Sherlock's gaze swept over Kreacher and the tattered rag on its body with almost palpable intensity, his speech was rapid yet clear.
"You know perfectly well what you're saying and who you're looking at.
Mad and senile? Confused?
That's just a self-deceptive veil you've draped over your long-rotted yet deeply entrenched pure-blood fanaticism and bone-deep malice.
Every breath you take hammers another nail into the Black family's coffin, yet you still delude yourself that madness can serve as your burial shroud?"
Kreacher's body trembled violently once more, and even the muttering in its mouth stuttered to a halt. "Mud—"
Sherlock showed no mercy, and directly interrupted its attempted slur.
"Whether you're willing to admit it or not, your soul has long been hollowed out by this mansion's decay and your mistress's obsession.
You've become nothing but an empty puppet wearing an elf's body, capable only of chewing on hatred and nostalgic yearning for past corrupt glory.
Now you're both a venomous insect cursing its master from the gutter and a loyal guard dog watching over a tomb.
Feigning madness has become your only weapon."
"Well said!"
The moment Sherlock finished speaking, a voice came from behind Harry, accompanied by enthusiastic applause.
Sirius clapped vigorously while looking at Sherlock with shining eyes. "Sherlock, your tongue is even more poisonous than Snape's!"
Regarding Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, Sirius had long been thoroughly sick of him.
Particularly this half-mad, half-lucid behavior.
The insults didn't really bother Sirius.
But the extreme behavior showed in its defense of the Black family, along with the constant mutterings in his ear were truly nauseating.
Unfortunately, Sirius's verbal power wasn't particularly strong.
Or rather, twelve years in the company of Dementors, in an environment where he couldn't speak, had caused this ability to deteriorate.
The result was having a belly full of things to say but being unable to articulate them.
At times like these, he couldn't help but think of that Snivellus—though he hated him, the man was truly sharp when it came to cutting remarks.
He never expected his good godson would also have such a friend!
Sherlock Holmes!
Well scolded, brilliantly scolded, magnificently scolded!
"I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Black."
Sherlock had naturally noticed Sirius's arrival in the living room long ago.
Hearing his evaluation now, he couldn't help but smile slightly, withdrawing his gaze from Kreacher as he did so.
Originally, he'd only thought that everyone at Hogwarts had secrets; he hadn't expected even a Black family house-elf wouldn't be content with quiet anonymity.
Interesting.
It seemed he'd need to have a detailed conversation with Sirius and Harry about this elf later.
Meanwhile, upon seeing Sirius, Kreacher immediately bowed deeply to him.
Its waist bent very low, rivaling even Dobby in his day, its nose pressed flat against the floor from the motion.
"Stand up!"
Sirius said impatiently, "Well, what are you here for?"
"Kreacher is cleaning."
Facing Sirius's inquiry, Kreacher replied earnestly, "Kreacher serves the noble House of Black for life—"
"But the house grows darker by the day," Sirius interrupted directly, saying bluntly, "The more you clean, the filthier it becomes."
"Master always likes his little jokes."
Kreacher said while bowing again, seemingly very respectful toward Sirius, but the words that followed were extremely exasperating.
"Master is a nasty, ungrateful wretch who broke his mother's heart—"
The young wizards exchanged glances.
Good grief, what a character.
"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," Sirius said irritably. "She was sustained entirely by spite."
Kreacher bowed again while speaking.
"Whatever Master says, Master is not fit to wipe his mother's shoes.
Oh, my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving this Master?
How Mistress hated him, what a disappointment he was—"
"I'm asking what you actually intend to do?!"
Sirius seemed to have lost patience. He said coldly, "Every time lately you come out pretending to clean, but each time you're just sneaking things to your room so we can't throw them away."
"Kreacher would never remove anything from its proper place in Master's house."
After answering, Kreacher began muttering again at a rapid pace.
"If the tapestry is thrown away, Mistress will never forgive Kreacher.
The tapestry has been in this house for seven centuries, Kreacher must preserve it!
Kreacher will not let Master, nor those mongrels, scum, and Mudbloods destroy the tapestry!"
"Ha, I knew it was something like that."
Sirius's expression showed he wasn't surprised. He cast a contemptuous glance at the opposite wall. "I knew she would put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the tapestry just like she did on her portrait.
But if I could get rid of it, I wouldn't hesitate.
Now, leave, Kreacher."
Faced with Sirius's clear command, Kreacher seemed unable to disobey.
However, when it shuffled out, its gaze toward Sirius was filled with deep-seated hatred.
Not only that, but as it left the room, it kept muttering.
"Returns from Azkaban and starts ordering Kreacher about, does he?
Oh, my poor Mistress, what would she say if she saw the house like this?
Scum living in it, her treasures thrown out.
She swore she'd disown him, and now he's back, and they say he's a murderer—"
"Mutter one more word and I really will commit murder!"
Sirius was nearly losing his mind.
In fact, not only did Sirius feel irritated, even the roomful of young wizards couldn't stand this constant muttering.
When Sirius slammed the door shut in Kreacher's face, all the young wizards except Sherlock and Hermione let out long sighs of relief.
Finally gone.
"Sirius, his mind isn't right."
After Kreacher left, Hermione pleaded, "I don't think he realizes we can hear him."
"You heard what Sherlock just said—do you still think that?"
Sirius looked at Hermione with a strange expression, seemingly not understanding where her inexplicable sympathy came from.
"Maybe you're also right, but it's been alone here too long.
All these years I wasn't here, it's been taking mad orders from my mother's portrait, which is why it talks to itself like that.
But to be honest, it was a nasty little—"
"What if you set him free?" Hermione said hopefully. "Maybe—"
"I can't set it free!"
Sirius said somewhat roughly, "The shock alone would kill it!
If you don't believe me, suddenly suggest to it that it leave this house and see how it reacts."
Hermione fell silent.
She knew very well that for house-elves, granting them freedom really was a death sentence.
This was especially true for elves serving ancient families like the Blacks.
The severed elf heads mounted on the wall from the first to second floor staircase were the best proof.
Who would have thought that this was the highest aspiration of these intelligent beings?
Even though Kreacher was old and confused, he was no exception.
Just then, Sherlock suddenly spoke, saying leisurely.
"If what you say is true, Mr. Black, I suggest you be more precise when giving it orders in the future."
Hearing this, Sirius couldn't help but feel puzzled. He looked at Sherlock, repeating with some confusion. "More precise?"
"What you just said to him was 'leave.'"
"Yes, what's the problem?"
"Leave—to where?"
Sherlock shook his head. "As far as I know, house-elves indeed cannot disobey their master's orders, but with vague orders like the one you just gave, they can interpret them in their own way."
He looked at Harry. "Remember the Malfoy family's house-elf?
Lucius Malfoy strictly forbade it from revealing information to anyone, yet it still hinted at Lucius's actions through its own behavior—precisely because old Malfoy didn't give it explicit orders, allowing it to exploit loopholes.
If it could do that, other house-elves can do the same."
Hearing Sherlock's words, Harry recalled Dobby, who kept banging his head against walls.
Thinking of Dobby's previous actions, Harry felt a chill. "Sherlock, you mean—"
"If I were a house-elf, I could easily interpret Sirius's 'leave' to mean leaving this room only."
As Sirius and the young wizards' faces grew increasingly grim, Sherlock said calmly.
"Just looking at the present moment, even with that interpretation, there doesn't seem to be much of a problem.
But if someday we're in a special situation, it could completely exploit such an opportunity to leave and relay information from here.
Mr. Black, judging from its attitude toward you, doing such a thing wouldn't be strange at all."
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
Sirius waved his hands excitedly. "Even now, I forbid it from revealing all important matters to others!
It's bound by house-elf magic and cannot disobey my orders."
"That's precisely the problem."
Hermione noticed that for an instant, Sherlock's gaze toward Sirius held something like pity.
"Perhaps some information seems like trivial matters to you, but to me, it's quite the opposite.
As long as it can tell me, in exhaustive detail, that you and Harry have been doing major cleaning during this time, I would have sufficient information to deduce your movements these past days.
I don't think anyone would question this.
In other words, as long as the enemy isn't too stupid, they could exploit this to create a breakthrough, which could lead to catastrophic consequences."
After a brief silence, an unusual sound rang out.
"Gulp!"
Everyone looked at Ron.
Ron felt somewhat embarrassed. But hearing Sherlock describe things so terribly, he couldn't help swallowing.
Now, seeing everyone's gaze turn toward him, the red-haired boy wore an expression of bewildered confusion.
"But, but, Sherlock, people like you should be absolutely unique in this world, shouldn't you?
I mean, you know, right?
Maybe even if other people knew these things, it wouldn't matter, would it?
I don't understand, Sherlock, I think you're being a bit too cautious—"
"If you're referring to observational and deductive abilities, dear Ron, then among the people you know, there's someone even more formidable than me."
Ron was still pondering who could be that impressive when Harry and Hermione already blurted out.
"Mycroft!"
Ron caught on.
Right, he'd personally met Mycroft.
Judging from his performance, his observational and deductive abilities were indeed stronger than Sherlock's.
"But he's your brother—surely brothers as brilliant as you two are absolutely unique in this world?"
"If there's a first, there will be a second. If there's a second, how do you know there won't be a third?"
Sherlock's eyes gleamed as he said, word by word.
"For individuals I've already identified, I will indeed hold their intelligence in contempt.
But for possibilities that haven't yet appeared, I will never underestimate the opposition."
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