139 Chapter 139: Hosting a Feast

The locket suspended from a thin golden chain swung slightly under the subtle guidance of the afternoon sun, casting an array of dazzling light patterns on the wall. Sherlock Forester, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the prestigious Hogwarts School, squinted at the light with a puzzled frown.

"Does the locket seem newer than when I first acquired it?" he mused aloud.

His words caught the attention of Hilke. Driven by curiosity, she approached Sherlock and extended her hand to take the locket from him. She didn't rely on her eyes to examine it but utilized a unique detection method that needed no visual confirmation. Because the locket was still attached to Sherlock's neck, the gap between the two individuals closed. This proximity allowed Sherlock to feel Hilke's warm breath, causing him to recline further into his chair.

"It has indeed undergone some change since then," Hilke finally declared. Sherlock recalled Albus Dumbledore's explanation.

"Dumbledore mentioned it was benign for now, though its future mysteries are a worry in itself. Can you sense it gradually mending itself, or perhaps gaining power?"

"If it is indeed undergoing self-repair, the day it finishes might be the day when you can remove it," she suggested.

The details they had gathered about the mysterious locket at this stage were rather limited. After Hilke had shared everything that was known to her, she needed to depart to the German Ministry of Magic again to further interrogate Fiddlesticks. If she could uncover why the sinister beast sought the locket, they could inch closer to understanding its true nature.

"As I recall, your gratitude for my contribution last time wasn't entirely heartfelt. How about expressing it again?" Sherlock jested, raising a questioning eyebrow and extending his arms in mock invitation.

To his surprise, Hilke took his jest in stride. After a brief pause, she stepped closer and tenderly wrapped her arms around him! She didn't pull away immediately but held him tightly for a willingly enduring moment. Sherlock could feel the ghost of her fragrance lingering and the warmth of her embrace. Completely awestruck, his hands hovered in the air, not sure how to reciprocate, and found himself utterly tongue-tied.

"I - I was just messing around," he stammered.

"I know," Hilke replied, her voice retaining its steady calm even though she was whispering right into his ear. Her warm breath stirred the hair on the back of his neck.

"Last time, it was gratitude for your help with capturing Fiddlesticks." Her words sent an odd sensation down his spine.

"And … and this time?" Sherlock asked, trying to suppress his quickening heartbeat.

"This time it's in thanks for your Patronus Charm, which let me unload a few burdens," she admitted.

The golden sun began drifting towards the west horizon, its truant rays sneaking through the window to spotlight the far corners of the room. The sunlight infused Hilke's lips with warmth as she cracked a radiant smile under her hood. Sherlock's hands trembled slightly under the light's exposure, reflecting his unease.

"Is this acceptable?" Hilke noted the increasing shudder in Sherlock's hands.

"It, it's..., it's okay now," he stammered. Hilke, having delayed her departure long enough, released Sherlock and moved towards the door.

"I will bring back news from Fiddlesticks as soon as I have any. Meanwhile, I'd recommend not meddling with the locket, even if you suddenly find yourself able to," she advised before vanishing from the room.

Sherlock, his senses still awash with Hilke's warmth, slumped back into his chair. He stared blankly at the ceiling, as if his very soul had been exorcised. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he shook himself out of his daze. Bringing his hand to gently pat his mouth, he sighed.

"Always running your mouth, aren't you?"

....

Harry Potter had no remembrance of his journey back to Hogwarts. He laid numbly on his bed, his mind resonating with the overheard conversations from the pub.

"Feathers of the same bird, brothers from different mothers - that's what Sirius Black and James Potter were!"

"It's true, they might as well have been brothers, those two!"

"Potter trusted Black more than anyone. Even after school, when James and Lily married, Black was his best man. And then they named him Harry's godfather!"

"Dumbledore himself offered to be their Secret Keeper, but James insisted on Black."

"Black betrayed them! Tired of the double-crossing, he was set to announce allegiance to Voldemort!"

"Dirty, traitorous scum!"

"He blew Peter Pettigrew to smitherines, leaving only a finger behind!"

The words of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Hagrid, and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, echoed in his ears, leaving no room for respite. He remembered the handsome and jovial face of Black captured in photos, contrasting starkly with his true monstrous nature. Was he already a follower of Voldemort when the photo was snapped, was he plotting to extinguish his parents' lives?

As night fell, Harry's mind was tormented by these thoughts. The approaching Christmas break meant he didn't need to attend the Patronus lessons at Sherlock's office, allowing him to wallow in his misery undisturbed in the dormitory.

Later, Ron returned to their shared dormitory and tried to rouse Harry. Harry, however, feigned sleep and didn't respond.

Haunted by the ghastly visions of Black mocking his parents' trust in him, Harry was afflicted by a deep-rooted hatred, rendering sleep elusive. It was only when the first light of dawn peeked through the window that Harry eventually sank into a fitful slumber.

Awakening at noon, Harry found the Hogwarts' Christmas holiday had begun. The other Gryffindor students had already boarded the train to return home; only Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained in the common room.

His friends exchanged glances; he looked undeniably unwell. As they had decided earlier, Hermione and Ron set out to console Harry, with little effect. Harry's vitriol for Black had consumed him entirely, dissolving rational thought. His yearning for revenge alarmed Ron and Hermione.

To distract him, they decided to visit Hagrid, however, they found him embroiled in his own predicament. Buckbeak, the Hippogriff from their first Magical Creatures class that had injured Malfoy, was facing legal charges lodged by Malfoy's father, Lucius. Hagrid, in distress, was certain he wouldn't win the trial with death being the only certainty awaiting Buckbeak.

This managed to steer Harry's thoughts away from Black momentarily. The trio began helping Hagrid to revisit past records hoping to discover something that might strengthen their case for Buckbeak's trial. The research consumed them until the eve of Christmas arrived.

While Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued to pore over records for Hagrid's defense, Sherlock ventured outside the gates of Hogwarts, picking his path around the Dementors standing guard.

One glaring truth became evident: the Dementors had leaders and followers although their collective intelligence was relatively basic and group mentality was non-existent. The Dementors gathered in groups to get their hands on something "delicious" and didn't bother retaliating or seeking revenge.

These observations stemmed from the experiences the original owner had gathered during his brief stint in Azkaban.

So, when one of the Dementors suddenly disappeared, the others didn't bother to react or even take notice.

Seizing this golden opportunity, Sherlock ushered one of the Dementors to his office.

Yes, that day he had extended an unconventional invitation for a Dementor to join him for tea in the castle. Given the freezing weather outside, a hot cup of tea seemed like an attractive offer to the Dementors. They were sure to enjoy being his experimental tool and teaching aids for a few days.

Brimming with hospitality, Sherlock crouched behind a tree and drew his wand, whispering the Patronus charm. Rather than a corporal Patronus, several thin strands of silver light sprang from the wand's tip. Guided by Sherlock's will, they encircled a solitary Dementor.

The Dementor stood rooted to the spot, its narrow intellect unable to process the sudden change in its surroundings. Sherlock seized this moment to emerge from his hiding spot. Bag in hand, he threw it over the immobilized Dementor. While a regular object was incapable of affecting Dementor, the bag served merely as a cover. The real containment spell was the silver strands, a by-product of the Patronus spell.

Having successfully captured a Dementor, Sherlock jauntily led it into Hogwarts Castle with the remaining Dementors looking on.