The flames in the fireplace danced like playful sprites in the brick-built hearth.
Warm orange-red light flowed in layers over the piles of parchment scrolls, gilt-edged books, and ancient magical artifacts marked by the passage of time.
The air was permeated with a faint fragrance of cedar mixed with old paper, flowing quietly in the warm light.
Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting lightly on the armrests of his chair, listening attentively to Sherlock's analysis of his old colleague Horace Slughorn.
His bright blue eyes sparkled with focused light behind his half-moon spectacles, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes slightly smoothed by his concentration.
Perched on its stand, the phoenix Fawkes ruffled his golden feathers, tilting his small head. His obsidian-like round eyes moved curiously back and forth between Sherlock and Dumbledore.
His tail feathers occasionally swept lightly across the perch, making soft rustling sounds.
The portraits of past headmasters hanging on the walls, not having been asked to leave by Dumbledore this time, also watched the two men in the room intently like Fawkes.
At this moment, all eyes focused on Sherlock as he spoke eloquently.
Even the most severe Phineas Nigellus had set aside his critical expression.
"All of Professor Horace Slughorn's operational logic—whether it's investing in talent, choosing his teaching position, cultivating connections, or his almost panicked escape when facing danger—all serve this ultimate goal. stability.
Undoubtedly, he is a true Slytherin, the typical elitist rather than a pure-blood supremacist.
He has taken shrewdness, self-preservation, and ambition limited to the safe range to the extreme.
It's just that this philosophy of stability isn't completely constructed, because it lacks a crucial element—the courage and determination to maintain stability.
So, when facing the absolute storm that Voldemort brings, this goal is destined to crumble.
Unfortunately, even now, he still hasn't realized this. He's still trying to escape.
What's laughable is that he can't even escape your investigation now, let alone Voldemort lurking in the shadows.
What's pathetic is that you still need my help to find the key information from such a person."
After hearing Sherlock's analysis of Slughorn, Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise.
His silver-white eyebrows rose slightly. After a long moment, he slowly removed the half-moon spectacles from his nose.
With a light tap of his wand tip on the lenses, they instantly became spotlessly clean.
"Sherlock, if I didn't know the truth, I would almost suspect that you were the one who had known Horace for over sixty years, not me."
Dumbledore's voice carried undisguised amazement.
He gently rubbed the smooth frame edge with his fingertips, put his glasses back on, his eyes gleaming with approval.
"There's no need to say that, Headmaster. I merely summarized based on your statements. It's hardly worth mentioning."
"So, are you prepared to help me uncover that secret?"
"No, this is far from enough."
Sherlock shook his head, his gray eyes revealing rigor.
"As I just said, everything I mentioned was merely a summary based on your description of this professor.
But hearing only your account is ultimately somewhat one-sided. I need more samples.
By the way, besides Tom Riddle who used Professor Slughorn, do you know any other members of the Slug Club?"
Dumbledore nodded, then rattled off a string of names.
"Ambrosius Flume, he's the owner of Honeydukes.
Avery, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, who later became a Death Eater.
Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet.
Dirk Cresswell, an official in the Goblin Liaison Office at the Ministry.
Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team."
Sherlock wasn't familiar with these people, but he still noted their names.
This fully confirmed Dumbledore's earlier description of Professor Slughorn—his students were spread throughout the world, in every sector of the magical community.
But when he reached the end, Dumbledore mentioned several names that were unexpected yet reasonable.
"Potions Professor Severus Snape, Harry's mother Lily—they had very high talent in Potions and were deeply favored by Horace at the time.
Malfoy's father Lucius, Sirius's brother Regulus—their talents weren't equal to Severus and Lily's, but their families also made Horace regard them differently.
And Divination Professor Sybill Trelawney—she's the great-granddaughter of the renowned Seer Cassandra Trelawney."
"Regulus?"
Sherlock noticed this name sensitively.
"Yes, Regulus Black. I think you should have heard his name."
"Sirius's younger brother, once an admirer of Voldemort, joined the Death Eaters at 16, deeply loved by his parents.
Later realized Voldemort wasn't the person he imagined, so he wanted to leave the organization, but unfortunately it was too late.
In the end, he was killed by Voldemort or other Death Eaters—though all this comes from Sirius's account."
"Yes, that's him."
Dumbledore sighed deeply, as if thinking of something.
"There are many organizations in this world where joining often requires only a thought.
But leaving requires an entire lifetime, and even then, it may not be possible.
The Death Eaters founded by Voldemort are exactly like that."
Sherlock looked at Dumbledore with some surprise.
He could tell at a glance that Dumbledore wasn't just talking about Regulus, or rather, not only about Regulus.
Very interesting. This headmaster probably had the most secrets of anyone at Hogwarts, didn't he?
"A highly representative sample list."
After a moment of silence, Sherlock spoke, his voice still steady but now carrying the determination to act.
"It covers different family backgrounds, different temperaments, and even completely different paths chosen later.
Very ideal, even more ideal than I imagined."
The light in Dumbledore's blue eyes flickered with understanding as he nodded gently.
"Professor Slughorn's taste or rather, his eye for investing in the future—is indeed quite unique.
These people, whether good or bad, have all left or continue to leave deep marks in their respective fields."
The phoenix Fawkes seemed to sense the change in atmosphere and let out a pleasant low trill, his gold-and-crimson tail feathers swaying elegantly.
The old headmasters in their frames began their habitual whispers or pretended serious contemplation, but their gazes still drifted toward Sherlock, who was about to leave.
"Thank you for providing these leads, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Sherlock stood up as he spoke. "The accuracy of the information will directly determine whether I can crack the key secret in Professor Slughorn's heart.
I need to reconstruct a more authentic Horace Slughorn, not just through your memory filter.
Well then—good night."
Dumbledore was somewhat surprised.
He hadn't expected Sherlock to voluntarily offer to leave, but he still stood up. "Good night, and good luck to you, Sherlock."
After Sherlock left, the office became quiet again.
The gaze behind Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles was deep and distant.
His fingertips gently brushed the frame edge again as he murmured to himself.
"Sample analysis, precise judgment—the way Sherlock seeks truth will probably surprise even Horace himself, won't it?"
In the portrait frames, Phineas Nigellus let out a dissatisfied snort, muttering.
"Hmph, acting like some serious investigation—Dumbledore, I don't see how that boy could be more suitable than you."
The other old headmasters exchanged interested glances.
"I don't expect you to see it, Phineas."
Dumbledore answered calmly.
Fawkes tilted his head and let out another pleasant low trill.
The next day, Sherlock told his friends about the matter.
"Wh-what?"
"A Horcrux? I've never even heard of such a thing."
"Storing one's soul in other containers—just thinking about it seems terrifying!"
Harry, Hermione, and Ron each expressed their views on the matter.
In Sherlock's view, these were all correct but useless remarks.
"So, do you have any leads? Are you really going to find other people?"
"Yes, the information Dumbledore provided is already sufficient for me to make a judgment about Slughorn as a person.
But as I told him, this is only his side of the story.
To succeed on the first try, the preparatory work needs to be done more thoroughly."
"I don't understand."
By now, this phrase had almost become Ron's catchphrase.
He would blurt it out from time to time.
"Why does it have to succeed on the first try? Even if we can't get it from that Slug Professor on the first—"
"It's Professor Slughorn, not Slug Professor!"
Hermione said disapprovingly.
"Actually, there's not much difference," Ron shrugged, dismissing Hermione's correction. "I mean, even if the first time doesn't reveal the truth, wouldn't it be fine to try a few more times?"
"I'm afraid—not."
Unexpectedly, it was Harry who spoke this time, not Hermione.
"According to Sherlock's analysis, this Professor Slughorn is clearly a cautious and careful person.
Headmaster Dumbledore merely asked him one question, and he immediately resigned.
So, if we can't extract the truth on the first attempt, he'll probably run away again.
Finding him then won't be easy.
Am I right, Sherlock?"
Though Harry tried to complete his analysis, he wasn't confident, so after finishing, he asked Sherlock for confirmation.
"Excellent, Harry!"
Sherlock smiled and patted his friend's shoulder.
"Didn't I tell you? The deductive method is contagious. Now you're increasingly attempting to use it to analyze problems."
"So, my deduction—"
"Completely correct!
It's precisely for this reason that I need more sample information, so that when I first meet Professor Slughorn, I can find the truth.
Besides, our time isn't so urgent that we need to see him immediately."
Hearing Sherlock's praise for Harry, Ron looked indifferent.
With one friend already possessing extraordinary intelligence like Sherlock, and another walking encyclopedia in Hermione, even if there was one more Harry who occasionally had flashes of insight, it made no difference to him.
But Hermione's eyes suddenly became sharp.
She glanced subtly at Harry, then said.
"Sherlock, I remember you should be able to get a professor's signature for the Restricted Section, right?"
Harry and Ron were both startled. "Hermione, what are you planning?"
Hermione didn't answer, only stared intently at Sherlock.
Sherlock smiled slightly, then took out a quill and parchment from his pocket.
He directly signed the name Filius Flitwick on it, then stuffed it into Hermione's hand.
"Ah, is this, okay?"
Harry and Ron looked at Sherlock's operation in surprise. This was Hermione's method?
This... this was far too simple and brutal, wasn't it?
Only Hermione examined it carefully, then revealed a satisfied smile.
"Exactly the same."
After saying this, she carefully folded the paper and put it away, then turned and ran.
Harry and Ron looked at each other.
"Horcruxes—obviously a very advanced form of magic. It seems Hermione plans to check the Restricted Section?
But she used to be most opposed to this kind of shortcut!"
"She seems to want to prove herself," Ron whispered, "prove that she's more helpful to Sherlock than you are."
Harry: (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
'Wait, what?
That's not necessary, really not necessary.
Your rival is Gemma, possibly even Luna, but definitely not me!'
For Harry, he did want to help Sherlock with something.
Unfortunately, he currently had the will but lacked the ability.
With the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match imminent, he couldn't spare any time at all.
News of Harry's Firebolt had long since spread throughout the school, so whenever Harry went to practice, people would come to watch.
As for Ravenclaw, Wood didn't think they would send spies to scout their tactics like Slytherin would.
In fact, Slytherin had never done such a thing either—the last incident was purely Wood's own subjective imagination.
But regardless, having so many people come to watch their training was still rather annoying.
So, he simply pulled strings with Madam Hooch again, then invited her to supervise Gryffindor Quidditch team training.
With a professor present, no one except Gryffindor Quidditch team members could enter the pitch anymore.
This made Wood very happy. This favor had finally not been wasted.
But he soon became embarrassed again.
Because although Madam Hooch prevented others from entering, she herself had become an obstacle to the team's training.
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