Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 595 Pain

Harry frowned at Ron, his brows furrowing into a small knot.

He felt there was something odd about what Ron had said.

It carries a hint of coquetry, yet it also seems like a deliberate attempt to use the experience of being used as a target for moral blackmail.

But he was kind by nature, and seeing Ron speak so earnestly, his eyes full of pleading.

As a result, the last bit of hesitation in her heart was instantly replaced by guilt, and she was too embarrassed to say no.

Finally, he sighed helplessly, abandoned his idea of ​​going to the arithmetic and divination class with Sherlock and Hermione, and slowly nodded:

"Okay, I'll go with you to the divination class."

Hermione, seeing that Harry had already made his decision, didn't try to persuade him any further.

After all, this wasn't the first or second time Harry had been coerced into compromising by Ron using various excuses.

However, the thought of going to her favorite arithmetic and divination class with Sherlock alone made her eyes light up instantly, and the corners of her mouth unconsciously turned up slightly.

"See you at dinner!"

Hermione grabbed Sherlock's wrist and turned to walk towards the arithmetic and divination classroom.

Her steps were much lighter than usual, and her long robe swayed gently with her movements, as if carrying a joyful rhythm.

The dazzling golden sunlight streamed through the high windows on both sides of the corridor, casting wide bands of light onto the stone floor.

Tiny dust particles floating in the air danced gently in the sunlight, like enchanted little elves.

The blue sky outside the window was as clear as a freshly glazed sapphire, without a single cloud.

Occasionally, a few owls would spread their broad wings and fly across the sky, leaving a faint black shadow before quickly disappearing behind the distant tower.

Harry and Ron walked slowly toward the North Building, their steps dragging as if they were going to an unwilling date.

Why does Hermione seem so happy?

Ron watched Hermione and Sherlock's retreating figures, scratched his messy red hair, and looked puzzled.

Harry gave him a disgruntled look: "She's gloating because I went to your divination class with you."

"Don't do that, Old Ha."

Ron immediately put on a grinning face and put his arm around Harry's shoulder:

"Good brother, loyal to the end!"

"Next weekend when we go to Hogsmeade, how about I treat you to Honeydukes?"

Harry sighed again, shook his head helplessly, and thought to himself:

I really can't get rid of this soft-hearted habit of mine.

Even though she knew that divination classes were boring and depressing, she was still persuaded by Ron.

He sighed softly again before speaking:
"Actually, there's another reason why I don't like taking divination classes."

"what reason?"

The two of them had already climbed the stairs leading to the silver staircase and the trapdoor, the wooden stairs creaking softly under their feet.

Ron asked curiously, his eyes full of doubt, while holding onto the handrail.

"Trillauni's classroom is always as hot as a steamer, and she never turns off the stove—even though it's almost June now."

Harry frowned as he spoke, as if he could already sense the stuffiness in the classroom.

As it turned out, Harry was right.

Even though it was almost June, the dimly lit divination room on the top floor of the North Building was still unbearably hot.

The air was thick with the smell of incense, mixed with the odor of old fabric and dust, and it was more pungent than usual.

Harry didn't know how Ron and the other students felt, but as soon as the smell entered his nose, it made him feel dizzy, his temples throbbed, and he wished he could turn around and leave immediately.

He looked around and saw Professor Trelawney busy tidying up the tasseled shawl hanging on the lamp. He quickly walked to a window with heavy velvet curtains drawn.

Then, taking advantage of Professor Trelawney's turn away, he quickly stretched out his finger and gently opened the window a crack.

A cool breeze immediately swept in, brushing against his cheek and instantly making him more alert.

By the time Professor Trelawney finished adjusting his shawl and turned back, Harry was already sitting upright in the Indian-printed armchair, his back ramrod straight, looking very proper.

Just then, a gentle breeze slipped in through the crack in the window and brushed against his face.

The scent of grass outside the window made Harry feel alive again. His tense shoulders gradually relaxed, and a slight smile unconsciously appeared on his lips.

This cool feeling is absolutely wonderful.

“My dear children, we meet again.”

Professor Trelawney sat in her winged armchair, her unusually large, misty eyes slowly scanning the students in the classroom.

Her voice carried its usual mysterious tone:

"We've almost finished talking about planetary divination."

But today is a great time to study the effects of Mars—because it is currently in a very interesting position—so I've decided to explain it to you in more detail.

Now, please look this way, I'm going to turn off the lights..."

As she spoke, she gently waved her wand, and all the lights in the classroom went out instantly, leaving only the flickering flame in the fireplace in the corner.

The sole source of light cast long shadows on the mottled walls, casting each person's shadow long.

Professor Trelawney slowly bent down and took out a small model of the solar system from under the chair, which was housed in a round glass dome.

The burning sun radiates an orange-red light, while the nine planets and their satellites float in a glass dome, slowly rotating in their respective orbits.

The surface texture is clearly visible, shimmering with a subtle light.

Judging from its appearance alone, this model is very exquisite.

Seeing this thing, Harry couldn't help but think of the exquisite galaxy model that Sherlock and Hermione had bought together from Diagon Alley.

That model is more sophisticated than Professor Billilowney's; it can even simulate the rotation and revolution of a planet.

And that thing helped Sherlock a lot.

After he got it, Sherlock rarely went to astronomy class anymore—of course, all of this was based on the premise that he had always been very good at astronomy.

Next, Professor Trelawney began to explain in detail the peculiar angle between Mars and Neptune, and the significant impact of this angle on human destiny.

The rich incense wafted towards Harry again, mixed with the smell of burning charcoal in the fireplace. Combined with the dim environment of the classroom, it made him feel drowsy.

The gentle breeze coming through the window still caressed his cheeks, bringing a touch of coolness.

Harry leaned back lazily in his chair, watching Professor Trelawney's face, which was distorted by the firelight, and listening to the faint chirping of an unknown insect behind the curtains. His eyelids felt as if they were filled with lead, and they gradually drooped down... In a daze, he felt as if he had suddenly ridden on a flying broomstick—his most beloved Firebolt.

The fire bolts were as fast as ever, the wind whistling in their ears as they flew at great speed through the bright blue sky, the clouds below drifting by like cotton candy.

Harry was in a great mood and couldn't help but open his arms to feel the embrace of the wind.

They kept flying and flying until a house that looked old but was very imposing came into view.

The breeze continued to caress his face, and he felt himself flying lower and lower as the speed of the fire bolts gradually decreased.

Finally, it flew in through a dark, broken window on the top floor, with shards of glass glittering all around.

Now, he continued flying along the corridor on his fire crossbow.

The corridor was endlessly dark, with an exquisite wooden door at the end.

He flew into the room and found that although the room was large, it was also very dark.

That's because all the windows were boarded up, so not a single ray of light could get in.

Just then, Harry was surprised to find that he was no longer on the Firebolt—the Firebolt had vanished into thin air.

He stood on the cold floor, where all he could see was a high-backed chair with its back to him, covered with a dark velvet cloth.

Beside the chair, a large, emerald-green snake with shimmering scales was coiled up.

The snake looked somewhat familiar, which made him feel inexplicably uneasy.

“We’re very lucky, Mr. Riddle.”

A somewhat familiar voice came through, hoarse yet tinged with excitement.

"Your servant has done a good job; the third project is about to begin."

Harry looked in the direction of the sound and saw a thin, plain-looking man walk in through the door.

He was wearing a black robe and dark brown leather gloves.

"Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Smith."

A cold, sharp, and piercing voice came from inside the chair, a sound like fingernails scraping against glass, sending chills down one's spine:
“It seems my servant has done a good job; I hope he will continue to be loyal.”

“His abilities are indeed reliable; at least so far, there haven’t been any major mishaps, which is beneficial to our plans,” Smith said calmly as he walked to the chair.

"Nagini."

That cold voice rang out again, carrying an unquestionable command:

"Be quiet, it won't be long before you're put to good use."

The large snake hissed and raised its head slightly.

Harry could clearly see its forked tongue flicking rapidly, and its yellow eyes filled with icy killing intent.

"Now we just need to wait."

Smith walked to the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding darkness, his tone carrying a hint of cautious confirmation:

"Are you sure that spell can give you back your physical body? The previous attempts haven't yielded ideal results."

“I’m quite sure, Mr. Smith.”

The tip of a wand slowly emerged from beside the chair. The wand looked old and rough, and the tip swayed back and forth.

The cold voice spoke each word deliberately, each syllable carrying a chilling edge:
"I am Voldemort, the all-powerful Dark Lord! Nothing can stop me!"

"I naturally believe in your abilities, after all, that is the basis of our cooperation."

Smith's voice was hesitant: "However, your servant seems to be somewhat wary of that student named Holmes?"
When I mentioned this name during the last report, his reaction was noticeably hesitant.

Sherlock!
Harry was immediately startled.

Oh no! Sherlock has been targeted by Voldemort!

"Sherlock Holmes!"

The cold voice suddenly screamed, as if a sore spot had been hit, its tone filled with resentment and anger: "Heart-piercing and bone-scraping!"

A blinding red light shot out from the tip of the wand, piercing through the air like a venomous snake, and struck the wall heavily, leaving a black mark.

Although he didn't hit anything, the scar on Harry's forehead suddenly felt like it was on fire.

The pain was more intense than ever before, as if a sharp knife was ripping at his skin.

"what!"

He couldn't help but shout it out, and the sound echoed in the empty room.

broken!

Voldemort will hear you!
He'll find himself here!
Fear overwhelmed Harry like a tidal wave. He tried to run, but found his body completely immobile, and could only watch helplessly as the chair slowly turned around—

"Harry! Harry!"

"Wake up, Harry! What's wrong?"

A familiar voice exploded in my ears, filled with unprecedented anxiety, like a hammer shattering the illusion.

Harry opened his eyes abruptly, his chest heaving violently.

He felt a burning pain with every breath he took, and his forehead was covered in a thick layer of cold sweat that trickled down his temples, soaking his hair.

The school uniform robe on the back clung tightly to the skin as if it had been soaked in water, feeling icy cold.

He then realized that he had fallen off the armchair at some point and was lying on the cold classroom floor, his hands tightly covering his face.

He could still feel warm liquid between his fingers—tears, tears forced out by the excruciating pain of the scars, sliding down his fingers and dripping onto the floor, spreading out small damp patches.

The scar on my forehead still burned intensely, the pain feeling like a flame burning and spreading under my skin, more intense than ever before.

His temples throbbed, each throb pulling at his nerves, causing him to let out a soft groan.

Harry now deeply suspects that Voldemort's Crucifixion Curse may have struck him through a dream.

Otherwise, how could it hurt so much?

He took several deep breaths—a method Sherlock had taught him to help ease tension—before he could see his surroundings clearly.

The whole class gathered around him, forming a small circle.

Lavender Brown and Pavati Petit stood on the outermost layer, their faces filled with panic and worry, whispering to each other.

Professor Trelawney stood not far away, his large, misty eyes filled with complex emotions—a mixture of tension and…excitement.
Ron knelt down beside him, his knees pressed against the cold floor, looking terrified.

Harry thought to himself, watching Ron's flustered state. He was probably starting to regret it.

(End of this chapter)