Firenze held deep reverence for fate.
In that regard, he was no different from the other centaurs.
But unlike most of his kind, who generally held disdain for wizards, Firenze didn't reject humans so strongly. In fact, when humans were in danger, he didn't hesitate to lend a helping hand.
That made him an outlier among centaurs.
Tonight, the attitudes of Ronan and Bane had been a perfect example of this contrast.
Anyone familiar with astrology knows: Mars is often associated with war, conflict, and violence.
Centaurs like Ronan repeatedly declaring "Mars is bright tonight" was their way of warning that the wizarding world was facing imminent unrest and turmoil.
After a decade of peace, war might be approaching once again.
Dark forces were on the rise—forces that could easily spark disaster and conflict.
All of this was closely tied to Voldemort's resurrection… and his desire for the Philosopher's Stone.
Unfortunately, centaurs rarely spoke plainly.
So they could only express their warnings by repeating vague phrases.
What Firenze hadn't expected, though, was that Sherlock could deduce—without any use of divination—what the centaurs themselves needed to divine to understand.
That made Sherlock, this small wizard, suddenly very interesting in his eyes.
Meanwhile, on the way back to the castle, Hagrid had hurriedly treated the wounded unicorn before rushing with Sherlock straight to the Headmaster's office.
When Dumbledore saw the two of them, he looked somewhat weary.
"Couldn't you show an old man some mercy? Whatever it is, can't it wait until morning?"
Dumbledore was wearing star-patterned pajamas. It was clear he'd been about to go to bed.
"You know me, sir."
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Hagrid scratched his head awkwardly.
"If it wasn't something important, I wouldn't…"
"My dear Rubeus, of course I know you," Dumbledore interrupted kindly. "This is about the Forbidden Forest, isn't it?"
Hagrid nodded gravely. "Yes! We saved the unicorn, but the poacher got away. Sherlock even came face to face with him. And… Sherlock says he was, was—"
Seeing Hagrid's lips tremble as he struggled to say the name, Dumbledore didn't look surprised. He turned his gaze toward Sherlock.
"Voldemort," Sherlock stated flatly.
Hagrid shuddered and inhaled sharply.
He didn't notice the slight unnatural ripple in the space beside him at that moment.
The light flashed across Dumbledore's glasses. His eyes returned to Hagrid.
"Rubeus, could you give us the room for a moment?"
Hagrid: '(°ー°〃)
Once a crestfallen Hagrid had left, Dumbledore glanced at Sherlock and smiled.
"I thought you might try to convince me to let Hagrid stay."
"There's no need," Sherlock replied calmly. "What we're about to discuss really isn't suited for his ears. He's like someone permanently under the effects of Veritaserum."
"That's a… surprisingly accurate metaphor," Dumbledore chuckled. "Well then, I suppose your other friend can reveal himself now, can't he?"
Harry, still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, didn't move.
After spending so much time with Sherlock, Harry was no longer the clueless boy he'd been when he first arrived at Hogwarts.
Who knew if Dumbledore was bluffing?
"Come now, you were spotted the moment you stepped into the room," Sherlock said casually.
With that, Harry immediately pulled off the cloak.
Looking sheepish, he turned to Dumbledore. "Sorry, sir. I didn't think you'd notice me."
"Strange how going invisible seems to have made you more confident."
Seeing that Dumbledore still wore his usual warm smile, Harry let out a sigh of relief.
Thank Merlin—he wasn't angry.
"Sherlock, how did you know I noticed Harry?" Dumbledore asked curiously.
"It's simple. Someone trained in observation, when applying systematic and precise attention to details, can read a person's deepest thoughts from the slightest twitch of a muscle or flicker of the eyes."
"When Hagrid and I entered, your gaze lingered for three seconds on the spot right beside me—exactly where Harry was standing."
"And again, when Hagrid mentioned Voldemort, your eyes shifted back to that spot."
"Two confirmations. That's enough to prove it."
Dumbledore gave him a thoughtful look.
After a moment, he waved his wand, conjuring two glasses of lemonade that floated gently to Harry and Sherlock.
"Let's have a drink before we continue."
Sherlock didn't touch his glass.
Harry thanked him and gulped his down in one go.
He hadn't fought tonight, but running in and out of the Forbidden Forest with Sherlock had definitely worn him out. He really needed the hydration.
And then he immediately regretted it.
Merlin's beard—it was so sweet!
He couldn't even taste the lemon. It was just sugar water.
Only then did he notice Sherlock hadn't taken a sip and silently admired his friend's foresight.
Dumbledore, seemingly oblivious to Harry's expression, asked gently:
"So… there were actually two people who played a part in tonight's battle, not just one?"
Harry flushed with guilt. "Sir, it was all Sherlock. I only managed to shoot fireworks into the sky."
"No, Harry. If you hadn't done that, Voldemort wouldn't have left so quickly."
"But—"
"No need to dwell on the details."
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "You did well tonight. I'm sure your friend would agree."
"Well said," Sherlock nodded. "In fact, I made a mistake tonight."
"A mistake?" Dumbledore's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What mistake?"
To his surprise, Sherlock didn't answer.
Instead, he drew his wand and flicked it.
A burst of purple sparks erupted from the tip.
"An excellent warning spell," Dumbledore said approvingly. "I remember you used that on Halloween. I didn't expect you to apply it so quickly in the field. But how is that related?"
"Harry used red sparks when he saw Voldemort."
Dumbledore immediately understood.
Harry blinked in confusion, then gasped. "I—I didn't think of that at all!"
"Neither did Rubeus, right?" Dumbledore smiled. "Don't worry, Harry. He'll forget all about it soon."
"But not everyone is Hagrid," Sherlock said seriously. "I should have told Harry this in advance."
"Alright now, Sherlock," Dumbledore said with a wave. "You've both done more than enough. If it were me in my first year at Hogwarts, I wouldn't have done half as well!"
"Well, you didn't exactly have a powerful headmaster sending you to fight the Dark Lord," Sherlock replied.
Dumbledore: "…"
Once again, he was reminded of Sherlock's biting tongue.
Time to change the subject.
"The truth is, Voldemort's desire for unicorn blood is far greater than you might think. Stopping him tonight was already a tremendous victory."
Sherlock frowned. "Unicorn blood can only prolong life at the cost of a terrible curse. The Philosopher's Stone is his true goal."
"That's because you don't know… unicorn blood has another little-known use."
Sherlock looked at him, intrigued.
Dumbledore said calmly, "It can be used to create a temporary body—one sustained by dark magic and cursed energy."
Like a bolt of lightning through his mind, Sherlock instantly connected the dots.
So that's why Quirrell—no, Voldemort—hadn't drunk the unicorn's blood after killing it.
He didn't need the blood. He needed the unicorn to suffer, to watch its life drain away helplessly, so that it would die with a heart full of resentment.
At that moment, Harry finished recounting everything that had happened in the forest.
Sherlock didn't interrupt—he realized Harry had a real knack for describing and summarizing events.
"Voldemort is very weak now," Harry concluded. "Judging by how desperate he was tonight and how he handled Quirrell, I don't think his control is as strong as we thought. So…"
Dumbledore considered this for a moment, then said softly, "I want you to defeat him again."
"…Me?"
Harry stared at him in disbelief.
He pointed to himself. "Sir, I'm just a first-year student. I barely know any offensive spells, and you want me to go up against Voldemort and Quirrell?"
They say you become like those you spend time with.
If this were a Harry Potter without Sherlock Holmes, he might have taken Dumbledore's words as a sign of destiny. He'd think of his parents' deaths, of righteous revenge, and charge into battle without hesitation.
But after spending so much time with Sherlock, Harry had learned to think.
The old playbook didn't work on him anymore.
Dumbledore looked surprised. This wasn't like Harry.
And then he understood.
He turned his gaze to Sherlock.
Sherlock: ┑(￣Д￣)┍
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