Just a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor

While the car was driving, Sherlock took the initiative to ask.

"How is his body?"

The old housekeeper sitting in front said with a smile.

"Master's condition has improved. Although there will always be professional medical staff to take care of him, at least it will not be as life-threatening as before."

Sherlock nodded slightly.

Rich people don't die so easily, especially in a country like the UK.

The old butler glanced at Sherlock hesitantly, and he asked carefully.

"Master, how is your memory recovery?"

"I can already remember something."

"Are you going to see the master this time, are you ready to agree to his request?"

Sherlock didn't answer, but said softly.

"Let's talk when we meet."

The old housekeeper was not inquiring, but he could also see from Sherlock's attitude that he didn't seem to have any intention of making compromises with his father, so he could only sigh helplessly.

The car drove all the way from Devon to a large private hospital in London, and then the old housekeeper took Sherlock into a small building in the corner of the hospital.

This three-storey villa, three times bigger than where Sherlock lived, was the private ward where the Duke of Devonshire, Sherlock's biological father lived.

They walked up to the second floor, where Sherlock's father lived in the master bedroom, and the third floor was where the paramedics who looked after him 24 hours lived.

The old butler took Sherlock to the door of the room, stood outside the door and let him in alone.

Sherlock didn't hesitate and pushed open the door directly.

The room was big enough to be comparable to the living room of Sherlock's house, but after entering the door, his eyes fell on the withered middle-aged man lying on the hospital bed.

Victor William Spencer Cavendish, 11th Duke of Devonshire.

He didn't look very old, but was terribly thin.

The pale skin pressed tightly against the bones, as if there was no muscle connection in between.

But even if it has become like this, it can still be seen that he is handsome in appearance. If it is not for the illness that has become the way he is now, he is still an extremely handsome and beautiful man.

The original owner's appearance is obviously a little more like his father, and the same is blond and blue-eyed.

Victor saw Sherlock come in, and they looked at each other without speaking first.

After about ten seconds, the middle-aged man lying on the bed opened his mouth first.

"A year ago, I heard that you accidentally fell from the second floor and lost your memory?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Some things were forgotten at that time, but some things were not forgotten."

"I asked Brad to send you that will agreement, why has it been a whole year and you haven't come to me until today?" Victor's tone was stern, he seemed to be pressing.

Brad was the name of the old housekeeper, and Sherlock didn't hide it, telling the truth.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry approved my application for a professorship, and I went there as a teacher for a year."

After hearing what Sherlock said, Victor's face suddenly turned very bad.

He seemed to be squeezing out from his teeth one tone after another.

"You! Mixed with those wizards again?"

Sherlock frowned, realizing that Victor's reaction was more violent than he had imagined.

"I'm a wizard myself, and my mother she..."

"Shut up! Don't talk to her in front of me!"

Victor was suddenly furious, and then he began to cough violently, and soon the old housekeeper named Brad rushed into the ward with the doctor.

"Go away! Let him go! He won't want to inherit my stuff for the rest of his life! Go and hang out with those weirdos! Never show up in front of me again!"

Bradra grabbed Sherlock's arm and persuaded him to pull him out of the room.

Outside the ward, old Brad sighed: "Master, you haven't seen each other for several years. You shouldn't irritate him like this as soon as you meet."

Sherlock looked at old Brad, and he asked with a frown.

"Did my father also hate my mother before?"

Brad shook his head: "It wasn't like this before. At that time, your grandfather hadn't passed away. When the master was still a young master, he ran home excitedly and said that he had found true love. Your grandfather asked him to take that girl home, He said the person he liked would not be willing to be a caged canary."

His eyes were full of memories, and he said with emotion.

"I still clearly remember how happy he was at the time. He said that the girl had big ambitions and that they were going to do something big in another place. Then he disappeared from home for a few years, and when he came back, it was like It's like a different person."

"He inherited your grandfather's title and family property, and no one is allowed to mention his past. He became irritable and irritable, liked to be alone, and then tortured himself in pain..."

He sighed: "Later, his physical condition got worse and worse. Only then did we know that he still has a son like you..."

Sherlock's brows furrowed deeper, and from Brad's words, he seemed to have heard some inside information about the past.

"Give Master some time to recuperate, Master." Brad advised him, "Don't stimulate him, his condition has begun to improve, you can talk about it when he is better. Bar."

Sherlock nodded. He came here to find out what the original owner's father's attitude towards wizards was.

At present, his attitude is also clear at a glance.

Sherlock declined Brad's offer to continue sending him back, and walked out of the hospital alone, walking aimlessly on the streets of London.

Although Sherlock is not the real son of the original owner's parents, he can now understand why the original owner has such a withdrawn personality.

A mother who constantly abused herself, and a father who hated the magic he loved.

Neither of them even took the responsibility of raising him.

Sherlock shook his head and smiled. He was quite pitiful for the original owner.

In such a family environment, he himself did not grow crooked, and it is extremely rare to develop in a bad direction.

No wonder the Weasleys, Kingsleys, and Professor McGonagall would care so much for him.

Finding a hidden alley at random, Sherlock used Apparition and returned directly to his study.

He sat in a chair and stared at the portrait covered in red cloth for a while.

When he came back to his senses, he blinked at the portrait, and the red silk cloth flew from the portrait of the original owner's mother, Sally Forrest.

Sherlock spoke first before the curse of the witch in the portrait began.

"I'm going to go out and relax."

Sally was suddenly stunned. She seemed to have no idea that Sherlock would suddenly say this.

But Sherlock didn't care about her reaction, he said to himself.

"Your story seems a little too sad, and it makes me feel a little bad right now, so it's a good idea to go out for a few days."

"You still want to hang out! Disgusting stuff! Trash!  …"

As soon as Sally came back to her senses and her scolding started, Sherlock covered the portrait with red silk again, obscuring her voice.

Then he stretched and stood up from the chair, and he hooked his fingers lightly at his desk drawer, the drawer opened by itself, and at the same time, two letters flew out of it and voluntarily got into Sherlock's pocket. .

He walked out of the study, the bedroom door opened by himself, a few changes of clothes and daily necessities were folded by himself, and then flew into the suitcase.

As Sherlock walked to the living room, the suitcase floated towards the door, waiting for its owner to pick it up.

Sherlock was not wearing a wizard robe, but a regular summer dress in the Muggle world, with a light long trench coat over it.

When everything was ready, he pushed open the door and walked towards 4 Privet Drive.

......

4 Privet Road.

In the place where the famous Harry Potter in the wizarding world lives, his aunt and uncle's house.

Harry's uncle, the unusually fat Vernon Dursley, answered the phone in a muttered voice.

"I'm Vernon Dursley."

Harry happened to be in the room at this time, and he was stunned when he heard Ron's answer.

"Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? I'm looking for Harry Potter!"

Ron shouted so hard that Uncle Vernon, startled, took the telephone receiver a full foot from his ear and stared with a look of fury and horror on his face.

"Who are you?" he yelled in the direction of the receiver. "Who are you?"

"Ron Weasley!" Ron shouted back, not to be outdone, as if shouting to Uncle Vernon on the other side of the football field, "I'm a friend from Harry's school!"

Uncle Vernon's small eyes turned to Harry, who stood there as if rooted.

"There's no Harry Potter here!" he yelled, now holding the telephone receiver an arm's length away from him, as if afraid it would explode, "I don't know what school you're talking about! Never again! Call me! Heard no bastards!"

He threw the receiver back on the telephone as if he were throwing a poisonous spider.

Then he turned his furious gaze on Harry.

"How dare you give your phone number to someone like you!" Uncle Vernon roared, spitting all over Harry's face.

Ron was clearly causing trouble for Harry, but Harry didn't care.

He was already used to the way the Dursleys treated him.

At Hogwarts he cracked the secrets of the Chamber of Secrets and defeated one of the heroes of the Basilisk, but none of these things had any bearing on his life at the Dursleys, Harry was always the type of person they hated the most .

"Go wash your socks! We give you food and clothing, not let you eat rice at home!"

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Okay, I know, let's go now."

Just as he turned to wash the Dursleys' smelly socks, the doorbell rang suddenly.