Ever since receiving that mysterious phone call, Harry had been deeply troubled.
He had no idea who the caller was, but one thing was clear: this person was no ordinary individual.
Even without Sherlock's level of intellect, it was obvious from how easily the caller had deduced Harry's identity—and claimed to be Sherlock's nemesis—that this was no benign presence.
What concerned Harry even more was that the man had brushed off his refusal to cooperate... and even said he'd switch his target to Ron.
Harry was extremely worried.
Unfortunately, by the time the call ended, neither Sherlock nor Ron—who had gone to fetch him—had returned.
Harry waited anxiously for over an hour before the two finally arrived, one calm and composed, the other gasping for breath.
Watching the composed Sherlock and the wheezing Ron, Harry was utterly confused.
You went to find someone, right? Then why do you look like that?
He looked at Sherlock, then at Ron. "You two…"
"Mate, I... I surrender!" Ron panted. "To think you can do this every morning!"
Sherlock gave him a glance. "It was just a light jog."
"Light jog?! You call that a light jog?!"
Ron wanted to keep complaining, but a coughing fit cut him off, turning his face bright red.
"F-Fine. Say what you want. I'm going to rest!" he huffed, dragging himself off to the bedroom and flopping onto the bed like a deadweight.
Normally, Harry would've followed to check on him, but today wasn't the time.
Besides, what he had to say wasn't meant for Ron's ears.
He pulled Sherlock aside and lowered his voice.
"Why did you take so long? Didn't Ron tell you?"
"He did. Said Hermione called and told me to come back right away," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly. "Didn't seem urgent, so I took him for a jog first."
Harry: = ( o｀ω′)ノ
Resisting the urge to yell, Harry took a deep breath.
"It wasn't Hermione! Someone called just now claiming to be your enemy—"
"Oh? Which one?"
Harry blinked. Wait, you have more than one?
"…He called himself your nemesis."
"Oh…"
"Did he offer to pay you to spy on me?" Sherlock asked plainly.
Harry was stunned. How did he know that?
"Yes."
"Did you accept?"
"No."
"What a shame. You should've agreed—we could've split the profits."
Harry: (⊙Д⊙)
At this point, Harry realized he had completely lost track of the conversation.
He had no choice but to pull them back on topic.
"Wait… who is he, exactly?"
"A man who's endlessly entertained by messing with me. Someone who keeps trying to tell me how to live. And also, the most dangerous person you know."
Harry's heart skipped a beat.
"More dangerous than Voldemort?"
"In some ways, yes."
Harry: w(Д)w
That was terrifying.
Harry didn't hesitate and quickly recounted the entire phone conversation to Sherlock, especially emphasizing the part where the man threatened to target Ron next.
But to his dismay, Sherlock didn't seem particularly concerned.
"Pass a message to Ron for me. If the man contacts him, tell him to think it through carefully. And that I'm still open to a 50/50 split."
Harry: =( o｀ω′)ノ
"Sherlock, you—!"
But before Harry could erupt, Sherlock cut him off.
"Let's not dwell on that. Let's talk about our plans for returning to school."
"What?"
Ignoring Harry's astonished look, Sherlock rapidly laid out the objectives for their return:
1. Explore the castle.
2. Enter the Forbidden Forest.
3. Pressure Quirrell.
The goals were crystal clear.
Partly, it was to train Harry's abilities. But more importantly, Sherlock wanted Harry to understand his situation.
Dumbledore, from the beginning, had intended for the "Chosen One" to confront Voldemort head-on.
Sherlock had scolded him harshly for it.
In Sherlock's view, even if there was some reason Harry had to face Voldemort, he deserved the truth—and the choice.
Not to be tricked and manipulated like some unsuspecting 11-year-old.
Too many people in positions of power forget that truth when all they hear is praise.
And without someone like Sherlock to question him, a boy like Harry would've been the perfect pawn for someone like Dumbledore.
Was that good?
Absolutely not.
Thankfully, Dumbledore, for all his faults, was still fundamentally good.
Instead of silencing Sherlock, he took his words seriously and eventually agreed with him.
Of course, that was only because Sherlock had predicted his response through a careful study of his behavior—and calculated that the verbal lashing would work.
Otherwise, he'd have taken another route.
When Sherlock finished explaining all this, Harry was silent for a long while.
"So… you're saying Professor Dumbledore wants me to confront Voldemort?"
"He places a lot of faith in that prophecy," Sherlock replied, frowning.
"And it's clear he hasn't told me everything yet."
"But he wouldn't hurt me… right?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then just tell me what to do."
Sherlock smiled.
"Harry, you really do have a knack for listening and following through. With your help, a lot becomes easier.
But let's talk details once we're back at school."
Only after returning to his room did Harry suddenly realize—
Wait, wasn't I trying to ask who that mysterious caller was?
How did this end up becoming a debrief about me again?
Harry was frustrated.
Only now did he realize—he'd been played by Sherlock once more.
But he also knew: if Sherlock didn't want to say something, nothing Harry did would make him talk.
Still, if he didn't figure this out, he wouldn't be able to sleep.
The next morning, after serious thought, Harry told Ron and Hermione everything.
"What? That mystery man asked you and Ron to spy on Sherlock? Then why didn't he call me?"
Harry: (～)
"Hermione, this isn't the point—"
"Of course it is! If he's trying to recruit people close to Sherlock, I'm obviously a prime candidate—I've known him the longest!"
Harry: (皿)
"But Ron and I share a room with him…"
"…Oh."
After a short silence, Hermione asked calmly, "So what did Sherlock say?"
"…He refused to tell me. Just said Ron and I could accept the offer and split the money with him…"
"He said what?! That's completely irresponsible! No! I'm coming over!"
"Huh? You just visited a few days ago…"
Ron, who'd been waiting by the phone after yesterday's false alarm, interjected without thinking.
The moment he said it, Harry internally groaned—this is bad.
As expected, Hermione's sharp voice nearly shattered their eardrums.
"Ron. A. Weasley! What exactly do you mean by that?!"
After fifteen minutes of high-volume scolding, she finally hung up.
Harry and Ron exchanged defeated looks.
"You shouldn't have told her…"
"I didn't think she'd react that strongly…"
Harry shrugged. "But maybe it's good she's coming. She's smarter than us—maybe she can get Sherlock to talk."
"…You guys are way too wound up about this," Ron said, puzzled. "If Sherlock himself doesn't care, it probably isn't a big deal."
"But he said that man is the most dangerous person I know—even more than Voldemort!"
"Oi! Don't say that name…"
"I will say it—Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort!"
"Okay, okay! My bad! You win! You're my brother! My real brother, alright?!"
Ron rolled his eyes.
He suddenly realized—Harry wasn't much different from Hermione.
Both of them cared way too much about Sherlock.
But come on… this was Sherlock!
A guy who could tell you everything you did all day with one glance.
He didn't need their concern.
In Ron's opinion, Sherlock was totally right—if the guy wanted to pay, why not take the deal?
Then just split the reward with Sherlock.
Only a fool would say no to free money.
Of course, given the way things were going, that was something better left unsaid.
But whether it was Ron's casual indifference or Harry and Hermione's anxiety—they never could have predicted just how far this would spiral.
Three days after the mysterious phone call—and just before Hermione was due for another visit (her parents were starting to think she was at the Holmes' too often)—something unexpected happened.
That morning, after Sherlock and Harry finished their daily run, they returned home…
…only to find a stranger waiting outside.
He was the kind of man who left a deep impression at first glance—tall, sharply handsome, with strong brows, piercing eyes, and distinct features. His posture radiated confidence.
He held a black umbrella casually in one hand, leaning it at his side.
Though he looked just eighteen or nineteen, he had the air of someone closer to thirty.
Seeing Sherlock and Harry approach, he smiled.
"The great detective and his faithful friend return. Judging by today's boxing session, Mr. Potter only fell once—progress!"
Harry froze. Every hair on his body stood on end.
That voice—he knew that voice.
It was the same one that had haunted his thoughts for the past three days!
"Sherlock! It's him! That's the man I told you about!"
---
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