The sitting room was filled with the warm scent of freshly baked scones and the distinctive fragrance of black tea.
It was the third day since Sherlock and Hermione had returned from the seaside town.
Ten minutes ago, Harry had called Sherlock and told them both to stay in.
"Harry's being so secretive, Sherlock—do you have any idea what's going on?"
Since Harry hadn't explained himself on the phone, the mystery had naturally piqued Hermione's curiosity.
"It's perfectly obvious. The matter concerns Miss Chang and Lockhart."
"What?"
Hermione stared at Sherlock in astonishment—those two names seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with each other.
She was just about to press him for details when she caught the look on his face, that half-amused, half-enigmatic expression, and thought better of it. She swallowed the urge to ask.
Hermione wasn't like Harry or Ron.
In moments like these, she'd rather arrive at the answer through her own reasoning—after all, Sherlock had already given her a clue.
Unfortunately, before she could work it out, Harry arrived.
And he came in already mid-announcement: "Sherlock! Hermione! Great news! Tremendous news!"
His voice had climbed with excitement, and he didn't even stop to catch his breath, his green eyes bright and sparkling as he looked at them. "Uncle Chang and Auntie Chang—Cho's parents—they said they'll help!"
Hermione shot Sherlock a startled glance. So it was connected to Cho Chang?
"Help?" she blurted out instinctively. "Help with what?"
Harry dropped into the armchair across from them, snatched up the cup of tea that had been set out for him, drained it in one go, and launched in eagerly: "It's about Professor Lockhart! They think Folk Japanese magic might be able to do something about his memory. And apparently, they've already reached out to a related wizard!"
Hermione looked at Sherlock again, incredulous.
He'd deduced it. Again.
He never disappointed, did he?
Under ordinary circumstances, Hermione would absolutely have made him walk her through his reasoning. But right now—
Her fascination with new obscure magic swept cleanly over her curiosity about Sherlock's methods.
"Folk magic!" she said at once. "Tell me everything!"
"There's apparently something called the Clarity Charm and the Soul Charm—"
What followed was a long conversation between an energized Hermione and Harry, until she finally turned to Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock, if this works—does that mean we might finally be able to help Professor Lupin too?"
"It's worth trying." A faint note of excitement had crept into Sherlock's voice.
"That's exactly what Uncle Chang and Auntie Chang said." Harry nodded emphatically.
Just then, Hermione's brow furrowed slightly. "I have a question—if it fails, could it actually make things worse for Professor Lockhart? His mind is already so scrambled."
"Given the way he used to tamper with other people's memories without a second thought, even if something does go wrong for him, he'd deserve it!" Harry replied, his good mood dimming a little. "Think about it—if someone messed around with my memories, I'd never forgive them."
Hermione sighed. She knew Harry had a point; Lockhart's actions had consequences. "All right… if this attempt ends up helping Professor Lupin, then I suppose it could count as—making partial amends, at least."
"Don't worry, Hermione." Harry's tone softened as he saw her concern. "Auntie Chang specifically said that even if it doesn't work, the worst that happens is Lockhart will be weakened for a while. There's absolutely no risk to his life. They know what they're doing."
"That's a relief."
The crease between Hermione's brows finally smoothed out at that assurance, and she let out a long breath.
Sherlock smiled and said nothing.
Really, Hermione had nothing to worry about.
For all Harry's bluster just now, all that certainty ringing in his voice—if there had been any genuine risk to Lockhart's life, this boy, the saviour of the wizarding world, would have been the first one to object. However much Lockhart deserved what was coming to him, someone as fundamentally decent as Harry couldn't help giving people one last chance.
As things stood, it seemed Voldemort alone was the one person Harry would never forgive.
Thinking of Voldemort, the warmth drained slowly from Sherlock's eyes.
But still—the news Harry had brought from Cho Chang was an unexpected windfall.
Running a quick simulation in the Mind Palace just now, he'd already seen it: the Lockhart situation was an opportunity.
Sherlock's gaze drifted to the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and something in his expression grew quietly resolute.
The Changs moved faster than he'd anticipated.
Within the week, they had Cho reach out to Harry to say the arrangements were made—a related wizard had been found.
"Sherlock, you and Hermione head straight to St. Mungo's. I'll go with Cho and her parents—"
Sherlock hung up the phone, his eyes already gleaming.
At last. He was going to witness new kind of magic.
On this point, Hermione was his perfect mirror—her excitement no less than his own.
"I've been doing research, and I've come to realize some magic in the vast world is fundamentally different from ours. Some places don't even use wands!"
On the Underground heading into central London, Hermione kept her voice low, but nothing could quite suppress her enthusiasm.
The entire journey, Hermione chattered without pause.
To the other passengers, no doubt it simply looked like two close young people, the girl particularly animated and doing most of the talking.
They would never have guessed it was a purely academic discussion.
With no romantic element at all.
Once they reached their stop, the rest was straightforward. The second time was always easier than the first. Sherlock and Hermione walked confidently to the disguised shopfront, exchanged a nod with the dummy in the window, and stepped once again into St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
The waiting room was quieter this time—only a handful of patients scattered about.
But the moment Hermione stepped into the centre of the room, a figure came barrelling past, trailing a gust of wind, and collided squarely with her.
Hermione yelped and toppled backward—luckily, Sherlock was quick, and caught her by the shoulder before she could fall.
Having landed briefly against Sherlock, Hermione steadied herself with a slightly embarrassed "thank you," then turned to face whoever had knocked into her, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!"
But when she actually saw the person, she nearly burst out laughing.
It was a stout witch with an enormous, glossy walnut comically wedged into her left nostril.
"Domestic dispute, is it?" the blonde witch behind the reception desk said, glancing over with practiced ease and a smile. "You're the third one today. Fifth floor, Spell Damage ward!"
Then she noticed Sherlock and Hermione, recognized them, and her manner warmed considerably compared to their last visit.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes! Miss Granger! Mr. Potter and his friends arrived not long ago—they're upstairs."
She said this and then stared at Sherlock with curiosity, as though trying to understand what it was about this unremarkable boy that had earned him such singular regard from the most celebrated wizard of their age.
A few seconds later, she gave up. She couldn't read anything from him at all.
When they reached the fifth floor, they found Lockhart's bedside considerably more crowded than before.
In addition to those already present on their last visit—Harry, Dumbledore, and Lupin—there were four new faces in the room.
Cho Chang stood quietly beside Harry. When she saw Sherlock and Hermione come in, she gave them a warm, gentle smile and a small nod.
Her parents, Mr. Wei Chang and Mrs. Dali Chang, were there as well.
Mr. Chang wore a well-fitted suit, his expression composed and steady.
Mrs. Chang was dressed in a smart, tailored clothes, speaking in a low voice with her husband.
The most attractive presence, however, was the man standing with his back to the door, in quiet conversation with Dumbledore and Lupin.
His figure was lean and upright. He wore a deep green cloth jacket. His hair was gathered neatly at the back of his head.
In his left hand, he held a small ebony box no larger than a palm. Through the hairline gap of its lid, a faint, soft light breathed quietly in and out.
This time, Hermione didn't need Sherlock to deduce it—she knew in an instant that this was the wizard the Changs had brought.
As for Gilderoy Lockhart himself, he was presently engaged in the very absorbing task of writing letters.
Sherlock took one look and understood immediately. Fan mail had apparently tracked Lockhart down even to St. Mungo's—a development that clearly delighted his boundless vanity.
"Sherlock! Hermione! You're finally here!"
Harry rose and waved them over enthusiastically. Cho stood beside him. As Sherlock and Hermione's eyes moved to her, she offered them a warm and easy smile.
It was rather interesting, actually—Cho Chang had known Sherlock and Hermione before she'd known Harry, and their early acquaintance had felt the more natural one. But fate, in its oblique way, had arranged things so that after she'd met Harry through them, it was Harry she found herself drawn to. His temperament suited hers in ways she hadn't expected.
By now she counted Sherlock and Hermione as genuine friends, of course—but with Harry, things had arrived at a different sort of territory altogether: more than friends, not yet lovers. Practically one confession away.
As Sherlock and Hermione crossed the room, the man finally turned around.
His appearance was recognizably at a glance. In age, he might have appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, though relying on appearances alone to gauge a wizard's age was always an unreliable business.
"Sherlock, this is Mr. Takeshi Sung—a wizard venturing in arts of mind."
Sherlock's gaze rested on Takesi Sung for a moment, then he said, "It's apparent that Mr. Sung has already arrived at a solution for Professor Lockhart's condition. The matter, for you, is already settled."
"How did you—"
A surprise passed through Takesi Sung's clear eyes. He was curious about this boy who had seen through him at a single glance, and had just begun to ask how—
when a jarring voice cut across the room: "Condition? What condition? There's nothing wrong with me!"
Lockhart, who had been happily signing away, took immediate exception to those words.
"Sherlock, don't listen to this peculiar man—he doesn't know what he's talking about!"
Takesi Sung smiled calmly. "Mr. Lockhart, what you are experiencing is what we call a reluctance to seek treatment out of shame. This is why early treatment is always the wiser course."
"I don't know what you're going on about!"
Lockhart gaped at him. "I didn't understand a single word of that!"
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