In the dim corridor leading to the headmaster's office, flickering wall torches cast yellow light, stretching the shadows of Professor Lupin and Sherlock long.
Lupin clasped his hands behind his back, brow slightly furrowed. After much hesitation, he finally couldn't help breaking the silence.
"Sherlock, what exactly did you tell Harry last term?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his abruptness and quickly added, "Of course, if you don't want to say, that's fine too."
"There's nothing I can't say."
Sherlock walked with his hands in his pockets, expression calm, his tone more straightforward than Professor Lupin had anticipated. "Professor, you must have heard about last term's Chamber of Secrets attacks?"
"I've heard something about it." Professor Lupin nodded slightly, his gaze carrying gravity.
"Tom Riddle—that is, Voldemort from fifty years ago used Dark Magic to seal a fragment of his memory inside a diary."
Sherlock explained as they walked, his expression calm. "Last school year, someone used that diary to open the Chamber, releasing a basilisk that caused a series of attacks."
Professor Lupin nodded again, concern flashing in his eyes. "Yes, precisely because of this, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart remains unconscious to this day."
"Before the school year ended, we found the Chamber, killed the basilisk, and destroyed the diary Riddle depended on for existence."
Sherlock's tone was flat, as if merely recounting an ordinary trivial matter.
"Well done!"
Professor Lupin couldn't help applauding in praise, his eyes full of admiration.
"When we were at school, the Chamber was just a legend.
I never imagined you not only found it but protected your fellow students. Not only courageous but also very wise—you're truly the Lion King of Gryffindor!"
"Thank you for the praise, Professor—however, I must point out that the diary may be more important than we imagined."
"Sherlock, you mean—"
"When we left school last year, Headmaster Dumbledore was still studying that diary.
From my deduction, Dumbledore should have had a hypothesis back then, only that idea wasn't mature enough yet.
With his abilities, by the new school year, he should have had some findings.
Unfortunately, it was interrupted by Sirius's escape.
Now that Sirius's matter is resolved and he's proactively seeking me out, it must be about this."
Lupin looked at Sherlock in amazement. This clear, confident deduction and analysis made him blurt out.
"That's absolutely brilliant, Sherlock. Now that you put it that way, it seems so obvious."
Sherlock merely tilted his head slightly, as if Lupin's reaction was within his expectations.
However, Professor Lupin's sincere praise did bring a smile to his lips, showing his inner pleasure.
"This is merely deduction based on available information and basic logic, Professor.
Though Headmaster Dumbledore has quite a few flaws, his execution has always been impeccable.
Someone as meticulous as him wouldn't interrupt such important research without reason.
Since he's proactively seeking me out, and the timing is so coincidental, the target can only be related to the diary."
"You said Albus has quite a few flaws?" Professor Lupin looked at Sherlock in surprise.
"Yes, isn't that obvious to you as a member of the Order of the Phoenix? Things like overconfidence, fear of power, and almost ruthless pragmatism—ah, we're here!"
Lupin once again looked in shock at this fourteen-year-old boy.
He now had the mistaken impression that Sherlock was the one who'd known Dumbledore for decades, not him.
But given his position, it really wasn't appropriate to discuss this topic with Sherlock.
Plus, they'd arrived at their destination, so Lupin looked at the gargoyle blocking their way and decisively dropped the subject.
As before, after Professor Lupin gave the password, the gargoyle jumped aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.
When Professor Lupin and Sherlock stepped into the headmaster's office, Dumbledore already knew of their arrival.
He sat at his desk, calmly drinking honey water.
Warm lamplight softly illuminated the antique bookshelves and neatly arranged magical instruments. The phoenix Fawkes was watching Sherlock and Lupin with bright eyes, the entire space permeated with a mysterious yet tranquil atmosphere.
"Hello, Fawkes!"
Watching Sherlock greet the phoenix then sit down directly, Lupin was once again surprised.
What was going on?
Why did Sherlock seem to treat the headmaster's office like his own home?
Even though he'd been specifically invited by Dumbledore, this seemed excessive?
He instinctively looked at Dumbledore, but saw he didn't mind at all. Setting down his cup, he looked at him with gentle eyes, so Lupin also sat down like Sherlock had.
"Did tonight's training go smoothly, Remus?"
"I believe Sherlock and Harry made remarkable progress in an extremely short time, though Harry seems unsatisfied with his own performance."
Dumbledore paused slightly, then his face broke into a warm smile.
"It seems Harry hasn't realized just how advanced a spell he's learning."
"Indeed," Lupin sighed helplessly. "But I emphasized this again to Sherlock and Harry today."
"Thank you very much, Remus." Dumbledore said gratefully.
Professor Lupin's heart stirred—he immediately realized Dumbledore had something to say to Sherlock alone, so he said.
"Then I'll take my leave, Headmaster?"
"Yes, Remus. I still have some matters to discuss with Sherlock, so I won't see you out."
Dumbledore nodded with a smile.
Professor Lupin nodded to Sherlock and turned to leave.
Before leaving, his gaze inadvertently swept across the table beside Dumbledore, where lay a book with a shocking large hole in it.
He understood—just as Sherlock had said.
If he hadn't heard Sherlock mention the Chamber of Secrets beforehand, he might not have immediately recognized what this was.
But since Sherlock had already analyzed it, if he still had no clue, the title of Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be rather undeserved.
Sherlock really was remarkable!
Professor Lupin sighed sincerely in his heart. Harry was incredibly fortunate to have such a friend!
Hogwarts was incredibly fortunate to have a student like Sherlock!
The wizarding world was incredibly fortunate to have a wizard like Sherlock!
Once Professor Lupin's footsteps faded, Dumbledore slowly withdrew his gaze. The dancing flames in the fireplace casted a warm glow on his wrinkled face.
He turned to Sherlock, his blue eyes twinkling with gentle light behind his half-moon spectacles, saying solemnly.
"Though I've said it more than once, I must solemnly say it again today—Sherlock, thank you for uncovering the truth sealed for twelve years."
"Just a small matter."
Sherlock waved his hand casually, fingertips tapping lightly on the table, his tone even more nonchalant.
"After spending nearly two years with Peter before exposing his true identity, it's really nothing worth mentioning."
"If you keep saying that, we old folks will have nowhere to hide our faces."
Dumbledore shook his head with a helpless laugh, fingers gently rubbing the rim of his honey water glass. "You've only truly been in contact with magic for less than three years, and knew nothing about the background of this case. To accomplish this much is already extraordinary!"
As he spoke, he lightly waved his wand, and a glass of water appeared out of nowhere, sliding in front of Sherlock.
"Lemon water, your favorite."
"That's not wrong to say—thank you, sir."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly, reaching for the lemon water, his gray eyes flashing with sharpness.
"That's why I said, if there's information, you must tell me promptly. Don't waste precious time again."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. About the Chamber of Secrets, I'm very sorry."
Dumbledore instantly understood his implication, guilt appearing on his aged face. He leaned forward, his voice low and sincere.
"If I could have told you about Tom Riddle's affairs earlier, perhaps you wouldn't have had to wait until the very end last year to discover the Chamber's truth."
"Not perhaps—definitely."
Sherlock met Dumbledore's gaze unflinchingly, his tone resolute. "If you'd told me everything you knew from the start, there wouldn't have been subsequent victims.
They weren't directly killed by the basilisk like Myrtle fifty years ago purely because of good luck—especially before I discovered the culprit was a basilisk."
Hearing this, Dumbledore couldn't help sighing deeply, his silvery eyebrows drooping slightly as he nodded heavily.
"You're right. That's why this school year when you asked about Sirius and Peter, I told you everything I knew—"
"Facts prove this was a very wise choice."
"Yes, you're absolutely right."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair with considerable emotion; his gaze distant. "You saved Sirius, punished Peter, restored normal order to Hogwarts, and finally gave me the opportunity to find you tonight—"
He reached out and picked up the remains of Riddle's diary that Lupin had glimpsed before leaving. "Since the end of last school year, I've been investigating this diary."
Dumbledore's fingertips lightly tapped the large hole pierced by Sherlock with Gryffindor's sword, his eyes becoming profound.
"In fact, when I saw Tom Riddle's memory fragment with you in the Chamber, I already had a hypothesis."
"I could tell, but you couldn't be certain then. I thought you'd find the answer at the start of this school year."
"That was indeed the plan, but unfortunately it was interrupted by Sirius's escape."
Dumbledore shrugged regretfully, but soon smiled again. "However, now I finally have the chance to share my speculation with you."
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Sherlock's eyes lit up brilliantly, his body unconsciously leaning forward slightly.
'Finally getting to the main point?'
"I believe I've found the secret of why Voldemort still hasn't died after attacking Harry."
Dumbledore opened with a bombshell.
As soon as he finished speaking, from the corner of his eye Sherlock noticed that on the office walls, the portraits of past headmasters had somehow all woken up.
Phineas Nigellus's portrait was frowning and leaning in to listen, and a red-nosed fat wizard even hastily fished out a hearing aid from the corner of his frame, carefully tucking it into his ear.
Sherlock withdrew his gaze calmly.
He knew Dumbledore had noticed this too, but since the headmaster himself hadn't asked the portraits to temporarily withdraw as he had on previous occasions, he naturally couldn't be bothered to interfere.
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd find it truly hard to imagine."
Dumbledore looked at the damaged diary, his voice filled with incredulous wonder.
"Merely a fragment of memory could have its own actions and thoughts?
Merely a memory could manipulate others through a diary?
Merely a memory could drain the life of Ginny who obtained it?
Especially after hearing Riddle's words, I became even more certain—there's something far more evil than memory in this diary. A piece of soul."
He paused; brow furrowed. "But once I proposed this deduction, even more questions emerged.
Among them, what interests and shocks me most is that this diary was once used both as a protective device and as a weapon."
"Sir, you might speak more plainly."
"This diary served the function of storing a soul. It's a container."
Dumbledore said gravely.
"In other words, what Tom Riddle hid inside wasn't memory, but a piece of soul."
Sherlock smiled.
This was tonight's theme.
He listened as Dumbledore continued.
"This container very likely served to help its master avoid death.
But from another perspective, Riddle undoubtedly hoped someone would read this diary.
That way his soul could attach to someone else, in order to release Slytherin's monster again.
In fact, as you know, he succeeded—though you stopped him at the last moment."
"Heh."
Sherlock let out a cold laugh, his eyes carrying undisguised mockery.
"Oh? Compared to the idiot on the back of someone's head in first year, the sixteen-year-old Mr. Tom Riddle did indeed have a bit more scheming ability."
Sherlock let out a cold laugh, his eyes carrying undisguised mockery.
"But strip away that pitiful Heir of Slytherin facade, and isn't his core still a fraud desperately trying to cover up his Muggle heritage?
As a Mudblood he himself looks down on others, yet desperately wanting recognition as Slytherin's heir—the more you lack something, the more you flaunt it.
No wonder he'd slice his soul and store it in a broken diary—the cheapness and fear in his bones perfectly match the shabby level of this container."
"Sherlock, your assessment is as incisive as ever." Dumbledore shook his head helplessly, though his lips couldn't help curving upward slightly.
"Just telling the truth. But I'm quite interested in which of his words made you more certain of your speculation?"
"Sherlock, you've found the blind spot." Dumbledore blinked, his tone carrying a hint of playfulness.
Sherlock: (—_—)
Someone was actually saying this line to him? This was truly topsy-turvy!
Dumbledore watched Sherlock frown, a trace of amusement flashing in his eyes, before he grew serious.
"He said to me then, 'There is nothing worse than death.'
My response was 'There are many things worse than death.'
But then he said something else. 'Even now, I haven't completely died.'
At the time I didn't understand what he meant, but looking back now, he was referring to this diary.
Or rather—a Horcrux."
Horcrux!
When these two syllables left Dumbledore's mouth, Sherlock's eyes instantly blazed brilliantly, as if stars had suddenly ignited within them.
This was the true blind spot!
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