HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

Having shared his first deduction with Harry and Dumbledore, Sherlock continued at his characteristic rapid-fire pace,

”Second: Voldemort’s ally possesses considerable resources.

In Harry’s previous dream, the man known as ’Mr. Smith’ was not acting alone. In the most recent dream, the dwelling they occupied was hardly luxurious, yet it was orderly, comfortable, and well-supplied.

More tellingly, he managed to rescue Barty Crouch Jr. from the hands of Ministry Aurors which is proof enough that both his capabilities and his connections are not to be underestimated. Though, of course, the Ministry’s incompetence deserves some of the credit.”

Third: Voldemort and his ally are planning something. The operation is being carried out by Barty Crouch Jr., and by all indications, it is proceeding without a hitch. Based on the timeline, once the third task begins, that will be the moment they reveal their true intentions and execute their endgame.”

Fourth: Voldemort harbors a deep and particular hatred for me.”

He paused here, the corner of his mouth curling into a faintly sardonic smile.

”The first three conclusions I had already drawn from Harry’s earlier dream and other evidence. Only this last point came as something of a surprise. I hadn’t expected Voldemort’s hatred of me to run quite so deep.”

The office fell into a brief silence when he finished.

Neither Harry nor Dumbledore spoke, yet they shared an identical thought: Although this conclusion is somewhat unexpected, it is, in every way, classically Sherlock.

As for why Voldemort despised him so thoroughly—

Surely you, of all people, know exactly what you’ve done.

”Sherlock, I have a question.” Harry could no longer contain his curiosity.

”Go on.”

”I meant to ask last time as well, Voldemort doesn’t have a proper body, does he? How on earth is he holding a wand?”

Harry’s expression was one of genuine bewilderment. The question had been nagging at him for some time.

”You’ve found the gap in the logic, Harry.”

Sherlock’s tone carried a note of quiet approval.

”Four years ago, when Voldemort confronted us directly, he said so himself: that he had been reduced to little more than shadow and vapour, capable of possessing a physical form only by sharing someone else’s body. When Quirrell the host he had been relying on was defeated by you, Voldemort had already drunk unicorn blood and recovered a measure of his strength.”

He paused briefly, then continued.

”Furthermore, Professor Snape has informed us through his Dark Mark that Voldemort’s power has been steadily growing over these past four years. So let us make a bold assumption: as time has passed, Voldemort though still without a complete body has used the unicorn blood and other Dark Magic to coalesce a makeshift physical form. It is a frail thing, frail enough that he still requires assistance to move about. Yet it is sufficient to grip a wand and cast spells.

I believe that the witch named Bertha, and the elderly man named Frank from your previous dream both were killed by his own hand.”

Sherlock’s voice was quiet, but entirely certain. Harry could feel the anger hidden beneath those measured words — a fury directed at the senseless slaughter of innocents.

To kill for nothing but self-interest. And he intends to keep on doing it...

Sure enough, when Sherlock spoke again, his tone had gone cold.

”His ultimate goal is to reclaim a complete physical form and achieve a full resurrection. So what we must do now is, as ever, the same as before: find the remaining Horcruxes and destroy them one by one. And if we can manage to locate Barty Crouch Jr. along the way, all the better. Voldemort’s available assets are limited at present; remove this key piece from the board, and his resurrection plan will be set back considerably further.”

”I agree with your assessment, Sherlock.”

Dumbledore cast Harry a long, complicated look before speaking.

”Which is precisely why I was asking you here today. After Easter, I came across a crucial memory. I believe it will be of no small help to us in finding the Horcruxes.”

”Excellent work!”

”That’s wonderful, Professor!”

Sherlock and Harry spoke almost simultaneously, eyes brightening, faces alight with anticipation.

”As you requested last time, I will not relay this from memory. Instead, you and I will enter it directly.”

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his voice gentle. ”Harry would you like to come as well?”

”Of course!”

Harry answered without a moment’s hesitation. He had never quite forgiven himself for missing the search for the Horcrux ring last time. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, he was not about to let it go.

”Sherlock, Harry, forgive my lack of modesty.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, a note of quiet gravity in his voice.

”But the truth is this: finding evidence about Tom Riddle as a young man has already proven extraordinarily difficult. Finding someone who can speak in clear detail about Voldemort as an adult, someone who witnessed him after he left Hogwarts is harder still. I once wondered whether anyone other than Voldemort himself could give us such an account.

Thanks to the diary you uncovered, and to the direction of inquiry Sherlock provided, I have at last, after years of searching, found something.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore reached into his robes and produced a small, gleaming crystal vial, which he set beside the Pensieve. Inside swirled threads of silver memory, softly luminous in the lamplight.

He looked toward Sherlock with quiet expectation.

”I hope that when you have seen this, you will surprise me once again.”

Sherlock offered a small smile but said nothing. Harry, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement, his gaze fixed on the vial as though he might dive through the glass itself.

”Before we proceed, however, there are a few things worth laying out.”

Dumbledore spoke with measured deliberateness, setting the scene for them both.

”Tom Riddle received ’Outstanding’ marks in every single subject throughout his time at Hogwarts, and achieved twelve O.W.L. certificates by the time he reached his seventh year.”

”Outstanding in every subject? All twelve of them, all ’O’s?”

”Yes,” said Dumbledore, with a faint air of resignation. ”Students who earn twelve certificates are rare enough. Students who earn twelve ’O’s, I have never encountered another. Had he chosen to direct his intelligence toward honorable ends, his achievements would have been without limit. But sadly...”

He shook his head and continued.

”In those days, his peers were all thinking about careers. Nearly everyone expected him to do extraordinary things, he was a prefect, Head Boy, an exceptional student, and had received the school’s award for Special Services and the prize for Good Conduct. Several teachers, including Professor Slughorn, recommended that he enter the Ministry and even offered to make introductions on his behalf.

He declined them all.

It was only later that the faculty learned he had gone to work at Borgin and Burkes.”

”Borgin and Burkes?”

Harry looked thoroughly taken aback. He knew the shop all too well, Lucius Malfoy had tried to fence stolen goods there. He could not fathom what Voldemort would want with the place. Dark artefacts? But surely there were other avenues...

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

In his estimation, given Voldemort’s ambitions and methods, there was clearly a purpose to this choice. And given that Dumbledore had emphasized it, the answer was close to self-evident: at Borgin and Burkes, Voldemort would have had easy access to information about ancient magical objects, precisely the kind of objects he intended to transform into Horcruxes.

”Yes, Borgin and Burkes,” Dumbledore said, noting Harry’s expression and offering a gentle explanation.

”Though even that was not his first choice. Can you guess where he originally wanted to go?”

”Where else but Hogwarts?”

Harry was still thinking it through when Sherlock answered with effortless languor:

”He had no interest in the Ministry. The only place more appealing than that would be a castle steeped in ancient magic.”

”Quite right, Sherlock.”

Dumbledore nodded, his silver beard swaying slightly with the motion, his eyes warm with appreciation for Sherlock’s swift intuition.

”Very few people knew this at the time and few know it now. I heard it from Headmaster Dippet himself, as one of the very few people he told. Upon graduating, Voldemort sought out Professor Dippet and respectfully enquired whether he might remain at Hogwarts as a teacher.”

”He wanted to stay? He actually wanted to stay here?”

Harry glanced from Sherlock to Dumbledore, his surprise plain on his face.

”I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t be so surprised, Harry.”

Dumbledore sighed softly, his fingertips tracing the edge of the crystal vial almost without thinking, setting the silver threads inside into a gentle drift.

”As Sherlock observed, Hogwarts meant something different to him than it did to anyone else.”

His gaze grew distant, as though it could pierce through time itself, settling on the image of that boy on Tom Riddle, as a young man.

”Voldemort’s attachment to this school ran deeper than his attachment to any person. One might say Hogwarts was the happiest place he had ever known. It was the first and perhaps the only place he had ever felt was home.”

Harry went still.

The feeling Dumbledore described was exactly his own.

From the moment he had first set foot in this castle, it had been his true home. And yet, somehow, he and Voldemort shared this.

The realization sent an unsettling chill through him. He reached up instinctively to touch the scar on his forehead. It was perfectly quiet, perfectly still and that, somehow, only deepened the unease.

But on reflection, he reminded himself, there was a difference between him and Voldemort.

Before Sherlock, Hogwarts had been the only home he knew. After Sherlock, things had changed. The Holmes house on Baker Street, the Burrow in Ottery St Catchpole, Grimmauld Place even, in its own strange way, Number Four, Privet Drive, all of them had come to carry something of home’s warmth.

That was the difference between him and Voldemort.

”Besides this most important reason, I can identify two others,” Dumbledore continued, his tone settling back into its more measured register.

”First, this castle is ancient, a genuine stronghold of old magic. Voldemort had, without question, uncovered far more of its secrets than most students ever would particularly after he succeeded in opening the Chamber of Secrets and turned the Basilisk to his will.

And yet, knowing his ambitions, I suspect he still sensed that the castle held further mysteries, further magical treasures yet to be discovered. Remaining at the school would allow him to keep searching for them.”

At this, Harry stole a glance at Sherlock. Their eyes met. Not a word passed between them, but the understanding was immediate and total.

They had both thought of the Room of Requirement.

”Second,” Dumbledore went on, his voice taking on a more sober quality, ”a teaching position would have granted him legitimate and considerable influence over young witches and wizards.

This idea almost certainly grew out of his time in the Slug Club. He had been one of its central figures, and had seen firsthand how Professor Slughorn used the club to cultivate promising students and how a teacher’s position could be leveraged to shape those around him.

I never believed Voldemort intended to remain at Hogwarts indefinitely. He saw it as an ideal recruiting ground, a place to gradually build a network of loyal followers, quietly assembling his forces.

Of course, none of these ulterior motives were things he could have mentioned to Professor Dippet.”

”And yet, even so, he wasn’t permitted to stay.”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, his voice unhurried.

”In his own words, you were the one who interfered and ruined his plans.”

”I won’t deny it.”

Dumbledore was direct and unapologetic, his tone was perfectly calm.

”When I learned from Professor Dippet that he was considering keeping Voldemort on as a teacher, I felt an immediate and profound unease. I knew all too well the ambitions concealed beneath that boy’s surface. So, I approached Professor Dippet privately and advised him not to offer the position. I did not, however, lay out the deeper reasons I’ve just shared with you.”

”Why not?” Harry leaned forward, genuinely baffled. ”If you knew something was wrong, why not tell Dippet the truth?”

”Because Professor Dippet was extremely fond of Voldemort at the time.”

A flicker of quiet resignation crossed Dumbledore’s expression.

”He regarded Voldemort as a once-in-a-generation talent for Hogwarts and he genuinely believed in his sincerity and humility. Even had I said something, he would not have believed me.”

”Hm! Albus, you never even tried,” came an indignant voice from the wall.

It was the portrait of Hogwarts’ former headmaster, Armando Dippet himself.

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