Sherlock was eating breakfast when Harry knocked on the door. He held a sandwich in one hand and a copy of The Daily Prophet in the other, discussing the news with Hilke.
"The Quidditch World Cup final is being held in Britain this year, Ireland versus Bulgaria. I know you don't have much interest in Quidditch—actually, I'm not that keen either—but it's always good to go out and see the world."
"I've already bought two tickets. Well, I didn't actually buy them; Kingsley gave me his and Moody's tickets. Their work will get much busier once the World Cup starts, and they won't have any time to watch..."
When the knock sounded, Sherlock already knew who it was through his Control Magic.
He snapped his fingers casually, and the living room door opened on its own.
Harry ran in from outside, panting. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and spoke as soon as he entered.
"I—I snuck out, Professor. There's something... I don't know if it's important, but my mother thinks it's very important and wanted me to tell you..."
Just as he said this breathlessly, he suddenly noticed the stunningly beautiful yet completely unfamiliar girl sitting at the dining table.
Harry's mouth hung open as he looked at Hilke, who was taking small sips of milk from a cup, and then turned to look at Sherlock, whose eyes still hadn't moved from The Daily Prophet.
"Pro—Pro—Professor, did I... did I come at a bad time?"
Only then did Sherlock look away from the newspaper. He flicked his finger lightly; though there was no direct contact, Harry felt as if his forehead had suddenly been flicked by something.
"What do you mean, 'bad time'? Ve—Vera, you should have seen her last semester. She appeared in the Castle quite a few times wearing that large hood. She's staying at my house for now. Um... is she my niece? Sister? Or..."
Regarding the form of address, Sherlock seemed unable to decide on his own. He turned to Hilke and tried out a few titles tentatively.
Hilke kept a straight face and said solemnly,
"I am one year older than you, and we are not related by blood. Your relationship with my father is one thing, but you and I... we are just ourselves. For now, we are friends."
Sherlock gave a dry cough.
"Fine, friends it is."
Harry looked at the girl whose eyes were covered by a black ribbon, who was beautiful enough to make one lose their train of thought. With Sherlock's reminder, he quickly remembered where he had seen her before.
At the beginning of the last semester, she had worn a hood that covered most of her face and gone to the Great Hall to find Sherlock. At that time, not only he but many other students had seen her.
"You can call her Aunt Hilke. This is my student, Harry Potter; you should have heard his name," Sherlock said, introducing them to each other.
Harry bowed respectfully and greeted her.
"Hello, Aunt Hilke."
Upon hearing Harry Potter's name, Hilke's face didn't show much surprise or curiosity; she simply nodded in response.
"Hello."
Sherlock pulled out a chair for Harry and motioned for him to sit.
"Sit down and tell me what's going on. If you haven't had breakfast, eat with us. I happened to make extra."
"But Aunt Petunia..."
"It's fine. If you're worried, I'll take you back later and say I was the one who brought you out."
Hearing Sherlock say this, Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at the table. Hilke stood up and brought him a portion of breakfast.
"I had a dream. I dreamed of Lord Voldemort!" Harry said bluntly after drinking half a cup of milk in one go.
Sherlock's movement of eating his sandwich paused slightly, but he quickly returned to normal.
"And then?"
"I saw him in a dilapidated old house. Peter was kneeling beside him. They seemed to be discussing some secret plan. Peter was very scared, but Lord Voldemort was insistent."
"Do you remember what they said to each other?" Sherlock didn't dismiss it; instead, he asked with a serious expression.
Harry frowned and tried to recall for a moment, but soon shook his head in frustration.
"I don't remember. I forgot everything they said as soon as I woke up."
"But when I woke up, the scar on my forehead hurt a lot, like it was being burned with fire. I had this feeling in my second year too. It was usually when the Basilisk was involved; before every attack, my forehead would hurt."
Sherlock solemnly put down his sandwich and motioned for Harry to come closer, carefully studying the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"You can view the scar heating up as a protection mechanism. Whenever that protective magic senses you might be in danger, it uses this method to warn you. But being able to dream of Lord Voldemort is indeed unusual."
Sherlock looked at Harry and speculated.
"Have you been thinking about Lord Voldemort intentionally during the day?"
Harry could tell what Sherlock was guessing, and he shook his head.
"No. Aunt Petunia had me pruning the garden yesterday, and I was exhausted by nightfall. I spoke with my mother for a bit and then fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed."
Sherlock felt something was wrong but couldn't quite put his finger on it. He rubbed his chin and looked at Hilke.
"What do you think?"
Hilke stared silently at Harry with her eyes covered by the black ribbon for a while. She only spoke softly once he became restless and his face turned red.
"Misfortune and good fortune are intertwined, twisting and mixing with each other, but the misfortune is thicker. You must be careful throughout the coming year."
Harry's mouth fell open. Listening to Hilke's words, which sounded like a prophecy yet didn't quite seem like one, he was stunned and speechless for a long time.
It wasn't until Sherlock flicked his forehead that he snapped back to his senses, clutching his brow.
"Did you hear that? Not just for the next year, you'd better be careful every day in the future. Be less reckless. Before you do anything, think clearly about whether the risk is worth it. If something happens to you, it's not just about yourself; it's also about your mother."
Harry's expression became heavy.
He clearly took Sherlock's words to heart. He really wasn't just by himself now; Lily was still within the protective magic on his body. If an accident happened, not only would he be in danger, but all the risks Professor Cavendish took and the great effort he spent to let a bit of his mother's soul survive would also be lost along with him.
After finishing breakfast at Sherlock's place, Sherlock personally escorted Harry back to the Dursley family home.
Although Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's expressions weren't very pleasant, at least they didn't say anything more to him.