The wheelchair-bound warrior is speedrunning Hogwarts.

Is this the basic healing ability that magic circuits bring...?

"Miss?" Kreacher's voice came through the door. "Are you alright? Kreacher brought your favorite chocolate cake..."

Vera quickly composed herself and pulled down her sleeve to cover the skin on her wrist: "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Kreacher walked in carrying a small silver platter with a delicate chocolate cake on it.

In fact, the habit of eating a piece of chocolate cake after taking medicine to mask the taste was something that only the original little girl, Vera, had.

In the three days since she transmigrated, aside from basic food that barely sustained her vital signs, she had no interest in trying sweets.

Therefore, these past few days, the chocolate cake has been left until last, and it's always Kreacher who takes it and eats it.

But now…

Vera's gaze fell on the cake, and as the aroma of chocolate filled the air, her stomach involuntarily contracted.

She actually had an urge to give it a try.

Kreacher carefully placed the silver tray on the bedside table, his cloudy eyes anxiously observing Vera's pale face.

Vivi reached out and picked up the silver fork, gently cutting off a small piece of cake. The moment the silky chocolate melted on her tongue, she almost let out a sigh.

The body's taste buds were fully awakened, as if every cell was cheering.

"Miss...do you like it?" Kreacher nervously rubbed the edge of the tea towel. "Kreacher has made quite a few improvements these past few days."

Vera gently put down her silver fork, a genuine smile appearing on her lips: "It was delicious, thank you, Kreacher."

Kreacher's eyes instantly welled up with tears. He bowed deeply, his tea towel almost dragging on the floor: "It's what Kreacher should do! I'm glad you like it, Miss!"

Vera didn't interrupt Kreacher's mutterings. She took a couple more bites of cake before saying softly, "Kreacher, help me prepare my clothes for going out tomorrow. I... need to go to Diagon Alley."

Author's Note: Okay, actually this is a re-release of an old book. This time, I won't be deleting it. Thank you all for your support.

P.S.: The author is not a cloud. The author has read the original work many times and watched the movie many times. Some of the settings are based on the original work, some on the movie, and some are fan creations. The magic bar setting will be explained later. It is a variant of the stamina bar, roughly equivalent to stamina, but not exactly. Also, the female lead's wheelchair setting is foreshadowing, which will be explained later!

Chapter Three: Diagon Alley

The next morning, despite some minor mishaps, Vera woke up from her sleep on time.

Of course, it's also possible that she was so excited after what happened last night that she could barely sleep.

Vera changed into a casual outfit early in the morning and sat in front of her dressing table. Looking at the girl in the mirror, her pale face contrasted sharply with the dark green fabric of her clothes, revealing a sickly beauty.

Kreacher was carefully combing her long hair, his movements as gentle as if he were handling fragile porcelain.

“Miss looks very well today,” Kreacher muttered, tying up her long, silver-grey hair with a dark green ribbon. “Much better than yesterday.”

Vera lowered her eyelashes, unconsciously stroking her healed wrist, a slight smile playing on her lips.

Last night was the first good night's sleep I had since I transmigrated here.

His fingertips unconsciously traced the hidden patterns on the armrest of the wheelchair—a part that Kreacher had specially modified, currently containing only basic levitation and shock absorption spells, as well as some defensive runes for saving lives in critical moments.

If needed in the future, it can be further modified on this basis.

"Is Miss really going to Diagon Alley alone?" Kreacher asked worriedly. "Old Kreacher is still worried..."

“I want to go see it by myself,” Vera said softly. “Besides, Kreacher, you can’t keep coming with me to school.”

Moreover, Kreacher should be considered dead in Voldemort's eyes. If he were to appear in Diagon Alley and be discovered by Voldemort and Quirrell, he would be in trouble later.

Kreacher's ears drooped, but he still nodded and silently pushed her out of the room and to the fireplace in the living room on the first floor.

Vera grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and sprinkled it into the flames, then pushed her wheelchair straight in: "Diagon Alley!"

The green flames instantly engulfed her figure.

Amidst the dizzying sensation of spinning, Vera gripped the armrests of her wheelchair tightly, feeling the discomfort caused by the distorted space.

Once the wheelchair touched the ground again, she slowly opened her eyes and appeared in the dim fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron.

The cacophony of sounds from the bar instantly filled my ears, and the air was thick with the aroma of toasted bread and beer.

Vera's gaze swept past the group of wizards, and the first thing she saw was the young man sitting at the long table with his back to her.

Quirinus Quirrell, Voldemort's servant.

It's July 31st now, Vera remembers, and at this time, Quirrell hasn't invaded Gringotts yet.

In the original storyline, Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort as punishment after he invaded Gringotts but failed to find the Philosopher's Stone.

In other words, Quirrell is not in that much danger right now.

Vera quickly glanced around, her gaze lingering almost imperceptibly on Quirrell for a moment before immediately looking away.

The Leaky Cauldron was more dilapidated than she had imagined, and her wheelchair creaked slightly as it rolled over the rough wooden floor.

In just a short distance, Vera could already feel the gazes coming from all directions—some curious, some pitying, and even some mocking.

Clearly, in this magical world, a disabled wizard child is a rare find.

"Look, a disabled little wizard..."

"The poor little thing is sitting in a wheelchair. I wonder whose child it is."

Whispers of conversation filled the bar, but Vera paid them no heed.

Tom, the owner behind the counter, put down the glasses he was wiping and leaned over to ask, "Hey, young lady, are you alone in Diagon Alley? Need any help?"

Vera shook her head: "Thank you, I can manage on my own."

She pushed her wheelchair slowly out of the fireplace area, deliberately choosing a route away from Quirrell.

Fortunately, Quirrell only glanced at her from afar and then didn't notice her anymore.

It seemed as if he was deliberately waiting for someone to come, and even though he was an insignificant nobody, his slightly unusual appearance did not arouse his interest at all.

This is a good thing.

Vera remained vigilant, pushing her wheelchair to the back courtyard, and, as Kreacher had taught her, took out her cane and tapped it a few times on the wall.

As the bricks moved, sunlight streamed down into Diagon Alley.

What comes into view is a bustling crowd, colorful shop signs, and the air is filled with the mixed scents of various potions and candies.

Sunlight shone on her pale face. Vera squinted for a moment to adjust, then slowly pushed her wheelchair into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.

As they moved slowly along the cobblestone street, the wheels of the wheelchair rolled almost silently under the influence of magic.

Vera keenly noticed that as the magic circuits were activated, the flow of magic in the surrounding environment became tangible in her eyes—

The protective spells flickering on the shop windows resembled a translucent film, while the traces of spellcasting left on the tips of passersby's wands floated in the air like tiny fireflies…

"Incredible." Vera murmured to herself, her fingertips unconsciously touching the flowing magic patterns on the armrest of her wheelchair.

Carefully maneuvering her wheelchair to avoid the crowd, she stopped outside the window of a shop called Florin Fosco Ice Cream.

In the reflection of the shop window, she noticed that the gold in her pupils had faded, but when she focused her attention, a very faint halo would appear at the edge of her pupils, like amber pierced by sunlight.

Vera let out a soft breath and was about to push the wheelchair forward again when a middle-aged man quickly passed through the children surrounding the ice cream shop and came to her excitedly.

“Dayling…you…” The man’s excited expression faltered for a moment after he saw Vera’s appearance clearly, then he forced a smile and said, “Sorry, I mistook you for someone else.”

Vera looked up at the middle-aged male wizard who had suddenly appeared in front of her, and saw that his gray-blue eyes were filled with disappointment that was almost overflowing.

“It’s alright, sir,” she replied softly.

The man nodded reluctantly, but his gaze lingered on her face: "You look... a lot like my sister when she was young."

His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, then he took a half-step back as if suddenly startled, "Oh, right, please wait a moment!"

As she spoke, she quickly turned around and walked into the ice cream shop behind her. A short while later, she came out carrying a raspberry ice cream.

“Please accept this. I’m the owner of this ice cream shop,” he said, handing the ice cream to Vera with a hint of sincerity in his voice. “Consider it an apology for my abruptness.”

The ice cream's pink surface is sprinkled with crushed nuts, glistening enticingly in the sunlight.

Vera hesitated for a moment before taking the ice cream and thanking her.

Fosco's gaze softened: "I hope you like it. If, if you ever see a witch named Dalene Fosco, please tell her that her brother has been looking for her."

His voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a soliloquy. Finally, he returned to the shop with his head down, looking utterly dejected.

Author's Note: py's "The Cucumber Witch's Path to Villainy"

Chapter Four: Ollivander's Wand Shop

Vera watched Fosco's figure disappear behind the ice cream shop's curtain, and the water stains from the raspberry ice cream packaging in her hand quietly fell onto her hand, bringing a touch of coolness.

Dalyn Fusco – this name never appears in the original storyline, and even the character of Florin Fusco is only a minor character mentioned once or twice in the original work.

Do I look alike with her sister?

Considering the population of the British magical community and the tradition of pure-blood marriage, any resemblance is probably normal.

Vera didn't take the little incident too seriously and continued pushing her wheelchair forward.

Before long, they arrived at the small, dilapidated wand shop.

Vera had finished her ice cream and looked up at the sign. Just as she was about to go in, she realized that the small steps in front of her had become an obstacle in her way.

She frowned, pondering how to get upstairs, when the shop door suddenly creaked open.

“Good morning, Miss Black,” a soft voice came from behind the door.

Mr. Ollivander greeted her warmly, his silvery-white eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit shop.

His tall, thin figure stood at the doorway, looking down at the girl in the wheelchair. There was no surprise or pity on his face, only pure gentleness.

"Do you need any help?" he asked.

Vera shook her head and raised her hand to touch the dark pattern under the right armrest.

The next second, a pre-prepared levitation spell was released, slowly lifting her up and steadily sending her up the steps.

A hint of amazement flashed in Ollivander's eyes, but he said nothing and calmly led her into the store.

Vera looked up and around—the small shop was filled with dusty wand boxes that stretched all the way to the ceiling, and the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic.

In this cramped space, her wheelchair could barely turn around.

“So,” Ollivander pulled a silver measuring tape from his pocket, “which hand do you prefer?”

“Right hand,” Vera replied, noticing that the measuring tape had automatically started measuring from her shoulder to her wrist and then to her fingertips.

Vera sat quietly, feeling the cool touch of the measuring tape sliding across her skin. Like other magical items, she could see the magic flowing on the tape, the tiny spells swimming like tadpoles on the metal surface.

“Every wizard has their own unique wand,” Ollivander muttered to himself as he put down his measuring tape and moved between the shelves. “Your father’s was made of grapevine wood, with a dragon heartstring, twelve inches long—quite a special wand…”

As he spoke, he took a long box from a high place. “Perhaps we can try this, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, ten inches long, quite flexible.”

As Violet stretched out her hand, the instant her fingertips touched the wand, a chilling sensation suddenly shot up her arm from the tip of the wand.

“No, not this.” Ollivander quickly withdrew his wand, his brow furrowed.

He turned around and rummaged through the shelf again, this time pulling out a black box: "Ebony, Dragon Heartstring, twelve inches, extremely rigid."

As soon as he got his hands on the wand, several dangerous sparks flew from its tip, and Ollivander quickly snatched it back.

Vera silently looked down at her slightly reddened palms, feeling a conflict between the magical circuits within her body and the wands.

The golden lines were faintly visible beneath her skin, seemingly a silent warning.

Is it because it's ancient magic that it can't be matched with a modern wand?

She can't exactly do what Voldemort did and go dig up the graves of those ancient wizards, can she?

With a secret worry in her heart, she tried several wands in a row, but each time she only had time to wave them once before Ollivander would quickly take back his wand and hand her another one.

Then they continued climbing up and down.

From beginning to end, Vera could only sit in her wheelchair and watch him work.

She had read a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction before, and in those stories, the protagonist would never find a suitable wand without making Ollivander run up and down ten or more times.

I just don't know if this behavior counts as elder abuse.

“I’ve got it,” the old man suddenly stopped, muttering to himself, turning to look at Vera, his silvery-white eyes gleaming with a strange light, “Miss Black, perhaps… we need to try some unusual combinations.”

He turned and walked to the back of the shop, taking out a dusty box from a dusty corner.

"Thestral tail feather core, yew wood, eleven and a half inches." He carefully opened the box, inside lay a completely black wand with spiraling golden patterns wrapped around its shaft.

"This wand was not made by me, but left with me by my friend, another famous wand maker, Gregorovich. It is said that it requires... some special qualities."

Grigorovich…the former owner of the Elder Wand?