Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 600 You already have a way to die

“I know you really like the pastries I make, Tom.”

Mrs. Hepzba picked up a piece of cream cake and handed it to Voldemort, her tone full of concern, the gold bracelet on her wrist clinking crisply with the movement.

"But you look a little pale today. Is the shop working too hard on you?"

Seeing Voldemort shake his head, she said, as if to take credit:
“I’ve told Mr. Burke a hundred times already, you can’t exploit young people like this…”

Forget about these unpleasant things. What's your excuse for coming to see me this time?
Surely it wasn't just to send me flowers?

"It's about that armor made by the fairy, madam."

Voldemort sat down in the chair opposite her, leaning slightly forward, his posture respectful and focused, his eyes filled with attentive listening.
"Mr. Burke wants to offer a higher price, five hundred Galleons."

He felt the price was fair and hoped to persuade you to sell the armor at the store.

"Oh dear, oh dear, don't be in such a hurry!"

Hepzba pouted and waved his hand dismissively, his chest fat jiggling slightly with the movement.

"Otherwise, I would think that you only came for my precious toy and didn't really come to see this old lady."

"Madam is joking."

Voldemort lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath his eyelids, cleverly concealing the fleeting impatience in his eyes. His tone remained as gentle as lukewarm water:
"I'm just a lowly shop assistant, and I can only follow Mr. Burke's orders."

He specifically instructed me to discuss this matter thoroughly with you—”

"Oh, Mr. Burke, ptooey!"

Hepzba suddenly interrupted him sharply, his face full of disdain, as if mentioning the name would sully his mouth.

"Don't mention that profit-driven guy to me!"

"I have something to show you, a treasure that even your Mr. Burke has never seen before!"

She suddenly lowered her voice, leaned forward slightly, and her eyes held a blatant air of smugness:

"Can you keep this a secret, Tom?"
Can you guarantee you won't tell Mr. Burke that I have this?
If he knew I had shown it to you, he would definitely bother me every day and never let me have a moment's peace.

I'm not selling this. I won't sell it to Blogger, and I won't sell it to anyone!

But you're different, Tom. You understand history and appreciate its value, instead of just thinking about how many Galleons you can make.

Hearing Hepzba's words, Sherlock's eyes lit up instantly.

He already knew what the noblewoman was about to demonstrate, which was precisely why Dumbledore had sought her out today.

The same applies to Voldemort in Hao Qi's memory, who is a house-elf.

Upon hearing Hepziba's words, he leaned forward slightly, his posture filled with even greater anticipation.

"It is my honor to be able to appreciate your collection."

It is my bounden duty to keep this a secret for you, Madam.

His tone was perfectly balanced, conveying both curiosity about the treasure and respect for its owner, which, combined with his handsome face, made him appear exceptionally sincere.

"I already told Hao Qi to take the things out... Hao Qi, where are you?"

Voldemort's performance was outstanding, maximizing his emotional impact.

This prompted Hepzba to raise his voice and shout, "Come here quickly, I want Mr. Riddle to see our best treasure..."

"Let's just bring both of them, so he can see them all at once!"

"Two things!"

Upon hearing this, Harry couldn't help but gasp softly.

But she immediately covered her mouth with her hand, afraid that her voice would disturb this precious memory—even though she knew that even if she shouted, it wouldn't make a difference.

"Madam, I'm here."

Hao Qi's voice came from the corner of the wall. She was carrying two dark brown leather boxes stacked together and walked over quickly with small, quick steps.

Because it was so short and hidden by tall plants, it had gone unnoticed before.

The box has a delicate, subtle pattern on its leather surface and is inlaid with polished brass trim along the edges, making it look very valuable.

Hepzba happily took the box, carefully placed it on his lap, gently patted the lid, and then looked at Voldemort.

"Tom, I think you'll like it..."

Oh, if my greedy relatives knew I had these treasures, they'd definitely come running to snatch them from me!

As she spoke, she carefully opened the lid of the box on top with her chubby fingers.

Dumbledore stood still, calmly observing everything.

His face remained expressionless, for he already knew everything that was to come.

Sherlock and Harry both leaned forward, staring curiously at the contents of the box.

Inside the box was a soft, dark blue satin lining, with a small gold cup placed in the center.

The cup is made of pure gold, with a warm and delicate luster. There is an exquisite handle on each side, with delicate patterns engraved on the handle.

The lines are smooth and lifelike.

"Do you know what this is, Tom?"

Hepzba's tone was full of smugness, like a student waiting for praise; she raised her chin:
"Pick it up and take a good look at it, feel its texture. This is a real antique."

Voldemort readily complied, extending his long, pale fingers to gently pinch one of the handles and lift the golden cup from the satin cushion.

The instant his fingertips touched the golden cup, Sherlock keenly noticed a faint red light flash in Voldemort's eyes.

Sherlock was all too familiar with that look; he had seen it in the eyes of many greedy criminals.

It was a gleam that mixed with extreme greed, intense desire, and an inescapable possessiveness.

Like a venomous snake spotting its prey, it blends two completely opposite gazes: cold and burning.

Unfortunately, Hepzigba was currently basking in the joy of being admired by a young and handsome man.

Her small eyes were fixed on Voldemort's face, her gaze filled with infatuation.

They were completely unaware of the strange look that flashed in his eyes, and even less aware of the darkness lurking beneath his gentle exterior.

"badger."

Voldemort carefully examined the carvings on the cup and slowly began to speak.

His voice trembled slightly, barely perceptible, clearly indicating that he could no longer contain his excitement:
"This is... Helga Hedgehog's Golden Cup?"

"That's right! My clever child!"

Hepzba still didn't notice anything unusual about Voldemort. She clapped her hands excitedly, her thick palms making a dull thud.

The next moment, she even leaned over and pinched Voldemort's sunken cheek with her chubby fingers.

The young Voldemort seemed oblivious to the old woman's groping behavior, continuing to stare intently at the cup in his hand. Hepzba, on the other hand, spoke with undisguised admiration, launching into a long, rambling monologue:
Didn't I tell you?

I am a distant descendant of Helga Hechpach!
This thing has been passed down in my family for many, many years; it's a genuine antique.

It's beautiful, isn't it?
It is said to possess all sorts of magical powers, but I have never really tried them; I just keep it carefully in its box.

I only take it out to admire it occasionally, for fear of accidentally breaking it.

You should know, none of my descendants have ever seen this…

As she spoke, she took the golden cup back from Voldemort's hand.

But she didn't notice the cold shadow that flashed across Voldemort's face when she took the golden cup back from him.

That was the displeasure and forbearance after possessiveness was forcibly interrupted, like the calm before a storm.

Hepzba was completely unaware of Voldemort's unusual behavior. She carefully and gently placed the cup back into the groove of the satin padding.

Next, she lowered her voice again and said mysteriously:
"Tom, I think you'll like this one even more."

Come closer, my dear child, look carefully, and don't blink.

Of course, Bock knows I have this—because I originally bought it from him.

I dare say, after I die, he'll definitely want to take it back and resell it to someone else for a dirty profit.

As she spoke, she used her fingers to unscrew the delicate gold clasp on the second box and slowly opened the lid.

The inside of the box was also lined with velvet, but this time it was deep red, making the items inside appear even more luxurious.

On the cushion lay a heavy little gold pendant box, its surface engraved with intricate scrollwork patterns, and inlaid in the center a dark gemstone that gleamed with a dim luster under the light, exuding a mysterious and ancient aura.

This time, Voldemort didn't wait for Hepzba's invitation and eagerly reached out to pick up the small locket.

He held it up to the light to examine it closely, his fingers gently stroking the patterns on it, his eyes almost overflowing with fascination.

When he saw the ornate serpentine "S" mark on the surface of the locket, his breath hitched, his Adam's apple bobbed, and he said softly:

"This is the Slytherin mark."

"That's right! You're so smart!"

Seeing Voldemort staring intently at the little golden box, Hepzigba's face was full of smiles, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were squeezed together, and his tone was full of smugness.

"I paid a high price for this!"

However, I can't miss out on something so precious; I must add it to my collection.

Bock said he bought it from a poor woman.

The woman probably stole it and had no idea of ​​its true value, so Bock got it for very little money—”

Voldemort was clearly more agitated by Slytherin's belongings than when he saw Hufflepuff's cup.

A strange red light gradually flickered in his eyes, growing brighter and brighter until it almost consumed his reason.

The fingers gripping the small gold box chain were so tight that the knuckles turned white, the skin at the knuckles was taut, and the fingertips were bluish-white from the force, as if the small gold box was about to be crushed.

"I dare say, Burke definitely didn't pay that woman much."

Hepzba was still rambling on, completely oblivious to Voldemort's unusual behavior, immersed in the joy of his collection being recognized:
"But look at this little gold box, isn't it beautiful?"
It's said to possess all sorts of magical powers, though I've only kept it safe and haven't dared to use it casually..."

As she spoke, she reached out to take the locket back, intending to put it away.

Seeing her action, Sherlock couldn't help but sigh deeply, his eyes filled with helplessness.

She hadn't considered the principle of not flaunting her wealth at all.

Not only that, but he also interrupted Voldemort twice when he was engrossed in the allure of the treasure.

For Voldemort, whose greed was beyond measure, this foolish and arrogant woman was clearly a death sentence.

"Okay, Tom, darling, I hope you like it!"

Hepzba said this, and without saying a word, snatched Slytherin's locket from Voldemort's hand.

This time, even Harry noticed Voldemort's unusual behavior.

For a moment, Harry even thought that Voldemort wouldn't let go and would suddenly unleash his power.

His fingers gripped the chain of the locket tightly, his knuckles turning even paler from the force.

However, he ultimately did not do that; reason prevailed over impulse.

The locket slipped from his fingers with a soft thud and landed on the red velvet cushion.

However, Hepziba, who had been grinning foolishly, suddenly changed his expression.

When faced with Slytherin's locket, Voldemort ultimately failed to fully control his emotions, and she happened to catch the fleeting red light in his eyes.

Are you alright, darling?

Hepzigba asked cautiously, his tone carrying a hint of barely perceptible panic, his earlier excitement largely dissipated.

"fine."

Voldemort's voice remained calm, though slightly hoarse.

He raised his head, a gentle smile returning to his face, as if the strangeness from before had been merely an illusion:
"It's okay, I'm fine, I've never felt this good..."

"I thought—uh, maybe it was the light—"

Hepzba appeared flustered, his eyes darting around, and he dared not meet Voldemort's gaze again.

The boy, who was originally well-behaved and cute, had such a stark contrast, and it seemed as if her intelligence had regained its dominance.

So she immediately turned her head and shouted towards the corner of the wall:

"Come on, Hao Qi, take them away and lock them up again... Use the old magic, make sure they're locked up properly!"

"Sherlock, Harry, I think we should go."

As the elf carried the box and wobbled toward the storeroom, Dumbledore spoke as he reached out and grabbed Sherlock and Harry's arms.

Clearly, this memory is coming to an end.

The next second, the three of them passed through the void and slowly rose back to the principal's office, the scene in their memories receding like the tide.

When did Mrs. Smith die?

Once the three of them were seated back in their chairs, Sherlock asked without hesitation.

Harry immediately looked at Sherlock in surprise, his face full of shock.

Before he could fully recover from the memory, Sherlock had already gotten straight to the crucial question.

This leap in thought left him momentarily speechless.

The true nature of the issue surprised him greatly.

How could Sherlock be so sure that Hepzba Smith was dead?
(End of this chapter)