Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 375 The Road to the Future Lies Beneath Our Feet
The lobby on the eighth floor of the Ministry of Magic.

Arthur Weasley, an employee of the Ministry of Magic, led the way with practiced ease.

Sherlock walked steadily, his sharp eyes capturing more details of the environment and the characteristics of the people coming and going.

Harry followed closely behind, looking around with great curiosity at the magnificent magical place he had never seen before.

Sirius's face was slightly gloomy. He stared straight ahead, ignoring the surrounding scenery that symbolized the authority and harmony of the Ministry of Magic, and walked silently at the back.

Some of the wizards here were carrying piles of rickety parchment, some were carrying tattered briefcases, and some were reading the Daily Prophet as they walked.

Almost everyone looked like they were in a hurry, not much different from those working in office buildings in the Muggle world.

As Harry passed the fountain, he saw many glittering silver Sickles and bronze Knuts at the bottom of the pool, and a small, stained sign next to it read:

All proceeds from the Magic Brothers Fountain will be donated to the St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries.

“If Peter’s matter can be resolved smoothly today, I will put in one… no, five Galleons.”

Harry thought to himself upon seeing this scene.

"This way, Harry."

Arthur Weasley noticed Harry had stopped in front of the Magical Brothers Fountain and reminded him.

If he knew Harry's thoughts, he would probably be so shocked by the other's extravagance that he would suffer internal injuries.

As they continued forward, the magnificent golden scene of the eighth basement level of the Ministry of Magic was gradually swallowed up by the noise and crowds behind them.

As they approached the golden doors, they finally escaped the throng of Ministry of Magic employees and arrived at a table not far to their left.

A wizard dressed in a peacock blue robe, with an unshaven beard, sat behind a table, a sign above his head that read "Security Check".

As they approached, the man looked up and put down the Daily Prophet.

"What is it, Weasley?"

"I brought three guests with me."

Mr. Weasley pointed to Sherlock, Harry, and Sirius as he spoke.

"Come this way."

The wizard's gaze swept over the three of them, and he spoke in a listless tone.

Sherlock glanced at him and knew he was late this morning.

He also deduced the reason for his lateness—he had argued with his wife last night because he failed to meet her needs.

The wizard in charge of security raised a long, thin, golden stick, like a car antenna, and used it to scan Sherlock, Harry, and Sirius from top to bottom across their chests and backs.

During this process, Sherlock was curious, Harry was a little nervous, and Sirius looked impatient and annoyed.

After the inspection, the security wizard put down the detector that looked like a golden antenna, held out his hand to the three of them, and muttered something:
"The wand."

Harry was the first to hand over his wand.

The wizard threw it onto a strange-looking brass machine that resembled a single-pane balance.

The machine began to vibrate slightly, and soon a narrow strip of parchment was swiftly ejected from a slit at the bottom.

The wizard tore the paper off and read the words on it aloud:
"Eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core, and it's been used for two and a half years, right?"

“That’s right,” Harry said, sounding a little nervous.

Next up is Sherlock's wand, and the same procedure applies.

"Twelve inches, the core of the staff is the heart and nerve of the fire dragon, and it has been used for two and a half years."

When it was Sirius's turn, he kept his hands in his pockets and made no attempt to take out his wand.

The security wizard waited a moment, looked up and saw Sirius's behavior, then repeated himself:
"Sir, please show me your magic wand."

Although he still said "please," his tone was clearly impatient.

Then things went wrong.

"Do not."

Sirius's voice wasn't loud, but it was very clear, making the previously noisy surroundings seem to quiet down for a moment.

"What did you say?"

The security wizard seemed to be encountering this kind of person for the first time. He stared at Sirius in astonishment, almost thinking he had misheard.

“I said, I refuse to hand over my wand.”

Sirius's eyes held a mixture of the Black family's inherited arrogance and disdain for the security guard standing before him, a symbol of the Ministry of Magic's bureaucratic system.
“I think you should be very clear that I am here as a witness to attend the trial, not to be questioned.”

Does the Ministry of Magic now believe that everyone who enters this place could be a criminal?

Does even someone who comes to conduct business with a legitimate reason have to surrender?

Noticing the biting sarcasm in Sirius's words, Mr. Weasley broke out in a fine sweat.

He quickly tried to smooth things over: "Uh... Sirius, you don't need to be so sensitive. It's according to the rules..."

"Regulation?"

Sirius interrupted him, his gaze still fixed on the security officer. "Arthur, I remember the rule that wrongfully imprisoned me in Azkaban for twelve years very clearly."

"Heinous crimes, no trial needed, immediate execution... Hah."

Upon hearing this, Mr. Weasley and the security wizard immediately felt embarrassed.

The security wizards only now recognized that this was Sirius Black, who had been wrongly imprisoned for twelve years. The Ministry of Magic's decision to imprison him in Azkaban without trial seemed reasonable, but in fact it was not legal or compliant.

"The freedom I have now regained and the right to choose to wear a wand cannot be taken away by any of those damn security regulations."

So tell your boss, or write it down:
"I will never hand over my wand unless I am in the presence of the wandmaker or receive a legally justified order from the Ministry of Magic."

After Sirius finished speaking, the security wizard's face instantly turned extremely ugly.

He wanted to argue, but when he saw Sirius's cold eyes, which seemed to have experienced real suffering and injustice, he suddenly recalled the various rumors about the last heir of the Black family.

An invisible pressure seemed to emanate from the other person.

He opened his mouth, but ultimately couldn't utter any rebuttal; a hint of panic and hesitation flickered in his eyes.

But being so intimidated makes me feel somewhat resentful.

Such a thing has never happened before!

He couldn't help but glance at Mr. Weasley, hoping that his colleague, who had brought this troublesome fellow along, would say something.

Mr. Weasley sighed, rubbing his temples, looking both helpless and somewhat nervous:
"Well... registration is complete—the wands of the three guests, Sherlock and Harry, have all been recorded."

He glossed over the part about Sirius's wand, desperately trying to signal to his colleague:

"Is that all?"
Eric, time is of the essence, the courtroom is over there…

Eric glanced at Sirius again, who was still defiant, and finally gave up, waving his hand reluctantly.

"Hmm... Okay, you can go now."

He returned the two wands and then stuck the two parchment slips that had been used to examine Sherlock and Harry's wands onto a small brass nail.

After doing all this, he immediately lowered his head, picked up the Daily Prophet again, and buried himself behind the newspaper.

Judging from their appearance, they clearly intended to end this awkward stalemate as soon as possible.

However, the slightly trembling newspaper betrayed his inner emotions.

Sherlock watched the entire process unfold without making a sound.

He offered no comment on Sirius's actions, but simply tilted his head slightly and said calmly to Harry beside him, "Let's go, Harry."

Harry nodded quickly and followed Sherlock. He glanced back at his godfather with some worry, but Sirius gave him a reassuring look.

However, Sherlock noticed that Sirius's eyes still held a trace of lingering ferocity.

He frowned upon seeing this, but ultimately said nothing.

Seeing this, Mr. Weasley also felt relieved and quickly walked to the front to lead the way.

He wiped his sweat while muttering to himself:

"I knew it... I knew this would happen..."

“I don’t think Mr. Sirius’s actions were inappropriate,” Sherlock said slowly, without stopping. “As a witness and attendee in a public trial, there is indeed no need for him to show his wand.”

"what?"

Mr. Weasley looked at Sherlock in surprise, "But weren't you being very cooperative just now?"

"Those are two different things."

Sherlock shook his head. "We can choose to remain silent to avoid trouble, but we cannot complain about the protesters, because one day you will also need the rights they are protecting."

As soon as he finished speaking, a faint, triumphant smile appeared on Sirius's lips.

Mr. Weasley: "..."

Okay, I admit I was wrong.

The three followed Mr. Weasley to a smaller hall.

There were at least twenty elevators there, hidden behind exquisite gold-plated gates.

With a series of clanging and clattering sounds, an elevator descended in front of them.

The golden gate slid open gently, and led by Mr. Weasley, the four of them, along with the other wizards, entered the elevator.

Sherlock and Harry were squeezed against the back wall.

Several wizards looked at them curiously. Sirius Black snorted and moved to block their way.

Sirius Black was already tall and thin, and in this cramped space he stood out even more.

Upon seeing this, everyone looked away.

Strangely, not many people recognized that the tall, handsome man in front of them was the once notorious fugitive.

At that moment, the gate slammed shut, the elevator slowly rose, and the chains rattled.

A woman's voice, which sounded somewhat cold and mechanical, rang out.

"The seventh floor, the Department of Magical Sports, which includes the British and Irish Quidditch League Command, the official Gobstone Club, and the Office of the Patent for Comical Products."

The elevator doors opened, and Harry glimpsed a messy corridor with posters of various Quidditch teams plastered haphazardly on the walls.

A wizard carrying a flying broom struggled to squeeze out of the elevator and disappeared down the corridor.

The door closed, and the elevator continued to ascend, swaying slightly.

Next, as the woman's voice continued to ring out, the elevator doors opened again and again, and the wizards went in and out of the elevator as it stopped.

"The sixth floor, the Department of Magical Transportation, includes the Floo Network Administration, the Flying Broomstick Management and Control Bureau, the Portkey Office, and the Apparition Testing Center."

"The fifth level is the International Magic Cooperation Division, which includes the International Magic Trade Standards Association, the International Office of Magic Law, and the UK branch of the International Wizarding Federation."

"The fourth floor is the Department of Magical Creatures Management and Control, which includes the offices for beasts, outcasts, and ghosts, the goblin liaison office, and the pest counseling office."

Besides the wizards coming and going, several paper airplanes flew in as the elevator doors opened and closed.

They were all light purple, with the Ministry of Magic's stamp on the edges of their wings.

Once inside the elevator, they began to fly slowly above it, and then whooshed out again after reaching a certain floor.

"Those are notes used to pass messages between departments."

Mr. Weasley whispered to the three, "We used to use an owl, but the mess was unbelievable... there was poop all over the desk..."

Sherlock and Harry exchanged a glance; in the Muggle world, it would be a simple matter of making a phone call.

It's hard to say which one is better.

"The third level is the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters, which includes the Reversal of Accidental Magical Events Team, the Memory Deletion Command, and the Muggle Problem Mediation Committee."

Upon reaching this floor, almost everyone had left, leaving only Sherlock, his three companions, and a witch in the elevator.

She kept looking at Sirius, as if she couldn't get enough of him.

Sirius Black kept a straight face and looked straight ahead.

Sherlock had a faint smile on his lips.

Harry and Mr. Weasley exchanged a glance, desperately trying not to burst out laughing.

Whether in the magical world or the Muggle world, whether male or female.

Sirius Black's charm is truly irresistible.

At this moment, the elevator swayed slightly as it went up again, and the remaining notes continued to circle around the light at the top of the elevator.

After the door opened, the voice announced:
"The second layer is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which includes the Office for Prohibiting the Abuse of Magic, the Auror Command, and the Wizengamor Administration."

"Here we are."

As soon as Mr. Weasley finished speaking, Sirius Black walked out without saying a word.

The witch followed closely behind.

"..."

The remaining three followed the witch out of the elevator and into a corridor with doors on both sides.

Mr. Weasley coughed. "My office is on the other side of this floor."

The witch followed Sirius until she passed a window, at which point she gave him a long look before turning and entering an office.

Sirius's expression visibly relaxed.

Harry suppressed a laugh, pointed to the sunlight streaming in through the window, and asked, "Uncle Weasley, we should still be underground, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

Mr. Weasley understood Harry's meaning and explained with a smile:
"However, these are enchanted windows, and the magical maintenance department determines what the weather is like each day."

Last time, we had a hurricane here for two months because they wanted to raise wages.

"hehe."

Sherlock laughed when he heard this; it really was a simple and crude method.

"Alright, this is about it."

Then they turned a corner, passed through two heavy oak doors, and entered a messy, noisy open area divided into many small cubicles.

The people here are all chatting and laughing, creating a lively atmosphere.

Notes carrying messages flew in and out of the cubicles like miniature rockets.

A sign was hanging crookedly on the nearest small cubicle.

Auror Command Center

Harry's heart skipped a beat when he saw the name.

For some reason, he seemed to see the future here.

(End of this chapter)