Chapter 132: Unrelenting

Upon awakening, Sherlock found himself situated on a hospital bed within Hogwarts' pristine infirmary. His keen senses informed him of the absence of any pungent disinfectant smell, yet upon blinking his eyes open, he was greeted with the radiant whiteness of his immediate surroundings.

"I must say, there's something pleasing about the color white," was his gleeful first utterance upon returning to consciousness.

"It seems that your spirits are still high," a flat, monotonous voice bounced back at him from a nearby source.

Turning his head slightly, Sherlock spotted Hilke sitting with a placid demeanor by his side.

"Ahhh! Don't you think experiencing sunlight after being underground is exhilarating?" Sherlock remarked.

"You're clearly cheerful enough." Hilke replied, punctuating her statement by ringing the bell on Sherlock's bedside table and calling over Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, come now, Hilke. Lighten up a bit. Be happy! Feel the joy, like me! I must admit, it's quite a refreshing experience. Makes me feel like I could be happy forever!"

Whilst Sherlock spoke jubilantly, Madam Pomfrey approached with a bottle of potion.

"He's definitely abnormally cheerful just as you said," she agreed with Hilke, reassuring herself regarding Sherlock's current state, "It's almost as if he's overdosed on a cheer potion of sorts."

"This anti-joy potion should do the trick. However, deciding the correct dose could be slightly challenging," she admitted, frustration lacing her voice.

Sherlock, however, objected with a laughter-induced shake of his head.

"Anti-joy potion? Why bring sadness into a world of joy? What's the point of deliberately feeling down?"

Despite Sherlock's vigorous objection, his pleas fell on deaf ears. After another assessment, Madam Pomfrey administered the calculated amount of the anti-joy potion, supervising Sherlock while he ingested the bitter-tasting concoction.

Unwavering in her dedication, Hilke remained beside Sherlock throughout his medicinal treatment.

Consuming Madam Pomfrey's potion assisted in curtailing Sherlock's overexcited demeanor, his initially beaming smile gradually faded to a more customary countenance, facilitating usual conversation once more.

"I think in the future, perhaps I should practice caution when utilizing the Patronus Charm," Sherlock verbalized, nursing a pounding headache.

Though surging with positive emotions came with its perks, Sherlock anticipated an eventual natural recovery in a week or two, even in Madam Pomfrey's absence. Although mild, the issue could prove crippling during intense battle situations.

His mood dipping slightly in light of this realization, Sherlock spotted a peculiar old locket around his neck, a trinket he had no memory of previously adorning.

"What's this?" He held up the dark gold circular locket, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Hilke's notice was captured by the locket at this moment as well.

"Were you not wearing this before we descended underground?" She asked, her tone revealing a rare seriousness.

Sherlock shook his head in dismissal.

"No, I've never seen this thing before."

When he attempted to remove the locket from his neck, Sherlock found himself unable to. It was as if an invisible force field was preventing the chain from slipping from his head, despite his persistent efforts.

Sherlock's countenance darkened.

He ceased his struggle to remove the locket, turning to face Hilke.

"Is this maybe from the scarecrow?"

Hilke, too, acknowledged the peculiarity of the situation.

"No, the scarecrow didn't have any locket when it disappeared."

A revelation suddenly hit her.

"The scarecrow feeds on fear. At full capacity, it isn't as helpless as it is now. However, after its escape to Britain, it opted for a more discreet existence, avoiding the instigation of fear to regain power. Instead, it came directly to Hogwarts."

"It seemed like it was looking for something.."

Sherlock studied the locket around his neck, its unopened form proving useless as he failed to find a latch or opening.

"Are you suggesting this locket could have been the thing it was seeking?" Sherlock inquired, visibly worried.

For undecipherable reasons, his mood had spiraled into a deep, gloomy desolation. He was stricken with a creeping sense of loneliness and impending doom.

He turned to Hilke, his voice laced with solemnity.

"Can't you just tell me what that scarecrow was already?"

Hilke responded in her usual composed tone.

"This creature is regarded as the most closely guarded secret within the German Ministry of Magic. The Department of Mysteries has spent a century studying its existence."

Sherlock anticipated her refusal to reveal further details; however, she surprised him by continuing.

"It's known as Fiddlesticks, and originally, it resided on Azkaban Island." (E/N.: I was proud of author for coming up with his own ideas for the story until now but... Fiddlesticks is a league champion... bruhh)

"Azkaban?" Sherlock exclaimed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

The original owner was known for his peculiar intrigue towards Dementors, which shared a close relationship with Azkaban and so he was familiar with the prison.

Currently notorious as the most feared wizard prison worldwide, Azkaban was initially discovered simply as a small island nestled in the North Sea. At the dawn of the 15th century, the remote island was devoid of any markings on either muggle or wizard maps. One day, a wizard of unknown nationality, Ekrizdis, arrived on this island, erecting a fortress wherein he lived in solitude.

Upon his arrival, Ekrizdis had already been consumed by madness. His magic was notoriously potent, and he gained perverse pleasure from conducting ghastly experiments involving Dark Magic. He particularly enjoyed drawing Muggle sailors to the island, only to torture and execute them relentlessly.

During this time, the Ministry of Magic was still in its infancy, lacking the full establishment with the only regulated jurisdiction of the Wizengamot to keep peace in the Wizarding World.

Naturally, the remote island of Azkaban barely caught their attention. Only when Ekrizdis perished, causing a failure in the concealment charm he cast on the island, was its existence discovered by wizards.

Unfortunately, by then, it was already inhabited by Dementors; dread-inducing creatures infamous for feeding on hope, making it the earliest known historical record of a large-scale group of Dementors inhabiting one place.

Eventually, the Ministry of Magic began utilizing the island as a prison for wizards, indirectly employing the resident Dementors as its guards.

The relationship between the Ministry of Magic and the Dementors was not one of servitude but rather one of cooperation. One which was always controversial, often attracting criticism from concerned wizards and witches. Several Ministers of Magic have proposed to destroy the island; however, while the island could be eviscerated, the Dementors could not entirely be eradicated.

The creeping fear was that if released, these creatures could wreak havoc on the British mainland. Hence, as a measure to maintain balance, the idea of repurposing the island as a wizard prison and using the inmates to feed the Dementors to prevent their escape seemed like the most fitting solution.

Subsequently, for centuries, the island has been stigmatized as the most wicked location within the magical world.

"Prior to the British Ministry of Magic sanctioning the island as a prison, someone found it and unintentionally summoned an evil spirit back into the world – Fiddlesticks," Hilke disclosed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"It doesn't adhere to a fixed form, although it is capable of creating a physical manifestation when required, like the scarecrow we saw."

"It escalates terror beyond even Dementors. Dementors are only able to feed on hope or joy, whereas it actively cultivates fear. Its ultimate satisfaction lies in devouring fear-ridden souls and gaining strength with each tortured soul it consumes."

"In the 18th century, in Northern Europe, it instigated a series of horrific massacres resulting in the decimation of entire Muggle towns."

"It seems to derive immense pleasure from repeatedly uttering the victims' last words and amplifying the dread of the living by playing psychological games involving their worst fears."

"The imagery of a scarecrow clutching a scythe in one hand and a lamp in the other became the most circulated horror story amongst Muggles at that era."

"Until one day, it met its match in a formidable wizard. He realized that Fiddlesticks could not be eliminated, only captured, and thus transported it back to the then newly established German Ministry of Magic, intending to imprison it for eternity."

"Since then, Fiddlesticks has been held in the German Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. The responsibility of guarding this creature fell upon the Unspeakable, and now, me," Hilke disclosed.

"However, it has continually struggled against its confinement, secretly amassing power over the near two hundred years it spent in the Ministry, until it finally broke free four months ago."

As Hilke detailed the full sequence of events, Sherlock was swallowed by an overwhelming sense of desolation.

"Having been confined for over two centuries, it prioritized this locket over ensuring it doesn't get recaptured. This surely doesn't bode well," Sherlock pointed to the locket around his neck.

Noticing Sherlock's dwindling spirits, Hilke remarked, "Perhaps the dosage of anti-joy potion was slightly too high."

With a ring of the bell, she recalled Madam Pomfrey to reassess Sherlock's condition.

"How do you feel, Sherlock?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her tone serious.

Responding with a weak voice, Sherlock replied, "I feel terrible. Everything seems futile. It's as if my days are slowly ticking away."

To this, Madam Pomfrey seemed pleased.

"Splendid, it seems I estimated the dose perfectly! You're merely experiencing despair. If sentiments of suicide had been present, a dose of cheer potion would be needed to neutralize it, but in this case you should recover naturally within a few days, no issue."

Wearing a somber expression, Sherlock was discharged from the infirmary.

"The creature might have found this object in the abandoned Fairy command post. I could try reaching out to my Goblin contacts. They might have some knowledge of it," Hilke suggested as she and Sherlock took separate paths in the fifth-floor corridor.

Sherlock, on the other hand, headed towards the third-floor, intending to find Professor Dumbledore, hoping for his help in removing the locket.

While descending the stairs, Sherlock encountered Harry and his friends returning from their classes.

"Professor, where were you last night? Why weren't you at the Halloween feast? Did you know that Sirius Black broke into the school last night?" Harry voiced multiple questions simultaneously upon sighting Sherlock.

Sherlock responded wearily, "I had every intention to join the Halloween feast, but I regretfully missed it. As for Black's break-in, that is disconcerting news, Harry. Seems like you've been hit by a streak of bad luck. Right now, I need to talk to Dumbledore, so I really don't have time to chat. See you later, Harry."

With that, he continued his morose descent down the stairs.

Sherlock's words caused Harry, along with Hermione and Ron, to pause in their tracks.

"Did you guys hear that?" Harry exclaimed joyfully. "The Professor actually said I have a streak of bad luck! And he meant it!"

Ron looked envious, "Lucky bastard. You're about to be the luckiest person in the entire castle! Would not be surprised to see you randomly find a thousand galleons lying around.."

Harry beamed, "Maybe I'll get someone to sign my permssion slip, or what if Sirius Black is caught trying to hunt me down! Anything is possible now!"

Hermione frowned, "Didn't you notice something off about the Professor?"

"Well yea, but if the Professor were in a good mood, we'd probably be in significant danger now, I'm kinda glad he's feeling down," Ron shrugged before adding, "Now, Harry, we've gotta maximize the benefits of your good luck - I have the perfect plan already. Here's what you oughta do, first you'll have to buy into as many lotteries or prize draws as possible, then..."

Their mood uplifted as they discussed the potential opportunities arising from their Professor's blessing. Meanwhile, Sherlock reached the entrance to the headmaster's office.

"I'd like to see Professor Dumbledore. Could you inform him of my presence?"

Remaining silent, the gargoyle likely communicated with Dumbledore within the office by some undisclosed means and subsequently granted Sherlock passage.

Upon ascending to the eighth floor and entering the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore's focus shifted to Sherlock's noticeably morose demeanor.

"You appear exceptionally low-spirited today, Sherlock."

Sitting across Dumbledore, Sherlock let his body slacken on the table as if his bones had turned jelly.

"Madam Pomfrey generously oversaw the administration of an anti-joy potion to deal with my abnormally high spirits, but now I find myself dealing with excessive gloominess."

Raising an eyebrow, Dumbledore quipped, "I heard about your little adventure with Hilke last night. Tell me, what exactly transpired?"

In a monotonous voice, Sherlock relayed the happenings of their previous night. In conclusion, he presented the locket, still hanging from his neck, in front of Dumbledore.

"Do you have any ideas about this, Professor? Or, at the very least, could you assist me in removing it?"

His body slouched on the table, allowing Dumbledore an unobstructed viewing of the locket.

As Dumbledore inspected the weather-beaten, dark gold locket, his eyebrows knitted together in deep contemplation.