Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 451 Saying no with the mouth, but the body says yes

From the moment Severus Snape came to Dumbledore, his stance never changed.

Even after Lily was killed by Voldemort, Snape, who was once immersed in grief, was roused again by a single sentence from Dumbledore.

That line was, "Your mission is not over yet. She left behind her son Harry, whom she protected with her life. His eyes are exactly like Lily's."

After Snape confirmed it with his own eyes, he began to protect Harry—the person Lily was willing to give her life for.

until today.

From this perspective, Snape's love for Lily was genuine.

Of course, it is an undeniable fact that Snape's initial revelation of the prophecy to Voldemort led to the deaths of James and Lily.

So it's perfectly normal for Harry to be torn between his rational judgment and his emotional turmoil, whether he chooses to forgive Snape or not.

As for the attitude towards Peter Pettigrew, it's much simpler.

Harry couldn't understand why someone like that would be sorted into Gryffindor.

Based on what we know so far, he has never shown the slightest bit of courage.

He was like a piece of rotten wood hollowed out by the darkness brought by Voldemort, a complete traitor who had no right to be compared with Snape and deserved to have his soul devoured.

Harry felt no pity for such a person.

The traitors are often more hated than the Japanese, and there's no point in arguing about it.

"That's right, it's Peter!"

Even though a long time had passed, Sirius Black still clenched his fists and his eyes blazed with fury when he heard Harry mention that name:

"Now that I think about it, the McKinnons' affair must have something to do with him!"
He had already begun providing intelligence to Voldemort at that time!
Dumbledore had always suspected that someone close to James was providing information to Voldemort, but we never imagined it would be him!
Poor Lily thought he was feeling down and even comforted him—that jerk!

He looked exactly like Hagrid at that moment.

When Sirius was misunderstood by the entire wizarding world, Hagrid spoke of Sirius in the same tone:
"Do you know what I did? I even comforted that murderous traitor!"

It's truly a case of "three years the water flows east, three years the water flows west."

"It's in the past."

Harry patted Sirius on the shoulder; he now knew how to comfort someone in this situation.
“Little Pettigrew got what he deserved, and we have avenged them.”

"Yes...it's all in the past."

Sirius let out a long sigh, his gaze falling on Harry's face with a mixture of dazedness and tenderness, as if his old friend had returned to his side. "Harry, you really do look exactly like your father..."

“Except for my eyes, my eyes are like my mother’s,” Harry added.

Sherlock and Sirius laughed when they heard his words.

The room was instantly filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

In addition to the letter and photograph, Sherlock made another suggestion.

Sirius Black should hand over the charge of accusing Kreacher, the Black family's house-elf, to Harry.

This was a piece of cake for Sirius.

"Kreacher no, Kreacher no, Kreacher no!"

However, when Sirius announced this, Kreacher stomped his long, wrinkled feet, grabbed his big ears, and shouted:

“Kreacher belongs to that wretched young master, Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, Kreacher belongs to Miss Narcissa!”

He suddenly stopped screaming, a glint of fanaticism flashing in his cloudy eyes:
"Oh, that's right! Kreacher belongs to the Black family!"
Kreacher doesn't want to go with that Potter kid!
Kreacher, no, no, no—"

"interesting."

Sherlock raised his voice slightly, drowning out Kreacher's incessant cries of "No, no, no!"

He looked Kreacher up and down with great interest: "It seems it's not too keen on having Harry own it."

Harry hesitated, looking at Kreacher's desperate resistance. He scratched his head and muttered to himself:

"Maybe we should just forget about it? Actually, I didn't really want it that much..."

"Hmph, that's not up to it."

Sirius's eyes sharpened instantly as he stared at Kreacher and said, word by word:

"Kreacher, from this moment on, you must obey all of Harry Potter's orders without question and must not disobey."

As soon as those words were spoken, Kreacher's scream stopped abruptly, as if an invisible hand had choked him.

Its body froze in place, its eyes wide open.

A few seconds later, he turned around abruptly, bowed deeply to Harry, and his voice was as hoarse as a rusty door hinge:

“Master, your loyal Kreacher obeys your command.”

Harry looked at Kreacher's expression and couldn't help but think to himself, "Your attitude changed a little too quickly..."

Before he could process this change, Kreacher straightened up, his face returning to its venomous expression, and muttered to himself:

"Although Kreacher was very reluctant to listen to Potter, he served the noble Black family for the rest of his life."

After returning from Azkaban, the young master started bossing Kreacher around.

I heard he's a murderer, but Kreacher still has to suppress his disgust and obey his orders..."

Harry: "..."

To retract my previous statement, it remains the same; it hasn't changed its attitude at all!

“Kreacher, Harry is my godson, and he's also a member of the Black family!”

Sirius frowned upon hearing this and raised his voice to shout.

“Kreacher understands. I will be as loyal to Master Potter as I am to the ungrateful young master who is not even fit to shine the lady’s shoes.”

Kreacher said, his head drooping.

Harry: (ー`ー)
For a fleeting moment, Harry really wanted to wave his hand and refuse to accept this hypocritical house-elf.

But he knew in his heart that Sherlock must have had his reasons for making such an arrangement, so he reluctantly accepted it.

House-elves are bound by magical bonds, which act as the strongest contract, dictating that they must unconditionally obey their master's commands.

Sirius Black, as the last heir of the Black family, is Kreacher's legal master and has absolute authority over him.

So when he uttered those words, no matter how much Kreacher resisted in his heart, the ancient magic would force him to do it.

Harry tried giving Kreacher a small order—to go to the kitchen and get a piece of bread.

The results are quite interesting:
Kreacher muttered, "Potter just knows how to boss Kreacher around," but immediately turned and rushed to the kitchen, returning shortly with a silver platter of whole-wheat bread.

They say no, but their actions tell a different story.

This means that the contract has been reached.

Unless Sirius Black himself rescinds this command, Kreacher will always have to obey Harry.

However, Sirius would certainly not do that.

So, with Sirius neglecting Kreacher, Harry effectively became the master of the house-elf Kreacher.

"That's a great idea! Why didn't I think of that before?"

Sirius Black watched this scene and clapped his hands in satisfaction.

He hesitated for a moment, a sly glint in his eyes, and then said:
"Since it's already like this, why not leave them to you as well?" "Them?"

Harry looked confused, his brows furrowing slightly.

Sherlock laughed, "This kid is teachable!"

Sirius, seeing Harry's confused look, smiled and explained:
"The Black family tradition is that the house in Grimmauld Place is passed down through generations to the next male with the surname Black."

It has been enchanted to ensure that no one other than a person of pure blood can possess it.

He paused, a hint of teasing in his tone:
“I am already the last heir in the Black family. If anything happens to me…”

“Hey, don’t say that!” Harry interrupted him immediately, his face full of opposition.

"Harry, I was just using an analogy, don't get so worked up!"

Sirius patted him on the shoulder and continued:
“If anything happens to me and I do not leave a will, then ownership of this house—including Kreacher's—will belong to the oldest living member of the Black family.”

That is, my cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Is this the one Kreacher just mentioned?" Sherlock interjected.

"Yes, it's her."

Sirius's face instantly contorted with disgust, as if even mentioning his name tainted his mouth:

"Although I don't like this house that has trapped me for a long time, I would rather leave this house and Kreacher to her—even though she is still in Azkaban now."

So I've decided to give all of this to you right now, Harry.

Harry was stunned when Sirius looked at him; he realized Sirius wasn't joking, he was serious.

"what?"

After a few seconds of stunned silence, he still couldn't react and uttered the same questioning sound again:

"what?"

"What are you laughing at? This is not something to discuss. Just listen to my arrangements."

"But I think..."

"I don't want you to think, I want me to think."

Sirius Black forcefully stopped Harry from continuing to express his opinion, and immediately began to dominate the discussion.

Harry: "..."

Because number 12 Grimmauld Place is enchanted by an ancient spell, it cannot be directly transferred to Harry.

But this didn't stump Sirius. He immediately made a will stating that all his property would be inherited by Harry Potter after his death.

As for Bellatrix and Narcissa?

Sorry, go play with your eggs somewhere else!

And so, Harry, who already had a considerable amount of savings in Gringotts, received an additional large sum of gold in his account.

Harry was somewhat helpless about this: "There's absolutely no need for this..."

However, Sirius Black was unusually stubborn on this matter:
“Listen to me, Harry. I don’t care what you think, you have to do what I say.”

"..."

In the end, Harry had no choice but to accept reality.

When Sherlock and Harry were alone together, he keenly sensed that his good friend was troubled.

It was obvious to him—Harry's fingers were unconsciously rubbing his cuffs, his eyes darting around.

Harry had nothing to hide from Sherlock, and he immediately said:
"During Professor Trelawney's first divination class, Ron and I did each other's divinations using tea leaves, and he said I would have a windfall..."

"what!"

Sherlock chuckled upon hearing this, raising an eyebrow. "My dear Harry, are you starting to believe in fortune-telling now?"

“No, no…” Harry shook his head, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I just happened to remember this.”

“Brother, although this is a magical world, you don’t need to take that prophecy too seriously.”

Sherlock's tone turned serious. He looked into Harry's green eyes and slowly said:

Simply put, if Snape hadn't told Voldemort about the prophecy, Voldemort wouldn't have known about it.

If we don't know about this prophecy, it won't come true and will lose its meaning.

In other words, the more he tried to prevent the prophecy from coming true, the more he pushed it towards becoming a reality.

He paused, then continued his analysis:
"He insisted on following Professor Trelawney's prophecy to find a boy born at the end of July, and he chose you over Neville."

In other words, he chose his own enemy.

Sherlock looked at Harry and said slowly, "If you hadn't heard this prophecy, would your attitude towards Voldemort have changed?"

Harry lowered his head, lost in thought.

He thought of his parents' gravestones, Sirius Black's twelve years in Azkaban, Hagrid's injustice in being framed, and Myrtle's cold corpse...

Finally, he raised his head, his eyes resolute, and shook his head:

"No, he's a big bad guy, I'd rather die than let him get away with this."

Sherlock smiled.

A simple and unpretentious worldview—that's Harry.

"So, a prophecy is just a prophecy; it doesn't tell you what you have to do."

You have the right to choose your own path, and the right to ignore that prophecy.

Unfortunately, Voldemort couldn't forget it.

Sherlock's tone carried a hint of sarcasm:
“I’d bet you a Galon that if he returns as the second prophecy foretold, he’ll definitely keep hunting you down.”

Voldemort chose you over Neville; it was a coincidence.

But the series of actions that followed your choice became inevitable.

Sherlock looked at Harry, his grey eyes unusually bright: "Harry, you don't want to be killed by someone like Voldemort, do you?"

This time, Harry finally understood what Sherlock meant.

Necessity is the inevitability within chance, and chance is the chance with necessity.

He and Voldemort will eventually kill each other, which leads to the outcome of the prophecy.

In other words, being dragged into the arena to face a life-or-death struggle is different from walking in with your head held high.

Of course, in terms of results, there is not much difference between the two.

However, both Sherlock and Harry knew at this point that there was a fundamental difference between the two.

Harry is over it.

I'm not afraid of anything as long as I'm with Sherlock!
Having put this heavy topic behind him, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to ask about something else that interested him:

"Sherlock, why are you making Kreacher obey my orders?"

(End of this chapter)