Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Seventh Safeguard

Chapter 16 ~ Lord Voldemort

While we were near the Headmaster's office, we walked quickly. But before long we slowed down. By and by our heavy feet came to a complete stop. Sherlock put down the sword and tore the duct-tape off his hand with a ripping sound. He held the little silver bottle up in the air and swirled it gently, watching the contents shimmer and whirl in the shaft of light from an arrow-slit.

"A pretty little thing, isn't it?" he mused. "You would never know, to look at it, what it holds." There was a sudden spasm of his hand, as if he yearned to throw it away, smash it on the floor, let its shameful, black knowledge be lost in the dust.

"Do we have the right to give that to him?" I asked.

"Do we have the right to keep it from him?" asked Sherlock.

"It's a death sentence."

"It is."

"Sherlock, I know that none of the wizards think it's a good idea..."

"Because it's not." he interrupted.

"... but what if we did just kill Riddle as is?"

"Then he'll come back."

"Yes, but what if he didn't? What if ... we so completely destroyed his organisation that there was nobody left to help him return? He wouldn't technically be dead but ..."

"But be unable to come back in the sense which would render him a politically dangerous entity." Sherlock's voice had sunk very low. "'A mere spirit of malice that gnaws itself in the shadows, but cannot again grow or take shape'."

It took me a moment to place this.

"I didn't know you'd read Tolkien." I said after a minute

"Of course I have."

He fell silent again, gazing away into the distance. Through the arrow-slit we could see a glimpse of forest. There was a flash of something dark, as some flying creature swooped past.

"Harry's life, Sherlock."

"And what if it was you, John?" said Sherlock softly. "Would you have me keep this from you?"

I was silent.

"See? You would not. ... And neither would I. ... And we both know that Harry wouldn't either."

He stopped again, gazing quietly at the softly glowing bottle.

"No. We both know that wouldn't suffice. Even if the Death Eaters were to be utterly wiped out, there would always be people who would seek the same things as Riddle, who would bring him back to help them accomplish them. The man who nearly brought him back five years ago was unrelated to the original movement. ... And Riddle can still do terrible things in the spectre state. Reports have come back from Albania. ... Do as you would be done by, John. I have to give it to him."

A dog howled in the distance.

"And besides – I did give my word."

"What exactly did you promise?" I asked.

"To tell him anything I find which might help him defeat Riddle; to hide nothing – nothing which could possibly aid him in his task. I asked him how to help him, and he did not ask me to save his life, he asked me to defeat the sorcerer, no matter what the cost would be for him. ... I know, it does seem like betrayal, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"But wouldn't it be a worse betrayal to hide it from him?"

Suddenly Sherlock's manner of brooding reverie snapped. He snatched up the sword from the ground.