The fire in the fireplace crackled, its orange-red glow dancing across the beams of the Room of Requirement.
It was already the last day of Christmas break, and the Gryffindor common room was impossibly crowded with everyone desperately finishing their homework. Under these circumstances, Sherlock had simply called his three companions to the Room of Requirement.
Harry and Hermione had long known about this place, but it was Ron's first time here. He expressed tremendous surprise that Hogwarts contained such a mysterious location.
"Blimey, Sherlock, I never knew the castle had a place like this!" He looked around, then declared with certainty, "Harry, Hermione, I'll bet you a Galleon that even Fred and George don't know about this!"
Noticing that Harry and Hermione didn't seem as excited as he was, Ron asked curiously, "Why don't you two look surprised at all?"
A suspicion slowly formed in his mind as he looked at Harry and Hermione with shocked eyes. "You didn't already know about this, did you?"
"How could we?" Harry heard the wrong note in Ron's emotion and quickly said, "I'm just like you!"
He was lying. It was a well-intentioned lie. But in his haste, his speech wasn't particularly polished.
Seeing Ron's suspicious gaze, Hermione said slowly, "Of course we're amazed by the construction of this mysterious room. But right now I'm more interested in Sherlock and Professor Dumbledore's recent experience."
"Exactly!" Harry silently praised Hermione. "More than this, I'm much more interested in how Sherlock actually solved the case."
Ron thought about it and agreed. After all, this was Sherlock going out with Dumbledore alone to investigate a case!
Sherlock reclined in the soft velvet sofa, taking in the entire scene of his three companions' subtle maneuvering. He didn't think there was anything wrong with letting Ron know he was the last to learn about the Room of Requirement.
Why was it necessary to compete over who knew first? Even if Ron felt uncomfortable about it, that was his own problem—he could work on adjusting his mental state later.
However, seeing Harry and Hermione being so kind and considerate of their friend, Sherlock decided not to expose them.
He toyed with the magical magnifying glass in his hand and began his account.
Starting from when they Apparated to that country lane, all the way through arriving at Little Hangleton, entering the Riddle House, and finally delivering his conclusion to Dumbledore that this was not a disappearance case, but a murder case, and the killer had already surfaced.
Throughout this process, Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat around the coffee table, their gazes locked on Sherlock. They even forgot to sip the butterbeer whose foam was rising in their cups.
After Sherlock finished recounting how he'd reconstructed the entire case with Dumbledore at the Riddle House, he lightly tapped his fingertips on the table and looked up at his three friends.
"Actually, after examining the scene at the Riddle House, I already had the case figured out. However, after leaving the manor, Dumbledore and I still made a trip to the local police station to retrieve the case file.
After all, nothing compares to obtaining direct evidence. Of course, this trip to the police station wasn't wasted—the information we got there completely verified my deductions. As for the tedious process of reviewing the files, there's no need to go into detail here."
"I have a question!"
Ron suddenly raised his hand like an elementary student eager to answer in class.
"The Muggle police station just let you see their information that easily? Because I know that if it were the Ministry of Magic, they definitely wouldn't let you touch the case reports so easily."
"My dear Ron, have you forgotten that both Dumbledore and I are wizards?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a faint smile.
"Huh?" Ron blinked, his expression as blank as Neville's.
Seeing this, Hermione sighed helplessly. "Sherlock means that Professor Dumbledore must have used magic."
"Ohh—" Ron finally understood, quickly touching his nose and looking at Sherlock somewhat embarrassedly. "I forgot about that. Sherlock, is that really what happened? Did Dumbledore use magic on the people at the police station?"
"Hermione is correct," Sherlock nodded. "In fact, the police chief, a woman named St. John, was quite shrewd and difficult to deal with at first. But after Dumbledore showed her a piece of paper, she immediately opened all doors for us, giving us whatever we asked for."
"What was written on the paper?" Harry leaned forward, his eyes full of curiosity.
"Nothing at all. It was a completely blank sheet of paper." Sherlock smiled slightly, his fingertips making a flourish in the air. "However, when Dumbledore handed over the paper, he quietly waved his wand."
The three companions understood immediately. The firelight happened to illuminate their faces—one could clearly see the comprehension in Harry's eyes, Hermione nodding thoughtfully, and Ron's mouth hanging open dramatically.
Clearly, Dumbledore had cast a masterful Confundus Charm, and poor Chief St. John had been deceived.
Sherlock leaned back, his body sinking into the soft sofa. His gaze swept across the three curious faces as he spoke rapidly.
"The victim, Frank Bryce, was the Riddle family's gardener, living alone in a dilapidated wooden cottage in the grounds of the Riddle House. After Frank returned from the battlefield years ago, he'd worked for the Riddle family continuously.
Even then, one of his legs was stiff and unresponsive, and he particularly disliked crowds and noise. This information I extracted from the large amount of redundant, useless information in the Muggle newspapers, and it matched perfectly with what I discovered at the Riddle House.
For instance, the shallow marks left by a cane scraping the floor, or the white hair in the gardener's room."
"Sherlock, could you be more specific?" Ron touched his nose, asking somewhat uncertainly.
"It's simple." Sherlock extended his fingers, listing points one by one.
"I examined those hairs carefully with the magnifying glass. The follicles contained almost no melanin, and the ends were split—these are typical characteristics of elderly hair. So, I deduced he was at least seventy years old. When I later checked the police file, it confirmed he'd nearly reached his seventy-seventh birthday last year.
Also, there was a hook by the door of the small wooden cottage, with very rusty marks left by keys, indicating the keys hung there long-term and were frequently used. Below the marks on the wall, there was a vertical dust line at exactly chest height for an adult—this was worn by a cane hanging there long-term. All of this shows that Frank's living habits had long been established."
At this point, Sherlock paused, reached for the butterbeer on the coffee table, took a sip, and continued.
"Then there were the footprints in the room—honestly, those police officers not being clever enough actually helped me considerably. When they investigated, they didn't enter through the back door of the Riddle House. They didn't even realize that room was the crime scene.
Even now they still think Frank disappeared after leaving the gardener's cottage. But there was a layer of dust on the ground from the back door of the Riddle House to that room, and Frank's footprints were very clear.
His footprints were one-third shallower than a normal adult's, and his right footprint was always half an inch shallower than his left—indicating his right leg lacked strength and his movement was impaired. Looking at the dust on the stairs, you could clearly see he was treading lightly when he went upstairs."
"That does sound fairly simple," Harry nodded, but then frowned with confusion. "But how did you know his hearing was severely impaired? And that you told Dumbledore the village boys always bullied him?"
"Couldn't you just ask the villagers?" Ron interjected casually, even raising his eyebrows smugly.
But Harry still looked puzzled, shaking his head. "But Sherlock said he and Dumbledore didn't talk to any villagers."
Ron: "..."
Damn, I think I slipped up.
"That's right, we indeed didn't interact with the villagers, but all of this could be deduced from traces at the scene," Sherlock explained.
"The window glass of the gardener's cottage had many dents from small stones, all concentrated at the bottom, clearly thrown by children. Moreover, on the grounds of the Riddle House, both the traces of artificial trimming and bicycle tire tracks were very clear. This shows Frank had been carefully maintaining the manor and grounds, keeping the lawn very neat, but those boys had been riding their bicycles all over it."
"Could it actually have been those boys playing a prank?" Ron asked again.
Harry and Hermione both looked at him with helpless expressions, but Ron seemed oblivious and even leaned forward.
"Impossible," Sherlock stated categorically.
"Inside the keyhole of the Riddle House's back door, there are three clockwise metal scratches, evenly spaced. These were worn by the old key Frank had used for twenty years.
If the boys wanted to break in, they'd either use a crowbar, which would leave irregular dents, or they'd just smash a window. But there wasn't even a loose pane of glass at the scene.
How could they specifically use a key to open the door? Furthermore, they couldn't possibly have obtained the keys to the Riddle House."
"You mentioned before that the dust on the stairs proved he went upstairs quietly?" Hermione asked.
"Right." Sherlock nodded.
"The dust on the stone steps was very thick, but there was a shallow indentation in the middle, where the dust particles were particularly fine. This was worn from long-term walking in the same position, showing Frank was already accustomed to walking this way.
Mixed in the indentation's dust were some wood shavings from the cane tip, proving he was using his cane at the time and treading lightly, afraid of being discovered by whoever was in the room."
He paused, then suddenly turned to look at Harry, his gaze sharpening in that instant. "Finally, and most crucially—Harry's dream."
"My dream?" Harry unconsciously repeated.
"Exactly. Your description of that room in your dream was almost identical to the room layout I saw at the Riddle House."
Hermione immediately pressed, "Sherlock, did you think of this as soon as you saw that room?"
"To be precise, I thought of it before entering the room," Sherlock answered.
"Does this mean You-Know-Who really has returned?" Hermione's body trembled slightly, her hands unconsciously gripping her skirt. "That place is less than two hundred miles from where Harry lives."
"That's right. Just as Dumbledore said, that magic created some kind of connection between your scar and Voldemort's thoughts," Sherlock looked at Harry, his tone growing more serious.
"I believe his deduction is correct. Whenever your scar hurts, either Voldemort is very close to you, or he's experiencing intense feelings of revenge. This was already demonstrated when we confronted Quirrell in first year."
Hearing this, both Hermione and Ron couldn't help turning to look at Harry, their eyes full of concern.
Harry's mood sank. His fingers unconsciously touched the scar on his forehead.
Sherlock was right. Apart from last summer when he'd been awakened by his scar hurting, the recent episodes had all been in first year.
At the time, he'd believed it was caused by Snape. But Sherlock had keenly pointed out the blind spot—Quirrell had been sitting right beside Snape.
Later, facts proved Sherlock's deduction correct. Voldemort had been stuck to the back of Quirrell's head. That was when he'd been observing Harry through Quirrell.
Then there was the confrontation with Quirrell and Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest and in the chamber with the Philosopher's Stone—his scar had hurt to an extreme degree, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
So now it could be confirmed that this scar allowed him to see real events from Voldemort's perspective. Everything in his dreams had been real.
Sherlock continued,
"This way, all the clues connect. There's only one truth: the victim Frank woke up at night because his leg was hurting. He wanted to fill a hot water bottle to warm his knees, and then saw light at the Riddle House. Being conscientious, he thought it was the boys playing pranks, so he took his keys, grabbed his cane, and went over.
He crept upstairs quietly, never expecting to encounter Voldemort and his allies, and was ultimately silenced. The police file, the traces at the scene, plus Harry's dream—all three corroborate each other. This is definitely a murder case, not a disappearance."
The three companions couldn't help but exchange glances.
The discussion of this case ended there. However, the impact of this matter had not concluded.
On the first day of the new term, when Harry went to class, he not only carried his books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also bore a heavy burden in his heart.
Voldemort's power was growing stronger. He had new allies. In some unknown place, he would soon return...
The truth felt like that heavy golden egg, preventing him from mustering any energy for the first few days after term started.
Harry's low spirits were visible to both Hermione and Ron, who grew anxious on his behalf. Both began desperately trying to think of ways to cheer him up.
Hermione found Cho Chang. Ron found Ginny.
But even with two girls offering gentle comfort, practically adopting an accommodating attitude, they still couldn't help Harry shake off his troubles.
Not until Sherlock found him.
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