Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 625 Finally waiting for you

"My dear friend, why don't you do what this special guest just suggested?"

Voldemort's voice was deep and hoarse as he glanced at the black leather gloves and spoke, word by word:

“As long as you take off your gloves, I can mend your broken body.”

Upon hearing this, Hei Guang's right hand, hanging at his side, trembled almost imperceptibly.

A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes.

He knew very well that cooperating with Voldemort was a dangerous thing.

Judging from his actions during the Wizarding Wars, he was an extremely dangerous figure.

None of the Death Eaters who followed him could be considered his friends.

They are not only not friends, but they are not even normal subordinates.

They are just pawns, pawns that Voldemort can discard at any time.

Before Voldemort regained his physical body, he did indeed hold the initiative.

But once Voldemort regains his true strength, the roles will be reversed.

Unfortunately, he had no other choice.

He no longer wanted to operate like a mouse in the dark underground.

In this situation, only Voldemort can help him.

From the moment he ventured deep into the dark forests of Albania and found Voldemort, there was no turning back.

Judging from Voldemort's actions just now, this person is petty.

It's really hard to say whether concealing his identity as Blacklight will cause him any resentment.

But what if it were possible to repair the missing limbs...

His hesitation stemmed from a fear of the unknown, yet was also mixed with longing, leaving him wavering and unable to make a decision for the time being.

Seeing Blacklight's hesitant expression, Voldemort was not in a hurry and simply stood quietly in place.

A few steps away, Sherlock crossed his arms and watched the black light with great interest.

Blacklight's Adam's apple bobbed, and he finally slowly raised his left hand, pinching the edge of his right glove with his fingertips, and slowly pulled off the black leather glove.

At that moment, the cool moonlight pierced through the clouds and shone on his right hand.

Everyone could clearly see that his right ring and index fingers had disappeared at the base, leaving only a bare palm. The skin at the cut had long since scabbed over, but the grotesqueness of the wound from years ago was still visible.

Harry's pupils contracted sharply as the words that Mafalda Hope Kirk from the Ministry of Magic had once spoken to them flashed through his mind.

“Wright Black did escape, but he paid the price; we left behind his right hand, two fingers of it.”

He only vaguely remembered the conversation a few hours earlier when Sherlock brought it up.

As for the names John Smith and Light Black—he would never have connected them if Sherlock hadn't pointed it out.

But when he saw the eight fingers that shone with black light, he couldn't help but think to himself, "Just as I thought."

Strangely enough, if Sherlock hadn't mentioned it, he wouldn't have been able to figure out the connection at all.

But once Sherlock spoke, he felt that it all made perfect sense.

But then he thought that since this was Sherlock, it made sense.

Voldemort's gaze swept over Blacklight's right hand, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Having spent so much time with Blacklight, he had never noticed that the other was missing two fingers.

However, when Sherlock first saw the Blacklight, he deduced this fact using so-called "deductive reasoning".

This insight made him feel a pang of regret—such talent could not be used for his own purposes.

Otherwise, Sherlock alone would be worth a dozen or even more Death Eaters.

but……

Since it cannot be used for our purposes, let it be destroyed!
A cruel smile curled at the corner of his lips, and a red glint flashed in his eyes.

It would be exciting to destroy such a genius with my own hands!
Voldemort snapped out of his reverie, slowly raising his wand, the tip pointing at the dark light's right hand:
Voldemort never mistreats those who have helped him.

As soon as he finished speaking, a band of light, like molten silver, emerged from the tip of his wand.

The band of light was initially a chaotic halo.

However, after circling twice in the air, it suddenly twisted and reshaped.

Eventually, it gradually solidified into two gleaming fingers.

They floated slowly down from the sky, carrying a soft silver light, and landed directly on the base of the finger where the black light was missing, slowly wrapping around it like vines.

Blacklight's breathing suddenly became heavy.

He suddenly lowered his head, staring intently at his right hand, his eyes filled with disbelief.

The two silver fingers were seamlessly integrated with his palm; apart from their completely different color and skin tone, they looked as if they had grown there naturally.

He tentatively bent his silver fingers, his knuckles moving flexibly, just like his left hand.

To confirm that this was not a hallucination, he bent down, picked up a dry twig from the ground, and squeezed it hard.

The withered branch was instantly crushed into powder, and the fragments fell through the fingers.

"Thank you very much, Lord Voldemort."

Blacklight changed the way Voldemort was called.

The two silver fingers were enough to show Voldemort's attitude towards him.

The regeneration of a severed limb is even more miraculous—especially since this was an old injury from several years ago.

Voldemort was clearly pleased with this title:
"I've said it before, Voldemort never mistreats those who have helped him."

Besides, you're still my friend, Blacklight.

Blacklight nodded and silently stepped aside.

He examined his right hand repeatedly, his left fingertips gently tracing the lines of his silver fingers, as if touching a lost treasure that had been found again.

Voldemort withdrew his gaze from Dark Light and turned to Sherlock and Harry, slowly speaking:
"Did you see that? My special guest."

Four years ago, I told you to hand over the Magic Stone Technique to me.

Potter, I told you I would bring your parents back to life.

Holmes, I said I would give you better treatment than the other Death Eaters.

But you rejected me—now, do you regret it?

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

He stared at Voldemort's wand, and suddenly an idea popped into his head:
Perhaps Voldemort really can bring his parents back?
But the thought only lasted a second before he forcibly suppressed it.

Voldemort used dark magic!
Even if his parents could be resurrected, they would never be the gentle figures he remembered.

He didn't know why he thought that way.

But that's what he thought.

"I do not regret."

Harry looked up and bravely met Voldemort's gaze.

Sherlock didn't even lift his eyelids, as if Voldemort's words were just a passing breeze, not even worth responding to.

"madness!"

Despite making such a comment, Voldemort was not angry; he was in a very good mood today.

He walked slowly to a tombstone, gently ran his fingertips over the name on it, and continued speaking: "Even if I return to this country, there is no hope of stealing the magic stone."

I knew Dumbledore would destroy it—and he did.

But that doesn't matter. I'm willing to return to an ordinary life first before pursuing immortality.

So I lowered my expectations and simply focused on restoring my original body and my original strength.

"If you don't mind, could you tell me about Bertha Jorkins?"

Sherlock suddenly spoke, interrupting Voldemort:

"She must have met you before you left Albania, right?"

Voldemort turned to look at him with some surprise, a hint of inquiry flashing in his eyes: "You seem quite interested in this?"

“I am indeed very interested in this matter.”

Sherlock asked frankly, "Don't you want to tell me?"

"Jie Jie Jie..."

Voldemort let out his signature villainous laugh:
"Holmes, you're absolutely right. Even if you hadn't asked, I would have told you..."

The night before we were to leave Albania, we met Bertha Jokins in a small, musty hotel.

"Look how lucky Voldemort is—I originally thought she was just an ordinary witch in the Ministry of Magic, but I never expected she would give me such a wonderful surprise."

fate?

Sherlock shook his head.

Every gift of fate comes with a hidden price tag.

However, Voldemort certainly wouldn't believe it, and he continued:
"I could tell at a glance that she had been cursed with a forgetting spell."

Unfortunately, even the most powerful forgetting spell is useless against me.

She told me many things: the Quidditch World Cup, the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts this year, and a loyal Death Eater who had never betrayed me; if I could contact him, he would willingly help me.

Unfortunately, the method I used to break her forgetfulness spell was too powerful.

By the time I extracted all the useful information from her, her mental and physical health had been damaged beyond repair.

She had served her purpose, and since I couldn't possess her, I disposed of her.

Although he had already deduced from clues that Bertha Jorkins was dead, a surge of anger still rose in Sherlock's heart when he heard Voldemort casually say "dealt with."

Based solely on Voldemort's callous disregard for human life, he would never let this villain go.

Voldemort, oblivious to Sherlock's change in mood, continued:

"Knowing that I have such a loyal servant, I will naturally not leave him unattended."

Holmes, you and Potter have ruined my plans once again.

Before we could rescue him, you discovered his identity.

"If it weren't for my friend Blacklight's decisive action in rescuing him, I probably would have missed this opportunity again."

He raised his wand, tip pointing towards his chest, his voice filled with fanaticism:

"With his help, my plan became much easier to implement."

I need three potent ingredients to concoct the resurrection potion—an ancient form of black magic.

Haha, someone like Dumbledore would definitely look down on such magic, but he didn't know how useful it was.

The first thing is my father's bones, which is why we came here.

The second thing is the blood of my enemies, which is even simpler; there are plenty of people who hate me.

I chose that Auror who had been hunting me all along, you call him Mad-Eye Moody. My servants have already caught him, and taking some blood is a piece of cake.

The third item was the servant's flesh. Blacklight helped me again. Although he didn't have many subordinates, they were more than enough to do just this one thing.

Finally, I was resurrected and regained my complete body.

My power is greater than ever before!

At this point, his gaze fixed intently on Harry and Sherlock:
"Finally, it's the two of you!"
Do you know why I brought you all here?
Harry Potter, you are widely recognized as my nemesis.

Sherlock Holmes, you've ruined my plans time and time again.

My loyal servant did a great job; he used the Triwizard Tournament to help you win the championship and reach the Triwizard Cup.

Although it took me a long time to wait, it finally came.

Holmes, it seems you did indeed win the game, didn't you?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sherlock pointed to the Triwizard Tournament not far away:
"Otherwise, why do you think we would be here?"

However, your servant was of no help in our path to victory.

"I can imagine that with your abilities, you could easily win the championship even without his help."

Voldemort waved his hand, his tone tinged with impatience:

"But none of that matters. What matters is that you have witnessed a complete version of me!"
Voldemort's first step in reclaiming the world begins with taking care of you all!

As he spoke, he slowly walked toward Sherlock and Harry.

The long black robe dragged on the ground with a rustling sound, and with each step, the surrounding temperature seemed to drop a notch.

At that moment, Harry's hand, hidden in his robe pocket, gripped his wand tightly. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breathing became rapid.

Sherlock suddenly let out a long sigh, his voice tinged with helplessness.

"If that's really what you think, then I can only apologize to you."

Voldemort paused for a moment, then laughed, his laughter full of mockery:

"Holmes, do you really think that you two underage wizards can stop me?"
Can anyone stop the great, omnipotent Dark Lord?

"All-powerful...you really know how to brag!"

Sherlock laughed too, his laughter filled with undisguised contempt:
Why do you think I should spend so much time listening to your stories?
Of course, listening to criminals recount their crimes is also one of my interests.

"what do you want to say in the end?"

Voldemort's face darkened.

From the moment Sherlock and Harry appeared, he thought he had everything under control.

But now, Sherlock's composure and Harry's calmness made him vaguely feel that something was wrong.

He had initially thought that the two men had given up struggling because they knew there was no hope of escape, but now it seemed that things were not so simple.

"Have you forgotten something? Each school has three participants, but Hogwarts has more than just Harry and me."

But why are there only the two of us here now?

Sherlock stepped forward, blocking Harry's path, his tone tinged with amusement:
"Do you think your plan is foolproof and will not be discovered by anyone?"

you……"

"Avada Kedavra!"

No one expected that Voldemort, who had been polite to Harry and Sherlock all night, would suddenly turn on them and kill them.

A blinding green light shot from the tip of his wand, like the forked tongue of a viper, heading straight for Sherlock's chest.

"Do not--!"

Harry cried out in despair, trying to raise his wand in retaliation, but it was too late.

(End of this chapter)