Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 251 Who Writes a Diary If They're a Serious Person?

"Who's a serious person who keeps a diary?"

Sherlock picked up the diary and chuckled softly:
"Let me see—Tom Riddle, Vauxhall Road, London."

Anyone who sees this diary would probably think it's a Muggle item.

You advocate for bloodline theory, yet you still unconsciously conform to your usual habits.

Sherlock flipped through it casually and found that apart from the faded date on the cover, the inside was completely blank.

He took out a quill pen from his pocket and casually wrote a sentence on a blank page:

The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.

The ink shimmered brightly on the paper for a second, then seemed to be absorbed into the paper and vanished without a trace, as if nothing had happened.

"it is as expected."

Sherlock wore an expression of surprise. He put away his pen and, under Riddle's angry glare, turned to Dumbledore:
“Headmaster, we can end this now if you still want Professor Lockhart.”

Dumbledore glanced at Riddle, then at Sherlock, and then at Lockhart on the ground.

Finally, he let out a long sigh.

The next moment, a tattered old hat appeared in his hand, and with a casual wave, the hat flew towards Sherlock.

Sherlock paused for a moment, then quickly reached out and firmly grabbed the old hat.

He immediately recognized the hat that had placed him in Gryffindor.

But Dumbledore clearly had another purpose for taking it out at this moment.

"Hahaha, is this what you gave to your student, Dumbledore? A tattered hat that can sing?"

As a former top student at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle naturally recognized the Sorting Hat.

He knew he was now in a desperate situation, but his deep-rooted arrogance and unwillingness to accept defeat meant he would never miss an opportunity to mock his enemies.

A sharp, piercing laugh suddenly rang out, echoing continuously in the dark, deep chamber, causing the surroundings to tremble slightly.

"You don't expect him to destroy me with something like this, do you?"
I'm not a basilisk monster. Even if it crows like a rooster, I won't destroy it so easily!

Riddle's pale cheeks flushed slightly with excitement, and his eyes gleamed with an almost frenzied light.

Dumbledore glanced at Riddle with pity, shook his head slightly, and then turned his gentle yet firm gaze to Sherlock:
"Draw your sword!"

"what?!"

Riddle's smile froze.

Harry and Hermione were both stunned.

Dumbledore looked at Sherlock with a faint smile: "The Sorting Hat contains a weapon that can help you. When the real Gryffindor needs it, it can be pulled out of the Sorting Hat."

Sherlock frowned and looked at Dumbledore.

The words were clearly stated, but this was obviously another test.

However, judging from all indications, this is the final test.

So, unusually, Sherlock didn't mock her, and instead reached into the Sorting Hat.

Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione, and Riddle all watched him nervously.

Especially Dumbledore.

Just as Sherlock deduced.

This is yet another test.

It was also the final test.

Fortunately, Sherlock Holmes never disappoints.

"what!"

With a low shout from Sherlock, a gleaming silver sword instantly appeared in the Sorting Hat, which he pulled out with a slight effort.

The sword was long and straight, gleaming with a cold and dazzling light in the dim light of the secret room.

A dazzling, egg-sized ruby ​​is set on the hilt of the sword, radiating a captivating luster, like a fiery, beating heart.

Sherlock glanced at it and saw a name engraved near the ruby ​​hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

He looked at Dumbledore: "Gryffindor relics?"

"Yes."

"This will destroy this guy?"

"Not yet."

Harry and Hermione were taken aback. Was the headmaster joking with them?
However, Sherlock understood Dumbledore's unspoken meaning: "It's not that it can't, it's that it can't 'now'."

"Yes, this sword doesn't need to be wiped, because the blade made by fairies repels dust. Not only that, it can also absorb substances that can strengthen it."

While Harry and Hermione were still pondering, Sherlock had already figured it out.

Excellent, Dumbledore has indeed stopped testing me.

Others might be puzzled by his words, but this level of hint was enough for him.

Sherlock first handed Tom Riddle's diary to Harry, and then gave the Sorting Hat to Hermione.

Having done all this, he gripped the Gryffindor sword tightly in both hands and strode toward the already dead basilisk.

Only by observing the serpent monster up close can one truly appreciate its terrifying nature.

Its body, resembling a small hill, twisted and contorted, its scales gleaming coldly in the dim light. Even in death, it exuded a considerable sense of oppression. Sherlock stood before the basilisk, took a deep breath, and raised the Gryffindor sword high with both hands.

His arm muscles were taut, veins bulging slightly, and his expression was serious and focused.

The next moment, he exerted his strength and stabbed at the basilisk's huge head with lightning speed.

Whether it was because the Gryffindor sword itself was sharp enough, or because the basilisk was already dead, the process of piercing the basilisk's body was much easier than Sherlock had imagined.

With a soft, muffled "thud," Sherlock felt his sword encounter some resistance before piercing the basilisk's head.

Riddle watched this scene quietly from the side. He appeared calm, but his heart was filled with resentment and anger—he naturally wanted to stop everything Sherlock was doing.

But with Dumbledore there, he was powerless to do anything.

He knew that this part of his memory was about to be destroyed.

Even if he memorized Sherlock's appearance perfectly, the guy who ruined his plans, it would be of no use now.

Sherlock held the sword-holding position with both hands in the ground for about a minute before finally drawing his greatsword.

Watching the green liquid slowly seep into the blade, Sherlock knew that he had understood Dumbledore's words correctly.

"That should be enough."

He muttered something under his breath, then turned and walked toward Harry, gesturing for him to put the diary on the ground.

At this moment, Harry understood what Sherlock wanted to do. The confusion and bewilderment in his eyes were gone, replaced by determination and trust.

He carefully laid the diary flat on the ground and then stood aside.

After Sherlock had done all this, he turned back to Tom Riddle:
"Have you thought of your last words, Mr. Tom?"

“You will pay for this,” Riddle said, looking at Sherlock, each word distinct. “It won’t be long… I will be back!”

"Old tricks, nothing new."

Sherlock shook his head in disappointment and decisively plunged the Gryffindor sword into the center of the diary.

next moment.

A piercing scream rang out, and streams of ink gushed from the diary, instantly engulfing the surrounding ground like a surging black tide.

Tom Riddle's already vivid image began to twist and struggle, his arms flailing wildly as if trying to grasp something, but all in vain.

As ink continued to gush out, he let out screams, his figure gradually became blurred, and finally disappeared into the air as if he had never existed.

As for that diary, it's still hissing and emitting smoke.

Sherlock stopped looking at the smoky diary and turned to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's gaze swept over Sherlock, Harry, and Hermione, then fell upon Lockhart, who was still unconscious, the diary with the Gryffindor sword stuck in it, and the spot where Tom Riddle had disappeared...

He stood there quietly for a long time before letting out a deep sigh, his voice low and drawn-out: "Let's go."

The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.

The list of past principals on the wall disappeared the moment Sherlock entered the office.

Phoenix Fox let out a few clear cries and flew to Sherlock's shoulder, gently pecking at his ear.

As Dumbledore had said before, it has finally become beautiful.

Its entire body was covered in amazing red and gold feathers, and it had a peacock-like tail that shimmered with gold and equally shimmering claws. After showing Sherlock its sharp golden beak and two bright black eyes, it flew back to the gilded perch behind the door.

"It seems Fox likes you very much, Sherlock."

Dumbledore smiled at the sight, then turned his gaze to the table.

The four of them followed his gaze, and on the large desk were three items neatly arranged:

The diary that had been completely destroyed by the Gryffindor sword, the greatsword whose blade was now spotless, and the old Sorting Hat that seemed ordinary but held a hidden secret.

"It's finally over."

Dumbledore was the first to look away, his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles gleaming with satisfaction.

He gave the four of them a warm, spring-like smile, his white beard trembling slightly with it.

"I have to thank you all. You have proven that my choice was right—the future of this world ultimately depends on you young people to create it."

Now, I welcome any questions you may have, and this time, I will not refuse to answer them.

Upon hearing this, Ron couldn't help but nudge Harry with his elbow and whisper, "That sounds like something Sherlock would say."

Ron was speaking from the heart.

Just as Sherlock had told him before they officially entered the Chamber of Secrets, reinforcements arrived shortly after Sherlock and Harry left.

What surprised him even more was that Dumbledore, a powerful ally, appeared before him.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore did not take him to the Chamber of Secrets. After finding out the situation, he turned around and sent him back to Myrtle's girls' bathroom.

This inevitably made Ron a little embarrassed.

Out of concern for his friends, he could only stay in the women's restroom and wait for them to return.

Myrtle noticed that only Ron had returned, so she started chatting with him out of curiosity.

So Ron sat on the high toilet and listened to Myrtle tell stories of the past.

Until Dumbledore returned with his friends.

Fortunately, this time, Ron was not left behind again, but instead arrived at the principal's office with the triumphant group.

That's why he was full of complaints at that moment and couldn't help but whisper to Harry.

(End of this chapter)