Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 623 Old Fu vs. Old Fu (Bonus chapter for the Alliance Leader's Whispering Poems)
"Be bold!"

When Sherlock opened his mouth to mock, someone behind Voldemort couldn't help but shout out:

"What are you, daring to speak to the Lord... Ah—!"

Before he could finish speaking, Voldemort, without even turning his head, swung his wand backward:
"Heart-breaking and bone-cutting!"

A beam of red light shot out from the tip of his wand, striking precisely the man in the crowd who had just berated Sherlock.

As expected, after being hit by the Cruciatus Curse, he immediately curled up into a ball and rolled to the ground.

As the Dark Lord, Voldemort's Unforgivable Curse, cast by his own hand, was naturally extremely effective.

The person who was hit rolled around, howled, and begged for mercy...

"Master, Master..."

Judging from the commotion he caused, it was much bigger than what Harry had just done.

However, Voldemort did not turn his head even when faced with such a heartfelt pleas for mercy.

Instead, a cruel, smug look appeared on his face:

"Who gave you the courage to speak?"

"Master, Master...please...please..."

"Who gave you the right to interrupt me while I was talking to my distinguished guest?"

"Master, please..."

"You still have the strength to shout, the strength to beg for mercy?"

"..."

"Yes, you are all healthy and your magic is as strong as ever."

But I couldn't help asking myself, why don't these wizards come to help their master, to help those they've sworn to serve forever?

Those behind Voldemort were initially relieved.

Because several people wanted to stand up and denounce Sherlock, just like the person being tortured by Voldemort.

The purpose, of course, was to flatter the Dark Lord.

After all, for an underage wizard to say that Voldemort is ugly is a perfect opportunity to express his loyalty.

Unfortunately, he beat him to it.

Unexpectedly, this person's flattery backfired spectacularly.

What was even more unexpected was that Voldemort now seemed to be no longer satisfied with this.

He started to escalate the matter.

At that moment, they all fell silent, trembling with fear.

However, Sherlock noticed that one person in the crowd behaved differently from them.

As the saying goes, when things go wrong, there must be a monster.

Sherlock immediately focused his attention on him.

Only the man who had just berated Sherlock was writhing and screaming in agony on the ground.

Voldemort still didn't turn around, muttering to himself:

"I told myself that they must believe I was no good, that I was finished."

They slipped back into my enemies' midst, claiming they were innocent, unaware, and bewitched;

I asked myself again, why do they believe I won't make a comeback?

Didn't they know that I had taken measures to prevent death a long time ago?
Didn't they witness me prove my boundless potential countless times when I was more powerful than any wizard?
I answered myself that perhaps they believed there was an even greater force that could defeat Voldemort.

Perhaps they've already pledged allegiance to someone else—maybe even that leader, that protector of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore, isn't he?

Upon hearing Dumbledore's name, Harry's eyes narrowed sharply.

He resisted the urge to look around.

Those behind Voldemort began to stir. Voldemort ignored them, speaking slowly and deliberately:

"This disappoints me... I admit I'm disappointed..."

"Master...please forgive me...please forgive us..."

Voldemort sneered and withdrew his wand.

The man who had just rebuked Sherlock lay flat on the ground, panting heavily.

"Get up, Avery."

Voldemort said softly:
"Stand up...you're begging for my forgiveness?"

No, I will not forgive, and I will not forget.

Thirteen long years... I will only forgive you after you have paid back the debt of these thirteen years.

"Have you finally finished sharing your thoughts and experiences?"

Sherlock looked at the person opposite him with disgust:

"Is there any point in putting on a pretentious performance just to show off one's power?"

Voldemort's gaze shifted back and forth between Sherlock and Harry before he finally spoke slowly:
"Sherlock Holmes, Harry Potter, you've surprised me, really surprised me—"

Even though you're just two little kids, you did a much better job than these silly guys...

Therefore, I allow you to be my special guests. Don't worry, I won't let these rude fellows give you any trouble.

"So, we should thank you?"

"You're welcome, Holmes."

Voldemort laughed as he paced back and forth, scanning his surroundings.

The snake stopped circling around him and started wandering around the grass just like him.

“Harry Potter, you are standing on my father’s bones right now—he was a complete idiot—just like your own mother.”

Harry couldn't help but roar, "Don't you dare insult my mother!"

Sherlock, however, pressed down on his shoulder to stop him:
"Can't you use any other adjectives to express this? Your vocabulary is shamefully poor."

"It's alright, Holmes. I'm not the same person I was three years ago. I won't be easily provoked into anger by your little tricks."

"Oh, is it so?"

Sherlock gave a smile that even Harry found somewhat dangerous.

"certainly--"

Voldemort laughed:

"The night is long, we have plenty of time..."

Let's get back to Harry Potter—when you were little, your mother died protecting you—and I killed my father.

As he said this, Voldemort showed no shame whatsoever; on the contrary, he appeared somewhat smug.

Harry, with his impeccable moral compass, immediately retorted:

"They are not ashamed, but proud."

Why should I feel ashamed about this?

Voldemort retorted:

“Having such a father is my shame—do you see that house on the hillside?”

My father lived there.

My mother was a witch, and she also lived in this village.

She fell in love with him, but my father abandoned her after getting her pregnant.

Sherlock and Harry exchanged a glance.

They actually knew this a long time ago.

However, judging from Voldemort's current behavior, he was clearly unaware that they already knew this.

This is certainly a good thing.

This means that Voldemort was unaware that Dumbledore was investigating his past.

Perhaps because he had finally regained his physical body, Voldemort seemed unusually talkative tonight:
"He left her and went back to his parents before I was born—Potter."

My mother died in childbirth, and I grew up in an orphanage...

But I swore I would find him... I took my revenge on him..."

He continued pacing back and forth, his red eyes scanning the graves. "Listen to me, listen to my family history..."

He said softly, "Ah, I'm getting a little sentimental..."

Of course, he wasn't entirely useless—look how useful he became after his death…

"So... you were able to be resurrected because of your father?"

Sherlock suddenly spoke up.

Voldemort laughed cacklingly once again.

However, due to his unusual appearance, his smile was even uglier than his crying:

"Holmes...Holmes, you are truly amazing!"

Yes, you guessed it right, it's an ancient form of black magic.

I need three potent catalysts to concoct the potion that has brought me to this point.

One of them was my father's bones—which naturally meant I was coming here to bury him.

“As I expected,” Sherlock said calmly, “it seems you have received powerful assistance.”

“You’re right, Holmes.”

See? Fate has always been on Voldemort's side.

Thanks to a kind friend, I am able to stand here and complete the resurrection ceremony.

And it is because of a loyal servant—through his efforts—that you are here tonight.

Just as Voldemort uttered those words, a person slowly walked out from behind him and stood beside him.

Harry tugged at Sherlock's sleeve.

He had seen this person's appearance in his dream.

Sherlock naturally understood what Harry meant.

In fact, he had already recognized the person without Harry's prompting.

John Smith.

Sherlock's gaze swept over the dragon-skin glove on the man's right hand, and amidst the man's surprised look, he added:
"Or should I call you Wright Black, Mr. Blacklight?"

John Smith was stunned.

He had considered that Sherlock might recognize him.

But he didn't expect that Sherlock would even expose his other identity.

Sherlock coldly said:

“Mr. Blacklight, you stole that secret document from the Ministry of Magic and framed your colleague at the Ministry of Magic, Mr. Abbott.”

Shortly after being exposed, he successfully escaped from the Ministry of Magic.

He then contacted the Greek translators Baskerville and Musgrave under the guise of the Norse wizard John Smith.

After killing Markgrave, you were wanted by both the Greek and British Ministries of Magic. After years of escaping justice, you finally couldn't resist the temptation and joined forces with Voldemort.

You're surprised, aren't you?
In fact, I was quite surprised that you would appear before me in your true form.

I have already taken notes of the reports on these two cases, and the numerous connections between them are enough for me to confirm your identity!
And—why don't you let your allies fill in your missing limbs?

As far as I know, he should have that ability.

Sherlock's words stunned everyone.

Everyone present knew more or less about these two cases—except for Voldemort.

Even Voldemort, after hearing Sherlock's description, looked at the black light beside him with great interest.

He had known all along that his ally was using a false name.

After all, the name John Smith was already an open secret.

But he didn't know that there was a story behind this pseudonym.

“Truly remarkable…Sherlock Holmes.”

Voldemort looked at Sherlock and praised him sincerely:

"I already realized this when I met you four years ago."

"Really? You're really slow on the uptake."

Sherlock bluntly stated, "A normal person would usually realize this within three days."

"You seem to have your own method, and you're absolutely convinced of it, right?"

"If you're referring to deductive reasoning, then that's exactly what I did."

Sherlock looked at Blacklight again. "I think he knows more about this than you do."

Blacklight remained silent.

"If that's the case, then why did you come here?"

Voldemort's bloodshot eyes stared at Sherlock, as if trying to see right through him:
"Please don't tell me that you did this on purpose."

Voldemort's words made Harry's heart skip a beat.

For a moment, he almost thought that Voldemort already knew his plan.

But he soon realized he was wrong.

Because Voldemort continued:
"Don't rush, Holmes. I'm in a good mood tonight, and we have plenty of time."

"You and Potter are my special guests, so I will answer all your questions—before I kill Harry Potter with my own hands."

"hehe."

Sherlock responded with a cold laugh.

"..."

Harry didn't speak, but his gaze toward Voldemort was filled with undisguised hatred and disgust.

“Interesting, very interesting. Aren’t you afraid of me?” Voldemort looked at Sherlock and Harry.

"Be afraid? Why should I be afraid?"

Sherlock glanced at Harry beside him and chuckled softly:
"The entire wizarding world knows that my friend, Harry Potter, is the nemesis of the Dark Lord."

He defeated you when he was still a baby.

Four years ago, he defeated you once again.

So why should we be afraid of a defeated opponent?

Upon hearing Sherlock's words, the hooded, masked wizards behind Voldemort stirred.

Some people muttered to themselves and kept shaking their heads.

Voldemort laughed again, looked at Harry, and said softly:
"Is this boy my nemesis?"

When his red eyes stared at Harry, Harry's scars burned with pain once again.

He almost screamed, but he managed to hold it in.

I've already experienced the pain.

This time, he was unwilling to lose his composure in front of the man who had killed his parents.

Voldemort whirled around, looking at the group of people who still hadn't revealed their true faces, and slowly spoke:
“Our little friend is absolutely right. I think you all know that on the night I lost my magic and my body, I wanted to kill him.”

His mother died saving him—which inadvertently gave him a kind of protection.

I admit, this was something I didn't expect... I miscalculated.

My spell was deflected by that woman's foolish sacrifice and bounced back onto myself.

Ah... pain surpasses everything, my friends, nothing can withstand it.

I have been stripped of my physical body, less than a ghost, less than the lowest wandering spirit...

But I survived in the end.

I still don't know what I was back then, but...

I have traveled farther than anyone else on the path to immortality.

Hearing this, Sherlock felt a chill run down his spine.

It was because of this statement that Dumbledore was able to confirm that Voldemort was creating Horcruxes.

Hearing him say those words again now, he even found it somewhat amusing.

(End of this chapter)