HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

The night before the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, all daily activities in the Gryffindor common room came to a halt.

The countdown displayed a bright red ”1.”

With the big match looming and tension in the air, Hermione couldn’t focus on her books and could only discuss things quietly with Sherlock.

”Where are Wood and Harry?”

Seeing that all the Quidditch players had returned from training except for Wood and Harry, Ron couldn’t help but look curiously at his twin brothers.

”Wood took him to see Madam Pomfrey,” Fred said with a shrug.

”I recall Harry mentioned his eyes weren’t feeling quite right these past few days,” George added with a shrug.

Sherlock, who had been talking with Hermione, immediately turned his head toward them upon hearing this.

His sharp gaze startled the Weasley twins.

Fred joked, ”Hey, don’t look at us like that, Sherlock.”

George laughed too. ”It feels like you think we did something to Harry.”

”Eye problems—could his prescription have gotten worse?” Hermione couldn’t help but speculate. ”If that’s the case, he’ll need to get new glasses.”

Ron stroked his chin, analyzing the situation with apparent seriousness. ”If it’s just that, it’d be fine, but I’m worried there might be something else...”

”Ron, if you can’t say anything helpful, then don’t speak,” Ginny snapped back without hesitation. ”Are you hoping something bad happens to your friend?”

”Ginny, how can you say that about your own brother? I’m just proposing a hypothesis. Sherlock always says that when you eliminate all possibilities, what remains...” Ron tried to quote the famous detective Holmes, only to realize he’d forgotten the second half.

The moment became rather awkward.

”Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Sherlock finished the quote, then shook his head. ”Harry’s eyes are fine, otherwise I would have noticed in daily life.”

”Well, if you say so, then there’s definitely no problem. Could it be... did those Slytherin snakes secretly poison him again?”

Smack!

This time it was Percy who slapped Ron on the head. ”Forget Ginny—even I want to hit you!”

”Well done!” said Fred.

”Brilliantly done!” said George.

”What do you mean ’want to hit me’—you already did!” Ron complained, rubbing his head. This time no one was on his side, so he couldn’t snap back at Percy like he used to.

Ginny huffed, about to say something when her eyes swept past the doorway. She suddenly said excitedly, ”They’re back!”

Seeing Harry and Wood’s expressions, even without Sherlock’s deductions, everyone could tell Ron had been talking nonsense.

Wood was walking ahead with his chest out, beaming with joy. Harry, half a step behind, showed a hint of guilt on his face, but couldn’t hide the trace of happiness in his expression.

”Gosh, you scared me!” Wood didn’t wait for anyone to ask before plopping down and launching into their experience.

”It was a complete false alarm. During training these past few days, Harry said his eyes weren’t good. At first, I didn’t think much of it—after all, he’s nearsighted!

But when he said it again today, I wondered if maybe his prescription had gotten worse. With the finals tomorrow, I decided to take him to Madam Pomfrey.”

Hermione nodded—this was exactly what she’d just guessed. Any normal person would think the same.

Still, she couldn’t help asking, ”I assume everything’s fine? Wood, you and Harry both look quite happy.”

”That’s right. Madam Pomfrey just examined him—Harry’s eyes are fine; his prescription hasn’t increased.”

Even in the wizarding world, there was no way to restore normal vision to someone who was already nearsighted—unless they were willing to constantly take Polyjuice Potion to always be someone else. But that cost would be far too high.

[AN: (Wizarding World Logic don’t ask me for explanations)]

So, the fact that Harry’s prescription hadn’t increased was indeed good news.

Everyone smiled happily, except Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow. ”Captain Wood, was there anything else you discovered?”

”Sherlock, I knew you’d figure it out!” Wood said cheerfully. ”Since Madam Pomfrey said there was no problem, of course I had to ask Harry what exactly felt wrong. Guess what he said?”

Everyone shook their heads, looking curiously at Harry.

Harry felt a bit embarrassed under their gazes.

Wood slapped his thigh excitedly. ”He told me, ’Lately for some reason, when I’m flying in the air, things seem to be moving slower and slower.’ That’s when I realized—he’s getting faster and faster!”

After saying this, Wood laughed from the heart. Harry became even more shy.

Everyone showed looks of understanding.

So that was it! This match—they had it in the bag!

That night, Harry slept very well.

First, he dreamed that Malfoy overslept, and Flint had to use substitutes, who were beaten badly by them. Then he dreamed that he and the other Gryffindor team members rode dragons to the match.

Though the Slytherin players flew at breakneck speeds trying desperately to dodge the flames Gryffindor breathed out, unfortunately Flint’s Nimbus 2001 still caught fire and he fell from the sky.

When Harry woke up laughing from the dream, he was dazed for several seconds before remembering the match hadn’t started yet. He was still lying safely in bed, and they definitely couldn’t ride dragons to a Quidditch match.

What a shame!

After waking, Harry felt parched. He quietly climbed out of bed and poured himself some water from the silver jug under the window.

Outside was quiet, not a breath of wind stirring the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Even the Whomping Willow stood motionless, looking innocent. But Harry knew very well that once someone actually approached it, it would show its true ferocity.

Still, judging by the conditions, the weather for today’s match should be ideal.

As Harry pondered this and set down his cup, about to return to bed, a voice suddenly spoke behind him: ”Good dream?”

Harry jumped, turning around to find that Sherlock had somehow woken up and was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at him curiously.

”Sherlock, when... when did you wake up?”

”When you were riding the dragon and setting Flint’s broomstick on fire.”

”Ah—!” Harry’s face immediately turned bright red.

”I talked in my sleep again?” He hadn’t known about this habit before. When he lived in the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive, only spiders kept him company, and they couldn’t tell him about it. Later, though he moved to the upstairs bedroom, there was still no one to tell him.

Not until he came to Hogwarts and was assigned to this five-person dormitory did his roommates inform him that whenever Harry was very tired, he would talk in his sleep.

Not only that, but during last year’s Chamber of Secrets incidents, Ron had even learned Parseltongue from his sleep-talking. Of course, ”learned” was an exaggeration—at most he could only imitate Harry’s pronunciation.

But the whole thing was still rather embarrassing. Today he’d thought he had a pleasant dream, only to discover he’d actually spoken its contents aloud. This made Harry feel very awkward.

Fortunately, it seemed only Sherlock had heard.

He asked somewhat anxiously, ”They didn’t wake up, did they?”

”They’re sleeping deeply—you couldn’t wake them even if you tried.” As Sherlock spoke, he slapped Ron.

Smack!

The sound was crisp and loud, yet Ron only mumbled vaguely, ”One more, let me have just one more!”

Harry stared in astonishment.

”Need to try again?” Seeing Sherlock raise his hand toward Neville, Harry quickly said, ”No need, Sherlock!”

”Then just focus on the match. If we win the Quidditch Cup, Dumbledore won’t need to find excuses to give us points at the end of term.”

”Pfft—!” Hearing Sherlock’s words, Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

Last year Gryffindor had won the House Cup again thanks to Sherlock and Harry’s Special Awards for Services to the School. Now it was already the third term, and due to recent conflicts with Slytherin, their points had fallen to last place alongside Slytherin.

Even if star point-earner Hermione performed her best in the final term, it probably wouldn’t help much. But as Sherlock said, if they won the Quidditch Cup, that would solve everything.

”Dumbledore wouldn’t do that, would he?”

”Of course he would. You could tell from the way he added points at the end of first year.” Sherlock curled his lip, not approving of Dumbledore’s behavior.

Seeing that they indeed weren’t disturbing the other roommates, the two began to chat.

Harry told him about Cho Chang and Ginny coming to see him these past few days. When he mentioned the topic of finding one’s own world, he couldn’t help but ask Sherlock’s opinion.

”Don’t compare yourself to others.”

”What?”

”If you really want to be a Quidditch player.” Sherlock looked deeply at Harry. ”Then remember—never have a competitive spirit against others. What you need to win against is yourself.”

Harry’s understanding wasn’t poor. After a moment of silence, he nodded.

After chatting briefly, Harry checked the time—it was still early and fell back asleep. This felt somewhat incredible to him. Usually, whenever he woke in the middle of the night, he could never fall back asleep. This time, after just chatting with Sherlock for a few moments, he felt an inexplicable sense of peace.

Sherlock really was remarkable. Harry thought this to himself. As long as Sherlock Holmes was around, no matter what happened, danger could be turned to safety. He was just that incredible a person.

Watching Harry drift off to sleep, Sherlock began planning their future. Professor Slughorn’s matter was ready—what came next would require Harry’s participation. Once he finished today’s battle, they could go see Dumbledore.

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