The opulent manor seemed exceptionally gloomy at this moment.
In the swaddling clothes on the armchair, a non-human, ghostly thing was coldly staring at the crowd of trembling Black-Robed Persons kneeling on the floor.
"I do not expect absolute loyalty from everyone," a calm voice that nonetheless revealed a bone-chilling coldness echoed, "but I loathe useless trash!"
"Barty is dead, so who can do that task for me now? My friends, who among you can make me trust in your ability to complete this mission?"
A giant snake, as thick as a bucket, coiled beside the armchair, staring with its pair of cold, vertical pupils, indifferently surveying everything around it.
Kneeling on the hard floor, those noble-born, pure-blood Wizards did not dare to raise their heads; everyone kept their heads bowed low, wishing they could bury their faces into the ground.
"Wormtail? Lucius? Evan? Corban? Alecto? Alecto?"
He coldly called out one name after another, but everyone whose name was called trembled, and no one dared to look directly at that terrifying existence.
The thing on the armchair seemed to have grown weary of this and fell silent; the room was deathly quiet, and everyone held their breath, fearing they might disturb his contemplation.
"Apart from those locked in Azkaban, whose loyalty and ability can put my mind at ease?"
He was not asking anyone in the room this question, because he quickly answered it himself.
"Barty could, but you useless trash did not bring him back alive. Ah, and Regulus, but he is also dead..."
"Gagson!"
He suddenly shouted a name.
From the crowd kneeling on the floor, a trembling Black-Robed Person stood up; he was not wearing a mask, a gaunt Wizard with glasses and blonde hair.
"Ma-Master," Gagson replied with a trembling voice.
"I know you are not of much use, but if you cannot even bring that old thing, Barty Crouch Sr., back to me, then what is the point of you being alive?"
Gagson first let out a sigh of relief, then felt his heart tighten again, and then he unhesitatingly guaranteed loudly.
"If I cannot bring back Old Barty, you won't need to lift a finger, Master; I am willing to become food for Nagini!"
That cold voice ignored Gagson's life-or-death vow and continued to call out another person's name.
"Wormtail."
A pale, short, and fat Wizard, looking like a large, chubby rat, crawled on his knees to the side of the armchair.
The voice suddenly became calm, and he said indifferently.
"Go to the northern part of the Scandinavian Peninsula and tell that person that I can give him one more chance."
Peter's previously tense body instantly relaxed, and he exclaimed in a sycophantic tone.
"He will surely kneel at your merciful feet, weeping and admitting his mistake, my great Master."
The voice did not respond to his words, but merely looked at those still kneeling on the floor and said coldly.
"I hope that from now on, no one will disappoint me again!"
...
On September 1st, at the Forrest home.
Sherlock did not have much to pack; his office items were left at Hogwarts and not brought back. He only needed to carry a suitcase, which contained some robes for changing.
Hilke was making breakfast in the kitchen.
After unremitting efforts during the remainder of the summer vacation, she finally mastered her first major dish—fried eggs—one week before school started.
Since that day, Sherlock's breakfast had been unchangeably a cup of warm milk, a slightly burnt fried egg that looked a bit terrible but wasn't charred, and two slices of toast made in a toaster.
The taste wasn't bad, and it was nutritionally balanced, but if one had to eat it for a week straight, it became a bit hard to accept.
During this time, Sherlock hinted several times that he could go into the kitchen to make breakfast a bit more sumptuous, such as cooking a bowl of meat porridge or frying some ham to make sandwiches.
But Hilke seemed to have a deep obsession with the kitchen; after being able to make edible food, she firmly refused to let him enter the kitchen again.
Fortunately, in any case, this was the last meal this morning. Sherlock didn't dwell on it too much, waiting for Hilke, who was wearing an apron and had the air of a domestic housewife, to bring over the milk, fried eggs, and bread.
Sherlock picked up his knife and fork and spread jam on the toast; he had not forgotten about Hilke's work preparations.
"I am going back to Hogwarts today; when are you planning to go to work?"
The corners of Hilke's mouth quietly curled into an imperceptible arc.
"I am leaving today as well."
Sherlock did not hear anything amiss and just said in surprise.
"What a coincidence. Will you be living where you work, or coming back home?"
"The place I work provides accommodation."
Speaking of this, Sherlock couldn't help but start nagging again.
"Although you are a big girl now and have lived alone for long enough, you still need to be careful when living alone in the future. Try your best not to eat your own cooking; my body is strong enough to handle a few bites, but you might not be able to if you eat too much. Also, try to be friendly when getting along with colleagues, though of course, the premise is that we cannot be bullied by others. If anything happens, write to me. I will basically be staying at Hogwarts and won't be going anywhere..."
From the moment Sherlock started nagging, Hilke's beautiful eyebrows furrowed unconsciously, but she didn't say much, silently dissecting the fried egg with her dinner knife—which didn't even need cutting to be eaten.
Sherlock certainly knew that Hilke didn't like listening to him nag so much, but as an "elder", saying a bit more was appropriate. In his heart, although Hilke and Amy were different, they were both problem children that one couldn't help but worry about.
After nagging for over ten minutes, they finished breakfast.
Sherlock put on his Wizard robes, picked up his suitcase, said goodbye to Hilke, and left home using Apparition.
After he left, Hilke rested her chin on her hand at the dining table, staring blankly at the ordinary Muggle photograph hanging on the wall.
The two adults and one child in the photo each wore different smiles; this combination looked rather comical.
A gentle smile appeared on her face, and then she stood up to clear the plates and cutlery from the table. She was clearly in a very good mood, and she even hummed a tune she had heard from somewhere.
After finishing all the housework and cleaning everything up, Hilke walked into her room and took out the teaching tools that she hadn't let Sherlock discover all summer.