Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor: No More, No Less

Chapter 11: Goodbye, My Tomato Scrambled Egg Ice Cream

After spending the summer apart, the three young Hogwarts students finally reunited in front of Gringotts.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione as they made their way up the steps to Gringotts.

Before his friends could even make a guess, Harry was already eager to reveal the answer.

"Malfoy and his dad!"

Before Hermione and Ron could respond, Mr. Weasley became suddenly alert.

"What were they buying?" he asked.

"No, they were selling something," Harry replied.

"Selling? The Ministry of Magic has been investigating lately. He must be scared," Mr. Weasley muttered through gritted teeth. "I'll catch him!"

"Be careful, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley warned, just as a goblin appeared to bow and lead them into the bank.

"That family is dangerous to mess with, don't bite off more than you can chew," Mrs. Weasley added.

They chatted as they entered Gringotts. After withdrawing the money they needed, the Granger family, the Weasley family, and Harry and his friends prepared to go their separate ways.

Just as Mr. Weasley was about to invite Hermione's parents to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, Mrs. Weasley suddenly grabbed his arm tightly.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed, her eyes fixed on something in front of them, looking as though she had just seen something incredible.

Mr. Weasley looked at her in confusion.

"What's the matter, Molly? What did you see?"

When he followed her gaze, his voice faltered and stopped. He stared blankly ahead, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as if they were about to pop out.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, and the others all followed their gaze with curiosity.

It was the back of a young man—straight-backed, with a slender figure. Just the back alone made him seem so handsome that it felt almost unreasonable.

Sherlock didn't encounter any issues withdrawing money from Gringotts.

The bank's method of authentication was actually quite simple. As long as you had the key to the vault and could prove you were the owner, the goblins would lead you to the correct vault.

In essence, the vault was more like a secure safe deposit box. As long as there was a valid certificate from Gringotts and the key, you could deposit or withdraw money.

The original owner's magical assets weren't substantial. Sherlock could easily guess that there were only a few hundred Galleons in the vault—nothing too much, but enough for daily life in the magical world. This amount would easily last him for at least ten years, depending on how frugally he lived.

Sherlock took out about fifty Galleons, placed them into the enchanted bag provided by Gringotts, and left the fairy-run bank.

His shopping was relatively simple. The essentials were basic stationery like quills, ink, and parchment. He also bought robes from Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, an owl from the Magical Menagerie to send letters, and some basic Defense Against the Dark Arts books from Flourish and Blotts.

Although he kept up the detached, cold persona, the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley felt incredibly fresh and exciting. The streets were alive with children flying on toy broomsticks, magical puppets performing in front of joke shops, and dessert carts selling whimsical magical ice cream flavors. It was all so fascinating.

Sherlock wasn't an antisocial person like the original owner. In fact, he was generally more outgoing and cheerful. Keeping up a cold and aloof demeanor started to feel uncomfortable for him in such a lively place.

As he walked past an ice cream cart, Sherlock noticed a sign: the flavor of the ice cream could be tailored to whatever taste you imagined in your mind. A brilliant concept!

He thought to himself, What better way to ease the longing for the food from home? After two months of bland British meals, he was craving something that tasted like home—scrambled eggs with tomatoes over rice.

This magical ice cream, which could match whatever flavor you desired, was the perfect solution.

Without hesitation, Sherlock walked up to the ice cream cart, smiling warmly for the first time since arriving in this world. The ice cream vendor, a young witch, froze for a moment when she saw his smile.

Her face turned red, clearly flustered, as she stammered, "Do you… do you want some ice cream, sir?"

Just as Sherlock was about to pull out his money, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Wait…"

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's heart sank. He froze, then immediately masked his face, turning back to its usual indifference.

Damn it!

His first name? Not the last name? He had no choice now but to deal with this.

"No, I'm fine," he said, dismissing the ice cream with a hint of regret.

He turned around to face the group that had called out to him. There were about a dozen people—tall, short, fat, thin—mostly children.

Sherlock quickly recognized Harry Potter, who blended in with the group, as well as the familiar red-haired family— the Weasleys, along with the Grangers. The man who had called out to Sherlock's name was the red-haired wizard, and his expression suggested that he had just seen a long-lost relative.

Sherlock's heart sank further. Even though he didn't know the plot of the original books, he could tell who these people were— the Weasley family and the Grangers, all heading to Hogwarts.

The excited man was clearly Mr. Weasley, the father of the Weasley family. Beside him, Mrs. Weasley was almost as excited as her husband. Her face was lit up with surprise and joy, and she even had tears in her eyes.

She rushed forward and grabbed Sherlock's hand, her voice choked with emotion.

"My son! You've finally decided to come out! Do you know we haven't seen you for almost two years after you left the Ministry of Magic? It's such a relief, thank you Merlin…" She wiped away a tear.

"Are you doing well lately?" she asked warmly.

Sherlock could only brace himself for the awkwardness ahead.