Capítulo 160: Chapter 160: Amy
(E/N.: btw names can be hard to translate, e.g. it sounds like author is trying to say the two death eaters are Karkaroff and Rookwood, but that makes no sense because Rookwood was a spy, so I changed it to Dolohov, but idk if that causes any other issues - i hope not)
The soft tread of footsteps from the lower level gradually diminished, leaving Sherlock seemingly alone in his quarters at the top of the Leaky Cauldron. Sitting down at his bedside table, he absently scanned a newspaper from three days ago. A flicker of movement caught his attention; out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Karkaroff and Dolohov surreptitiously exiting the tavern. They murmured a quick Disillusionment Charm and melted away from view.
His watchful vigil was soon disturbed by an influx of wizards clad in Ministry of Magic attire. Clearly, someone had informed the Ministry of Karkaroff and Dolohov's visit, prompting the arrival of the Aurors. They conducted a cursory investigation, probing about the scene, but were left unsatisfied and departed soon after. Their investigation had been thorough but fruitless, for Karkaroff and Dolohov had failed to locate their target, so there was nothing for the Aurors to investigate.
After the departure of the Aurors, Tom resumed his duties, cleaning up the now nearly deserted tavern. The patrons that remained were diffident, shaken up by the recent event. However, their relief was palpable; it was, after all, only Karkaroff and Dolohov. Had it been Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, the encounter would have been far more formidable. As the last vestiges of the Death Eaters and Aurors dissipated, Sherlock lightly patted the table, calling out, "You can come out now. They've left."
A rustling noise echoed in the room, followed by the eerie sight of a tiny head emerging from beneath the bed. A small girl, swathed in an Invisibility Cloak, crawled out, her face the only body part visible, making it look as if her head was simply floating around. Barely six or seven years old, she had blond tresses cascading down a refined, doll-like face. Her radiant, piercing blue eyes were her most distinctive feature. While appraising her, Sherlock casually sipped his tea. "What's your name?"
Revealing her plucky nature, the diminutive girl bravely answered, "Amy."
Her voice was a soft timbre, betraying her tender age, yet her tone was surprisingly composed. Undeterred, Sherlock questioned, "Just Amy? What's your last name?"
Shaking her head in refusal, she murmured, "Daddy says Amy isn't supposed to tell."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in intrigue, replying, "I see. So, it was your father who left you here?"
Upon seeing Amy's affirmative nod, Sherlock ruminated about the situation. Clearly, the Death Eaters were hoping to capture her, a situation that was more likely linked to her family than her. Why else would they want a child who wasn't even of age to attend Hogwarts? Sherlock mused "Does Tom know that you're here?"
Amy tilted her head thoughtfully before answering, "He knew initially, but when Daddy left he forgot."
Her cryptic response left Sherlock contemplating the situation. "Did your father cast a Memory Charm on him?" he inquired.
Amy, confirming his suspicions, replied, "Yes, the Forgetfulness Charm. Daddy made sure Tom did not remember Amy and Daddy."
Demonstrating the motion of the spell, she traced a circular pattern in the air with her small, fair fingers. Her father had been cautious, correctly predicting that the Death Eaters might come searching for his precious daughter, and left her with an Invisibility Cloak while he wiped clean their existence from Tom's memory. Sherlock realized the precarious position Amy presented. It wasn't her personally, but rather her influential father who was more concerning. The Death Eaters' plan to use the child could only be linked to her father. Yet, her father decided to leave her behind, hidden in the Leaky Cauldron, signaling either his own dire situation or neglectful nature. Hearing her belly rumble, Sherlock realized she was hungry and noticed her eyeing the plate of cookies on the table. Noticing his gaze on her, Amy shot him an imploring gaze, pleading, "Can Amy have some?"
Her request was neither whiny nor desperate, rather it was the courteous inquiry one would expect from a distinguished guest. Sherlock, amused by her politeness, gestured towards the chair, indicating that the plate full of treats was all hers. Amy, not rushing to the feast laid before her, first removed her Invisibility Cloak, then made sure to wash her hands in the bathroom sink before tucking into the delicious cookies. Giving Sherlock a moment of respite, she gratefully bowed stating, "Thank you."
Her manners were exemplary beyond her years. She lacked the typical naughtiness one would expect from a child her age. As she sat munching away, Sherlock inquired, "Why did you choose to hide in my room?"
Amy took the time to swallow her mouthful before replying, "Amy feels safer here."
Sherlock, skeptical of her answer, asked, "You acted based solely on your feelings?"
"Daddy says Amy's instincts are reliable. When in doubt, Amy should always follow her instincts." A slight blush of pride tinged her cheeks while she replied, her innocent demeanor reminding him of her tender age.
Sherlock, curious about her means of survival, asked, "You've been here while, right? What have you been eating?"
"Amy hides in the cloak and goes downstairs to get food." replied Amy.
"Were you stealing it from the bar?" inquired Sherlock intrigued further.
Amy shook her head firmly, "No, Amy always pays. A bread for two knuts. Daddy told me stealing is wrong, so Amy would never steal."
With a cookie clutched in her hand, she looked expectantly at Sherlock, waiting for further questions. If he didn't have any more queries, she'd heed to her second love, cookies. Finding Amy's guileless demeanor adorable, Sherlock chuckled softly, telling her, "Eat first, we'll carry on our chat later."
Later, he also served her a cup of warm milk. Amy savored her snack meticulously, taking almost half an hour to devour a mere half-plate of cookies. After finishing, she turned her bright eyes towards Sherlock, pleading shyly, "Could Amy visit here again?"
Sherlock didn't rush into an answer but decided to delve further. "Did your father tell you when he'd come back? You can't hide here forever."
"Daddy told Amy that he'd be back within a week. But if he doesn't return then Amy should follow whoever Amy trusts most."
"Whoever you trust most, huh?"
Sherlock contemplated this supposition, finding her father's instructions perplexing. He seemed responsible, yet neglectful at the same time. "How long has your father been absent?" he probed further.
Amy, perched on the tall chair, swung her feet encased in white, cotton socks. Her fair skin peeked from beneath her pants as she declared, "Five days."
There was no trace of fear or trepidation in her demeanor. It was a rarity to find a child so young maintaining such self-sufficiency and fearlessness, even by wizarding-world standards. Despite not having seen her parents for a significant amount of time, Amy neither wept nor caused a fuss. It was commendable. A sudden thought occurred to Sherlock; he asked, "What about your mother?"
"No mother." Amy's voice was devoid of sadness, rather it contained a spark of pride. "Daddy calls Amy his only treasure, too precious to share with anyone. So, Amy does not need a mother."
At this point, Sherlock felt he had a grasp on Amy's familial circumstances. Amy's parents had either divorced or her mother had died prematurely, which explained her father's attempts at consolation. While it was apparent this girl named Amy came with trouble, Sherlock Forester, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had no intention of shying away from it. His protective instinct towards children, honed over two years of teaching, coupled perhaps with Amy's well-mannered demeanor elicited a sense of sympathy from him. There was something compelling about this little girl; he felt a strange connection.
"Well if your father doesn't come back within the next couple days, you can come find me," Sherlock assured her, extending a friendly hand to shake. "My name is John Watson, you can call me John, nice to meet you, Amy."
Amy tilted her head, observing Sherlock's outstretched hand. "If Amy follows John, won't it cause John trouble?"
Sherlock smiled gently. "Trust me, Amy, I'm not one to shy away from a bit of trouble."
With a resolute expression, Amy reached out and shook his hand. "Okay, it's nice to meet you Mr. John Watson."
After getting to know each other, they soon became occupied playing Wizard's Chess. When lunchtime arrived, Sherlock noticed Amy had mostly been eating bread in the last five days. He couldn't resist offering her more fulfilling food, so he ordered a bigger portion for himself to share. As evening enveloped the room, Amy bid Sherlock goodnight and made her way to her room, number 10.
Before the night descended completely, Snape came seeking Sherlock. "The potions are ready; we can move forward with the delivery."
Sherlock looked surprised. "That quickly? I thought it would take three days?"
A sneer crept up on Snape's face. "Only an idiot would require that long for a Vitality Tonic."
Despite the arrogance, Snape had certainly spent the day toiling over the potion, which provoked a twinge of guilt in Sherlock who had spent the day enjoying a game of Wizard's Chess with Amy. "Well done, Master Snape," he said, clearing his throat, "Let's proceed with the drop-off, I'm curious to see how much my Healing Potion will sell for."
They departed from the Leaky Cauldron and found themselves back at the peculiar potion shop. The same witch, who had previously agreed to the contract, still occupied the shop. She expressed surprise at their prompt delivery and the excellent quality of the potions. The witch lavished Snape with praises while striking a deal for Sherlock's Healing Potion. "Try as they might, our alchemists couldn't determine your potion's ingredients, but it clearly outperforms most potions on the market, its efficacy is akin to the Essence of Dittany."
The witch was clearly prepared for a long-term business relationship, so she didn't downplay the effectiveness of the potion. "As this is a new brew, it cannot be priced as high as well-known potions, if you're planning to sell the potion, I can offer half the price of an Essence of Ditany. Offer us the recipe, and we can negotiate a better price, potentially engaging in a profit-sharing arrangement." The witch's proposal was sound; if Sherlock genuinely owned the recipe for this healing potion, he might have even agreed to sell it directly to her.
However, the formula for his healing potion required fragments of the Philosopher's Stone—a detail Sherlock could not disclose. So he had no choice but to sell the finished product. "Half the price of Essence of Dittany? That'll do, I recall a bottle typically sells for about 30 galleons on the market."
The witch, disappointed with his decision, continued with a businesslike demeanor. "The price of a bottle of Essence of Ditany in my shop, I should point out, is 34 galleons. For your finished product, I can offer you 17 galleons."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, a triumphant smile marking his realization. A healing potion created from fragments of the Philosopher's Stone could fetch quite a sum. Essentially a risk-free venture, each bottle's sale brought him a neat profit of 17 galleons, since the water used up in the production was essentially free. The Philosopher's Stone's fragments not only produced the Elixir of Life but also possessed the magical property of transmuting objects into gold. The fragments didn't inherit this second ability, but they might as well have, seeing as they could be used to make such easy money.
Sensing the witch's interest, he restrained his excitement, careful not to reveal how easy and cheap the potion was to create. "I can supply five bottles per month. The brewing process isn't too troublesome, but some of the ingredients are rare," he said dismissively, the tone of his words a far cry from the magnitude of his revelation.
The witch looked surprised. "Five bottles! If that rate of supply is possible, we can feature this as our main product and increase prices later on. Of course, we'd increase the purchasing price accordingly."
His dealings with the witch concluded, Sherlock pulled Snape aside. "I lied, these potions couldn't be easier to make, so if you don't want to continue making potions for her, I'll cover our rent.
Snape retorted, "Your earnings are yours, mine are mine. I don't need you to pay for me, and I don't mind getting in some practice while getting paid for it, not like I have anything else to do."
Sherlock patted Snape's shoulder. "We're in this together, why draw such boundaries?"
Annoyed, Snape snapped, "Stop trying to act so chummy, we're not friends"
Snape was just being stubborn, but he was actually in a state of confusion now. Besides saving Lily, he didn't know what else he should do. Brewing potions could help calm his mind and pass the time.
Once all business was settled, Sherlock sold the seven remaining bottles of healing potion in his inventory to the witch, amassing a grand total of 119 galleons. His pockets now heavy, both he and Snape no longer had to worry about survival. As for returning to their own timeline, they were unfortunately still without a clue. For now, Sherlock decided to focus on uncovering the strange circumstances concerning the parents of the original owner.
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