Seeing Sherlock's detached and indifferent expression, Dumbledore had no choice but to speak first.
"Sherlock, about our agreement…"
"Does it really have to be this way?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, does Harry really have to face Voldemort?"
Sherlock met Dumbledore's gaze head-on, unwavering as he spoke each word clearly:
"Having a first-year student confront Voldemort again and again—your idea is a masterpiece of idiocy.
Do you think Harry will thank you for this?
Or do you just want him to thank you from the grave?
Tonight's battle has already proven that Harry can't even maintain his normal state when facing Voldemort!"
Dumbledore gave a small cough. "About that scar… I may have a theory—"
But Sherlock rudely cut him off mid-sentence.
"Do you truly see Harry as the Chosen One?
Or are you just using him as a sacrifice to Voldemort?
Headmaster, surely you don't expect us first-years to protect the Philosopher's Stone!
If the magical world's defenses are that feeble, I suggest we just destroy it and be done with it!"
Sherlock's unreserved rebuke not only stunned Dumbledore but also left Harry completely dumbfounded.
Good grief—this was Dumbledore!
Sure, the man always appeared kind and gentle. Even the students at Hogwarts feared Professor McGonagall or Snape more than this smiling old wizard.
But still…
President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Sorcerer of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, current Headmaster of Hogwarts…
That string of titles wasn't just for show. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the age—and widely regarded as the only person Voldemort truly feared!
And Sherlock had just—well, it was practically shouting in his face.
And to top it off, Sherlock was also just a first-year student.
Yet, when Harry realized Sherlock had said all of this for his sake, a warmth bloomed in his chest.
Sherlock's image in his heart grew immeasurably taller.
Just then, Dumbledore turned his gaze once again toward Harry.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly.
Dumbledore spoke gently, almost pleadingly:
"Harry, believe me. I just need you to face him one last time."
Clearly, Dumbledore was trying to break through Harry's defenses.
Even he hadn't expected Sherlock's influence over Harry to have grown so strong in less than a school year.
For all Dumbledore's years and experience, he still couldn't tell whether that influence was ultimately good or bad for Harry.
He had previously placed the Mirror of Erised with the hope of drawing both boys to it, using the mirror to see into their hearts.
Harry's reflection was just as expected.
As for Sherlock…
Dumbledore shook his head. Even though the boy was only twelve, he still couldn't claim to have seen through him.
Fortunately, one thing was certain: Sherlock's friendship with Harry was clean and pure.
And that was enough.
That was why he was lowering himself now, facing Harry not as a headmaster, but as someone asking for trust.
He believed Harry would understand.
It was for Harry—and for the future of the entire wizarding world.
Harry glanced at Sherlock, clearly torn. "Sherlock…"
Sherlock sighed and put a hand to his face.
Good kid. Just… a bit slow on the uptake.
But since it was Harry's own decision, Sherlock wouldn't interfere—as a friend, he would respect it.
Still, he made one thing clear:
"Headmaster, I've already solved everything that could be solved with reason. I only ask that, when brute force is required, you don't let us down."
Dumbledore's eyes lit up. "Of course. I promise you both—no matter what means Voldemort used to control Quirrell, he won't be able to harm you."
"Let's hope so."
Sherlock's tone didn't sound particularly pleased, but he had clearly relented.
Both Harry and Dumbledore let out a silent breath of relief.
They exchanged glances, and in each other's eyes, they saw shared relief.
"So when do you plan to leave?"
Sherlock suddenly asked.
"Pardon?"
Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard.
But the moment the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake.
After dealing with Sherlock so many times, he had learned a few things about the boy.
Sherlock's kindness and intellect were unquestionable—but so was his sharp tongue, especially when he was angry.
And now, clearly, Sherlock was angry.
Sure enough, he fired off without hesitation:
"I'm genuinely curious—did you pour all your sugar into your brain when drinking water?
Or is this just early-onset senility?
If you're still at the school, how could he possibly go after the Stone?"
Even though he had expected this, Dumbledore was still surprised by the force of the attack.
It seemed that Sherlock was truly furious about Dumbledore continuing to push Harry toward Voldemort, even after the events in the Forbidden Forest.
Though exasperated, he was also pleased that Harry had such a thoughtful friend.
"I'll make him believe I've left the school."
"He took a stab wound from me—he'll likely take some time off to recover."
"When the time comes, I'll have Watson and Hedwig inform you."
"What about Harry's scar?"
"No solution yet. I only have a theory, but we should be able to confirm it after this is over."
"I need detailed information on the protections around the Stone."
"I'll send you a letter—or have Watson deliver it."
And so, back and forth, the two calmly laid out the plan for the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort—while Harry stood by, utterly lost.
"I…"
Harry tried to speak, but Sherlock just patted his shoulder.
"Come on, Harry. There's nothing more to be gained by staying here."
"But…"
"Go on—follow your little friend."
Dumbledore smiled as he watched Harry glance back at him. "Oh, and Sherlock—are you sure you don't want a glass of lemonade?"
"Keep that sugar syrup for yourself.
And while we're at it, I suggest you finally use your annual dental benefits. I'm sure Dr. Granger's clinic would be happy to see you."
Dumbledore: "…"
Sherlock and the invisible Harry returned to their dormitory. Ron, Neville, and Dean were already fast asleep.
The next morning, Sherlock still dragged Harry out for morning training.
The battle in the Forbidden Forest had made Harry acutely aware of his own shortcomings, so he trained even harder.
After training, they returned to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Making sure no one was around, Harry finally couldn't hold back his curiosity.
"Sherlock, why did Hagrid's rock cakes block the curse?"
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.
"My dear friend, I thought you'd ask much sooner."
Harry looked sheepish. He really had been holding it in for quite a while.
"Dear Harry, if you think it through carefully, the answer isn't that difficult:
First, consider the nature of a spell—it channels magical power to produce an effect that's impossible by normal means.
Offensive spells, in particular, often come with light, sound, and other physical effects, which means they can potentially miss, be dodged, or be blocked.
Even something as powerful as the Cruciatus Curse isn't completely unstoppable. It can be blocked by hard physical matter.
It's like how, in the Muggle world, physical attacks can be stopped by a sturdy shield. Magical attacks follow similar principles."
Harry nodded. This had been mentioned in Charms class, but most students had only scribbled it down in their notes without thinking deeply about it.
Sherlock brought his fingertips together and continued.
"Now, consider the maker of the rock cakes—Hagrid.
As a half-giant, his unique heritage plays a key role.
You see, giants are naturally resistant to magic.
But people often forget—this resistance doesn't only apply to the giants themselves. Items they create can also carry traces of that resistance.
So when Voldemort cast the Cruciatus Curse, the rock cake—imbued with Hagrid's giant-blooded magic resistance and its naturally hard composition—worked together to block the deadly spell.
What looked like a miracle had a perfectly logical explanation.
Of course, at the time, facing an Unforgivable Curse, I couldn't be sure—so I just threw the shield straight away.
But now I know—Hagrid's rock cakes really do inherit that special trait.
Next time, the shield will serve an even greater purpose.
Now, hand me the teacup. I need to think about your training plan before the next encounter, and what we'll do once Dumbledore leaves the school."
Over the following two weeks, just as Sherlock had predicted, Professor Quirrell was absent from every Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
This further confirmed that the crawling figure that night had indeed been Quirrell.
Whether Voldemort had possessed him via dark magic or attached himself in some other way remained unknown.
But Professor Snape's explanation was simple—Quirrell was on leave due to illness.
Naturally, Snape himself had taken over teaching the class.
And naturally, this meant Gryffindor lost a lot of points.
Harry Potter was frequently targeted for point deductions over the most ridiculous reasons.
Neville, who constantly failed spells, and Seamus, who had a talent for unintentional explosions, were also top offenders.
With Gryffindor already lagging behind due to Sherlock's earlier public fight, their house points plummeted even further these two weeks.
With Snape doubling down on deductions, Gryffindor finally earned a new nickname: Grief-indor.
They were dead last in the rankings—and the gap between them and top-ranked Slytherin only grew wider.
The Gryffindor lions were in agony.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Sherlock was quite pleased with the situation.
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