HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

The moment Madam Pince’s figure vanished from sight, Hermione immediately turned to look at Sherlock, a mixture of anticipation and tension flickering in her eyes. ”It must be a new lead on the Horcruxes!”

She urged him on without a second thought. ”Go on, quickly! Don’t keep Professor Dumbledore waiting too long.”

”Would you like to come with me?”

Sherlock rose to his feet, his tone was casual.

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise at first, and then, an unmistakable flush of delight spread swiftly across her cheeks, even the tips of her ears tinting a faint pink.

Wonderful—Sherlock had actually invited me along!

Though his initiative made her heart soar, after a moment’s thought, she gave a small shake of her head.

Her gaze dropped back to the materials in her hands, her eyes turning resolute once more. ”Dumbledore only invited you, Sherlock.”

Her fingers traced across the obscure, ancient legends printed on the page, her voice was certain. ”I’m going to keep working on what we’ve got in front of us—I have a strong feeling that buried somewhere in these seemingly contradictory accounts is the key to finding Ravenclaw’s relic.”

Having said that, she looked up and curved her lips into a smile at Sherlock, warmth and trust in her expression. ”Besides, when you get back, you’ll tell me everything that happened, word for word, won’t you?”

Seeing this, Sherlock no longer hesitated. He nodded and left straightaway.

Hermione’s gaze followed Sherlock’s retreating figure until it disappeared entirely at the library’s spiral staircase, and only then did she draw a deep breath.

She pressed down the emotions surging in her chest, lowered her head once more, picked up her quill, and began writing across the parchment.

The corridors of Hogwarts Castle were silent, broken only by the occasional faint clank of a suit of armour.

When Sherlock reached the door to the headmaster’s office, the gargoyle statue leapt aside the instant it saw him, revealing the spiral staircase behind it.

Sherlock climbed the stairs and pushed open the carved wooden door. The headmaster’s office looked just as it always did:

Countless silver instruments hummed softly in midair, refracting the dim golden light coming in through the windows.

Portraits of former headmasters hung along the walls; most of the old wizards within kept their eyes closed in feigned sleep, though a few pairs of eyes had quietly opened, watching him with curiosity.

Fawkes the phoenix stood upon his gilded perch; preening feathers as dazzling as flame with his beak.

Seeing Sherlock enter, he gave a friendly cry, his tail feathers was sweeping past a nearby crystal flask with a crisp clink.

Dumbledore sat behind his broad desk, the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were unusually deep, even carrying a rare trace of gravity.

He did not open, as he usually would, with a sweet or a bit of light small talk.

”Sherlock, please, sit.”

Dumbledore’s voice was lower than usual. ”Thank you for coming so quickly.

”I know that you and Miss Granger did not go to Hogsmeade—that you were racking your brains over the search for the Horcruxes. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

He paused, his gaze falling on the oddly shaped stone Pensieve at the centre of the desk, his tone growing ever graver. ”But I have discovered a disturbing truth—concerning Voldemort’s snake, Nagini.”

Something stirred in Sherlock’s mind as he walked over and settled into the chair. ”Have you found concrete evidence that it’s a Horcrux? Or have you discovered where it’s hiding?”

That Dumbledore would suddenly bring up the great serpent was, in truth, beyond what Sherlock had expected.

He had assumed Dumbledore had called for him this time over progress on Hufflepuff’s cup, or perhaps Ravenclaw’s relic.

”No, it isn’t where she’s hiding. It’s who she truly is.”

Dumbledore said slowly, his fingertips tapping lightly against the rim of the Pensieve.

The silvery-white memory-substance within immediately began to swirl like liquid, rippling in layer after layer.

”Ever since Harry described to me the appearance of the great serpent in his dream, I have been searching my memory, hunting for any clue that might have been overlooked.”

Dumbledore’s gaze drifted far away, as though sinking into the depths of long years past. ”I told you before—one of the criteria Voldemort used in choosing his Horcruxes was significance.

As a Horcrux, the great serpent Nagini undoubtedly meets that requirement.

She can highlight Slytherin’s lineage, lending Voldemort an added air of mystery.

But I have only recently discovered that her significance—may very well run far deeper than we had previously imagined.”

”Then please, begin, sir.”

Sherlock pressed his hands together beneath his chin, leaning slightly forward, a focused light flickering in his grey eyes. ”I’m listening.”

Seeing Sherlock’s rigorous, earnest expression, Dumbledore paused for a moment.

He seemed to be organizing his thoughts, and seemed, too, to be steeling his resolve—preparing to unveil a chapter of the past sealed away for nearly half a century.

Though he had already braced himself, Dumbledore’s first sentence still made Sherlock’s pupils contract sharply in shock.

”If I told you plainly that I knew Nagini long before I ever knew Tom Riddle—I wonder what you would say.”

The instant the words left Dumbledore’s mouth; Sherlock’s eyes turned sharp.

At the same time, a torrent of information began arranging and rearranging itself within his mind.

Voldemort or rather, Tom Riddle had been born on the thirty-first of December, 1926.

Dumbledore had first met Tom Riddle the summer he turned eleven, at Wool’s Orphanage, in 1938.

And now Dumbledore was saying he had known Nagini even earlier than that?

Sherlock spent three seconds in deep thought before delivering his answer at once. ”When Harry first mentioned his dream, you said nothing.

After the night of the Triwizard Tournament, you pointed out that Voldemort would use it as a Horcrux, but you still didn’t recognize it.

Taken together with what you just said—that you only discovered this recently—that means—

That great serpent didn’t always have this form. At the very least, the Nagini you knew shouldn’t look like this.

Is it because her outward form changed so drastically that you failed to recognize her?”

Dumbledore gave Sherlock a deeply complicated look, his eyes were full of emotions, and a trace of admiration not easily detected.

Even a great detective as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes could not, lacking the key information, arrive at a perfect deduction.

And yet, to have guessed this much from mere fragments of speech was already remarkable.

He let out a long sigh, his aged voice was carrying endless regret. ”You’re quite right—her transformation truly was drastic. But what I need to tell you is this—”

”Her?”

Sherlock caught the word with sharp precision, immediately sitting up straight, his eyes burning as they fixed on Dumbledore, his tone edged with disbelief. ”You’re certain it’s her, not it?”

”It is indeed her.”

There was a trace of bitterness in Dumbledore’s voice as he began to turn over the weight of this old memory. ”You may find this hard to believe, but the Nagini I knew was a girl of gentle temperament, one who held justice dear to her heart.”

Sherlock stared at Dumbledore in astonishment; shock was plainly across his grey eyes.

He studied Dumbledore’s expression carefully, and only once he had confirmed the old man was not joking with him did he speak, word by word. ”Are you saying she was an Animagus?”

”No.” Dumbledore shook his head, the bitterness on his face deepening. ”Something far more terrible than that. She herself was a Maledictus.”

”A Maledictus?”

Sherlock repeated the unfamiliar term under his breath, his brow furrowing slightly.

This had already strayed into a blind spot in his knowledge.

”Yes. It is an extraordinarily rare and singular condition—a hereditary blood curse.

Its bearers are always women. They carry the curse from the moment they are born, passed down, typically, from mother to daughter.

And—generation after generation, without end.”

His voice grew low, carrying a distinctive weight. ”Nagini once performed as the ’Maledictus’—the snake woman—in the Circus Arcanus, in Indonesia.

She displayed her tragic gift for transformation inside an iron cage, enduring the pointed fingers and endless pain and humiliation of onlookers.

The Animagus transformation you mentioned earlier is an ability acquired through later study and rigorous training.

And after transforming into an animal, one can still think as a human does, and can change back at any time.

Maledictus were the same, at first—just as Nagini could, at any time, become a great serpent, and then change back into human form.”

His gaze filled with sorrow as he went on. ”It was for this reason that Nagini caught the eye of the circus owner, who kept her locked in an iron cage to perform, drawing in those spectators hungry for the curious and the strange.

But as time went on, the curse in her blood would deepen, little by little, and her ability to control herself would slip away, bit by bit.

Until, in the end, a Maledictus would lose all human consciousness and thought entirely, transforming permanently and irreversibly into an animal, with no way back, ever again.”

Sherlock arched a brow, a flicker of understanding passing through his grey eyes.

He had already grasped Dumbledore’s meaning, but he did not interrupt—only gave a slight nod, signalling for him to continue.

”The owner of the Circus Arcanus was a man named Skender. He discovered Nagini, homeless, in the jungles of Indonesia.”

Dumbledore’s voice was calm and heavy. ”The circus was filled with those cast out and unwelcome in the wizarding world—Muggle-beasts, half-elves, half-goblins, along with great dragons, Zouwu, and Maledictus like Nagini.

In a certain sense, Skender truly did give these outcasts, unaccepted by society, a shelter—a place where they could belong.”

His tone shifted, taking on a faint, simmering anger. ”But at the same time, he exploited them ruthlessly, treating them as tools for profit, trampling their dignity without a second thought.

It was not until later that Nagini, together with an Obscurial named Credence Barebone, escaped from the circus together.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore waved his wand.

The silvery-white mist within the Pensieve suddenly rose up, merging in the air into a series of hazy, sorrowful images, like scenes from some long-forgotten film.

In the image, a young girl crouched within the iron cage of a shabby stage.

Sorrow was across her face, yet her eyes carried a stubborn resilience.

Her body writhed in agony between human and serpent form, her bones giving off a sickening crack.

Each transformation left her trembling, shuddering in pain, cold sweat soaking through her thin clothing.

Outside the cage, a gloomy, slight young man stood in the shadows, his eyes carrying a heaviness and fragility beyond his years.

Sherlock knew at once—this was Credence Barebone.

Credence Barebone reached his hand cautiously through the cold iron bars toward Nagini.

His eyes held the concern of a fellow sufferer, and a trace of tenderness not easily noticed.

The images continued to flow. A figure appeared, carrying a suitcase, his expression gentle yet resolute.

He was saying something to Nagini and Credence, his eyes were full of kindness.

”Who is this?” Sherlock asked, pointing at the figure with the suitcase.

”Newt Scamander. A kind-hearted magizoologist.”

Dumbledore’s voice carried the weight of history. ”He once tried to help her—to give her freedom, and dignity.”

His gaze remained on the images in the Pensieve, his tone growing heavier still. ”In that turbulent age, the shadow of Gellert—of Grindelwald—loomed over the whole of Europe. He sought to use every power society had cast aside to achieve his ends.

Under these circumstances, Credence Barebone—an Obscurial he believed powerful enough to stand against me became Grindelwald’s target.

And Nagini, able to transform into a great python, became, in that dark time, one of the very few true friends and sources of support Credence had.

They understood, in each other, the pain of being cursed, of being cast out, and found warmth together in a cold world.”

Dumbledore’s voice was filled with regret. ”She tried, with all her strength, to stop Credence from throwing in his lot completely with Grindelwald, tried to awaken whatever goodness and affection still remained in his heart.

But sadly, Credence was blinded by Grindelwald, utterly convinced that Grindelwald could help him find his past.

Different paths make for poor companions—the two who had once been friends parted ways in the end. Credence followed Grindelwald and was gone.

Nagini, instead, chose to join Newt Scamander, Tina Goldstein, Nicolas Flamel, and the others in saving the city.

Later, at a critical moment in the fight against Grindelwald, she came to Hogwarts together with Newt and the others as well.”

Having said this much, Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and wiped the mist from the lenses with his handkerchief. ”Forgive my immodesty, Sherlock—but at the time, people regarded me as the central figure standing against Grindelwald’s faction.

And it was precisely for that reason that this witch—burdened by so cruel a fate, cursed so terribly, and yet still holding onto kindness left such a deep impression on me.

I too tried to find some way, any way, to delay or even break the ancient, malicious blood curse upon her. Unfortunately—”

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