Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 398 The So-Called Soul Weapon

In the dimly lit corridor leading to the principal's office, the flickering wall lamps cast long, yellowish shadows of Professor Lupin and Sherlock.

Lupin stood with his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed, and after much hesitation, he finally couldn't help but break the silence:
"Sherlock, what exactly did you say to Harry last semester?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his abruptness and quickly added, "Of course, it's okay if you don't want to say."

"There's nothing that can't be said."

Sherlock, hands in his pockets, looked calm and spoke even more readily than Professor Lupin had expected, "Professor, you must have heard about the locked-room mystery from last semester, right?"

"I've heard a little about it." Professor Lu Ping nodded slightly, his gaze serious.

"Tom Riddle—who was Voldemort fifty years ago—used dark magic to seal a piece of his memory in a diary."

Sherlock spoke as he walked, his expression calm, “Last year, someone used that diary to open the secret room, released the basilisk, and caused a series of attacks.”

Professor Lupin nodded again, a hint of worry flashing in his eyes: "That's right, that's why Professor Gilderoy Lockhart is still unconscious."

"Before the end of the school year, we found the secret chamber, killed the basilisk, and destroyed the diary that Riddle relied on for survival."

Sherlock spoke in a flat tone, as if he were merely stating a trivial matter.

"Good job!"

Professor Lu Ping couldn't help but clap his hands in praise, his eyes filled with admiration:

"Back when we were in school, the secret room was just a legend."

I never imagined you would not only find it, but also protect your classmates! You are not only courageous but also incredibly wise. You truly deserve to be called the Lion King of Gryffindor!

"Thank you for the compliment, Professor—but I should point out that the diary may be more important than we realize."

"Sherlock, you mean..."

“When we left school last academic year, Headmaster Dumbledore was still studying that diary.”

I deduce that Dumbledore must have had a conjecture back then, but the idea wasn't mature enough at the time.

With his abilities, he should have made some progress in the new school year.

Unexpectedly, the project was interrupted by Sirius Black's prison break.

Now that Sirius's matter has been resolved, he's contacted me again, presumably because of this.

Lupin looked at Sherlock in surprise. The man's clear and confident deductions and analysis made him blurt out:

“That’s brilliant, Sherlock. Now that you’ve said it, it’s all too obvious.”

Sherlock merely tilted his head slightly, as if Lupin's reaction was exactly what he expected.

However, Professor Lu Ping's sincere praise brought a smile to his face, showing that he was very pleased.

"This is just a deduction based on existing information and basic logic, Professor."

Although Headmaster Dumbledore had many flaws, his execution was always impeccable.

He, who is always meticulous, would not interrupt such an important research without a reason.

Since he contacted me first, and the timing was so convenient, his target must be related to the diary.

"You're saying Albus has many flaws?" Professor Lupin looked at Sherlock in surprise.

“Yes, isn’t it obvious to you as a member of the Order of the Phoenix: overconfidence, fear of power, and almost ruthless pragmatism… Ah, we’re here!”

Lupin stared in shock at the fourteen-year-old boy once again.

He was now caught in a mistake: Sherlock was the one who had known Dumbledore for decades, not him.

However, given his status, it was really inappropriate for him to discuss this issue with Sherlock.

Having already reached their destination, Lupin glanced at the dripping stone beast blocking their way and decisively dropped the topic.

As before, after Professor Lu Ping gave the command, the dripping stone beast jumped aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.

When Professor Lupin and Sherlock entered the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore already knew of their arrival.

He was sitting at his desk, leisurely drinking honey water.

The dim, yellow light softly illuminated the antique bookshelves and neatly arranged magical artifacts. The phoenix Fawkes was watching Sherlock and Lupin intently, and the entire space was filled with a mysterious and tranquil atmosphere.

Hello, Fox!

Seeing Sherlock greet the phoenix and then sit down, Lupin looked at Sherlock with surprise once again.

what's the situation?
Why does it feel like Sherlock is back home when he comes to the headmaster's office?
Even if he was invited by Dumbledore specifically, it shouldn't be like this, right?
He instinctively looked at Dumbledore, only to see that he didn't seem to care at all. Dumbledore put down his cup and looked at him gently, so he sat down like Sherlock.

"How did training go tonight, Remus?"

"I think Sherlock and Harry have made remarkable progress in a very short time, although Harry doesn't seem to be entirely satisfied with his performance."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then a warm, sunny smile spread across his face.

"It seems Harry doesn't yet realize just how advanced the spells he's learning are."

“Yes,” Lupin sighed helplessly, “but I emphasized this to Sherlock and Harry again today.”

“Thank you very much, Remus,” Dumbledore said gratefully.

Professor Lupin's heart skipped a beat; he immediately realized that Dumbledore wanted to speak to Sherlock alone, and so he said:

"Then I shall take my leave, Albus?"

"Alright, Remus, I have some things to discuss with Sherlock, so I won't see you off any further."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded.

Professor Lupin nodded to Sherlock and turned to leave.

Before leaving, his gaze inadvertently swept over the table next to Dumbledore, on which lay a book with a shockingly large hole.

He understood immediately; it was just as Sherlock had said.

If Sherlock hadn't mentioned the Chamber of Secrets beforehand, he might not have been able to recognize what it was immediately.

But since Sherlock has already analyzed it, if he still doesn't realize it, then his title as the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be somewhat undeserved.

Sherlock... he's truly amazing!
Professor Lupin thought to himself, Harry is incredibly lucky to have such a friend!
Hogwarts is incredibly fortunate to have a student like Sherlock!
The magical world is incredibly fortunate to have a wizard like Sherlock!
Once Professor Lupin's footsteps had faded, Dumbledore slowly withdrew his gaze, the flickering flames in the fireplace casting a warm glow on his wrinkled face.

He turned to Sherlock, his blue-grey eyes gleaming gently behind his half-moon spectacles, and said solemnly:
"Although I have said it more than once, I still want to say it again today, Sherlock, thank you for uncovering the truth that has been buried for twelve years."

"It's just a little effort."

Sherlock waved his hand casually, his fingertips lightly tapping the table, his tone even more nonchalant. "Spending almost two years with Peter before uncovering his true identity is really nothing to brag about."

"If you continue to say that, then we old folks will have nowhere to hide our faces."

Dumbledore shook his head with a helpless smile, his fingers gently tracing the rim of the honey water glass. "You've only been truly exposed to magic for less than three years, and you know nothing about the past of this matter. To have accomplished this much is already quite remarkable!"

As he spoke, he gently waved his wand, and a glass of water appeared out of thin air and slid to Sherlock's front.

"Your favorite lemonade."

"That's quite right—thank you, sir."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly, reached for the lemonade, and a sharp glint flashed in his gray eyes:
"That's why I said, if you have any information, be sure to tell me in time, so as not to waste any more of your precious time."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm very sorry about the Chamber of Secrets."

Dumbledore instantly understood his unspoken meaning, and a look of guilt appeared on his aged face. He leaned forward, his voice low and sincere.

"If I had told you about Tom Riddle earlier, perhaps you wouldn't have had to wait until the very end to discover the truth about the locked room last year."

"It's not a possibility, it's a certainty."

Sherlock stared directly at Dumbledore without flinching, his tone resolute: "If you had told me everything you knew earlier, none of these victims would have happened."

They weren't killed by the basilisk like Myrtle was fifty years ago; it was pure luck—especially before I discovered the basilisk was the killer.

Upon hearing this, Dumbledore let out a long sigh, his white eyebrows drooping slightly, and nodded heavily.
“You’re right, so this school year when you asked me about Sirius and Pettigrew, I told you everything I knew…”

"It has proven to be a very wise choice."

"Yes, you're absolutely right."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair with a sigh, his gaze distant. "You saved Sirius, punished Peter, restored order to Hogwarts, and finally gave me the opportunity to find you tonight..."

As he spoke, he reached out and picked up the remains of Riddle's diary that Professor Lupin had secretly peeked at before leaving. "I've been investigating this diary ever since the end of last academic year."

Dumbledore tapped lightly on the large hole pierced by Sherlock's Gryffindor sword with his fingertips, his eyes deepening:

"In fact, when I met Tom Riddle with you in the secret room, I already had a guess."

“I could tell, but you weren’t sure then. I thought you would find the answer at the beginning of this school year.”

"That was originally the case, but unfortunately it was interrupted by Sirius's prison break."

Dumbledore shrugged regretfully, but quickly smiled again. "But now I finally have the opportunity to share my speculation with you."

Upon hearing Dumbledore's words, Sherlock's eyes lit up, and he unconsciously leaned forward slightly.

Are we finally getting to the main topic?
"I think I've found the secret to why Voldemort didn't die after attacking Harry."

Dumbledore's opening remarks were always a critical hit.

As soon as he finished speaking, Sherlock caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye that the portraits of all the past principals on the office wall had somehow come to life.

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus is shown with a furrowed brow, leaning closer to listen. A fat wizard with a red nose even hastily pulls out a hearing aid from the corner of the frame and carefully inserts it into his ear.

Sherlock calmly withdrew his gaze.

He knew perfectly well that Dumbledore had also noticed this, but since the headmaster himself hadn't asked the portraits to temporarily step aside as he had done before, he naturally didn't want to meddle.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I really would have found it hard to imagine."

Dumbledore stared at the tattered diary, his voice filled with disbelief and astonishment:
"How could a mere memory possess its own actions and thoughts?"

Is it possible to control others through a diary using only a single memory?
How could a mere memory absorb the life force of Gilderoy, who possessed it?

Especially after hearing Riddle's words, I became even more convinced of this—that there was something far more evil than memories in this diary, a soul.

He paused, his brow furrowed, "But once this inference is made, more problems arise."

What interests me most, and what shocks me most, is that this diary was once used as both a protective shield and a weapon.

"Sir, you might as well put it more clearly."

"This diary serves as a container for the soul."

Dumbledore said solemnly:
"In other words, what Tom Riddle hid inside was not a memory, but... a soul."

Sherlock smiled.

That's the topic for tonight.

Dumbledore could only continue:

"This container may have helped its owner avoid death."

On the other hand, Riddell undoubtedly hoped that someone would read the diary.

That way, his soul could possess someone else in order to re-release the monster from Slytherin.

In fact, as you know, he had already succeeded—but you stopped him at the last moment.

"hehe."

Sherlock let out a cold laugh, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery:
"Oh? Compared to that brainless idiot who stabbed someone on the back of the head in first grade, sixteen-year-old Mr. Tom Riddle is indeed more cunning."

Sherlock let out a cold laugh, his eyes filled with undisguised mockery:
"But beneath that pathetic Slytherin heir's skin, isn't he still a fake trying desperately to disguise his Muggle bloodline?"
As a Mudblood whom he despises, he desperately wants to gain the title of Slytherin's successor—the more he lacks something, the more he wants to flaunt it.

No wonder they stored fragments of their souls in that tattered notebook—the cheapness and fear in their bones perfectly complemented the shabby state of the container.

“Sherlock, your assessment is still so insightful.” Dumbledore shook his head helplessly, but couldn’t help but smile slightly.

"Just telling the truth, but I'm quite interested to know which of his statements made you even more certain of your hypothesis?"

“Sherlock, you’ve found the blind spot.” Dumbledore blinked, his tone slightly mischievous.

Sherlock: (ー`ー)
Someone actually said that to him? This is utterly outrageous!

Dumbledore, noticing Sherlock's furrowed brow, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes, then said seriously:
He told me then, 'Nothing is worse than death.'

My answer to him was, 'There are many things worse than death.'

But then he added, 'Even now, I am not completely dead.'

At the time, I didn't understand the meaning of that sentence, but now, looking back, I realize he was referring to this very diary.

That is to say—a Horcrux.

Soul! Vessel!
When those two words came out of Dumbledore's mouth, Sherlock's eyes lit up instantly, as if stars had suddenly lit up within them.

This is the real blind spot!
(End of this chapter)