Sherlock looked at the Bowtruckle that had been petrified, and he was stunned himself.
He recalled the state he had just been in, when he had felt invincible; with just a thought, he had cast an Explosion Charm, Stupefy, and a dancing spell.
Then, with another thought, he had erased the effects of all these spells.
Of course, he could not reach that level of effect now, but without the aid of a wand, and without even a magical beam appearing after the spell took effect, he simply moved his lips to recite the incantation, and it immediately took effect on the designated target.
This gave Sherlock an incredible feeling about himself.
Although he had previously been able to use Control Magic to perform some simple Transfiguration and minor spells, any Wizard with a bit of skill could perform these things wandlessly and non-verbally.
But this Petrificus Totalus was different.
Even after flipping through an entire thick History of Magic, one could not find a Wizard capable of achieving this level of magic.
In a way, this could already be considered the level of 'speaking and having it come to pass'!
Sherlock pondered and recited the spell again.
"Finite Incantatem."
The moment his incantation fell, the motionless Bowtruckle on the branch returned to normal.
It seemed frightened, and once it could move normally again, it dashed quickly to the highest branch, glaring down at Sherlock with its little eyes from above.
Sherlock did not care about its mood; instead, he turned his head to stare at a small tree that had died for some unknown reason.
"Reducto."
"Bang!"
The spell took effect immediately; the withered tree trunk shattered on the spot, wood chips splattered everywhere, and large chunks of broken wood fell to the ground.
This Reducto allowed him to see more intuitively the strength of casting spells using Control Magic.
It was very weak, even weaker than when he used Control Magic to cast spells with his wand.
Moreover, the consumption was huge; just one Petrificus Totalus, one General Counter-Charm, and one Reducto had already made Sherlock feel exhausted.
Clearly, such methods could not be used often.
But even so, it still made Sherlock incredibly excited.
He knew very well what this method represented; the hardest part of everything was the process of going from nothing to something.
Whether it was strong was one thing, but whether one could do it was another.
Moreover, there were certainly other Horcruxes waiting for him later, and the room for improvement in this ability was immense.
Sherlock felt relieved and sat in front of Eddie's grave to chat with him for a while, saying things like, "Rest assured, I will help you take care of your daughter in the future," and, "I haven't forgotten about avenging you; sooner or later, I will send her down to let you see her miserable state."
The sun gradually sank towards the horizon.
Seeing that it was getting late, he stood up from the ground, snapped his fingers, muttered "Scourgify" to clean the mud off his robes, picked up the cracked cup, and walked out of the Forbidden Forest.
Returning to Hogwarts Castle, Sherlock went straight to Headmaster Dumbledore's office and placed the broken cup in front of him.
"This is the second one."
Dumbledore stared at the cup with deep-set eyes and recognised its origin at a glance.
"The relic of Helga Hufflepuff."
"Legend has it that the four founders of Hogwarts each left behind their most precious relics: the Sword of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff's cup; what are the remaining two?" Sherlock asked.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Besides the descendants of those two founders, I suppose no one knows, but Ravenclaw's relic might be that diadem that can bring wisdom to people."
"You are guessing that since Riddle was able to turn Hufflepuff's cup into his Horcrux, it is not impossible that he did the same with the other two unknown relics."
With his wisdom, he could naturally think the same way as Sherlock.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"Especially since he himself is a descendant of Slytherin."
Dumbledore gently tapped the back of his left hand with his right thumb and said softly.
"I plan to visit Tom's hometown in a while."
Sherlock asked in surprise.
"Does he still have family alive?"
Dumbledore seemed to recall something, and a trace of reminiscence appeared in his eyes.
"He previously had an uncle still alive, but because he killed three Muggles living in the same town, he was locked up in Azkaban, and eventually died of illness in that prison."
"However, I think that in the place where his family lived, there should be some discoveries; would you be interested in going with me to take a look when the time comes, Sherlock?"
He extended an invitation to Sherlock, but Sherlock did not agree immediately.
"Wait until you have confirmed the time; I am not yet sure if I have other things to do later."
They chatted about other things for a while, and then Sherlock left the Headmaster's office.
After he left, Dumbledore crossed his hands on the table, his expression unreadable.
"Relics of the Founders..." he murmured softly, then suddenly said to the empty office, "Phineas, please help me invite the Grey Lady over."
Among the portraits of former headmasters on the wall, a skinny old man opened his bleary eyes, grumbled a few complaints, and then disappeared into the frame.
...
The summer holiday officially began.
Sherlock did not take the Hogwarts Express back, as that would take an entire day of hassle.
He used Apparition directly to arrive at Magnolia Crescent, and just as he was about to take out his key to open the door, his gaze was suddenly attracted to a certain place.
It was the neighbour's garden; Sherlock only lived at home for two months each year, so he didn't have much interaction with the neighbours on either side.
But he vaguely remembered that the mistress of the house on the left seemed to like red maple trees very much; there were two planted in the garden, and a swing had been made for her daughter between the two trees. When the golden maple leaves fell in autumn, the scenery was charming.
It was now summer, and those two red maple trees were lush and leafy, but the most striking thing was not the red leaves swaying in the wind, but the old windmills that filled the treetops.
Sherlock stared unblinkingly at those incredibly familiar windmills, his mouth wide open, as if he had seen something incredible.
"Is it nice?"
An incredibly familiar voice sounded behind him.
Sherlock did not turn back, still staring at the windmills all over the tree.
"How much did you spend to buy this garden?"
The owner of the voice tilted her head, pondering as if calculating the specific amount.
"Excluding taxes and other fees, this family received about £200,000 in total."