Before the holidays at Hogwarts began, after the end-of-term feast, Dumbledore called Sherlock into his office alone.
He pulled a letter from his drawer and handed it to Sherlock.
"If you have nothing to do during the summer holidays, you can go to this place in France to visit an old friend of mine; he will give you something."
Sherlock curiously took the letter and saw the name of the friend Dumbledore had spoken of on the envelope.
"Nicolas Flamel, is this... the Alchemy master who created the Philosopher's Stone?" he asked in surprise.(TN: Dumb Question.)
Dumbledore was not surprised that Sherlock had heard of Nicolas Flamel; his friend's reputation in the Wizarding World was no less than his own.
"That's right, it is that Nicolas Flamel, though he has already destroyed his Philosopher's Stone and is planning to dispose of the remaining Philosopher's Stone fragments that still contain some magic.
"He intends to give them to some young people. This is an introduction letter; if you are interested, you can visit him at the address above before August."
"Philosopher's Stone fragments?"
Sherlock blinked as he looked at the letter, finding it quite interesting.
Although he hadn't decided whether he would definitely go, he would keep the letter for now; perhaps he might feel like it at some point?
After watching him put the letter away, Dumbledore thought for a moment and continued.
"I remember that the place where you live is not very far from Harry's aunt's house?"
Sherlock nodded.
"It's quite a coincidence; it's only two streets away."
Dumbledore pulled a piece of parchment from his desk, wrote something on it, tucked it into an envelope, and handed it to Sherlock.
"If you decide to go find Nicolas during the summer holidays, you might as well take Harry with you.
"You can give this letter to his aunt, and she will let Harry leave with you."
Sherlock took the letter as well, looking somewhat surprised.
"Aren't you worried that something might happen to Harry while he's with me on the way?"
"Protecting one's students is a teacher's most basic duty."
Dumbledore blinked and said with a smile, "Isn't it?"
"Fine, you're right. If I go, I will look after Harry's safety."
Sherlock promised.
"There is one more thing you have the right to know."
Dumbledore's expression became slightly serious. "When school starts next term, you will still be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but I will hire a Defence Against the Dark Arts assistant professor for you."
Sherlock was slightly stunned and asked,
"I don't mind you hiring an assistant for me, but why specifically for me?"
Dumbledore shook his head somewhat helplessly.
"Because someone needs a job.
"There are no suitable positions at Hogwarts this year, so I can only hire him under the title of an assistant."
Sherlock nodded in understanding.
He carefully recalled the few plot points he still remembered; this assistant professor Dumbledore had hired for him should be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for Harry's third year in the original story.
The day after his conversation with Dumbledore, the holidays for this term at Hogwarts officially began.
This time,Sherlock did not take the Hogwarts Express, wasting a whole day to get home.
Instead, he used Apparition directly; one second he was in Hogsmeade, and the next, he had flashed to the front of his home in Devonshire.
Although no one had cleaned the house for nearly a year, it still looked very clean overall.
Sherlock's house did not have a House-elf to take care of chores, but most of the furniture in the house had magic cast on it, so even when he wasn't home, the furniture could clean the rooms itself.
So, after returning home, he had nothing to busy himself with; he simply cast a few cleaning spells on some items that lacked self-cleaning capabilities and sat down in the study.
"One year! A whole year! You didn't come back! Do you even have me, your mother, in your eyes anymore? You scoundrel! You degenerate! You disgusting degenerate!"
In the study, that sharp female voice was still shouting and accusing, berating Sherlock as a sinner who was completely worthless.
But Sherlock didn't care; he just watched the magic portrait of the Original Owner's mother hanging on the wall and tried to communicate with her.
"I was at Hogwarts serving as a professor for this year, which is why I didn't come back."
However, the Witch's acrimonious mockery immediately sounded.
"You, worthy? Which principal of the magic school was blind enough to hire you! You useless scoundrel! Trash! Waste!..."
After the attempt to communicate failed, Sherlock sighed. A piece of red silk on the table slowly flew up into the air, hung itself on the picture frame, covered the Original Owner's mother's portrait, and made her shut up.
Afterwards, Sherlock did not take out his wand or cast any spells.
All the books on the bookshelf flew out on their own, floated lightly in front of him, and arranged themselves in a neat circle, rotating around him.
This was a type of magic Sherlock had taught himself after the soul stitching was successful.
His magic could interfere with reality in its most primitive form.
Including but not limited to moving objects, commanding objects to complete uncomplicated actions, and performing simple transfigurations on objects, etc.
Simply put, it was a bit like a weakened version of the state he was in when he killed the Basilisk.
The combat power was limited, but it was extremely convenient for daily life.
Sherlock selected a book from the magic books rotating around him, and then the remaining books flew back to the bookshelf on their own, neatly arranged in their previous order.
Back at home, Sherlock's life was also monotonous.
He usually just stayed in the study researching various types of magic, especially strengthening his practice of the Patronus Charm.
In his vague memories, it seemed that after school started next term at Hogwarts, Dementors would wreak havoc.
And for a spell like the Patronus Charm, which was especially effective against Dementors, he naturally had to master it quickly.
But this type of spell, which had extremely high requirements for emotion, could not be cast just by practice, so Sherlock didn't force it too much; as long as it could be effective at critical moments, that was enough.
After staying at home for another two weeks.
Sherlock finally walked out of the study. He found the will agreement given to him by the old butler from his Original Owner's father's side at this time last year.
A whole year had passed since he received this will agreement.
Because of the matter of becoming a professor at Hogwarts, Sherlock had not paid much attention to it, but after gaining a deeper understanding of the Original Owner's parents' extraordinary nature while at Hogwarts.
Sherlock felt that he should go see his father, whom he had never met, during this summer holiday.
Through Slughorn's words, he could tell that the Original Owner's parents should not have been resistant to Wizards at the beginning, and they even agreed to let Slughorn be Sherlock's godfather.
Then why did the Original Owner's mother later become the crazy version in the portrait, and why did the Original Owner's father openly loathe Wizards, forcing his son to stay away from Wizards to inherit his estate?
Sherlock was very curious about the hidden reasons behind this.
He also specifically researched the status of the Original Owner's father's family in the Muggle world.
The Cavendish family, the hereditary Duke of Devonshire in Britain; in normal history, this family produced quite a few scientists and politicians and had great influence in the British political sphere.
But the world Sherlock was in now was, of course, different from the world of his previous life.
The Cavendish family still held the title of Duke of Devonshire in Britain, but after the nineteenth century, the family began to decline.
The key was the scarcity of direct heirs; starting from the generation of Cavendish's great-grandfather, it was a single line of descent.
If there was any slight carelessness in between and no boy was born, the title would be replaced by a collateral branch of the Cavendish bloodline.
Until the generation of Sherlock's biological father, in the public eye of the British Muggle world, he was already in the awkward situation of having no successor.
Sherlock's identity was very secret; no one knew that this generation's Duke of Devonshire actually had another son outside.
From this, it could be seen how heartless Sherlock's father was. He was now bedridden and clearly did not have much longer to live, and Sherlock was his only biological heir.
But if Sherlock did not guarantee that he would never have contact with the Wizarding World, he would rather divide his title and property among collateral relatives.
For the title of Duke of Devonshire and the family property that normal people couldn't spend in several lifetimes, Sherlock didn't care much.
For a Wizard with true pursuits and ideals, this fame and fortune in the Muggle world were completely useless, not even as good as a useful magic notebook.
Sherlock felt that he was not that detached from the world, but he was also a Wizard with pursuits. Inheriting the estate or whatever was not important; the key was to find clues as to why the Original Owner's parents had such a transformation, such a huge contrast.
So he decided to call that butler today and try to make contact with his "cheap" father.
The phone on the other end rang only once before it was quickly answered. Before the other side could speak, Sherlock said calmly first.
"I am Sherlock, I want to see him."
The person on the other end seemed to be too excited to speak for a while. After some heavy breathing, an old voice responded tremblingly.
"Sorry, Young Master, I will come to pick you up right now."
Sherlock hung up the phone, hesitating about meeting his father in this world for the first time, likely in a hospital; should he bring some gifts?
But after thinking carefully about the rigid relationship between the Original Owner and his father, he dismissed the thought.
Going there empty-handed was what fit the Original Owner's personality.
He didn't have to wait long; soon, a luxury car stopped below his small building.
The old man whom Sherlock had seen a year ago stepped out of the car. Just as he was about to ring the doorbell,Sherlock walked out of the house himself.
"Young Master."
Sherlock nodded slightly.
The old man immediately stepped aside, stood to the side, and respectfully opened the car door. After waiting for Sherlock to sit in, he closed the car door, sat in the passenger seat, and headed to the hospital in London.