Chapter 770 - 770: 0770 New Situation

The students of Hogwarts suddenly sensed that something was off.

Ever since Umbridge became the sole remaining High Inquisitor, she had abruptly grown more forceful.

Yet no one found this surprising. Because this time, the Ministry of Magic stood behind her.

The Daily Prophet had finally run the story about Dumbledore and Thickness.

A year on, the newly appointed Minister for Magic seemed intent on finding his own voice, and the once-seamless closeness between the Ministry and Hogwarts appeared to be showing its first hairline crack.

On the school's side, Dolores Umbridge had gained a new title beyond High Inquisitor and Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—one nobody had seen coming: Deputy Headmistress.

The position focused chiefly on organizational relations and discipline.

With this appointment, the standing of Professor McGonagall—long regarded as the de facto deputy had suddenly grown precarious.

"I admit I misjudged him."

In the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore said this to Sherlock and Hermione, who had come to see him.

Though he still wore his usual smile, his face revealed a certain weariness.

"Sherlock, I believe you already know that Pius was never our first choice. My preferred candidate for the Ministry was Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Sherlock spoke the name directly.

"Indeed—Amelia. Upright, courageous, formidably capable."

"Unfortunately, she declined the offer, and recommended her deputy instead—Pius Thicknesse."

Sherlock fixed his eyes on Dumbledore's and said slowly.

"Fudge wasn't the first choice either, back then. It was only because you declined that he became the lucky one.

"So should I say—history has an uncanny way of repeating itself?"

"I'm sorry."

"An apology means nothing at this point, Professor."

Sherlock cut Dumbledore off directly.

"What I want to know now is whether this new Minister is under the Imperius Curse. And if he is, was it cast before he took office, or after?"

At Sherlock's words, Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"I'm afraid I can't be certain."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, while Hermione couldn't help but ask:

"Professor, even you can't be certain?"

"Hermione, you credit me with far too much."

Dumbledore shook his head bitterly. "Even though he's behaved perfectly normally in my dealings with him this past year, that proves nothing about whether he's under the curse.

"It seems I understand this man far less than I believed. And if the curse was cast by a sufficiently skilled wizard, I would see no trace of it at all."

"Voldemort, for instance?"

Dumbledore looked at Sherlock deeply, then nodded. "Yes."

At this answer, Hermione suddenly understood.

She turned to Sherlock, worry in her eyes. "Sherlock, does that mean—"

"Precisely. It seems this is the third possibility."

"What third possibility?" Dumbledore asked, curious.

"I mentioned to Hermione earlier the three explanations for Thicknesse's change in attitude."

Sherlock briefly recounted his earlier reasoning:

"The third possibility is that Pius Thicknesse was the other side's pawn all along—positioned there from the start.

"He was prepared well in advance, simply waiting for us to push him into the position of Minister for Magic.

"And in fact, that's precisely what we did—the Muggle world and the wizarding world, pulling together, pushing together, working in perfect, appalling harmony."

At Sherlock's words, Dumbledore's eyes behind his half-moon spectacles went wide.

"Voldemort knew from the start that we'd choose Pius?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sherlock said, somewhat irritated: "After everything we went through during Fudge's tenure as Minister, we already understood the importance of that position.

"As I've stressed to you time and again—if we don't occupy that ground ourselves, someone else will.

"Even if you had no wish to be Minister for Magic yourself, you still needed the wizarding world's nominal highest authority to be one of our own!

"So, the moment Fudge's downfall became certain, we began searching for a candidate.

"But whatever we could think of, the other side could think of too.

"So, all they needed was to secure control of this man in advance, and we would do the work of pushing him into that seat ourselves!

"An extremely simple scheme—and devastatingly effective.

"I'd wager that from the moment he began orchestrating attacks in the Muggle world to force Fudge's hand; this plan was already in motion. No—"

Sherlock struck his palms together abruptly.

"Earlier. From the moment he broke into Azkaban and won over the Dementors, this had already been planned."

"You're saying Voldemort actually—"

"No—not that noseless creature!"

Sherlock waved a hand, sounding impatient.

"I mean the one hidden behind him—the true power controlling the wizarding world these past years. Though I still don't know who he is."

"Sherlock, are you certain such a person exists?"

"I am entirely certain."

Sherlock said with conviction:

"Not only the wizarding world—the Muggle world as well.

"Had I never come to the magical world, I might have uncovered his trail far sooner.

"Ever since Britain joined the European Union, London's criminal underworld has grown active again.

"Professor, I can tell you without the slightest exaggeration—looking at London's cases over these past several years, nearly half of them bear his mark.

"And not only that—every single time, through meticulous planning, he ensures his men leave no trace at the scene and escape cleanly. He has never once failed."

Dumbledore looked at Sherlock in astonishment.

"You speak so highly of a man you've never even met?"

Sherlock gave a cold laugh.

"The mere fact that he managed to have us push Thicknesse into the Minister's seat—without either Mycroft or myself noticing a thing—marks him as a rare genius indeed.

"I suspect he knows of my existence. No—he must know of my existence.

"I don't know his true purpose, but the criminal blood running through his veins is beyond question.

"And because of his extraordinary intellect, he has only grown bolder—more dangerous without limit.

"He has always concealed himself perfectly. Until Voldemort's return gave him hope.

"Once Voldemort and the Death Eaters' power became his to wield, only then did he truly begin to bare his fangs.

"Believe me, Professor—Thicknesse, Umbridge, the Ministry itself—none of it comes close to satisfying his appetite."

At this point, Sherlock grew unusually lively.

He rose to his feet, pacing across the headmaster's office, his words were coming faster and faster:

"Headmaster, I think you know my capabilities well. But this time, I must admit—I have finally encountered an opponent whose intellect matches my own.

"I admire his skill even more than I despise his crimes.

"And if I could defeat him—rid society of this scoundrel—perhaps then I would feel my life's work had reached its summit.

"And when that day comes..."

Sherlock looked toward Hermione. "Perhaps I might finally allow myself to taste love."

Hermione let out a soft gasp.

She had never imagined Sherlock would say such a thing in so grave a setting.

In an instant, colour flooded her cheeks, her heart pounding as wildly as a bird flung against glass.

Sherlock continued, "I can say this with complete confidence—if destroying that man could be guaranteed, then for the good of society, I would gladly perish alongside him."

"Oh, Sherlock—don't say such things!"

Hermione, alarmed, seized his arm.

Dumbledore, too, had not expected such resolve from Sherlock. He looked at the young man in astonishment—by wizarding standards already an adult, and already a great detective in his own right.

"Sherlock—do you truly believe this... mysterious figure poses a greater danger than Voldemort?"

Even as he said it, Dumbledore found the phrase strange in his own mouth.

He had never imagined a day would come when he himself would utter the words "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"—only this time, not in reference to the one everyone already knew by that name.

"The two aren't remotely comparable, Professor."

Sherlock's eyes gleamed.

"Voldemort wishes to become the sole ruler of the wizarding world. He purges his enemies through the doctrine of pure-blood supremacy, seeks to build a dictatorship of pure-blood wizards, and pursues immortality through the creation of Horcruxes.

"As for my opponent—who has yet to formally show his face—he is the Napoleon of crime. He will turn every criminal into his own pawn.

"I would wager, dear Dumbledore, that the two of them exist in a relationship of mutual exploitation—and that this genius's capacity for exploitation will far exceed Voldemort's own.

"In fact, from the very beginning, he will have treated this entire collaboration as nothing more than a game of intellectual manipulation played against Voldemort himself.

"So long as you remain, and Harry remains, Voldemort is bound to fail.

"I say this without false modesty—I alone am capable of dealing with the one hidden behind the curtain."

When Sherlock finished speaking, Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.

"What... do you need from me?"

"Do everything in your power to hold the current situation steady."

"I assumed you'd ask me to help track down this mysterious figure's whereabouts."

"There's no need," Sherlock shook his head. "That would only put him on his guard. He is an adversary of my own calibre—I cannot afford to underestimate him for even a moment."

"You've approached Severus?"

Dumbledore caught on at once.

"Obviously. As master of Occlumency, and having played the double agent for so many years, he is the ideal man for this."

"I understand. I'll do everything I can."

After Sherlock and Hermione had left the headmaster's office, the portraits of the old headmasters on the wall began to speak.

"Albus, do you truly believe such a mysterious figure exists?"

"I believe in Sherlock, just as I believe in all of you," Dumbledore said calmly. "Phineas, I'd like you to make your way to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. There are certain words that need to be delivered..."

By the time Sherlock and a visibly troubled Hermione reached the common room, a celebration was already underway.

Gryffindor had triumphed over Ravenclaw without contest, claiming the Quidditch House Cup once again.

With this win—setting aside Sherlock's fourth year, when the Triwizard Tournament had suspended the Cup entirely—Gryffindor had now secured what amounted to three consecutive championships.

The Cup itself had, as always, taken up residence in the office of Gryffindor's Head of House, Minerva McGonagall.

Just as she'd once told Harry—she had grown rather fond of having the trophy stay with her.

This happy occasion had also loosened her grip on the young lions, granting them permission to stay up all night celebrating in the common room.

"Oi, where've you two been?"

Ron, spotting Sherlock and Hermione arriving late, called out with some indignation, waving the silver Quidditch Cup about while Lavender gazed at him with unmistakable adoration.

The two had been sitting right there in the stands when the match began.

Yet by the time it ended, they'd both vanished.

"Something came up," Sherlock offered, in a tone that made clear he wasn't going to elaborate, before asking, "Won well, I take it?"

Sure enough, seeing Sherlock's characteristically unbothered manner, Ron's irritation evaporated at once, and he answered excitedly:

"Brilliant! Four-ten to one-ten!"

The instant Sherlock heard the score, he understood exactly what had happened.

Harry—stubborn as ever, iron-willed to the last.

Subtracting the hundred and fifty points from catching the Snitch, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had stood at two hundred sixty to one hundred ten before the catch. Under those circumstances, had Ravenclaw caught the Snitch first, the match would have ended in a tie—two hundred sixty apiece.

Even so, thanks to Gryffindor's victories in the two previous matches, they would still have claimed the Cup on points alone.

Given all that, it would have been entirely understandable—expected, even, perhaps even remembered fondly afterward—had Harry eased off for the sake of his girlfriend, Ravenclaw's own Seeker, Cho Chang.

But Harry had done no such thing.

Girlfriend or not, victory was victory—and he would beat her all the same.

Hermione had thought of this too, of course.

Without meaning to, her eyes drifted toward Ginny.

Sure enough, Ginny was watching Harry, her face lit with an intense, burning expression.

Gryffindor's third consecutive Quidditch Cup kept the young lions in high spirits for a long while afterward—as if it had swept away even the gloom Umbridge had brought with her these past months.

Having found a way to handle the Inquisitorial Squad—which, put simply, amounted to picking one's battles and not inviting trouble unnecessarily—the young lions rarely lost points anymore.

Another factor was simply the passage of time: fifth-years now had O.W.L.s to prepare for, seventh-years had N.E.W.T.s, and even the sixth-years had end-of-term exams looming—and it was precisely the sixth-years who made up the bulk of the Inquisitorial Squad's ranks.

It was at exactly this moment that someone entirely unexpected came looking for Sherlock.

You can read more than 40 chapters on:

patreon.com/MikeyMuse