0110 Fled

Being humiliated repeatedly by a 11 year old little brat in such a manner, Voldemort's rage was nearly breaking through the heavens.

Once, he had thought that his Death Eater named Severus Snape had a particularly venomous tongue.

But now he discovered that this first-year student was even more critical in comparison.

"You—you filthy, dirty mudblood—"

"Even your insults rely on such seemingly vicious yet utterly powerless vocabulary," Sherlock interrupted him directly, his face full of contempt. "No wonder you've been reduced to clinging to the back of some idiot's skull who's no better than you. I suppose your parents never properly educated you from childhood, did they?"

"Bastard! Shut up—be quiet! How dare you—how dare you!"

Voldemort screamed hysterically.

Watching Voldemort's impotent rage, Sherlock couldn't help but smirk.

With his keen observational skills, he naturally noticed that Voldemort had been triggered.

He had just spoken casually—could he really have hit the mark?

Combining his existing knowledge with Voldemort's current reaction, a new deduction quickly formed in his mind:

"Ah, I see—so that's how it is.

No wonder Quirrell wrote 'revenge' in German. I had originally thought it was his own crude imitation, but now it seems he was following your instructions.

Looking at you now, it's obvious you lacked maternal love from childhood. You were most likely abandoned by your mother in an orphanage right after birth, weren't you?

How utterly boring. Hating your parents, hating society, hating everything around you—I don't think you've ever considered that from beginning to end, you alone are the mistake, have you?"

"Ahhh—" Voldemort let out a heart-wrenching scream.

Sherlock's eardrums rang from the sound.

He frowned and without another word swung his sword, though unfortunately, the blade passed straight through the black smoke without causing Voldemort any harm.

Sherlock wasn't surprised.

After all, Voldemort had already emerged from Quirrell's body and was in this ethereal form, physical weapons like swords were naturally ineffective against it.

But that didn't matter.

He wasn't just skilled in boxing and swordplay, he was also a wizard.

"Confringo!"

An explosive curse shot out, and the black smoke shuddered violently. Voldemort's screaming stopped.

Sherlock clearly felt the opponent's presence weakening.

It was working!

Sherlock's spirits lifted as he raised his wand again.

"You—very well—I'll remember you—"

At this moment, Voldemort had recovered from Sherlock's verbal assault.

Strangely, though he was in the form of ethereal black smoke, his gaze seemed substantial, as if it could pierce right through Sherlock.

"Shut up, you noseless, crooked-mouthed freak who can only rage impotently."

Sherlock naturally paid him no mind and cast another spell.

This time, facing Sherlock's attack, Voldemort didn't simply endure it but instead recited an obscure incantation at extremely high speed.

The result was that Sherlock's spell missed its target, and Voldemort once again transformed into black smoke, speeding directly through the door wreathed in black flames.

He fled in utter defeat.

The black flames that had trapped the group earlier caused him no harm whatsoever.

Only his unwilling voice continued to echo in the room:

"Mark my words—someday you'll pay the price for this—it won't be long—"

Sherlock didn't stop him, nor did he have the ability to do so.

He gazed at Voldemort's retreating figure for a long moment without speaking.

After a while, he suddenly chuckled softly. "Well, this is troublesome—generally speaking, when the villain says lines like that, he's bound to make another appearance sooner or later."

"Sherlock!"

At this moment, Hermione bounded over to Sherlock's side like a rabbit, looking at him with eyes full of resentment.

You just completely ignored me, didn't you?

Sherlock paid no attention to Hermione's reproachful gaze and waved his wand to release her from the leg-locking curse.

She immediately began rubbing her legs.

Today these legs of hers had first been ensnared by Devil's Snare, then run back and forth across the giant chessboard while playing the role of a castle piece, and finally been hit by her own leg-locking curse. They had certainly suffered quite a bit.

She was about to speak when she heard Sherlock say first: "Professor Dumbledore, how long do you plan to keep watching before you come out?"

Hermione was completely shocked.

What? Dumbledore was here too?

As soon as Sherlock finished speaking, the nearby air began to ripple like water.

The characteristic half-moon spectacles and silver-white beard—it was indeed Dumbledore.

The suddenly appearing Dumbledore looked somewhat surprised: "How did you know I was here?"

"Knowing that Quirrell was coming for the Philosopher's Stone, I don't believe you would really go to the Ministry of Magic—unless you were planning to have Harry thank you from his grave," Sherlock said calmly, though his words were far from polite. "That ancient spell was indeed effective against Voldemort. Are you satisfied now?"

Noticing Sherlock's unfriendly tone, Hermione tugged at his sleeve.

After all, he was the headmaster—they should be polite to him, even if only superficially.

"I thought you might ask me why I didn't stop Voldemort from leaving."

Dumbledore smiled as he spoke.

"No need. I already know the answer to that question."

Dumbledore looked at Sherlock with interest. "Oh? Care to share?"

Sherlock frowned but still explained:

"You said that a Dark wizard of Voldemort's caliber might be able to resurrect even after death.

Rather than let him resurrect in some unknown place, it's better to keep him in his current weakened state."

"Sherlock, sometimes I truly wonder if you've secretly used Legilimency on me."

Dumbledore sighed first, then took the initiative to explain: "The prophecy said that only Harry can kill Voldemort."

"So, you believe in that prophecy so completely?" Sherlock stared intently at Dumbledore. "How do you know without trying? I think you should understand that only practice can test everything."

"My dear Sherlock, but this is the magical world, and true prophecies are worth my—"

Dumbledore was about to continue when he suddenly looked toward the door.

The black flames had dissipated, and a man in black robes and a woman in green robes walked in quickly, one after the other.

McGonagall and Snape.

"Mr. Holmes, I received your owl.

Miss Granger, I told you that if you got involved in this matter again, I would give you detention—

Good heavens—what on earth happened here?"

Professor McGonagall, who had been questioning them, saw Harry and Quirrell lying on the ground and couldn't help but cry out in alarm.

Snape maintained a stern expression and didn't speak, but when he saw the unconscious Harry on the ground, his gaze became even more somber in an instant.

Sherlock took in both of their reactions.

Then he decided to give Dumbledore something to deal with.

"The situation is quite simple: Voldemort had been possessing Quirrell all along, hiding on the back of his head. He drank unicorn blood in the Forbidden Forest to sustain his life, then directed Quirrell to steal the Philosopher's Stone."

Sherlock summarized succinctly, then added casually: "I suggested that Professor Dumbledore handle it directly, but he hoped that Harry could personally stop Quirrell—and Voldemort."

As soon as Sherlock finished speaking, both Snape's and McGonagall's expressions changed immediately.

"Dumbledore..."

Snape almost squeezed the words through his teeth.

Obviously, he was about to unleash his fury on Dumbledore.

One could imagine that whatever came from Snape's mouth would be far from pleasant.

However, this time someone exploded even earlier than he did.

"Albus!"

Compared to Snape, though McGonagall was using Dumbledore's first name, at this moment she was like a protective lioness, her presence instantly overwhelming Snape's.

"What did you tell me at the time? You said it was impossible for anyone to enter Hogwarts!

But now you not only allowed him into the school, you actually let Harry face him!

Harry is a first-year student, you—how dare you!"

Dumbledore had appeared very composed when facing Sherlock and even Snape.

However, now confronted with an angry McGonagall, he seemed somewhat at a loss.

Even if it was only for an instant, Sherlock's keen observation caught it.

Interesting.

Faced with the displeased McGonagall, Dumbledore directly began changing the subject:

"Minerva, Severus, our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is in rather poor condition now. I'd appreciate it if you could take him to the hospital wing first."

Noticing that Snape seemed about to speak, Dumbledore added:

"Harry is fine—he's well. But please take him and Miss Granger to the hospital wing as well. They both need proper rest now.

After you've finished with that, please come to my office. Sherlock, you come with me first."

Having said this, he casually waved his hand, and a red stone immediately floated up from Harry's body and flew into his hand.

Dumbledore turned his palm, and the Philosopher's Stone disappeared.

McGonagall snorted coldly but said nothing more, obviously giving Dumbledore some face.

Having heard that Harry was safe, Snape also chose not to say more.

Being thoroughly arranged by the authority figures, Hermione looked hopefully at Sherlock.

She desperately tried to communicate with her eyes, hoping he would say something like "Hermione is fine too, let her come with me."

Unfortunately, until she left under Professor McGonagall's stern gaze, Sherlock still hadn't spoken up to keep her.

The only consolation was probably that Gryffindor hadn't lost any points this time.

When only Sherlock and Dumbledore remained in the room, Sherlock spoke: "You sent them away—what else do you want to tell me?"

Dumbledore showed a bitter smile. "Sherlock, am I really that obvious?"

"Stop saying things that lower the entire school's intelligence."

Sherlock's tone was somewhat rude as he said impatiently: "You've tested me enough times. It's starting to get boring."

"Very well..."

Dumbledore wasn't angry. He looked toward the Mirror of Erised that Voldemort had just thrown in front of Harry, and a deep look of reminiscence appeared in his eyes.

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