Number 12, Grimmauld Place
Sherlock didn't make a fuss like Hermione or look confused and helpless like Ron.
He took out his notebook from his coat and began carefully questioning Harry about what he had seen in the dream.
Although Harry had been awakened in the middle of the night by the pain from his scar and the nightmare itself, after regaining consciousness, he couldn't clearly remember the dream's contents.
In his own words:
"It's like trying to hold water in your cupped hands."
The more desperately he tried to grasp those details after waking, the more rapidly they slipped through his fingers.
Hearing Harry's vivid metaphor, Sherlock immediately understood.
"You've experienced a temporary memory rejection response," he said with some regret.
"A temporary memory rejection response?"
"Precisely. I believe you've all experienced this to some degree. When a flash of inspiration crosses your mind, the more desperately you try to grasp it, the less you can remember what actually happened."
"Yes, exactly!" Ron said excitedly. "I've had that happen several times—I think I've had a brilliant idea, but then I just can't remember it."
"In such moments, the correct approach is to abandon the forced recall immediately and stop thinking about it for a while. That way, those memories can still be preserved intact in your memory palace. Once the rejection response ends, you can find an appropriate time to excavate them again. But if you insist on forced recall, this reaction will damage your memories and cause them to disappear."
"But—but Sherlock, we don't have a memory palace like yours. I mean... only you can categorize and manage your memories like that..."
"No, dear Ron, you misunderstand me," Sherlock explained patiently. "I consider that a man's brain is like an empty attic, and we must stock it with the furniture of our choosing. A fool, however, will cram in all sorts of rubbish that he encounters. As a result, the knowledge that might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best, gets jumbled up with so many other things that it becomes difficult to retrieve."
"Er... I'm that fool, then."
Listening to Sherlock and Ron discuss memory, Harry couldn't help but look ashamed. Because he had done exactly that—he was the perfect cautionary example.
"It's all right. Tell me what you can," Sherlock said, appearing unconcerned as he smiled slightly. "I'm all ears."
"All I can remember now is a dark room with very old furnishings and décor. A giant snake was lying in front of the fireplace. There was a man with a helper, and they called themselves Tom Riddle's allies. They seemed to be plotting something loudly... Oh yes, and there was an old man! The old man must have been a Muggle, and he overheard their conversation..."
Sherlock sketched rapidly in his notebook while firing questions at Harry:
"How large was the giant snake? How does it compare to the basilisk we encountered in the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Not that large, but at least twelve feet. It was lying on the ground, so I couldn't judge properly."
"Good. You said the man called himself Riddle's ally?"
"That's right. That's what he said."
"Interesting—are you certain he said Riddle, not Voldemort?"
Hearing Sherlock casually say that name again, Ron protested loudly. However, it was completely useless. Neither Sherlock nor Harry paid him any attention.
Harry nodded. "Yes, he specifically used the name Tom Riddle."
"Excellent! Did you see Voldemort himself? In your dream, did he appear as the handsome young man we saw in the Chamber of Secrets, or as that hideous creature stuck to the back of Quirrell's head?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't see him... He was sitting in an armchair the whole time. When the chair was turned around, I only felt an overwhelming sense of terror, and then I woke up abruptly."
"So, you actually saw what he looked like in the dream, but woke up the instant you saw him. Is that correct?"
"I think so."
"Hmm. How does the fear you just described compare to the fear you feel when encountering a Dementor?"
"I... I don't know. I can't judge."
Listening to Sherlock and Harry's back-and-forth, Hermione and Ron exchanged bewildered glances. They felt as though Harry had become one of those clients who came to Sherlock for consultation. This was exactly how Sherlock questioned them.
However, what surprised Hermione and Ron even more came next.
After Sherlock finished his detailed questioning, he handed Harry his notebook,
"Take a look. Is this accurate?"
Hermione and Ron leaned in curiously, and both froze on the spot.
Sherlock had already sketched out the dream scene Harry had just described.
Though rendered in just a few strokes, it was remarkably lifelike. Each person in the room had distinctive features that made it immediately clear who was who. The twelve-foot snake, even lazily coiled before the fireplace, still conveyed a sense that it could strike at any moment.
"Yes, Sherlock, exactly!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. "Seeing this drawing is almost like being back in that dream."
"Unfortunately, if you hadn't forced yourself to recall the dream's details last night, seeing this drawing now should have allowed you to remember the complete dream. As it stands, it can only serve as confirmation."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock..."
Harry felt rather embarrassed. He always seemed to mess things up.
"It's not a major problem. Although some details remain uncertain, I've at least confirmed several things."
The impatient Ron immediately asked, "What things?"
Harry and Hermione also perked up their ears.
"First, Harry's dream wasn't random. I believe the scar Voldemort left on your forehead may be more than just a scar." Sherlock's expression grew serious. "In your first year, when Voldemort looked at you through Quirrell, your scar began to hurt. That pain was fleeting because Voldemort was afraid of being detected by Dumbledore, so he only glanced at you before giving up."
"Please, Sherlock, I'm begging you, could you not..." Ron groaned as Sherlock kept saying "Voldemort" over and over. He was already starting to tremble all over.
Sherlock acted as if he hadn't heard Ron and continued.
"Later, in the Forbidden Forest battle, your scar hurt again—that time with successive waves of pain. At the end of the school year, when we faced Quirrell and Voldemort directly in the room with the Philosopher's Stone, your scar experienced the longest and most intense pain of your life. That was precisely when Voldemort felt the threat of death and his emotions were most volatile. Based on this, I make a bold hypothesis: through your scar, you can share Voldemort's thoughts to some degree."
After Sherlock finished speaking, the three friends were completely stunned. Even Ron temporarily forgot his fear of Voldemort's name. Sherlock's theory was simply... mind-blowing.
Harry could share thoughts with the Dark Lord who had murdered countless people and still terrified the entire wizarding world over a decade after his disappearance?
"Based on the first reason, I make a second inference: everything you saw in your dream actually happened."
"What?"
"That's impossible!"
"Bloody hell!"
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all reacted in ways perfectly suited to their personalities.
Hermione said, "But Sherlock, didn't Professor Dumbledore say he had reliable information that Voldemort is still in the forests of Albania?"
Ron: "Hermione... please..."
Since Ron couldn't do anything about Sherlock, he could only hope Hermione would stop mentioning that name.
"I don't doubt the headmaster's intelligence. However, he made that statement over a year ago. Give me a year, and I could leave that country—even though it's currently in chaos. For a dark wizard of Voldemort's caliber, it would be even easier, especially now that he has new allies."
"So, you believe Professor Trelawney's prophecy?" Hermione frowned.
"I neither believe it nor deliberately reject it, but I can use it as inspiration for reference." Sherlock smiled slightly. "As for the third point, which is also the most important..."
"What is it?" This time it was Harry who spoke.
"From your dream, Voldemort hasn't truly returned to power. Or rather, he's still in the weak state he was in when he was stuck to the back of Quirrell's head. The old man in the dream had to turn the armchair around to see Voldemort's true face—that's telling enough."
Hearing Sherlock's words, the three friends fell into deep thought once more.
"All right, children, stop your secret meeting!" At that moment, Mrs. Holmes's voice rang out from the doorway.
"Ah—!" Hearing Mrs. Holmes's voice, Harry was the fastest to react. He jumped up and ran to open the door.
Mrs. Holmes appeared in the doorway, smiling as she ruffled Harry's hair. "We have guests, and as the host, it's not right to leave them in the living room!"
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