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Chapter 135: Sherlock's Sorrow
Chapter 135: Sherlock's Sorrow
Dumbledore drew out his wand, a straight stick with small wooden knots and an unusual design.
He tapped the pendant box lightly with his wand, as if casting a spell.
A faint white light flashed, but the pendant box remained unchanged.
Dumbledore shook his head and put it back.
"This is a very ancient object. The reason it has attached itself to you is that it seems to have recognized you as its owner. However, its magic power is still in the recovery stage, which is why it can't open."
"It can self-repair, or you could say self-recharge. Once its magic power is sufficiently restored, you will be able to open it and remove it."
Sherlock looked at the pendant box with a worried expression.
"So, is it harmful to me right now?"
"It's definitely harmless before it fully recovers", Dumbledore said. "But once it becomes a complete magical item, the outcome is uncertain. I suggest you don't open it even if you can. Perhaps you can have Silke return to the German Ministry of Magic to help you find out what it is and decide how to handle it."
Dumbledore's suggestion was sensible. Without other options, this was the best course of action.
"As long as it doesn't affect me for now, that's fine", Sherlock said, sounding troubled. "I've completed the task you gave me. Silke caught the murderer."
Dumbledore looked at him approvingly.
"I will recommend you for an award to the Ministry of Magic. The German Ministry of Magic might not be able to give you a public reward due to the need for secrecy, but I believe they might award you the German Friendship Wizard Medal privately."
"Speaking of that, what's the use of it? I already have one from the French Ministry of Magic."
Dumbledore explained to him.
"A foreign wizard who owns this medal can use the Floo Network of the country's Ministry of Magic without applying, or apply to use some of the country's external Portkeys at appropriate times, as well as enjoy some minor benefits of living in the country."
Sherlock got up from the table, his eyes drooping as if he hadn't slept well.
"That sounds pretty good."
Dumbledore looked at him with concern.
"Can you still teach your classes?"
Sherlock scratched his head, feeling a constant wave of sadness, worry, and sorrow welling up from within.
"I have a fifth-year class this afternoon. I'll try it out. If I can't manage, I'll have Lupin take over."
Dumbledore shook his head gently.
"Lupin hasn't been in the best shape recently. You should try teaching this afternoon. If you can't continue, take a week off."
"Alright, Professor. I'll be on my way."
Sherlock left the headmaster's office, slouching and looking listless.
Back in his office, Sherlock held the pendant box that had attached itself to him and studied it in the sunlight for a long time, muttering to himself.
"It looks pretty good. I'll just keep it."
He didn't go to the Great Hall for lunch but instead dozed off at his desk to regain some energy. After checking the time, he gathered his teaching materials and headed to the fifth-year Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
Most students were already in their seats before the bell rang. As Sherlock entered the classroom, his state of mind caught everyone's attention.
"Professor, are you sick?" George, one of the Weasley twins, asked, puzzled.
Sherlock walked to the lectern, found an extra chair, transfigured it into a high-legged armchair, and sat down, resting his chin on his elbow.
"Don't worry, I'm not sick. It's just a bit of an emotional issue. Let's start the class. Take out the tests I returned to you last time."
The students exchanged glances. Some were concerned about Sherlock's condition, while others found him intriguing in this state.
"Your performance on the last test wasn't very good. Many of the questions were variations of what I've covered in class, but you struggled with them, which disappointed me when grading."
"Regarding the essay on the correct perspective on Unforgivable Curses, I've emphasized many times that you can express your own views, but you must not forget to focus on how these curses erode a wizard's psyche."
"That is the key point of the question. Unfortunately, many Slytherin students wrote that power has no inherent right or wrong and that the Ministry of Magic's ban on Unforgivable Curses is a mistake."
"I won’t even comment on whether your mindset has the potential to turn you into a Dark Wizard. Just the fact that you wrote such a treasonous idea in your answer shows that you lack common sense. This makes me very worried that I might see you in Azkaban Prison in the future."
The Gryffindors below burst into a chorus of laughter.
They had always been at odds with Slytherin, so they naturally laughed the hardest.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, lacking energy.
"Is there no fool in Gryffindor? What are you laughing at? I won’t name names, but how did many of you answer this question? A brave Wizard should face the Unforgivable Curses with courage. Real men never fear the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and the Imperius Curse is useless against true men. After getting hit by the Killing Curse, you’ll be a hero again in eighteen years."
"These are all reckless thoughts, the bravado of the ignorant. At least I can still visit the Slytherins in Azkaban. What about you? Are you waiting for me to chat with you at your graves?"
This time, it was the Slytherins' turn to laugh mockingly.
"Each generation is worse than the last. You are truly the worst class I have ever taught. This makes me very worried about your end-of-semester exams. If you perform poorly, while your seniors have excellent grades, how will you find jobs in the Wizarding World after graduation?"
Sherlock sighed wistfully.
Hearing his words, a Gryffindor girl timidly spoke up.
"But Professor, counting us, you have only taught two fifth-year classes, right?"
"Even with just two classes, you are still the worst."
The students were not ashamed by this; instead, they found it more amusing. Fred loudly asked,
"Are you trying to motivate us, Professor? Or will you say the same thing to the next fifth-year class?"
"Don’t be cheeky. Quickly spread out your papers; we are about to start discussing the answers."
As the lesson officially began, the students' attitudes became more serious. By fifth year, they knew that the next three years at Hogwarts were the most crucial for their future.
Sherlock read out the first question on the exam.
"How to reasonably counterattack or escape when being pursued by a Werewolf."
"I’ve told you that the key to scoring well on this question is to focus on the Ministry of Magic’s policies. They are always friendly in their public statements about Werewolves, but their actions are very direct."
"You can add your own thoughts to your answer, but you also need to be practical. In the lesson on Werewolves, we discussed that the best way to deal with a Werewolf is to Apparate away immediately. Don’t try to cast spells on them; their resistance to magic is comparable to that of giants, and most spells won’t affect them."
"So if you can Apparate, do it immediately. If you can’t or don’t know how, then..."
At this point, a wave of intense sadness washed over Sherlock. The world seemed gray and lifeless, and he felt that death was inevitable, and perhaps dying early would lead to a better rebirth.
He continued dejectedly,
"Then just lie on the ground and wait to die."
The students below were shocked and looked up from their papers.
"Professor, are you alright?"
"Are you serious, Professor? Is that the correct answer to the question?"
Sherlock slapped his face, trying to revive his spirits, but it had no effect.
He stared at the ceiling, despondently saying,
"Sorry, everyone. You’ll have to study on your own today. It looks like I need a week of rest. Or maybe I should ask Lupin if he can substitute for a few days."
The sadness potion had severely affected Sherlock’s mood, and he couldn’t continue the lesson. He didn’t know what other depressing things he might say.
Sherlock let the fifth-year students study on their own in the classroom and then sadly went to Lupin’s office to ask if he could help cover a few classes.
When he found Lupin, he was about to leave.
"Sorry, Sherlock, I also have some matters to attend to. I was actually going to ask for your help."
Lupin’s face was noticeably pale, not his usual healthy color.
The two commiserated with each other.
Sherlock said gloomily,
"That’s really unfortunate. We won’t be able to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this week."
Lupin sighed.
"Maybe we could ask Snape for help. He would probably be happy to take a few Defense classes."
"Snape? Are you sure he would be willing?"
"If you ask him to help with something else, he would refuse, but for Defense Against the Dark Arts, he might agree readily."
(End of Chapter)
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