Chapter 114: Are You Selling or Not?

Chapter 114: Are You Selling or Not?

In Norwich, a coastal city in eastern England.

Nelson hummed a tune, holding a can of beer as he wobbled his way home.

It was already pitch black, but he wasn't worried about getting scolded by his wife for coming home late.

Because Nelson was a bachelor, and at thirty-six, he was still unmarried.

The reason he hadn't found a wife was simple: he had no money.

Nelson had once had a period of success. In his youth, he seized an opportunity and made a small fortune by reselling car parts during the worst economic downturn in Britain.

Back then, he even fantasized that if he became a wealthy man, he might marry the prettiest girl in his hometown, Marissa.

But he developed a gambling addiction.

In one night, he lost everything he had and even accumulated a lot of debt.

As a result, he lived a destitute life, and his gambling addiction never left him. Whenever he had a bit of money, his first thought was to rush to the casino and try to win back what he had lost.

But in over a decade of trying, he had never seen any hope of winning back his losses.

Not even once.

Nelson finished his beer in one gulp, then looked up at the dark sky. It felt as though the night had become a giant black pot, inverted and pressing down on him, dark and eerie.

A cold wind blew past him, making him slightly more sober, and he tightened his thin coat around himself.

His eyes darted around, and he felt as though something strange was following him.

His pace quickened as he hurried toward his dilapidated house.

But the uneasy feeling didn't go away; it only grew stronger, eventually consuming his entire being.

Everything around him seemed to vanish!

The world turned completely black, with nothing but darkness everywhere, leaving him alone and isolated.

Fear enveloped him, and Nelson screamed in panic.

"What's happening! What's going on!"

No one responded, for a silent presence had appeared before him.

Nelson's face froze in a look of terror as he slowly and heavily fell to the ground.

"What's happening!" a raspy voice echoed, mimicking the dying man's last words, then gradually faded away, leaving only a withered straw on the ground.

Everything returned to normal, and no one in the narrow alley noticed what had transpired.

After a long while, a sound like a whip cracking through the air suddenly rang out. Two Aurors, dressed in the standard robes of the British Ministry of Magic, appeared beside Nelson's body.

Kingsley crouched down, frowning as he examined Nelson's condition.

"Same as the previous two cases, his soul has been sucked out, but his body is still alive."

His companion, a burly wizard named Williamson, said, "Another Dementor attack? Ever since Black escaped from that island, they've been given permission to leave and hunt."

Kingsley tapped Nelson with his wand.

"From the looks of it, it seems to be the case. In the Wizarding World, nothing else can do this except the Dementor's Kiss."

"Should we report this again? This is the third incident!" Williamson said irritably.

"The Ministry won't take it seriously. Right now, the priority is Black's escape and Harry Potter's safety. Even Minister Fudge is troubled by this."

Kingsley stood up, shaking his head.

"Still, let's report it again. Hopefully, the Ministry will keep those Dementors under control."

"Wait, what's that?"

They followed Williamson's finger, but it turned out to be just a regular straw.

"Stop overreacting. The Dementors wouldn't dare attack us. Let's go back and report this."

The two Aurors Disapparated, leaving Nelson's lifeless yet living body lying on the ground.

A gentle breeze blew by, carrying the straw far away.

When Sherlock and Harry returned to Devonshire, it was already July 29th.

They had flown in a flying car, stopping only a few times to refuel. The rest of the time, they were in the air.

After Harry came to his senses following the test that produced a completely different result, he asked Sherlock why they were in such a hurry to return.

"The Ministry of Magic sent me a letter. It says a criminal has escaped from Azkaban."

Sherlock's expression was grim, while Harry looked bewildered.

"What does that have to do with us going back?"

"The escaped criminal is named Sirius Black, a former loyal follower of the Dark Lord. Someone overheard him repeatedly saying 'Hogwarts' while he was in prison. The Ministry of Magic suspects that he escaped to kill you and avenge his master."

Harry finally understood the entire situation. He didn't show any signs of fear, but rather mumbled.

"Why do we have to go back? Wouldn't it be safer to wait abroad until he's caught again, and then return to Britain?"

Sherlock seriously explained to him.

"Do you know why Dumbledore insists that you stay with your aunt and uncle?"

"Why?" Harry had been thinking about this question all along.

"Because only there are you the safest. The protection magic from your mother requires you to be near a blood relative."

Sherlock shared with Harry what he had learned from Dumbledore, which helped ease his concerns.

The two weeks of traveling with Sherlock had been enjoyable, making Harry genuinely dread returning to the Dursleys.

Sherlock noticed his reluctance, but he had to send Harry back.

Although Harry was still unwilling, he didn't show any resistance after hearing Sherlock's explanation.

He knew that staying safely and quietly with the Dursleys wasn't just for his own sake but also to avoid causing trouble for others.

Sherlock looked at the silent Harry and couldn't help but smile.

"I remember your birthday is in two days, isn't it?"

Harry responded gloomily.

"I don't have a birthday. I've never celebrated one at Aunt Petunia's."

"What if I bring a gift and come to your aunt's house to celebrate with you?"

"They won't welcome you, and they might even kick you out."

"Then why don't you come to my place on your birthday? It's just two streets away. We can celebrate, and you can go back afterward."

At this, Harry's eyes finally lit up.

"Can I stay at your place for a few days?"

He felt that now that Sherlock's Jinxed Mouth was no longer effective, he didn't have to live in constant fear and could stay at Sherlock's house with peace of mind.

Sherlock didn't refuse but warned him.

"There's nothing fun at my place. You'll probably be bored."

"Nothing could be worse than living with Aunt Petunia." Harry said with certainty.

His mood improved, and for the first time, he was looking forward to his birthday.

They arrived at Privet Drive in the evening.

Sherlock dropped Harry off at the Dursleys. Petunia and Vernon didn't show any friendly faces, not even a polite "Do you want to come in for a bit?"

Sherlock didn't care whether they were polite or not.

After dropping Harry off, he didn't immediately return home. Instead, he found the car rental company and bought the Ford car he had rented.

The car had been modified with magic, and returning it would likely cause a big mess. So Sherlock decided to buy it, figuring he might find it useful.

He rested at home for the night and early the next morning used Apparition to go to Diagon Alley.

Most of the shops were just opening, and Sherlock went directly to Gringotts Bank to withdraw a large sum of money from his vault.

Then he headed straight to Olivander's Wand Shop.

Summer vacation was undoubtedly the busiest time for Olivander's Wand Shop. New students preparing to enter Hogwarts would come to his shop to select their first wand.

This was not only because of the excellent craftsmanship of his wands but also because he was the only wandmaker in the British Wizarding World.

Olivander would open his shop half an hour earlier during the summer mornings to prepare for the first-years.

But the first person to enter his shop that day was a handsome young man.

"Are you..." Olivander hesitated, looking at Sherlock as he walked in.

Sherlock shrugged. "Does this shop sell anything other than wands?"

"Did your original wand get damaged by accident?" Olivander furrowed his brow; he was always sensitive about adult wizards buying a second wand from him.

Sherlock vaguely replied, "Something like that."

Suddenly, a tape measure slithered around him, measuring various parts of his body.

"Name? And when did you start at Hogwarts?" Olivander asked, pulling out a thick notebook.

Sherlock extended his arms to make it easier for the tape measure to work.

"Sherlock Forrest, you entered Hogwarts in 1982."

With the information provided by Sherlock, Ollivander quickly found his records from that time.

"The first wand you bought from me back then was ebony with a dragon heartstring core, 12 inches. Would you like to get one with the same specifications?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I want to choose a new combination."

Ollivander nodded.

"That makes sense. People change, but wands do not. Sometimes, different wands choose wizards at different stages of their lives."

He walked over to the shelves lined with wand boxes and pulled one out.

"Try this one, pine with a dragon heartstring core, 9 inches. It should be a very suitable combination for you."

Sherlock took the wand from him, waved it, and cast a spell.

"Lumos."

A light appeared at the tip of the wand, but it seemed to take a bit longer than expected.

"Oh, this combination doesn't seem to suit you well", Ollivander said, shaking his head and taking the wand back from Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"It feels a bit blocked, not very smooth to use."

"How about this one? Redwood with a phoenix feather core, 11 inches. This is a bestseller. Wizards often come to my shop asking if I have any redwood wands, believing they bring good luck."

Sherlock used this wand to cast a lighting spell but was still not satisfied.

"It doesn't feel right. It's as if something is missing."

Ollivander continued searching through his shelves and eventually pulled out another wand, muttering to himself.

"Laurel with a fire dragon heartstring core, 14 inches. Give it a try. This is the most loyal wand. If someone tries to steal a laurel wand, it will release a bolt of lightning to repel the thief."

Sherlock held the wand in his hand and immediately felt a strong connection with it, even before using any magic.

"Lumos."

The lighting spell came out smoothly and without any hesitation.

Seeing the perfect match between the wand and Sherlock, Ollivander nodded approvingly.

"It seems you've been through a lot. A wand with such a significant difference has chosen you."

Sherlock twirled the laurel wand between his fingers, the silver light dancing around his fingertips. He was very satisfied with his new wand.

"How much does this wand cost?"

"Seven galleons."

The Ollivander family was a conscientious business, monopolizing the wand industry in the British Wizarding World without inflating prices excessively. While the Ministry of Magic certainly regulated his pricing, a wand for less than ten galleons was indeed a fair deal.

He pulled out a heavy money bag, charmed to extend its capacity.

"Alright, I'll take a hundred!"

Ollivander nodded, about to take the money from Sherlock, but then he realized what he had heard.

He gaped, wondering if he had misunderstood.

"How many did you say?"

Sherlock held up one finger and repeated himself.

"A hundred, to start. I might need another hundred later. The materials must be exactly the same as this one, even the length must match."

Ollivander stared at Sherlock, as if he were looking at a madman.

"I remember reading about you in the Daily Prophet recently. Aren't you the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

"Then why do you need so many wands? Are you planning to buy in bulk from me and resell them in some small country's Wizarding World?" Ollivander asked suspiciously.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"I don't have the time for that. I simply want to buy them for personal use. A hundred wands, will you sell them to me? If not, I'll go to Diagon Alley in France and see if Wenger's Wand Shop will do this business."

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end