Capítulo 98: Chapter 98: Holiday

As they traversed through the streets in their car, Sherlock Forester, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, decided to strike up a conversation.

"How's his health?" Sherlock asked

Wearing an amused smile, the elderly butler sitting in the front seat turned to reply, "The Master's condition has seen considerable improvement. He still requires continuous medical attention, but it's far from the life-threatening situation it once was."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment. The rich weren't easy to strike down, especially in a country as prosperous as Great Britain.

Breaking the silence again, the butler cautiously asked, "Master Forester, how is your recovery from the memory loss you had incurred?"

"Some parts of my past are starting to come back to me," Sherlock responded.

"Will you be visiting your father today to acquiesce his request, sir?" The butler inquired further.

Sherlock didn't respond to the question directly, remarking instead, "We'll see how the meeting goes." It was clear from Sherlock's demeanor that he wasn't quite inclined to comply with his father's demands. The butler, recognizing this, decided to refrain from further probing.

Their car journeyed through the landscapes of Devonshire leading them to a private hospital in London. They made their way to a standalone building, a private ward, tucked away on the hospital grounds where the current Duke of Devonshire, Sherlock's biological father, resided.

They climbed to the vast second floor of the building, where Sherlock's father had been receiving prolonged, intensive care. The third floor of the same building served as the residence for the medical team tending to him around the clock.

Sherlock was informed about the ground rules by the old butler at the entrance of the room. The butler stayed outside as Sherlock stepped in hesitantly. His heart pounding, Sherlock entered the vast room, his gaze directed towards a middle-aged man lying weakly on the bed.

His father, the eleventh Duke of Devonshire, Victor William Spencer Cavendish, didn't appear too old, but was extremely frail, his skin clinging onto his skeletal frame, like a paper-thin sheet. Despite his set of reduced circumstances, one could still see the striking features that he had inherited from his father.

Victor met Sherlock's gaze as he walked into the room. From an outsider's perspective, their eyes locked for about ten seconds, but to Sherlock it seemed like a lifetime. However, it was Victor who broke the silence, "I heard about your fall from the second floor last year. You lost your memory?"

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed while nodding, "I lost some of my memories, but a few managed to cling on."

Continuing the conversation, Victor questioned him further, "Brad delivered you a copy of my will. Why did it take you an entire year to reach out?" His voice held a tone of stern interrogation.

At the mention of Brad, the butler's true identity came to light. However, Sherlock didn't evade Victor's pressing questions and responded, "Actually, I've spent the last year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Upon hearing Sherlock's words, Victor's facial expression transformed drastically, each word seeming to be a painful punch, "You! You're associating with those...those wizards? Again?"

Sherlock found Victor's reaction more vehement than he had anticipated, "Father, you do know that I am a wizard myself. Even mum, she's a...."

"Enough!" Victor's temper flared up, "I forbid you to make a mention of her ever again!" His sudden emotional outburst ended with a violent fit of coughing, causing Brad and a doctor to rush into the room.

"Get him out! Out! He will never get a single penny of my wealth! He might as well spend his time with his abnormal friends, but I never want to see him here again!" Victor had erupted into a rage and Brad had no other option but to lead Sherlock out of the room.

Once they were outside, Brad sighed heavily, "Master, this was your first meeting in years. Perhaps it would have been best not to instigate him."

Sherlock looked at Brad, an idea forming in his mind, "Did father ever display any resentment for mum in the past?"

Brad shook his head, "Not really. When he was younger, before your grandpa passed away, he would always come home thrilled, declaring that he had found the love of his life. Your grandpa told him to bring the girl home twice, but your father insisted that she wouldn't like life in this gilded cage."

Brad continued, recalling past events, "He disappeared for years. And when he finally did return, we saw a change in him. After inheriting his father's estate and assuming the Duke's title, he grew distant, avoided company, and took to punishing himself with his own seclusion."

After a moment's pause, Brad added, "When his health began to go downhill, only then did the extent of his past choices reveal itself to us through your existence."

Listening to Brad, Sherlock could decipher some hidden clues about his estranged relationship with his father, and their mixed feelings towards wizards and witchcraft in general.

Brad sighed, "Give the Master some time to recover. Don't agitate him any further, it's not good for his health. Once he recovers a bit more, we could have a calm conversation." Sherlock nodded understandingly at Brad's advice. Sherlock declined Brad's offer to arrange the return trip and walked alone onto the streets of London.

Despite not being his parent's legal son, Sherlock had a deep understanding of why he cherished aloofness so much. A mother who constantly derided him and a father who expressed loathing for his magical abilities - the two of them had been quite the parental figures.

Sherlock shook his head, chuckling at the thought while empathizing with the original owner's condition. Given such a home environment, it was remarkable that he had managed to avoid any spectacular wrongdoing.

It all made sense now. No wonder figures such as the Weasley family, Kingsley, and Professor McGonagall had taken such a liking to him.

As Sherlock decided to return home, he chose an isolated alley and used the Apparition spell to teleport directly to his study. He settled into his chair, engrossed in his thoughts while he stared at the curtained portrait.

Once he snapped out of his deep thought, he spoke to the curtained portrait and the red chiffon lifted itself, revealing the picture of Sally Forester, Sherlock's birth mother.

Before Sally could even start her tirade of vitriolic comments, Sherlock interrupted her, "I've decided to take a brief holiday."

Sally looked visibly taken aback as if she hadn't expected Sherlock to come out and say something like that. Nonetheless, Sherlock seemed unbothered by her reaction and went on saying, "Both your's and father's stories are too tragic, invoking bouts of depression. Seems like taking a few days off isn't a bad idea after all."

"You still want to gallivant! Repugnant! Worthless!....." Sally's began to explode into a tirade, at which point Sherlock immediately draped the red chiffon over the portrait again, muting her voice.

Standing up and stretching a bit, Sherlock beckoned his desk drawer and two letters flew out, tucking themselves into his pocket.

As he exited the study, the bedroom door flung itself open automatically and a few changes of clothes along with some essential items arranged themselves to fly into his suitcase. When he reached the living room, his suitcase was packed and ready by the door, waiting for his retrieval.

Sherlock decided he wouldn't bother donning his usual wizarding robes but instead opted for a casual Muggle summer outfit covered with a lightweight, long trench coat. With his suitcase packed and ready, he swung the front door open and headed towards 4 Privet Drive.

...

To say that living at the Dursley's dwelling, 4 Privet Drive, was a negative experience for Harry Potter would be an understatement. Even when Harry was in his room he could hear his uncle Vernon's surly voice as he picked up the phone.

"Vernon Dursley speaking."

Just then, Harry was in the room and was taken aback to hear Ron's voice in reply.

"Hello? Can you hear me? I'm looking for Harry Potter!" boomed Ron's voice through the speaker.

Ron spoke so loudly he startled Uncle Vernon, who held the receiver a considerable foot away from his ear, his eyes wide open, his face a concoction of fury and shock.

"Who the devil is this?" Vernon questioned angrily into the receiver, "And what on earth do you want?"

"Ron Weasley!" Ron shouted back as if he was trying to be heard across an entire football field, "I'm Harry's friend from school!"

Vernon's beady little eyes darted to look at Harry who was himself taken aback by the sudden call. "There's no Harry Potter here!" bellowed Vernon, now holding the receiver as far away as his arm could stretch away from his ear, "I don't know what school you're blathering on about! Don't you ever dare to call here again, do you hear me?"

He flung the receiver back onto the phone, like he was flinging a venomous spider. "How dare you give our phone number to such...people like you!" Vernon thundered with spittle splattered across Harry's face.

Harry watched in silence as his uncle erupted into fits of rage, commanding Harry, "Go and do the laundry. We don't feed and clothe you for you to loll around, boy!"

Ron had obviously gotten Harry in trouble, however, Harry couldn't care less. He had long grown accustomed to the Dursleys' treatment of him. At Hogwarts, he was the hero who had found the Chamber of Secrets and slain the Basilisk. But for his life at Dursleys', none of this mattered. Harry was, and always will be an object of their abhorrence.

Harry maintained his calm and responded, "Alright, I understand. I'll do it now."

Just as he was about to step away to attend to Vernon Dursley's smelly socks, the doorbell surprisingly rang.