96 Chapter 96: The Graveyard in the Forbidden Forest

Upon receiving the unfortunate news from the centaurs, Hagrid wasted no time in making his way to the area occupied by the Acromantulas. The centaurs were entirely correct in their description; the land before him was little more than ash. Dust coated the ground and at the fringes of the settlement he could just make out the remains of scorched, tiny spiders. Hagrid stumbled, falling to his knees as he muttered in disbelief, "How... how did it come tae this?"

Beside him, the centaur standing tall, wisps of anger passing across his face, said, "We too would like to know who set the forest ablaze! The fire nearly spread to our camp. It would have burned us out if not for a fortuitous change in wind direction." (E/N.: kinda dark calling that fortuitous in front of Hagrid..)

Hagrid found himself gaping in stunned silence at the aftermath of the Acromantulas, only able to shake himself back into awareness after a prolonged stretch of time. After he managed to pull himself back to his cabin, he quickly gathered up Harry and his friends. They were shocked to find out about the utter annihilation of the Acromantulas.

Not long afterwards, a thought struck Ron, and he stealthily pulled on Harry's sleeve, his voice barely above a whisper. "Harry. Do you remember what Professor Forest said when we were leaving the Forbidden Forest?"

Harry took a moment to mull it over and then he remembered Sherlock Forest's cryptic words. "He said that the centaurs will handle the fire, didn't he? And something about making a profit from the spiders' venom?"

"But the centaurs didn't put out the fire and the spiders are all gone... The Professor isn't going to make any money now, is he?"

Astonishment overcame Harry and Ron as they pieced together the puzzle. Sherlock's prediction bore primary responsibility, even though there had been several unexpected twists. Truthfully Harry and Ron were not outrightly against the Acromantulas being wiped out because Aragog had set his brood on them in a reckless attack the night before, but of course they wouldn't show that in front of Hagrid.

Eventually, Harry disclosed the entire series of events to Hagrid, indicating that it had been Professor Sherlock who lit the fire that facilitated their escape. However, the fire spreading and decimating the entire Acromantula colony was unforeseen. Hagrid sat in stunned silence, struggling to find the right words until finally he sighed and simply said, "I dinnae blame ye. Aragog brought et upon hemself. An' if it weren't for ye, I'd still be facin' baseless accusations from the Ministry of Magic, ye ken."

Harry and his friends could feel the sorrow radiating from Hagrid; his friendship with Aragog had run strong for over fifty years. However, they would never fully understand Hagrid's fondness for dangerous creatures. In Hagrid's point of view, these creatures were harmless, a sentiment that was unique only to him. For everyone else, dangerous beasts were just that - their instinctual nature couldn't be changed.

As time went by, following the resolution of the Basilisk crisis, Professor Sprout's Mandrakes matured swiftly. Snape used them to brew a cure, bringing the four petrified students back to normal. With the term nearing its end, all students at Hogwarts began preparing for their final exams.

Sherlock was smothered with work. He had finalized the practical section of the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, but work on the theoretical papers was not yet done. However, the majority of it was complete, requiring only a bit more input to finish. Thus, as the last days of the term approached, he finally found himself left with some extra time on his hands.

Three days before the exams, in the early hours of one morning, Dumbledore had Nearly Headless Nick summon Sherlock to his office. Upon entering, Sherlock saw that Dumbledore was not alone. A witch, dressed in black robes with a deep hood, was also present. Sherlock could not see her face, but discerned her to be a witch due to the silver-grey hair sticking out from beneath her hat.

"Sherlock, I believe you have some free time this morning, correct?" Dumbledore asked.

Sherlock responded in the affirmative, he did indeed have the morning free. While he did have classes for the fifth and seventh years, they had already participated in the Wizarding Level examination orchestrated by the Ministry of Magic, leading to an early wrap for their lessons.

On hearing his response, Dumbledore said, "Then do lend me a hand. This here is Hilke from the German Ministry of Magic. She's here to pay her respects to the graves in the Forbidden Forest. Please escort her to Hagrid, who will show her the way."

The seemingly shy witch, Hilke, remained quiet throughout Dumbledore's introduction. She had just risen from her seat, giving a curt nod at Sherlock. Since Sherlock had no pressing engagements for his morning, he agreed to Dumbledore's request and saw Hilke out of the Headmaster's office towards Hagrid's cabin.

He briefly introduced himself, "My name is Sherlock Forest by the way. It's nice to meet you."

The path to Hagrid's cabin was tread in silence after the quick introduction, little to nothing was exchanged between them. Upon reaching Hagrid's home, they noticed Hagrid hastily hiding something when they knocked. It seemed like an egg from some animal.

Sherlock, with raised eyebrows, asked, "Hagrid, you're not planning to hatch another dragon, are you?"

Caught unprepared, Hagrid blanched and stuttered out, "N-no... Absolutely not, Sherlock–" Quickly shifting focus, as he saw Hilke not far behind Sherlock, he said, "Oh, right! Hilke's popping by today, almost forgot. Would ye fancy a cup o' tea, then?"

Hilke responded in a cool, firm voice, "Thank you, but no thank you."

"Aye, nae bother, let me jist get a few things sorted, an we'll be off."

Away from Hilke's earshot, Hagrid pulled Sherlock aside, pleading, "Ah, Sherlock, I'm in a bit of a bind and could use yer aid. Matters of urgency are at hand. Could ye perhaps take Hilke to the Forbidden Forest instead? Fang knows the path, no mistake."

Curiosity piqued, Sherlock glanced at the quiet witch, "Is this her first visit?"

"Nae, Sherlock," Hagrid replied, his voice a low rumble. "It's nae her first rodeo in the Forbidden Forest, I can tell ye that. She's been comin' here for decades now, same time every year, aye."

"And who is she visiting? Someone who chose the Forbidden Forest as their final resting place?"

"Dunno the specifics," Hagrid confessed. "Och, ye ken, it's her father and his friend. Never asked her much about it, respectin' her privacy, I am. Dumbledore himself allowed them to rest in the Forbidden Forest, aye? Mind helpin' me out here, Sherlock? I'm in a bit of a bind, truth be told."

Looking critically at Hagrid, Sherlock said, "Hagrid, although you can form friendships with them, it doesn't mean everyone else can."

A nervous Hagrid replied, "I know, I know."

In the end, Sherlock consented. Hagrid's nature was what it was, and there wasn't much that could be done about that. He agreed to accompany Hilke and with Fang by his side, ventured into the Forbidden Forest.

The gravesite was located deep within the Forbidden Forest. It took roughly a half-hour with Fang leading the way before they reached their destination. During the journey, Hilke and Sherlock remained mostly silent, not inclined to strike up a conversation with one another.

There, in the shadowy depths of the forest, lay a modest gravesite. Two gravestones and a tombstone were all that marked their presence. He glanced at the names on the tombstones - one of them bore the name Eddie Butler and the other, John Watson.

Seeing the name, it brought about a sense of déjà vu. Yet, there was one name he was expecting to see but didn't: Sherlock Holmes.

Hilke produced two bunches of fresh flowers as if from thin air and placed them gently in front of the gravestones. She then clasped her hands and began to pray in hushed whispers. Sherlock kept his respectful distance and turned his attention to observing a Bowtruckle that had caught his eye.

A gust of wind blew suddenly, whipping off Ms. Hilke's hood. For a moment, Sherlock caught a glimpse of her refined features and the band tied over her eyes. A surprised expression crossed his face before he quickly turned away, pretending to have seen nothing.

Their visit to the gravesite had lasted less than an hour. They backtracked their steps out of the Forbidden Forest. After dropping off Fang at Hagrid's cabin, Hilke extended her thanks to Sherlock.

Sherlock dismissed the gratitude with a wave of his hand, insisting it was no trouble whatsoever. He watched her leave Hogwarts, her figure shrinking in the distance, murmuring to himself, "Strange... she doesn't even need to look to know where she's going."

For Sherlock, this encounter was but a minor incident in his life and he easily put it out of his mind. But, the end of the year was drawing near, signifying the ominous beginning of their final exams.

Holing up in the library was an annual ritual for students of Hogwarts just before their finals. On the day of the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam for the second-year students, Sherlock brought Tom, the cat which they had failed to best at the start of the school year. Tom became the object of their practical test.

Of course, the final grade depended on their individual performances, not whether they could actually defeat Tom. In fact, for the second-year students, defeating Tom was still a considerable challenge.

Nevertheless, during the test, Hermione surprised Sherlock. Despite having missed a few days of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes due to her brief stay at the Hospital Wing, she managed to use a Transfiguration spell to bring Tom down. Hermione was the first second-year student to achieve this, earning herself an 'O' grade instantly.

After the fifth and seventh-year students finished taking their Wizarding Level exams, they were practically ecstatic. Sherlock had spent time going over predictions for the exams, covering past exam papers set by the Ministry of Magic. The students reported that almost 80% of the exam content was present in his predictions.

One student, overwhelmed by joy, threw himself at Sherlock, crying tears of relief. He was pretty sure he would receive an 'O' grade in his Defense Against the Dark Arts level exam, which was an essential stepping stone for his dream of becoming an Auror. Sherlock, having completed his first year as a professor, found fulfillment in their outstanding performance.