As Vincent treated the Special Squad's physical injuries, a red flame suddenly ignited in the air behind him.
Dumbledore looked at the scene before him and sighed silently, as if he had expected it.
"Professor?" Vincent didn't look up, still focused on treating them. "Those rats swaggered right in front of me."
"Child, you—"
"I'm fine, at least I didn't let them go back unharmed."
Was it all worth it?
Worth.
Dumbledore looked into Vincent's determined eyes and knew he wouldn't regret his choice tonight.
If he hadn't continued pursuing the Death Eaters, the Special Squad certainly wouldn't have been afflicted with the vicious curse.
If he had ignored the strange Dark Magic aura emanating from the gymnasium, the camp wouldn't have been subjected to a terrifying attack by Death Eaters tonight.
Was his choice wrong?
Is it right to let the Death Eaters leave?
No, the Death Eaters are wrong, it's Voldemort who commanded them, it's the damn Prophecy that arbitrarily decided everything.
Vincent's treatment, the Special Squad's shriveled skin has become plump again.
However, they all seemed a bit listless and needed to rest for a while.
Wales, who was the first to be taken down, was in the worst condition; the curse left a small, unhealable charred mark on his chest.
Fortunately, it did not spread outwards and could only be treated further at the St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Having completed all this, Vincent slowly lowered his Serpent Staff. "Professor, how's the situation at the camp?"
Dumbledore smiled with satisfaction. "Thanks to you, after watching you replay the images, everyone slowly began to unite and rescued all the injured people."
The gloom on Vincent's face vanished.
In the face of sudden disasters, there will always be someone who steps forward.
Although individual abilities are limited, miracles can be created when people unite.
"Professor, let's go back."
"Good."
The flames brought by Fawkes enveloped everyone.
The next second, they appeared in the camp.
The belated British Ministry of Magic officials set up several tents as a command center and medical station, Vincent and Dumbledore were quickly invited to learn about the situation.
When they heard Peter Pettigrew's name, their faces turned extremely pale.
Fudge forced a smile. "Vincent, are you sure you didn't see wrong?"
Vincent glanced at the Special Squad members who were about to be taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. "I'm absolutely certain I didn't see wrong; they are all witnesses."
Although Dumbledore did not witness it himself, he vouched for Vincent, saying he would not lie about it.
Fudge nodded, indicating that he should continue.
Vincent looked at Fudge's sour face with amusement.
Sure enough, Fudge's face darkened even more after hearing that the Death Eaters was impersonating him.
The expressions of the other executives also became amused.
Who can Fudge blame? Is it Wales's stupidity?
"These despicable bastards!" he could only curse the Death Eaters.
They are dutiful and loyal to the Ministry of Magic; they are certainly not stupid.
"After the Special Squad fell into the trap, I could only watch helplessly as they swaggered away."
Vincent's eyes were filled with self-reproach when he said this.
He wasn't acting; he genuinely felt deep remorse.
This has nothing to do with him not regretting his choice tonight; he simply feels that he is not strong enough and not ruthless enough.
Fudge gently placed his hand on Vincent's shoulder. "Vincent, you've done enough. Leave the rest to us."
The higher-ups have left, but a whole host of messes are still waiting for them to deal with.
The tasks included assessing losses, reassuring domestic and international public opinion, investigating and quelling the incident, responding to condemnations from foreign magical governments, addressing international concerns, and deciding whether the Quidditch World Cup should continue.
Vincent and Dumbledore out of the tent, where their friends and the adults were already waiting.
Everyone looked a bit disheveled, probably because they had joined the rescue efforts earlier.
He swung his still-healing right arm vigorously, saying, "It's just a minor injury, it'll heal quickly."
Although their faces were still somewhat pale, the worry in everyone's eyes was finally gone.
Only the Wayne couple and Hermione, who knew him very well, knew that he was putting on a brave face.
The more downplayed it is, the more serious the reality is.
However, none of the three mentioned it until the group returned to the tent and went to his room.
Wounds caused by Dark Magic cannot be completely healed in a short time. From a distance, they can be easily fooled, but once you get close, they are no small matter.
Eric, with his military background, could certainly see what those whitish "caterpillars" on his arms meant.
The skin and muscle tissue were torn apart by the sharp object; without magic, this arm would probably be completely useless.
Even after so much time has passed, his face was completely pale, a sign of enduring immense pain.
Vincent, who had been seen through, stopped pretending and gasped sharply, "Actually, my whole body is in pain. The feeling of being torn apart by the Reductor Curse is really unbearable."
The curse has long been lifted, but the damage it caused to the body will not disappear.
The pain from being torn apart, from the skin, muscles, and blood vessels all the way to the internal organs and bones, will not disappear. Only by using healing spells can the wounds all over the body heal little by little.
Evelyn brought the first-aid kit, and Hermione raised her wand.
Vincent looked at his right arm, which was being wrapped up thicker and thicker, with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Mom, this is affecting my ability to move around properly."
Evelyn glared at him. "If you're injured, don't move around. Just stay here and recover."
Vincent pouted and looked at Hermione on the other side.
Her healing spells were exceptionally comprehensive, leaving no inch of skin untouched, not even a fingernail.
"Uh... actually..."
Vincent, who was glared at again, quickly shut his mouth.
Eric, standing to the side, was trying hard to suppress his laughter.
Although now is not the time to laugh, my son has hardly ever suffered a setback since he was a child, and it's only once every few years that I've seen him suffer such a loss. This long-lost feeling is truly heartwarming.
Half an hour later, Evelyn finally finished bandaging.
Vincent looked helplessly at his right arm, which was wrapped up as thick as his thigh.
These bandages are layered upon layered; it would take a long time to untangle them without magic.
As for Hermione, she finally got treatment on her upper arm.
At this rate, it probably won't be finished until dawn.
"Ahem—" Eric gave Evelyn a wink, and she stood up knowingly.
"After a whole night of running around, we should go back and rest."
Before leaving the room, Eric winked meaningfully at Vincent.
Vincent rolled his eyes at him.
That middle-aged man's thoughts are truly filthy; his relationship with Hermione is perfectly innocent.