HP: IAM SHERLOCK HOLMES

John Smith was a wizard from Northern Europe who, according to his own introduction, had spent his early years navigating the magical financial sector in Europe, accumulating rich experience. Two months ago, he had made a special trip to Britain, hoping to make a big deal.

Due to his Northern European background, he had managed to infiltrate the Parthenon Black Market in Knockturn Alley.

Although the name "Parthenon" sounded Greek-related, it was actually run by Northern Europeans.

The black market wasn't particularly large in scale, but after years of accumulation, it had built up quite a reputation.

Every time the black market opened, Smith would appear.

However, his desire to purchase wasn't particularly strong—in two months, he had only bought one antique.

Of course, this wasn't unusual.

After all, there were people who had been observing for half a year without making a single transaction.

Besides Morgoth, several other people in the black market knew Smith as well.

But strangely, no one in the entire black market had discovered that Smith had used this short time to turn the warehouse into his personal base of operations.

No one had ever seen Baskerville, this supposed Greek fellow, and as for Musgrave, this Athenian, even less so.

Even the secret door and prison cell behind the warehouse were unknown to everyone.

Until today.

After listening to Morgoth's account, Professor Flitwick couldn't help but frown.

The information was rather limited!

"I've already notified the Ministry of Magic on my way here," Professor Flitwick turned to Sherlock. "Do you still need assistance?"

Sherlock pondered briefly, then shook his head. "The trail has gone cold. Unless we can track down the perpetrator, we won't be able to get more information."

Professor Flitwick then entered the prison cell behind the secret door, circled around once, and came out with some regret:

"There are no particularly obvious magical traces. I believe he still used a Portkey to leave."

"Yes, from the moment we broke down the door, it was almost impossible to catch him."

Flitwick felt somewhat disappointed upon hearing this.

He had originally hoped to see firsthand how Sherlock solved cases!

With matters as they stood, the four of them—Flitwick, Sherlock, Hagrid, and Baskerville—had no reason to continue staying there.

Just as Professor Flitwick was about to leave, Morgoth stretched out his right arm, palm open with five fingers spread, and called out:

"Professor!"

Flitwick paused, seeing his former student looking at him with hopeful eyes, and his heart softened.

He took out a quill pen, quickly scribbled a few lines on a piece of parchment, then rolled it up and tossed it.

The rolled paper immediately floated over to Morgoth.

Seeing this masterful Levitation Charm, the latter couldn't help but recall his days learning in the classroom.

He reached out and caught the parchment tightly.

"Although you once went astray, you are still a Hogwarts student after all."

Professor Flitwick looked at Morgoth and said word by word:

"Take this letter to the Unicorn Sanctuary in Norway. The person in charge there is my student—he'll look after you."

"Professor—"

At this moment, Morgoth, with his heart greatly moved, couldn't help but burst into tears.

As a poor student who hadn't even managed to get his certificates, after leaving Hogwarts he could only end up running errands for people in Knockturn Alley.

Later, when things improved slightly, he had only managed to join the somewhat organized Parthenon Black Market.

He never would have imagined that because of a case; he would have the fortune to meet the professor who had once taught him Charms.

Even more unexpected was that this professor would remember their old relationship and arrange a way out for him.

Although Norway was far from here, this was a job recommended by one of Hogwarts' four House heads!

More importantly, magical creature sanctuaries like this always needed some basic-level staff.

The auxiliary work there—such as assisting in observing magical creatures' living habits and maintaining the sanctuary's basic facilities—relied less on academic grades.

These positions focused more on physical strength and adaptability to natural environments, which suited him perfectly.

This could absolutely be called timely help.

Morgoth bowed deeply to Professor Flitwick, wiped the tears from his face, and then strode toward the exit of Knockturn Alley.

From today on, he could finally hold his head high and tell his family about his work!

Great kindness needs no words of thanks—from now on, whenever Professor Flitwick had any need, he would spare no effort to help.

Seeing Professor Flitwick help his former student, the bald wizard who had earlier used Bezoar to save Baskerville's life was also moved.

Seeing that Sherlock's group was about to leave, he stretched out his right arm, palm open with five fingers spread, and called out:

"Professor, wait!"

Flitwick stopped and turned around, frowning as he sized up the man.

Morgoth was at least my former student, and he provided some information for this case.

So, it was understandable for him to call out to me, but who are you?

Hagrid quickly told Flitwick about how the man had used Bezoar to save the Greek fellow's life.

Hearing this, Flitwick's expression softened.

However, even so, he didn't plan to find another job for this person.

"This gentleman, you saved my life earlier. I won't forget this kindness."

Baskerville spoke at just the right moment. "If I'm not mistaken, you—you weren't born naturally bald, were you?"

"That's right!"

Hearing Baskerville's words, the bald wizard's heart stirred. "You mean—"

"I'll pay you a sum of money, including a bottle of Potter family hair-growth potion."

Upon hearing this, the bald wizard immediately showed great joy.

Baldness was man's greatest enemy.

Especially when there were ways to prevent and treat it.

If it weren't for lack of money, who would want to be bald?

After leaving contact information for the bald man, the four finally left the black market.

They walked north along Knockturn Alley, and soon the towering gates of Gringotts Wizarding Bank appeared before them.

The environment instantly became brighter and more open.

"Professor, you and Sherlock should return to school first—I'm planning to go to St. Mungo's. He still needs some time to rest and recover."

Hagrid pointed to Baskerville, who looked so weak that a single yawn might cause him to collapse, and said.

Throughout the journey, it was only with Hagrid's support that the man hadn't fallen to the ground.

"No problem."

Flitwick nodded. "The Ministry of Magic has already intervened in this matter. I hope they can find that poor fellow as soon as possible."

Hagrid clenched his fists hard. "That damn Smith, if I ever see him—"

Seeing Hagrid like this, Professor Flitwick shook his head. "Hagrid, that's obviously a fake name."

"What?"

Upon hearing this, Hagrid immediately showed a surprised expression. "Professor, can you solve cases like Sherlock now too?"

Professor Flitwick chuckled. "I can't solve cases, it's just that the name John Smith—"

He thought about it and finally gave up on explaining to Hagrid. "Just know that it's a fake name."

"Alright, Professor."

Hagrid remained as always—when he couldn't figure something out, he simply didn't think about it.

At Hogwarts, Ravenclaw represented wisdom.

As the Head of Ravenclaw House, Flitwick was obviously Hogwarts' wisdom bearer.

Since he said it was a fake name, then it was a fake name.

"Not only is the name fake, but his Northern European identity and background are also problematic," Sherlock said, taking out what appeared to be a decorative item from his pocket. "Interpreter, please take a look at this first before leaving with Hagrid."

It was a small Viking battle axe ornament with some letters carved on the handle.

"These are ancient runic letters!"

After taking it and examining it, Baskerville exclaimed, "Smith—it's Smith's name!"

As everyone knew, Vikings were also called Northern European pirates, who raided European coasts and British islands from the 8th to 11th centuries.

Their footprints stretched from the European continent to the vast Arctic territories, and Europe even called this period the Viking Age.

"Mr. Holmes, where did you find this?"

"Right next to the secret door," Sherlock pointed to the Viking axe ornament and asked, "Have you seen it before?"

"No, I haven't."

Hearing Baskerville's definitive answer, Sherlock couldn't help but frown. "How troublesome—"

"Mr. Holmes, what did you say?"

"Nothing, just a small deduction that got disrupted."

"This ornament—"

Baskerville hesitated for a moment, then said, "Carving runic letters on ornaments is normal, but it seems to be misspelled. The correct spelling should be 'Smior.'"

"Aha! I wasn't wrong after all," Sherlock said, his brow immediately smoothing out upon hearing this.

"Well then, interpreter, please take good care of yourself and recover."

"About this case—"

"It's over!"

Sherlock said, "The fact that we were able to rescue you is already the best outcome. Leave the rest to the Ministry of Magic!

As for Mr. Musgrave, I'm sure Athens has already received the news. Such a magical family with deep roots throughout Greece, working together with the Ministry of Magic, will surely be able to find him!"

Hearing Sherlock say this, Hagrid didn't see anything wrong with it.

Professor Flitwick, however, showed a hint of surprise.

After Hagrid and Baskerville left, Flitwick looked at Sherlock. "Want to go home? It's not far from your house. If you want to go home, I can come pick you up tomorrow."

"No need, let's go straight back to school."

Summer vacation was approaching, and there would be plenty of time to stay at home then—no need to rush for a day or two.

Since Sherlock said so, Flitwick didn't press further, and the two used Floo Powder in Diagon Alley to return to Hogwarts.

"This is my office."

Stepping out of the fireplace, Flitwick took the initiative to explain to Sherlock.

"West Tower, eighth floor, thirteenth room from the right."

Sherlock said without hesitation.

Professor Flitwick was first stunned, then broke into a happy laugh.

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