A Stupefy spell struck from behind; Fleur had no time to react and was hit directly by the spell, collapsing to the ground on the spot.
"Criel" walked over to the fallen Fleur with a sneer, her entire head undergoing a horrifying transformation.
"Her" skin twisted like modelling clay, her features blending together before quickly reshaping, while her hair also began to change in colour, length, and curl.
Within just a few seconds, "her" entire face underwent a drastic change, finally settling into the face of a man.
It was none other than the Wizard whom Fleur had suspected yesterday in Diagon Alley regarding the loss of her wand—Jonathan!
"You bitch, it took quite a bit of effort to catch you."
Jonathan no longer maintained his previous honest demeanour. He cursed and was just about to reach out to hoist Fleur up.
Beneath his feet, the fresh grass suddenly transformed into vines resembling slithering snakes, spreading rapidly up from his calves.
By the time he realised something was wrong, the vines had already reached his waist, and before he could even raise his wand, he was tightly bound like a dumpling.
Sherlock removed his Disillusionment Charm in front of a tree.
Since becoming more proficient with Transfiguration, he didn't like to rely solely on spells when launching a sneak attack.
Regardless of the type of offensive spell—whether it was Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, or Expelliarmus—the basic steps always involved chanting and waving a wand.
Even with a high level of mastery over such spells, allowing for non-verbal casting without compromising power, the act of waving the wand and waiting for the spell to hit the target still took time.
For an attacker, even the briefest moment could lead to a mistake.
However, Transfiguration, while requiring higher technical skill, was more practical and didn't have these concerns.
As long as it was within the range of his magic, Transfiguration could directly apply effects to objects, causing matter to change.
Furthermore, most Transfiguration spells could be cast without incantations once mastered, without affecting the final result.
Therefore, Jonathan had absolutely no room to resist.
"You've got quite a lot of nerve for a wand thief." Sherlock walked over to Jonathan and picked up his wand.
Jonathan glared viciously at Sherlock.
"When did you spot the flaw?"
Sherlock loosened some of the vines around him while fishing a bag out of his pocket and said,
"Yesterday in Diagon Alley, your necklace and tattoo were quite unique; I remembered seeing them somewhere before. Can you tell me about them?"
He opened the bag he had searched from Jonathan; it had clearly been subjected to an Undetectable Extension Charm.
Using this charm on unauthorised items was illegal in any Ministry of Magic.
Because ordinary Wizards had no way of determining whether the Undetectable Extension Charm they used was reliable; if an accident occurred, it was easy for the items placed inside to be crushed by the space, injuring the Wizard themselves or those around them.
Inside that expanded bag, Sherlock fished out about fifty wands.
They were placed in five wooden boxes, ten wands per box, and among them should have been the one Fleur had lost earlier.
Hearing where Sherlock had discovered the problem, Jonathan sneered immediately.
"You actually don't know that symbol? It seems not many people remember that Lord who once swept across the entire European Wizarding World and almost changed the whole world single-handedly."
"Oh? That Lord?" Sherlock tilted his head and thought. "Could it be the Lord whose head can catch fire?"
Jonathan was stunned by his words.
"What head catching fire?"
"Sorry, sorry, I mixed up my shows. You continue."
He waved his hand to indicate that Jonathan shouldn't worry about it, then placed the wooden boxes containing the wands on the ground one by one.
Jonathan's face darkened.
"I advise you not to be a busybody and let me go. I'm one of the Acolytes!"
"Acolytes?" Sherlock finally recalled some impressions of the term. He rubbed his chin, recalling records from History of Magic. "Seems like a Wizard organisation that was very active in the early 20th century, right? Led by Grindelwald? The man who was called the Dark Lord before You-Know-Who?"
"Since you know, you should be clear about whether you can afford to provoke us!" Jonathan threatened.
Sherlock shrugged.
"I do admit that Lord Grindelwald's ambitions were far more noble than his successor's, but that doesn't change the fact that he has already become history. Isn't he still locked up in Austria?"
"And looking at how young you are, you shouldn't be a remnant from his era. A self-intoxicated wild fan?"
"Did you see Grindelwald's deeds and the Acolytes' symbol in some history book and fantasise that you could join them? You don't actually think people like them would want a wand-stealing thief, do you?"
Sherlock's words made Jonathan flush red; clearly, they had hit a sore spot, and he roared angrily.
"What do you know! Wands are the noblest works of art in this world! Especially the wands used by excellent Wizards; they are the essence of all magic! You vulgar Wizards wouldn't understand such art at all!"
Sherlock blinked. Although he had already guessed that this person was a thief with an extreme obsession with wands, he hadn't expected him to be this paranoid about it.
But then again, without such insane passion, how could he be daring enough to impersonate Nicolas Flamel and trick so many outstanding young Wizards out of their wands?
"That said, since you love wands so much, why target Fleur? Lust?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.
He hadn't expected Jonathan to answer honestly, but to his surprise, the other party had no intention of hiding it.
He sneered. "The price of a half-Veela on the black market is much higher than that of a pure Veela! For high-quality goods like her, if she's still a virgin, as long as there are proper channels, selling her for six figures isn't impossible... Pfft!"
Before Jonathan could finish his sentence, he was sent flying through the air!
Sherlock's face was as cold as frost. He retracted the foot he had kicked out and walked back to Jonathan, who had landed and rolled several metres across the ground.
"So you're also a part-time human trafficker."
Jonathan had been kicked squarely in the face by Sherlock; blood was pouring from his nose and mouth, covering his entire face, and he looked miserable to the extreme.
But he was still in the mood to laugh, even mockingly. "What? You think I'm disgusting? As long as there is a noble ideal, what does it matter if you use despicable means to achieve it?"
"Do you know what Lord Grindelwald's motto is? 'For the Greater Good!' This is a phrase that people like you, who think they are so noble, will never understand!"
Sherlock stepped directly on his face, causing Jonathan to let out a miserable wail.
"Hearing this phrase come out of the mouth of someone like you is what's truly disgusting! Even if I've only read a little bit of history, I know that the 'Greater Good' in Grindelwald's mouth was never his personal interest, but the interest of all Wizards in the entire Wizarding World."
"Using a goal that others have spent their entire lives fighting for as an excuse for your own ridiculous desires—I find you truly laughable."
"I have to apologise; I was mistaken before. You're not some wild fan of the Acolytes; you must be their anti-fan, specifically using their name to bring them into disrepute."
Jonathan's wailing gradually grew weaker, and Sherlock muttered for a long time without receiving any response.
After lifting his foot, he realised he had apparently broken the man's nasal bone, and he had passed out from the pain.
He stared at Jonathan's face, covered in blood, snot, and tears, and curled his lip.
"Passing out like this is letting you off easy."
Sherlock walked over to Fleur, confirmed she was merely unconscious and hadn't suffered any other injuries, then turned his gaze to her right hand.
That hand was clenched tightly, and blood-red crystals could be vaguely seen between her fingers.
Sherlock shook his head and smiled.
This little girl is quite persistent.
Just as he used magic to levitate both Jonathan and Fleur, preparing to take them out of the forest, a bright red spell suddenly shot out from a corner, striking Sherlock!
Instantly, Sherlock's wand, as well as the fifty or so wands he had packed back into the cloth bag, were all forced to fly out, scattering three metres away from him!
An ugly Goblin stumbled out from the corner of the bushes, pointing its finger at Sherlock and saying viciously,
"Don't move."
Sherlock calmly raised both hands, giving a military-style gesture of surrender, signalling that he posed no threat.
"I thought Harry had already taken care of you."
The Goblin looked to be in poor condition. It walked over to Jonathan to check his condition while simultaneously casting a binding spell on Sherlock, tying him up with ropes conjured by magic.
"Your student's Stupefy spell was terrible!"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in Harry's defence.
"He's only in his third year; you can't expect too much from him. Being able to cast it and have it be effective is already quite talented."
Looking at his companion, who had been physically knocked unconscious and couldn't be woken with magic, the Goblin grabbed Jonathan and Fleur, then walked over to Sherlock's side.
"Are you planning to take all three of us away?"
"Shut up! You disgusting Wizard!"
"Fine, by your race's aesthetic standards, I suppose I should count as the disgusting type."
Sherlock shrugged, looking behind the busy Goblin at the dozens of wands that had floated into the air, their tips aimed at him.
He blinked and softly chanted the spell.
"Petrificus Totalus."