Chapter 165: The Dark-Haired Youth

The level of magical proficiency that Sherlock Forester had managed to achieve in such a brief period would have been implausible without his exceptional talent, even in light of the muscle memory of the original owner. He was acutely aware that irrespective of his innate aptitude, which had arguably surpassed the brilliance of Dumbledore, he couldn't transform the intricate and esoteric realm of soul magic overnight. This process of inventing or improving a spell was not a short term accomplishment, especially given the absence of any existing knowledge soul magic.

Therefore, patiently, Sherlock pursued it, applying his best efforts and resigning the outcome to fate. He spent the entire afternoon immersed in the study of soul magic, ensconced in the hotel room. It wasn't until dusk that he emerged from his hermetic haven to grab a bite. Simultaneously, from the room opposite his, another occupant, a pallid young man with a curtain of black hair left his room. Their paths crossed, silent acknowledgment exchanged through fleeting glances; however, each retreated into their solitude, directing their paths away from each other. To Sherlock, the dark-haired youth was just another wandering visage with whom he had chanced upon a meeting. His interest in the strangers flickered and died, while his hunger steered him towards the hotel's dining hall. After Sherlock had sauntered away, the dark-haired youth stealthily tracked him, a perplexed frown adorning his face as he murmured one word in solitude, "Amy…"

At the same time, the gazes of a dozen wizards, their somber statures shrouded in black robes and their identities concealed behind metallic masks decorated with eerie patterns, were gathered one floor above Sherlock's room in another hotel suite. The chilling visage that they wore was punctuated by two lifeless muggle bodies belonging to a father and son duo. Their countenances frozen in terror bore testimony to the grim fate that had befallen them. Amidst the macabre tableau, the hoarse voice of Bellatrix threw an echo in the room. "This better be the end of our cat and mouse game! This slippery little worm cannot continue to escape us, the Dark Lords patience wears thin!"

In the cloaked assembly, Bellatrix Lestrange and her brother-in-law Rabastan Lestrange were the two maskless figures. Bellatrix's decree was answered by a muffled assent from one of their masked companions. "The worm cannot escape its destiny tonight, but the plan hinges on the Ministry of Magic's strategy…"

"Very well said, Lucius!" A wicked grin split Bellatrix's face. "Our patience has reached its brim, and the worm must cease to twist and turn. As for the Aurors, they won't get here until tomorrow."

Leaning against the wall, Rabastan casually twirled his elaborate wand, inciting, "We must create a powerful diversion, enough to distract the conceited imbeciles."

An audacious idea resonated from behind one of the masks, "What if we destroy this hotel?" This suggestion was met with bitter laughter echoing around the room.

Bellatrix licked her crimson lips, a gleam of cruel excitement festering in her eyes. "You're unacquainted with our style, Goyle, considering your recent association. Just a building doesn't suffice... I want to see every Muggle on this street dead!"

After finishing his meal, Sherlock refrained from immediately returning to his hotel room. Instead, he sauntered along the quiet street, where he had previously spotted a patrol of Aurors. It was past eight o'clock already and the city had succumbed to darkness. Sheffield's nightlife was negligible and the economic downturn had coerced its inhabitants to retire early, their minds busy concocting strategies for the following day's survival.

On reaching the hotel entrance, Sherlock found it oddly vacant. The reception desk, normally manned at all times, was deserted. His eyebrows furrowed in suspicion, an instinctive reaction to an anomaly in the usual routine. Although it wasn't Sheffield's finest, the hotel was a far cry from an insignificant inn. A constant ebb and flow of guests was a common sight, making the reception desk's current desertion all the more dubious.

Activating his perception magic, Sherlock expanded his observation to a ten-meter radius, allowing him to discern any irregularities through the physical obstruction of the walls. His investigation revealed the strange disappearance of all the Muggle occupants of the hotel. The once bustling establishment lay abandoned excluding Sherlock himself. The silence accentuated by the vacancy seemed unnatural.

Sherlock's footfalls echoed ominously in the deserted lobby, a harsh reminder that he was in the throes of a situation far from a practical joke or Muggle prank. The eerie scenario suggested the influence of a wizarding spell: the Muggle Repelling Charm. Treading cautiously, Sherlock scaled the stairs, his magical perception constantly expanding, scanning each corner, each shadow. His magical abilities revealed the presence of human activity on the second floor, specifically in the room occupied by the pale-faced black-haired young man whom Sherlock had fleetingly encountered earlier.

Sherlock's calm demeanor remained unfazed as he continued towards the second-floor corridor only to find another room full of activity, this time it was a whole group of people. Through his magical sight, Sherlock perceived the sinister cloaked figures with their frightening masks. Alongside the lifeless bodies of the Muggle duo, he noted a familiar face. Bellatrix, whose ruthless malevolence had earned her prominent coverage in the Daily Prophet and the infamous reputation as the Dark Lord's loyal deputy, was a recognizable figure. In an era where the Voldemort's actions had lessened, Bellatrix's reign of terror had become the nightmare that haunted everyone. On seeing Bellatrix, he immediately identified the gathering as the dreaded Death Eaters.

Sherlock generally refrained from extended use of his perception magic due to its draining effects. However, the revelation of a Death Eater's congregation at the Muggle hotel added an unexpected twist to the story. The innocuous hotel of secure temporary residence had transformed into a dismal abode directly above his room that catered to the sinister Death Eaters.

Professor Sherlock Forester furrowed his brow ever so slightly as he arrived at a disconcerting conclusion. The grim figure of a Death Eater lurking in this Muggle hotel wouldn't resort to a Muggle-Repelling Charm, as Muggles, in their eyes, were mere cattle, not even viewed as sentient beings. Indifferent to the welfare of these innocents, they often took unnerving pleasure in slaughter. Therefore, the only individual capable of employing such a charm in the hotel would have to be the young man with dark hair residing across from his room. But how was he involved? He wasn't one of the Death Eaters, but he if he was with the group of Aurors then why would he be here alone? Was this man actually the target of the Death Eaters?

Sherlock marked a pause at the staircase corner, studying the data he overheard Moody talk about. A month prior, there had been a skirmish in Wales. Among the four fallen Aurors, one was speculated to have defected to the Dark Lord's ranks. However, Moody doubted this, stubbornly refusing to believe that the wizard, identified only as "Eddie", could be the traitor. Could this dark-haired man possibly be the elusive Eddie, sought by the Aurors? And if so, was he really a target for the Death Eaters? Did he not betray the Ministry of Magic, was he the one that took the initiative to cast the Muggle-Repelling Charm? These questions marinated in Sherlock's mind until they coalesced into coherent deductions.

In the entire building, only three entities existed - Sherlock himself, the young man, and the group of Death Eaters. Lacking an established target, followers of pure-blood ideology, who deemed Muggles beneath them, had no reason to seek solace among Muggles in an inn. Obviously, the target couldn't be Sherlock, an unknown in the magic world, not worthy of the Death Eaters' complex schemings. Rationally, the only sensible reason for them to be here could be the dark-haired man. Sherlock solved the second question confidently and therefore acquired the answers to the first and third inquiries as well.

Whoever had set the ambush trap wasn't a Death Eater themselves. If that was the case, there was a high probability that this person was Eddie. The Ministry of Magic had got it wrong. Eddie had not defected; he had been continuously evading the relentless pursuit of the Death Eaters. Why he hadn't returned to the ministry to present his innocence remained a mystery for Sherlock. If he returned, the rumors of treachery would be expunged, and he would be protected. But for the moment, the answer to this question eluded Sherlock.

By process of elimination, the only possible caster of the Muggle-Repelling charm had to be the dark-haired man. He had resorted to magic to ensure that innocent Muggles wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Why had he expected a battle to commence, unless he knew of the impending ambush by the Death Eaters and had taken corrective measures in advance?

Sherlock's furrowed eyebrows smoothed as he thoughtfully absolved his dilemma. After deciding on a course of action, he marched audibly towards the second floor. His distinct footsteps echoed ominously in the deserted corridor. He took a moment to study the closed entrance of the dark-haired man's room before moving into his own.

Once inside, Sherlock stowed away his wand. He knew he must be calm, prepared for any ensuing confrontation at any given moment. The silence of the night seeped in, blanketing the city in darkness. Sheffield, a prominent industrial city in the UK, suffered from pollution much like London. The area was so industrialized that it was shrouded by a dense haze, indefinitely blotting out the nocturnal sky. (E/N.: Author is projecting so hard with how he keeps talking about how polluted the air is lmao)

Sherlock lay hushed on his bed, biding his time. After approximately four tense hours, the silence was finally disrupted by a faint noise from upstairs. Swiftly, Sherlock sat up, extracting wands from his pocket and distributing over fifty of them around the room. Through his control magic, he was able to manipulate the wands and almost saw everything which happened within a ten-meter radius of his room.

Sherlock observed the Death Eaters split into three groups; one on broomsticks surrounding the window ledge of the dark-haired man's room, while the other two groups cordoned the room entrance from either side of the hallway. Simultaneously, an Anti-Apparition Jinx cast by four Death Eaters sealed off the building, preventing both Apparition and Disillusionment Charms.

However, to Sherlock's surprise, the room once occupied by the dark-haired man was deserted except for some small spheres scattered on the floor and a large suitcase resting on the bed. As the Death Eaters pierced violently through the room's door and windows, something activated. The small spheres suddenly rolled about, and a thick, white smoke filled the entire room. Within seconds, a loud wail echoed, and an elongated snake-like creature, decked with feathers and wings, rapidly sprung out from the suitcase. The creature seethed, hardly recognizable a moment later as it filled every corner of the room, fiercely attacking the intruding Death Eaters.

"He's not here! There's an Occamy here!"

"Get out! Get out quickly! This smoke is poisoned!"

"Damn it! He knew we were gonna attack him!"

The outburst of chaos outside was followed by exclamations of horror and confusion from the Death Eaters, who had not anticipated such a dramatic twist. Amidst the pandemonium, Sherlock managed to make out Bellatrix Lestrange yelling hysterically, "Rabastan! Find him! Now!"

A panicked wizard said, "He's gone! He removed the tracking spell we cast on him!"

"Impossible! He couldn't have erased it himself so quickly!"

"But it's gone, we can't find him!"

"You useless waste! Idiot! Blow up this street and lure all the Aurors here!"

Death Eaters quickly disbanded from the now poisonous room, mounting their broomsticks hurriedly with intentions of blasting the street to draw the Aurors in. Sherlock frowned. He couldn't fully understand the last words the Death Eaters said. Why did they want to attract all the Aurors just because they lost track of one person? The chaos outside had already begun, with countless people awoken by deafening explosions from their deep sleep, but Sherlock remained motionless. Because under his magic perception, after the Death Eaters left, a figure returned to this hotel, walked up to his door, and gently knocked on it. "Knock, knock, knock."