"You exchanged Galleons for pounds with the Goblins at Gringotts?"
Instead of surprise, Sherlock's face showed a hint of distress.
"Mm." The girl nodded softly.
"Is that your salary saved up over the years?"
"And a small portion of the inheritance my father left behind."
"According to the exchange rate the Goblins are currently announcing, one Galleon can be exchanged for about five pounds, so two hundred thousand pounds is forty thousand Galleons..."
Sherlock's expression grew more pained as he did the simple calculation. He turned around, looking at Hilke, who was still wearing the loose black robe, her face half-hidden by a hood, with a grocery basket on her arm containing some onions and potatoes, and sighed helplessly.
"You should have at least told me before you bought it. Exchanging Galleons for pounds at Gringotts is a huge loss, and two hundred thousand pounds... this yard isn't even worth fifty thousand pounds. All that money was hard-earned by you. Don't you feel bad?"
Hilke smiled slightly and shook her head.
"No, I don't."
Since seeing Sherlock again, the smiles on her face had become more frequent, yet they were like epiphyllum blooming only at midnight, revealing their fleeting beauty only to a specific person.
Sherlock sighed again, taking the basket of onions and potatoes from her arm.
"Let's go. Let me see your new home. I'll have lunch here too."
In Hilke's eyes, hidden by the black ribbon, a hint of childlike joy, rarely seen in her emotions before, emerged. Her steps became lighter as she led Sherlock to open the courtyard gate, now exclusively hers.
The vegetation in the front yard was mostly unchanged; only the two maple trees were covered with windmills.
Sherlock followed her into the living room. The Original Owner's furniture had long since been moved out, and the current furnishings were quite simple. The living room only had a sofa, coffee table, and shoe cabinet, not even a coat rack.
"Won't going out dressed like this make you the centre of attention?"
He grumbled as he pulled Hilke's hood down from her head, revealing a face so exquisite it seemed not to belong to the mortal world.
Hilke wrinkled her nose, not because she disliked Sherlock's actions, but because she disliked his attitude, which still treated her like a child.
"I used a spell; in the eyes of Muggles, I'm dressed very ordinarily."
"Then you don't need to wear the hood when you go out anymore. Covering your face with this every day will make you depressed. See more sun; it's good for staying in a good mood."
Sherlock chattered on, like an old father worried about his child living alone, with endless instructions.
Hilke expressionlessly carried the grocery basket into the kitchen, peeling the freshly bought onions and potatoes and washing them in the sink.
"You're living here now, so what about your job at the German Ministry of Magic?"
"I resigned."
"Resigned?" Sherlock was stunned, then he could largely guess the reason for her resignation. He shook his head. "It's good that you resigned. You probably didn't like that place anyway."
"Since you've resigned, take some time to rest at home. If you want to find a job in Britain later, I can help. If you don't want to work, then go travelling. If you run out of money, come find me..."
Seeing him start to nag again, Hilke, directing the kitchen knife to cut potatoes, gently interrupted him.
"I've already found a new job."
Sherlock's eyebrows instantly shot up in surprise.
"You've only been in Britain for less than a week, right? That fast? Where is the job?"
Hearing his question, Hilke pursed her lips, a slight curve appearing at the corners, and remained silent, as if anticipating something to happen.
Seeing that she didn't want to say, Sherlock stopped pressing, only nagging about social interactions, instructing her not to swallow her anger if someone bullied her, but to beat them up. If she couldn't beat them, to come and complain to him, and he would help her get even.
Hilke's cooking skills didn't seem proficient. She busied herself with the kitchen utensils for over an hour before barely managing to prepare two lunches.
Extremely simple roasted potatoes and onion soup; it was clear that making these two dishes was already an exceptional effort for her.
Afterwards, under Hilke's somewhat nervous and expectant gaze, Sherlock tasted the first spoonful of onion soup. His mouth twitched for an instant, then he lavished praise on Hilke's cooking, saying that even all the House-elves' culinary skills at Hogwarts combined couldn't compare to her cooking.
Hilke's face clearly showed a hint of joy. She quietly took a sip of her own midday creation, then her expression returned to being blank.
Watching Hilke spit the onion soup she hadn't yet swallowed into the rubbish bin, Sherlock consoled her.(TN: Crazy.)
"Actually, it's not that bad. As long as you put in a little less sugar, a little less salt, a little less cream, cook it a bit longer, and chop the onions a bit smaller, the taste is actually quite good."
Hilke snatched the bowl of onion soup from Sherlock's hand, poured it all into the sink, and glared, seemingly angry at herself.
"Let's eat out."
"Eat out? Leave it to me. Though I don't know if it'll suit your taste." Sherlock rolled up his sleeves and walked into the kitchen.
He didn't even need to do it himself. He simply controlled the remaining potatoes Hilke hadn't used, deftly peeling and washing them. With a wave of his hand, the kitchen knife flew up on its own, slicing the potatoes into shreds, each one perfectly uniform, as if measured with a ruler, just like a chef in a restaurant.
Hilke quietly leaned on the dining table, watching Sherlock in the kitchen, turning on the stove, pouring oil, and putting the shredded potatoes into the pan, all while continuing to chatter, just like they used to in that small room at the Leaky Cauldron.
"From now on, at mealtime, be diligent and walk a couple of extra steps to my place. As long as you come, I'll always make an extra portion. Of course, if you want to stay, I'll clean out a room for you. But you're a big girl now, and it might not look good if others see you. If anyone asks, just say you're my sister, even though we don't look much alike..."
"Sherlock," Hilke, who had been listening quietly, suddenly called out.
Sherlock looked at her, puzzled.
Hilke's expression was very serious, and her eyes, hidden by the black ribbon, also seemed very serious.
"From now on, don't call me Amy anymore; call me Vera. And I won't call you John; I'll just call you Sherlock."
Sherlock paused. He looked at the girl's incredibly serious face, blinked, and then smiled.
"Okay."