—Sherlock Holmes.

It was him, in those yellowed newspaper clippings treasured by my grandfather, in those thrilling stories!

That figure, that expression, were deeply imprinted in her young heart, becoming her only light and hope!

Tears instantly filled her light gray-blue eyes. Her small body trembled violently with excitement and weakness. With all her remaining strength, she uttered a weak, tearful yet incredibly clear call to the "strange old man" she had never seen before, whom she had called out to with her life:

"Mr...Sherlock Holmes...?"

Vera paused, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, as if she had used up her last bit of strength:

"It seems I... couldn't save anyone. Was the letter sent too late...?"

Holmes stood still, his body swaying almost imperceptibly. "No, you did well. No more people will die because of this, Vera..."

Before she could finish speaking, Vera was exhausted again and slowly closed her eyes, but a faint, almost invisible smile of relief seemed to appear on her lips.

This time, her breathing was more steady, as if a heavy burden had been lifted, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Holmes abruptly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward, silently and firmly standing guard beside Vera. His hunched figure appeared unusually tall and upright at that moment.

His rough, large hand gently brushed across Vera's forehead, where her hair was damp with cold sweat; the movement was clumsy yet incredibly tender.

Nicolas Flamel's gaze toward Holmes was filled with understanding and gentle compassion. Six hundred years had passed, and he had long since become accustomed to life and death, yet he was still moved by the courage that humanity displayed in dire straits and by this belated act of protection.

A complex emotion flickered in Dumbledore's deep blue eyes. He looked at Amon, who nodded and whispered to Ensley, "Arrange for the best St. Mungo's healers to ensure this girl receives the best care and follow-up treatment. Her werewolf identity... needs to be kept secret and protected with special care."

Lux stood to the side, watching Holmes's slightly trembling shoulders, then looking at Vera's peaceful sleeping face. She sighed softly and muttered a complaint: "If only I were stronger. This damn system hasn't even managed to gather a single piece of equipment yet, and it won't even give me any experience points. If I had Dumbledore's strength, I would have saved Vera long ago."

The host's actions are all subject to the system's evaluation.

This event was accidental; the rewards will be distributed to the host based on the final result.

[Final Rewards: Light Points +8, Dark Points +1 (You failed to save the wizard and Muggle who died tragically at the Soul Stone), Experience Points +180, Perfect Wolfsbane Potion Recipe]

[Level increased to level 3, gaining one skill point]

[Current Light Value: 10, Dark Value: 10, Node Character Activated, Host Level: 3]

[All conditions met, system update, rune system unlocked]

Lux's mind was filled with the beeping of the system; she didn't have time to look at the new features, but instead stared intently at the rewards.

The perfect formula for wolfsbane medicine.

"Dad, I was wrong. Please give me some more rewards. I'm starving!" Lux's expression changed instantly, but the system did not respond.