Chapter 93: Good Night

The monstrous serpent laid slain in the Gryffindor common room, enormous spears peppered its reptilian body, and its dark, filthy blood had splattered all over the place. Harry, Ron, and Neville, alongside poor Fawkes who was sprawled to the side, all bore the rugged signs of a massive battle.

Having vanquished the serpent, Sherlock Forester could feel the powerful energy that once surged within him beginning to dissipate. A draining sense of weariness seeped deep from his soul, causing his legs to wobble under him, threatening to succumb to the pull of gravity. Thankfully, Harry perceived his wavering stability and rushed to lend him support in the nick of time.

In the midst of the pandemonium happening inside the common room, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were alerted and they hurriedly ascended into the lounge. They showed up only to find themselves rooted to the spot, their faces a picture of shock as they took in the chaos surrounding them.

"Merlin's beard! What happened here?" asked a flabbergasted McGonagall.

With Harry's help, Sherlock moved onto the blood-drenched couch, managing to rasp out in a weakened voice, "There's no time for explanations now, have the students returned from the train first. And do we have any food? Even one of Hagrid's rock cakes will do... I'm ravenous."

Making no allowance for Sherlock to just lie woven amidst the mayhem, McGonagall, along with Snape, hurriedly rushed him to the Hogwarts infirmary. Simultaneously, Flitwick aided Harry in bringing an unconscious Ron to the infirmary as well. Alongside them limped Neville, using Gryffindor's sword as his cane.

Madam Pomfrey, the school's faithful nurse, had not left Hogwarts castle yet and so she quickly took charge of tending to Sherlock's injuries. "His injuries aren't too serious. There's some internal bleeding, and he's thoroughly worn out, but he'll be fine. He just needs plenty of good food to restore his strength, some medicine and lots of rest," she explained, pulling a sizable piece of chocolate from her drawer. This high-calorie snack was meant to rejuvenate Sherlock physically in no time. She also entrusted a bottle of potion to McGonagall, giving her the responsibility to make sure he drinks it.

Once done with Sherlock, Madam Pomfrey moved on to tend to the trio, whose injuries seemed considerably worse upon her initial evaluation.

McGonagall carefully watched as Sherlock downed the potion and inquired, her eyebrows knitting together, "Now will you please tell me what happened?"

Sherlock promptly polished off the piece of chocolate Madam Pomfrey had given him. Commonly, such sweetness would be overwhelming, but under the circumstances, it brought nothing but respite.

"We were tricked. The Heir of Slytherin seized Neville, not to hide in the Chamber of Secrets but to retreat to the Gryffindor common room and ambush Harry. With the trio's help, I managed to overcome him and his monster."

Sherlock's recount was brief, but even McGonagall could tell that the true events must've been far more perilous than he made it sound. Seeing his drained state, she refrained from delving further and allowed him to rest. However, before she could leave, Sherlock mustered the last of his strength to halt her.

"Preserve the beast's corpse for me. If Snape asks for it, tell him we risked our necks for it, so he ought to be ready to pay a hefty price," Sherlock instructed.

Unable to help herself, McGonagall let out a chuckle at this request, "You're certainly not the same Sherlock, are you?"

Exhausted as he was, Sherlock had no patience for preserving appearances. "I genuinely thought I was going to die earlier. Having survived that puts everything else in perspective, just seems like everything I was so worried about before is all just negligible.."

McGonagall gave him a tender smile, her eyes glistening with relief, "That's sometimes the blessing in disguise, Sherlock. Near-death experiences often bring about profound realizations."

"Perhaps," came Sherlock's faint reply. "I'd really appreciate some sleep now. Goodnight, Professor."

Acknowledging his remark, McGonagall drew the curtains in his room to shield him from the intrusive sunlight. "Goodnight, Sherlock," she whispered before leaving the room.

...

The students had boarded the Hogwarts Express early morning, however, the train lingered at the station, awaiting updates from Hogwarts Castle. With every passing hour the students grew more restless. At first they obediently sat in their compartments, far too worried to do anything else, but by now boredom had taken over as the children struggled to sit still.

Soon enough, a breathless Professor Flitwick arrived and informed Professor Sprout, who was overseeing the students on the train, that the crisis had been averted - the Heir of Slytherin had been apprehended and the monster had been killed.

This revelation sparked an uproar among the students. Overwhelmed with relief, they whooped and hollered, clambering off the train in their excitement, with a few even leaving their luggage behind.

Upon returning to the castle, they were met with the Gryffindor common room still bearing the horrific aftermath. The sight of the beast, now a morbid trophy punctured by numerous spears, was hard to ignore.

Left to deal with the clean-up, Snape stood frowning at the creature's body, his spells proving futile against the enchantments binding the monster's cadaver.

Being a master potion maker and experienced in curses and transfiguration, Snape found it clear that the spears which had conquered the beast were the remnants of damaged furniture that had been transfigured. But his inability to reverse the transfiguration had him feeling somewhat disgruntled.

The enchantments simply seemed too potent, they felt as though they would forever be unyielding. It appeared the spears were destined to never revert to their original mundane form.

After much scrutiny, Snape had reverted to a simpler solution. Unable to successfully revert the spears, he decided to break them into pieces, magically haul the body out of the common room, and temporarily store it in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Among the boys — Harry, Ron, and Neville — Harry and Ron were the least injured and were discharged from the infirmary after spending the morning there. Neville, unfortunately, was not so lucky. He had been drained significantly by Tom and had to remain under Madam Pomfrey's watchful care for a considerable time before he could recover fully.

Almost immediately after stepping out of the infirmary, Harry and Ron were swarmed by their classmates. Professor McGonagall saw no harm in them sharing the day's events and so within a single afternoon, word of the showdown in the Gryffindor common room had spread throughout the school.

Dumbledore did not return until late into the evening. By the time he reached the castle, Sherlock was already awake, and Hogwarts was arranging for a celebratory feast that night. Just before the banquet, Sherlock decided to pay a visit to Dumbledore's office.

Upon his entrance, Dumbledore noticed Sherlock nonchalantly stretching and yawning, he quirked an eyebrow in amusement and remarked, "In less than a day, you've become something else, Sherlock."

Sherlock slouched comfortably in his seat, a distant look in his eyes, "Well, I did almost die today, Sir."