It's just a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Chapter 114 Let me ask you if you want to sell it or not!
Norwich, a coastal city in the east of the United Kingdom.

Nelson was humming a little tune, holding a can of beer in his hand, and was swaying towards the house.

It was completely dark, but he didn't have to worry about being scolded by his wife for coming home late.

Because Nelson is a bachelor, he is 36 years old and has no family.

The reason for not being able to find a wife is actually very simple, nothing more than lack of money.

Nelson used to be brilliant for a while. When he was young, he seized an opportunity and made a small fortune by reselling auto parts during the worst period of the British economic downturn.

At that time, he even imagined that maybe after he made a fortune and became a rich man, he could marry Marisa, the most beautiful girl in his hometown town.

Then he became addicted to gambling.

All his family fortune was lost overnight, and he owed a lot of foreign debts.

After that, he lived a life of poverty as a matter of course, and his gambling addiction has not been given up. As soon as he has some money, his first thought is still to rush into the casino and win back all the losses he lost before.

But he has been trying for more than ten years, and he has never seen the hope of winning back.

Even once.

Nelson drunkenly drank the beer in one gulp, then looked up at the dark night sky, feeling that today's sky was turned upside down like a black cauldron, and it was a little dark and eerie.

The icy wind blew through his body, making him a little more awake, and he wrapped his thin coat tightly.

He looked around erratically, feeling like there was something strange in his heart that was quietly following him.

His pace began to quicken, and he wanted to hurry towards the direction of his dilapidated house.

But the uneasy feeling not only did not disappear, but became more and more serious, and finally completely occupied his heart.

Everything around seems to have disappeared!
The whole world has completely turned into black, and there is darkness everywhere, leaving him alone.

Fear had completely enveloped him, and Nelson yelled uneasily.

"What's going on! What happened!"

No one responded to him, because something had silently appeared in front of him.

Nelson's face finally froze under that frightened expression, and he fell slowly and heavily to the ground.

"What's going on!" A roaring voice suddenly sounded, "What happened!"

It imitated the death words of the deceased, and gradually faded away, leaving only a yellow straw on the ground.

Everything returned to normal, and no one noticed this scene in the narrow alley.

After a long time, a sonic boom sounded like a whip whipping the air. Two Aurors wearing the standard robes of the British Ministry of Magic appeared next to Nelson's body.

Kingsley squatted down and checked Nelson's condition with a frown.

"As in the previous two cases, the soul was ingested and the body was still alive."

His companion was a burly wizard named Williamson.

"Did the dementors do it again? Ever since Black escaped from that island, they have obtained permission to go out of the island and capture them."

Kingsley tapped Nelson lightly with his wand.

"Looking at the situation, this is indeed the case. In the wizarding world, except for the kiss of the dementor, there is nothing else that can do this."

"Do you want to report this matter again? This is the third time!" Williamson said irritably.

"The ministry won't take it seriously. The important thing now is that Black has escaped. Harry Potter's safety is the top priority. Even Minister Fudge has been worrying about this matter."

Kingsley stood up, shaking his head and sighing.

"Forget it, let's report again, I hope the Ministry can restrain those dementors."

"Wait, what is that?"

They looked in the direction of Williamson's finger, only to find that it was just an ordinary straw.

"Don't be surprised. The dementors don't dare to attack us. Go back and report this matter."

The two Aurors Apparated away, leaving only Nelson's dead but not dead body lying quietly in place.

A gust of wind blew away the straw far away.

It was July 7th when Sherlock took Harry back to Devonshire.

They flew all the way from the sky in a flying car, except for a few times when they landed on the ground during refueling, they were flying all the time.

Harry recovered from the completely different results from the previous test, and asked Sherlock why they were in such a hurry to go back all of a sudden.

"A letter from the Ministry of Magic saying that a criminal has escaped from Azkaban."

Sherlock's face was heavy, while Harry's expression was bewildered.

"What does that have to do with us going back?"

"The name of the escaped criminal is Sirius Black, a former loyal believer of the mysterious man. Someone heard him say "Hogwarts" in that prison some time ago. The Ministry of Magic speculated that he escaped to Kill you to avenge his master."

Harry finally understood the whole process of the matter, he didn't show any look of fear, but muttered.

"Then why do we have to go back? Waiting for him to be caught again abroad, isn't it safer for us to go back to the UK?"

Sherlock told him seriously.

"Do you know why Dumbledore insisted you live with your aunt?"

"Why?" Harry had been thinking about this question.

"Because that's where you're safest, and the protective spells your mother gave you require you to stay with your blood relatives."

Sherlock reassured Harry by telling him what he had learned from Dumbledore.

After a happy fortnight of traveling with Sherlock, Harry was genuinely disgusted to be back at the Dursleys.

Sherlock also found this emotion in him, but he had to send Harry back again.

Hearing what Sherlock said, although Harry was still very reluctant, he didn't show any resistance afterwards.

He knew that he was honest and safe at the Dursleys' house, not only not to cause trouble for himself, but also to avoid trouble for others.

Sherlock looked at Harry who had fallen silent, and couldn't help but smile.

"I remember that in two days, it will be your birthday?"

Harry said dully.

"No birthday, I never had a birthday at Aunt Petunia's."

"Then how about I bring a gift and come to your aunt's house to congratulate you this year?"

"They won't welcome you and may even throw you out."

"Then come to my house on your birthday, anyway, it's only two streets away, and you can go back after your birthday is over."

Hearing him say this, Harry's eyes finally lit up.

"Can I stay with you for a few days?"

He felt that now that Sherlock's crow's mouth had failed, he didn't have to worry so much anymore, and he could live in Sherlock's house with complete peace of mind.

Sherlock didn't refuse, just reminded.

"There is no fun place in my house, even if you come here, it will be boring."

"There's nothing worse than living at Aunt Petunia's," Harry said with certainty.

His mood picked up again, and even for the first time in history, he looked forward to his birthday.

They reached Privet Drive in the evening.

Sherlock sent Harry back to the Dursleys' house, and Petunia and Vernon didn't show any kindness to him, not even a polite word of "would you like to come in and have a chat".

But Sherlock didn't care if there was such a polite word.

After that, he did not return to his home immediately, but found the car rental company that rented the car, and bought the rented Ford directly.

This car has been transformed into a magic tool, and if it is returned, there will be a big mess. Sherlock simply bought it directly, and maybe it will be used in normal times.

After returning home to rest for the night, early the next morning, he directly used Apparition to come to Diagon Alley.

Most of the shops here had only just opened, and Sherlock walked straight into Gringotts Bank and withdrew a large sum of money from his own coffers.

Then he went straight to Ollivander's wand shop.

Every summer vacation is undoubtedly the busy peak of Oliver's wand shop. Little wizards who are about to enter school will come to his shop to buy their first wands in their lives.

This is not only because of the excellent craftsmanship of his wands.

More importantly, he is the only one who sells wands in the entire British wizarding world.

On the morning of the summer vacation, Ollivander will deliberately open the store half an hour earlier than usual to prepare for the new students.

But the first person to enter his shop today was a handsome young man.

"You are." Ollivander asked hesitantly as Sherlock walked through the door.

Sherlock shrugged: "Does your shop sell anything else besides wands?"

"The original wand was accidentally broken?" Ollivander frowned slightly, he was very sensitive about the adult wizard coming to his shop to buy a second wand.

Sherlock said vaguely, "Almost."

At this moment, a measuring tape wrapped around his body flexibly like a snake, measuring various data of his body.

"Name? And when did you enter Hogwarts?" Ollivander took out a thick notebook and asked.

Sherlock opened his arms to make it easier for the measuring tape to measure.

"Sherlock Forrest, entered Hogwarts in 1982."

With the information provided by Sherlock, Ollivander quickly found his data from that year.

"The first wand you bought from me at that time was ebony, the heart nerve of a fire dragon, 12 inches, do you want to get a wand of the same specification according to this standard?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I want to choose a new combination."

Ollivander nodded.

"That's right, people change, but wands don't, so sometimes wizards of different periods will be chosen by different wands."

As he spoke, he walked to the shelf full of wand boxes, and pulled out a box from it.

"Try this, pine with dragon heartstrings, 9 inches, a combination that should suit you very well."

Sherlock took it from him, waved it, and said the spell.

"Fluorescent flashes."

The light shines from the tip of the staff, but it seems that the speed of lighting up is a bit slow.

"Oh, it seems that this combination doesn't suit you very well." Ollivander shook his head, and took the wand from Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock nodded too.

"It feels like a blockage when using it, and it's not very smooth."

"What about this one? Red cedar with phoenix tail feathers, 11 inches. It's a hot seller, and wizards come to my shop all the time and ask if there's a red cedar wand. Bring good luck."

Sherlock also cast the Illuminating Charm once with the wand, still unsatisfied.

"I'm not very used to it, and I always feel that something is missing when I use it."

Ollivander continued to search on his shelf, and then he pulled out another one muttering.

"Laurel, dragon's heartstring, 14 inches, try it. This is the most loyal wand, if someone tries to steal a wand made of laurel, the wand itself will release a lightning strike to repel it." Stealer."

Sherlock held the wand in his hand, this time before using magic, he already felt his fit with the wand.

"Fluorescent flashes."

It was another lighting spell, and the magic was used very smoothly, without any sense of sluggishness.

Seeing the perfect fit between this wand and Sherlock, Ollivander nodded in satisfaction.

"It seems that you have been through a lot, and there are very different wands who have made choices for you."

Sherlock twirled the laurel wand between his fingers for a long time, and the silver streamer danced at his fingertips. He was also very satisfied with the new wand.

"How many Galleons does this wand cost?"

"Seven Galleons."

The Ollivander family is still a conscientious enterprise, monopolizing the wand industry in the entire British wizarding world, but they have not raised the price of wands to a higher position.

Although there must be reasons for the Ministry of Magic to restrict his pricing, the price of a wand of less than ten Galleons is indeed affordable enough.

He readily took out a heavy money bag that had been cast with a traceless stretching spell.

"Okay, give me a hundred!"

Ollivander nodded, just about to take the money from Sherlock, and then reacted.

He opened his mouth, wondering if he heard it wrong!
"How much do you want?"

Sherlock held up a finger and repeated it again.

"One hundred first, and maybe I'll ask for another hundred later. The material must be the same as the one in my hand, and there can't even be a difference in length."

Ollivander stared blankly at Sherlock, as if looking at a psychopath.

"I remember I saw a report about you in the Daily Prophet some time ago. Aren't you the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts now?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes."

"Then why do you need so many wands? Are you going to buy wholesale from me, and then resell them second-hand in the magic world of some small country?" Ollivander asked suspiciously.

Sherlock waved his hand.

"I don't have that spare time. I just want to buy it for my own use. I just want to ask you if you sell a hundred sticks. If you don't sell them, I will go to French Long Lane Street and ask Wenger's Wand Shop if they can do this order. Business."

(End of this chapter)