HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

As if to confirm Sherlock’s words, almost the moment he finished speaking, footsteps sounded, and the door at the corner of the room opened once more.

This time, three figures entered together.

Two tall figures flanked a short one in the middle, creating a stark contrast.

Strangely, as soon as they entered, the previously comfortable room temperature plummeted.

Something was wrong!

This wasn’t right!

As the three figures drew closer, Harry’s internal organs turned ice-cold, for he suddenly realized those weren’t three people at all!

The two tall figures on either side were clearly Dementors.

The entire room fell silent.

Harry could feel himself beginning to tremble all over.

Unlike Harry with his poor eyesight, Sherlock naturally recognized at a glance that they weren’t human. The characteristics were too obvious—tall stature, entire bodies concealed beneath hooded cloaks, gliding rather than walking.

Of course, the more important detail was that through observation, Sherlock noticed their rotting, corpse-like hands tightly gripping the arms of the person in the middle, restraining him as they slowly advanced toward the armchair in the center of the room.

The restrained person was naturally Peter Pettigrew.

He looked on the verge of fainting.

This was hardly surprising, even the observers in the front rows appeared somewhat timid when facing Dementors at close range, let alone someone sandwiched directly between two of them.

The Dementors placed Peter in the chained chair and, without lingering, glided out of the room.

Only after the door closed again did the room’s atmosphere return to something approaching normal.

Such was the terrifying power of Dementors!

Now regarding Peter Pettigrew himself—his condition was abysmal. Compared to when Sherlock had exposed his identity in the headmaster’s office before everyone, his state was even worse now.

He wore a thin, tattered robe, and even though the Dementors had left, his entire body continued to shake uncontrollably.

As Sherlock observed Peter, the chains on the chair’s armrests suddenly glowed with golden light, then slithered like serpents around Peter’s arms, binding him in place.

”Now there are 256 people,” Sherlock remarked upon seeing this. ”How interesting.”

Harry took a deep breath. ”He won’t transform into his Animagus form and escape, will he?”

”If he could escape under these circumstances, Voldemort might as well hand over his nickname to him,” Sherlock said coolly. ”Little brother, stop asking questions that insult my intelligence.”

Harry looked at Sherlock rather resentfully.

Of course, he knew Peter couldn’t escape now.

But having just experienced discomfort from the Dementors’ appearance, he’d simply wanted to change the subject.

Was that really necessary?

Harry had previously felt their assigned seats were too far away, but now he felt somewhat grateful. Otherwise, if they’d been any closer, he might well have fainted again at the sight of the Dementors.

That would have been truly embarrassing.

”Did you feel terrible just now?” Sherlock asked unexpectedly.

”No—well, yes, it was terrible,” Harry originally intended to deny it reflexively, but under Sherlock’s gray-eyed gaze, he spoke the truth instead.

After all, he’d already fainted in front of his mate twice before—there was no more shame to be had.

”Hmm, just bear with it and it’ll pass.”

Harry had expected Sherlock to follow up with something more after that statement, but after waiting for some time, nothing came. When he looked again, he found Sherlock’s attention had already shifted toward Peter Pettigrew.

Harry: ”...”

”Excellent, the defendant has finally arrived,” Fudge suddenly spoke, drawing everyone’s attention. ”I believe we can officially begin. Are you ready?”

He called out loudly toward the other end of the bench.

”Yes, sir,” Rufus Fudge, who had accompanied Fudge earlier, immediately answered. He stared intently at the parchment before him, quill in hand, ready to record at any moment.

”The trial of January 6th officially begins!” At this moment, Fudge’s voice rang out like a bell, declaring the trial open, while Rufus busily began taking notes.

”We now commence the hearing of the case wherein Peter Pettigrew, serving as Secret-Keeper, voluntarily revealed the location of the Potters’ residence thirteen years ago, and to conceal his own crimes, framed Sirius Black and murdered thirteen Muggles.

Interrogators: Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Amelia Susan Bones. Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge.

Court Scribe: Rufus Elliott Fudge.

Witness: Sirius Black.”

With this announcement, Sirius appeared once again in everyone’s view.

Accompanying him was another wizard carrying a chair. Originally intending to place it at a distance from Peter Pettigrew, Sirius instead grabbed it and set it down right beside Peter, then sat down, his gaze boring directly into Peter.

That look suggested he might transform into a great dog at any moment, tear Peter to shreds with his teeth, and swallow him whole.

Upon seeing Sirius, Peter’s trembling intensified dramatically.

”Very well,” Fudge extracted a piece of parchment from a pile of documents, took a deep breath, and glared at Peter over the top of it. ”You are Peter Pettigrew?”

Peter flinched violently like a startled mouse, his binding chains clanking loudly. He raised his head in terror, beads of sweat the size of beans rolling down his waxy yellow cheeks, soaking the collar of his shabby robe.

He didn’t answer immediately. His murky eyes swept blankly over the spectator seats, as though searching for an escape route that didn’t exist—just as when he’d first been forced by Professor McGonagall to reveal his true form before everyone.

”Answer the Minister’s question!” A shrill voice rang out like a startled little girl’s, it was the witch shrouded in shadow.

Peter shrank back violently, his lips trembling: ”Y-yes, I am Peter.”

”Good. Do you admit to being an unregistered Animagus?”

”Yes, but—”

”In 1981, did you take Sirius Black’s place as Secret-Keeper for James and Lily Potter?”

”Yes,” Peter said, ”but—”

”As Secret-Keeper, knowing full well that the Potters’ residence was protected by the Fidelius Charm, did you reveal their location?”

”Yes, but—”

”You were trusted by the Potters as their good friend, yet you voluntarily disclosed their hiding place in Godric’s Hollow to the... ahem... Dark Lord, directly resulting in the deaths of James Potter and Lily Potter?”

Peter fell silent.

”Answer the question!”

This time it was the witch with the monocle who spoke, her voice resonant and deep. ”Did you tell this to the Dark Lord?”

Peter’s gaze struggled for a long while. After Sirius let out a cold snort beside him, Peter finally lowered his head and answered in a voice as weak as a dying breath: ”Y-yes.”

Although everyone already knew this, when Peter personally admitted it, a low commotion still erupted among the crowd, mixed with angry exclamations and contemptuous looks.

Sitting beside Peter, Sirius suddenly clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, his body trembling slightly with suppressed fury. Twelve years of wrongful imprisonment, twelve years living as a neighbor to Dementors in that hellish place—in this moment, it transformed into tangible flames burning fiercely in his sunken eye sockets.

Even now, Sirius still saw James and Lily lying on the ground that night in his dreams.

Perhaps Mrs. Weasley was right. Precisely because his feelings for James were so intense, his regret over James’s death so profound, sometimes when he looked at Harry, when he spoke of Harry, it was as if his good friend had returned.

”You damned traitor!”

Peter let out a desperate wail as if stung by a scorpion, collapsing in the chair, his eyes completely glazed over.

Regret? Perhaps for a brief moment.

But more overwhelming was the bone-deep fear of the ultimate punishment to come, and a numb avoidance of reality.

”I—I was wrong, I truly know I was wrong.”

Sirius stared at Peter, wishing he could tear him apart alive, each word squeezed through his teeth: ”You don’t know you were wrong—you only know you’re going to die.”

Fudge seemed satisfied with the effect of Peter’s current appearance. He turned to the witch with the monocle. ”Thank you for your question, Madam Bones.”

Then he continued loudly: ”Does the defendant admit that after revealing information that led to the Potters’ deaths, to cover your crimes and frame Sirius Black, you planned and used the Blasting Curse to destroy a London street, causing the deaths of more than ten people?”

”Thirteen Muggles died!” Madam Bones supplemented in a clear, steady voice tinged with anger. She glanced at Fudge, somewhat displeased with his manner of statement.

”Yes! Thirteen innocent Muggles!” Fudge hastily added, then said emphatically, ”And after the explosion, you faked your own death, transformed into a rat, and fled for a full twelve years!”

Peter could no longer speak consistently.

Now he only emitted broken, meaningless whimpers and sobs, his head drooping almost to his chest. Tears mixed with mucus streamed down—this pitiful sight aroused no sympathy among most present, only intensifying their disgust.

This was the perfect portrait of betrayal and shameless cowardice.

”Good, very good.”

Fudge looked toward his nephew and scribe Rufus, who was hastily scribbling on parchment.

Next, Fudge and Madam Bones each questioned Peter once more, but he still refused to speak.

However, Fudge had anticipated this situation. He turned slightly and spoke: ”This chair permits Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge to speak.”

The witch who had been sitting to Fudge’s right leaned forward upon hearing this, allowing Sherlock to see her clearly for the first time. She was squat and toad-like, with a broad, flabby face. Like Harry’s Uncle Vernon, she had virtually no neck, and her large mouth drooped downward.

Her eyes were large and round, but slightly bulging, making her resemble a pale, oversized toad. Add to that the small black velvet bow atop her short curls—

How to put it?

This was a witch whose temperament and image severely mismatched her age.

To put it simply, she was a faded bloom painted over to look fresh again—pretending to be young.

”According to the Ministry of Magic’s investigation, Peter Pettigrew disappeared after causing that explosion. The only ’corpse’ fragment left at the scene was a single finger. Coincidentally, after Animagus transformation, the rat was also missing a claw—”

What followed was essentially a rehash of what Sherlock had said in the headmaster’s office, as relayed by Dumbledore to the Ministry.

However, in Umbridge’s mouth, the protagonist who discovered all this and perceived the chain of evidence became the Ministry of Magic.

The Ministry had discovered the evidence in time and immediately notified Hogwarts, requesting the school’s assistance in the investigation.

Minerva McGonagall, as Transfiguration Professor, had discovered the Animagus rat and forced him to resume his true form.

Severus Snape, as Potions Professor, had used Veritaserum to make Peter confess everything.

Remus Lupin, as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, had confirmed the Blasting Curse and its power from that time, and through their friendship had successfully contacted Sirius Black.

Those who knew the truth remained expressionless, while those who didn’t felt deeply shocked by all this.

After all, the previously published investigation report had only stated the facts without explaining the process of how Peter was exposed.

This case garnered extremely high attention—the wizards present encompassed most upper-level figures from various fields of the magical world.

As Umbridge narrated, the wizards hearing this for the first time couldn’t help showing expressions of extreme shock.

During this process, Sherlock noticed a witch in the middle row opposite. She had short blonde hair, wore magenta robes, and was sucking on the tip of a garish green quill.

Sherlock immediately recognized her as a reporter, and a highly skilled one at that.

Her chosen position perfectly allowed her to observe the defendant and witness in the center of the room, the interrogators and scribe on the platform, and the expressions of most attendees clearly.

Moreover, this was also the optimal photography position.

However, what drew Sherlock’s attention was that she had repeatedly glanced in their direction. Sherlock knew clearly, she wasn’t looking at him—she was looking at Harry.

This was quite rare among those present.

Senior Undersecretary Umbridge clearly relished this moment in the spotlight.

As for shamelessly claiming others’ achievements as her own capital for boasting—who cared?

Mere Hogwarts, compared to the Ministry of Magic, was far inferior!

Besides, hadn’t Dumbledore later said this matter was discovered by a third-year student?

In that case, she felt even less psychological burden!

Currently, Peter Pettigrew seemed unwilling to speak, but so what?

As the Minister’s most trusted confidante, even if she had to use every trick in the book, she wouldn’t let this trial stall!

With this thought, Umbridge spoke in her characteristic shrill voice and let out a silvery laugh:

”Now the key witness in this case, Sirius Black, will speak.”

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