HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

That evening’s Astronomy class continued with using telescopes to observe the night sky. Recently, the young wizards’ main task was observing Jupiter’s astronomical chart to familiarize themselves with the movement patterns of the solar system’s largest planet and its satellites.

Among all the courses at Hogwarts, if Sherlock least wanted to attend Professor Quirrell’s Defense Against the Dark Arts, then Astronomy could rank second—even better than Professor Binns’ ghostly History of Magic.

Although Professor Aurora Sinistra repeatedly emphasized the importance of this course—cultivating scientific thinking and literacy, improving observation and concentration, inspiring curiosity and desire for exploration, assisting Divination and other magical subjects—Sherlock found all points except the last one meaningless to him.

Even the last point had little significance. Divination was an elective course that wouldn’t formally begin until third year.

Although he hadn’t formally studied this subject yet, from Sherlock’s current knowledge, relying on it to predict the future was far less accurate than his own deductive methods.

So, Sherlock planned to just barely pass this course in exams. During classes, he often daydreamed and didn’t pay much attention.

Just before class ended, Sherlock suddenly whispered something to Harry beside him.

Harry’s eyes suddenly narrowed, a flash of excitement crossing them.

Since everyone was chatting quietly, no one noticed this exchange.

Class ended normally, and everyone returned to their dormitories.

Close to eleven o’clock, Sherlock prepared and headed to the entrance hall. There he saw Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus standing in a row.

With just one glance, Sherlock deduced what had happened.

Harry gave Sherlock a helpless look.

Hermione stepped forward, looking quite worried: ”Sherlock, we’ll escort you there.”

Sherlock shook his head: ”No need, I can go alone.”

”Absolutely not! I heard Filch is an old pervert!” Seamus said dramatically. ”I heard that when students were in detention before, he wanted to hang them from the ceiling and whip their bottoms!”

”Oh, Seamus, while Filch is indeed annoying, if he really wanted to do that to Sherlock, the one who should worry about his bottom would be Filch himself!”

Hermione said coldly: ”Ronald, your friend is about to be in detention, and you’re still in the mood to joke!”

Ron muttered: ”I’m telling the truth—”

”But—Sherlock is a good person; he wouldn’t do that—” Neville whispered quietly.

Just then, the subject of their discussion, Filch, approached.

”Heh heh, quite a crowd. What’s wrong, scared now? Too late!” He lit a lantern as he spoke. ”I think from now on, you’ll think twice before breaking school rules, won’t you?”

(╬ಠ益ಠ)

Everyone looked at him silently.

Filch glanced at them sideways and said irritatingly: ”Oh yes... if you ask me, hard work and suffering are the best teachers...

It’s a pity they abolished the old-fashioned punishments—hanging you by your wrists from the ceiling for days at a time.

I still have those chains in my office, keep them well-oiled—never know when they might come in handy—”

At this point, everyone couldn’t help remembering Ron’s earlier words and looked toward his bottom.

Even Hermione couldn’t help glancing.

Filch: (╬ಠ益ಠ)

Being stared at with such strange looks, Filch felt something was off but couldn’t pinpoint what.

”Well, let’s go! Don’t think about running away—that would make things much worse for you.

And you lot, if you don’t get back to your dormitories quickly, do you want to join him in detention?!”

Everyone looked at each other.

Sherlock frowned: ”Go back!”

This time, everyone finally listened and left.

As soon as they returned to the castle, Dean immediately started cursing.

”Filch is such a bad guy, really makes people angry, always causing trouble for others, never showing mercy. This resentment in my heart will never fade!”

For some reason, whenever Dean spoke too quickly, it sounded like he was rapping. It must be his innate talent.

Ron spoke again: ”Hey Dean, don’t worry too much. Sherlock will be fine!”

”Yeah, after all, you’re not the one going to the Forbidden Forest.”

Hermione retorted sarcastically again.

Ron felt she didn’t trust Sherlock enough.

While the two were arguing, Harry said he felt unwell, clutching his stomach and running off.

Everyone looked at each other.

”Probably caught a chill?”

”Yeah, it’s really too cold.”

Only Hermione frowned slightly—she vaguely felt something was wrong.

But soon she was irritated by Ron’s childish comments again.

Am I the one who doesn’t trust Sherlock?

”Ronald, shut up! I know Sherlock’s situation better than you! But you don’t know what’s really in the Forbidden Forest...”

Harry left the group, quickly found a hidden corner, and skillfully put on his Invisibility Cloak.

Through Sherlock’s recent training, his reconnaissance and counter-reconnaissance abilities had visibly improved. With the Invisibility Cloak’s help, he was like a fish in water.

Avoiding Hermione, who was dominating the others with her presence, Harry didn’t take long to catch up with Sherlock and Filch.

However, the way Sherlock and Filch were interacting was somewhat unexpected.

Sherlock was saying something while Filch listened attentively.

Harry thought for a moment, worried about being discovered by Filch, and didn’t dare get too close. He circled around to get ahead of them.

He saw Sherlock holding a cat in his arms.

Harry recognized it as Filch’s pet—Mrs. Norris, whom many students wanted to kick hard.

But he was somewhat confused about the current situation.

He tried to imitate Sherlock’s usual methods, deducing what had happened from the scene before him.

But he reached a conclusion that surprised him—Sherlock was lecturing Filch, and the latter was listening seriously.

This was too absurd!

Filch also found it very absurd.

He was actually being lectured by a student who had broken school rules and was about to be detained?

Yet that was exactly what was happening.

Just moments ago, as he and Mrs. Norris were leading Sherlock across the dark grounds, Sherlock had suddenly pointed at Mrs. Norris on the ground and asked out of nowhere:

”Mr. Filch, do you enjoy abusing cats?”

”What did you say?”

Filch stopped abruptly, glaring at Sherlock angrily.

”How dare you?!”

Everyone knew he cherished Mrs. Norris above all else!

Abuse?

What was he talking about?

How dare he say such things!

Unfortunately, in the wizarding world, looks couldn’t kill—especially since Filch couldn’t even do magic.

Meeting Filch’s furious gaze, Sherlock remained unmoved, saying calmly:

”Forgive my directness, but you don’t really think Mrs. Norris’s current condition has nothing to do with you, do you?”

At this moment, the moonlight was bright, but drifting clouds occasionally obscured the moon, plunging them into darkness.

Filch’s heart jumped: ”You’re lying—I’m not—I didn’t—

I didn’t abuse—how could I abuse her? She’s just picky about food, eats very little—”

Though he said this, Filch’s voice trembled, showing he wasn’t very confident.

”It’s stomach disease.”

Sherlock’s voice was calm but carried unquestionable certainty.

”For cats, eating too quickly, food intolerance or spoilage, environmental changes, and stress reactions can all cause gastric bloating.

Over time, Mrs. Norris will lose her appetite, leading to vomiting, weight loss, and even intestinal obstruction...”

”Stop it!”

Filch suddenly looked up at Sherlock, as if gathering great courage: ”Stop talking! I—what should I do?”

”It’s simple.”

To Filch’s amazement, Sherlock swiftly grabbed Mrs. Norris by the scruff of her neck and lifted her up.

”You—what are you doing? Let go of my cat!”

Filch’s face changed as he lunged toward Sherlock.

”Filch, you wouldn’t want Mrs. Norris to waste away to skin and bones from gastric bloating, would you?”

As Sherlock spoke, he reached out and felt Mrs. Norris.

Skin and bones, bloated abdomen—definitely stomach disease.

In fact, months ago when he first noticed Filch’s pet cat was skeletal with dull gray fur, he had already suspected this.

He just hadn’t had time to address it due to his busy schedule.

This detention presented the perfect opportunity.

Hearing Sherlock’s words, Filch stopped in his tracks.

He watched as Sherlock took a small piece of green plant from his pocket and offered it to Mrs. Norris.

She had been wary initially, still trying to struggle despite being held by the scruff. But now she was attracted by the green plant’s scent.

The next moment, as if making a decision, she immediately bit down on the plant and chewed vigorously.

So quickly that Filch couldn’t react.

”You—what did you give Mrs. Norris?”

”Nepeta.”

”Nepeta—what’s that?”

”A perennial plant of the Lamiaceae family, genus Nepeta,” Sherlock said without looking up. ”Muggles commonly call it catnip.”

”Catnip!”

At this, Filch’s eyes lit up.

Compared to the scientific name, this common name had much more impact on him.

”Can catnip cure Mrs. Norris’s illness?”

”Catnip doesn’t directly treat gastric bloating in cats—”

This immediately dimmed Filch’s expression, but Sherlock’s next words gave him hope again.

”However, it will help indirectly to some extent—catnip can stimulate cats to exhibit pleasurable behavioral responses, helping them relax emotionally, which is why it’s called catnip.

Additionally, cats usually become quite active after exposure to catnip—rolling, jumping, chasing imaginary prey, etc.

These activities can get the cat’s body moving, thereby indirectly promoting gastrointestinal motility to some degree.

However, to completely treat gastric bloating, other methods are needed.”

”What methods?”

Filch grew tense again.

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