"... Fudge saw that Lupin was a Werewolf, and he was terrified. He went specifically to Dumbledore to question why he would hire a Werewolf as a Professor.
Whether Dumbledore likes it or not, it's impossible for Lupin to continue serving as a Professor next semester."
After obtaining the exact time from Hagrid and understanding what had happened during the three hours that he and Snape had been missing, Sherlock couldn't help but sigh.
"If Lupin isn't here next year, I'll have to start getting busy again. What a pity."
Hagrid also sighed. He and Lupin had a pretty good relationship, so naturally, he didn't want to see him leave Hogwarts in such a sorry state.
But his focus wasn't on that right now; instead, he looked at Sherlock and asked suspiciously,
"I need to tidy up the graveyard before Miss Hilke gets here. Why did you follow me?"
Upon hearing this question, Sherlock remained silent for a moment. After walking silently with Hagrid for a long while, he finally spoke softly.
"To visit a friend."
His answer only made Hagrid more confused, but he could also tell that something was off with Sherlock's mood, so he tactfully decided not to ask any more questions and led him deep into the Forbidden Forest.
Soon, they arrived at a clearing.
The trees surrounding the clearing were lush and green, rustling in the evening breeze.
This was the second time Sherlock had seen the two graves in the middle of the clearing, and the names on the tombstones now seemed so conspicuous.
[Eddie Butler]
[John Watson]
Sherlock stood at the edge of the clearing, silently watching the grave marked with Eddie's name.
Aside from his name, there was no record of his life, no birth or death years, only three simple sentences.
[Stop those who bully the weak; save those who suffer injustice; maintain the order that should be maintained.]
Sherlock didn't speak; he just stared quietly at the tombstone. The image in his mind was of that dinner inside that restaurant, when he had earnestly said these three sentences to him.
Hagrid noticed Sherlock's unusual behaviour, but while he was a bit thick-skinned, he wasn't actually stupid. He chose not to disturb Sherlock at this moment and prepared to start clearing the weeds in front of the grave.
However, just as he was about to start, Sherlock stopped him.
"No need to trouble yourself, Hagrid, let me do it."
Hagrid looked at Sherlock in surprise; he really couldn't fathom Sherlock's actions right now.
It had been less than a day since they last met, yet for some reason, he felt that the Sherlock before him now had become somewhat different from the one he had known before.
"Alright then, I'll..."
"You go back and rest first. I want to stay here alone for a while."
Hagrid stood there for a moment, then finally nodded hesitantly.
"Be careful here by yourself."
Sherlock nodded silently. Hagrid gave him one last puzzled look before finally leaving the graveyard.
After Sherlock was left alone, he walked with heavy steps to the monument carved with Eddie's name, his voice filled with helplessness and sadness.
"After I left, how did you still end up dead?"
He sat directly beside Eddie's tombstone, just as if Eddie were still alive, sitting next to him and talking to him, just friends chatting about daily life.
"Actually, given your personality, I could have imagined this result. For that broken Ministry of Magic, full of scheming everywhere, drawing only a few Galleons in salary every day, why were you working so hard?"
"Fine, I'm a vulgar person. I can't understand your ideals. You have a sense of justice; you can sacrifice yourself for the Wizarding World. But the last words I said to you back then, you surely didn't listen to them. Why couldn't you think about Amy?"
"I know she was an accident; you weren't prepared to be a father at first. But you already became a father, why didn't you take on the responsibility?"
"The other Wizards in the Wizarding World are people; is your daughter not one?"
"You always said you owed her, but what's the use of just talking? Have you ever made up for it? Amy's first gift was given by me, and I was the one who took her out to play the first time. What have you, as a father, done?"
"Sigh, forget it. You're already dead; it's a bit unseemly for me to keep nagging you here."
Sherlock sighed and stood up from in front of the monument. Without using magic, he used his hands to clear away the weeds in front of the grave.
After finishing this, he composed his emotions and then stood in front of the grave marked with [John Watson], tilting his head to examine this grave that belonged to himself.
To be honest, even if it was a pseudonym, looking at one's own tombstone still gave one a strange feeling.
He didn't use Control Magic to sense what was buried underground, because at this moment, Sherlock had already used Transfiguration to turn a branch into a shovel, intending to dig open this grave himself.
He had a guess before digging, but whether he guessed right or not would only be known after digging it open.
Under the bright moonlight, Sherlock laboured to dig the soil on the grave mound.
At first, he wanted to have some sense of ritual and intended to dig up his own grave by hand, but he hadn't even dug a few shovelfuls before he collapsed on the ground, not wanting to move at all.
It wasn't that he was weak, but his physical exertion tonight had been too severe; he truly didn't have any strength left to dig up a grave.
Sherlock gave up the idea of doing it himself, conjured a few more iron shovels, and sat on the ground, controlling them with Control Magic to dig.
Of course, there were faster methods, such as using three or four explosions to blast it open. But blowing up one's own grave... was ultimately a bit strange.
Doing it this way was more laborious, but it didn't count as troublesome.
With five or six shovels digging together, after about an hour, they dug out an old wooden box.
Sherlock used Control Magic to lift the wooden box out of the grave pit.
It had a lock, but a simple Alohomora could open it.
There wasn't much inside the wooden box. A small metal box shaped like a badge, a worn-out pinwheel, and a yellowing, motionless, ordinary photograph.
He picked up the pinwheel. Although it was old and worn, it had clearly been well protected by its previous owner, and one could still clearly see what it looked like when it was brand new.
The three people in the photo were also incredibly familiar.
"Prince," who was wearing an imperceptible smile, with a pigeon flying overhead and dropping a "bomb."
Amy, holding a pinwheel and a lollipop, with the corners of her mouth curved into a smile.
And "John," who was standing behind Amy, the only one with a normal, happy smile on his face.
Looking at this old photo from 17 years ago, Sherlock couldn't help but smile as well.(TN: That's a nice image.)
Just at this moment, from behind him, a soft sound of footsteps suddenly approached from afar.
Sherlock turned around, holding the photo. The girl who had always been wearing a hood walked up to him, and with slightly trembling hands, slowly pulled down her hood.
Her fair face was exquisite and delicate, and one could faintly see the shadow of her childhood.
Her silver-grey hair fluttered in the wind, and those eyes hidden beneath the black ribbon were staring intently at him!
Sherlock and she stared at each other for a long time, and finally, sighing, he slowly stood up, walked to her side, gently reached out his hand, and propped up the corners of her mouth to curve upward.
"I've told you so many times, this world is very beautiful, you need to smile more, Amy."