HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

”Sherlock, what did you say to that woman?”

When Sherlock caught up with Harry and Cedric, Harry couldn’t help but ask.

Cedric also looked at Sherlock curiously.

After all, he was also a victim to some extent.

In Rita Skeeter’s last article, what was supposed to be about the Triwizard Tournament was actually just a personal interview with Harry Potter.

Cedric Diggory’s name wasn’t even mentioned once in the entire article.

If he hadn’t understood Harry’s character and had been watching the whole time, he might have thought Harry had orchestrated it deliberately.

”I gave her some friendly advice,” Sherlock said with a smile.

”Friendly” advice?

Harry and Cedric exchanged glances. How could they possibly believe that? Perhaps Sherlock’s understanding of ”friendly” was completely different from theirs.

Next came the celebration. Cedric was supposed to return to the Hufflepuff common room, but he was grabbed by the Weasley twins who had been waiting for Sherlock and Harry.

”What Hufflepuff!” Fred said.

”Tonight we’re all Gryffindor!” George added.

”You’re not going anywhere.”

”You’re celebrating with us.”

With that, each twin grabbed one of Cedric’s arms and forcibly dragged him into Gryffindor Tower.

”Hey—hey—!” Cedric struggled desperately, but to no avail.

Standing behind them, Harry and Sherlock exchanged knowing smiles.

Clearly, Cedric’s performance in the first task had changed the opinion of the Weasley twins, who had previously held a grudge against him.

When everyone walked into the Gryffindor common room, the Weasley twins shouted loudly: ”The champions are here!”

The common room immediately erupted in wave after wave of cheers and commotion.

The tables and chairs were piled high with mountains of cakes, along with jugs of pumpkin juice and butterbeer.

Lee Jordan set off some Filibuster Fireworks, filling the air with stars and sparks.

Dean Thomas, who was skilled at drawing, had hung up several eye-catching new banners, most depicting the three of them riding broomsticks weaving through the dragon, though one or two showed Cedric’s injury.

Harry sat down without a word and began eating heartily.

These past days, he had almost forgotten what normal hunger felt like.

He felt incredibly happy right now.

Not only had he and his best friends passed the first task together, but the second task wasn’t for another three months.

They celebrated noisily for quite a while before the Hufflepuffs noticed something was wrong and came to fetch their hero and prefect back.

For this, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan made them drink several cups.

”I’m starting to like that big lug now,” Fred said to the three female Chasers on the Quidditch team after the Hufflepuffs left.

”Me too, the guy’s actually not bad,” George agreed.

”Uh... he’s really not as annoying as we thought...” Seamus Finnigan, who had previously held quite a grudge against Cedric, also said.

”My goodness, why is this so heavy!” At that moment, Lee Jordan came over, picked up the golden egg Harry had placed on the table, and weighed it in both hands, saying: ”Open it, Harry!”

His words immediately drew everyone’s attention.

”That’s right!”

”Open it!”

”He should solve the clue himself,” Hermione quickly interjected. ”The Triwizard Tournament rules state...”

”I should have solved how to get past the dragon myself too,” Harry muttered.

His voice was very low, only Hermione could hear it.

Hearing this, Hermione couldn’t help but smile guiltily.

”Come on, stop being useless, let us see!”

”Listen, let me see!”

”Come on, Harry, open it!”

Several people chimed in, and Lee Jordan even picked up the golden egg and handed it to Harry.

Harry glanced at Hermione. Seeing that things had reached a point of no return, Hermione said nothing more.

Under everyone’s gaze, Harry dug his fingernails into the groove around the golden egg and pried it open.

To everyone’s surprise, it was completely empty inside.

Just as everyone was staring at each other in confusion, some even thinking the organizers had made a mistake, a terrifying, shrill, piercing scream filled the entire room.

||Φ|(|T|Д|T|)|Φ||

Harry had only heard a similar sound once before.

That was in second year on Halloween when Nearly Headless Nick invited him to the ghosts’ deathday party.

The ghost band had played with musical saws, and that noise was quite similar to this piercing sound.

”Close that thing!” Ron, covering his ears with his hands, couldn’t help but shout.

Harry slammed the golden egg shut.

”What was that?” Seamus Finnigan stared at the golden egg and asked. ”It sounds like a banshee... Harry, you might have to get past a banshee next time!”

When dealing with boggarts, what he feared most was banshees.

”It sounds like someone being tortured!” Neville said, his face pale white as he spilled sausage meat all over the floor. ”You’ll have to face the Cruciatus Curse!”

Hermione looked up, somewhat surprised to glance at Neville.

Neville actually knew about the Cruciatus Curse?

”Don’t talk nonsense, Neville, that’s illegal,” George said. ”They can’t use the Cruciatus Curse on champions. I think that sound is a bit like Percy singing... maybe you’ll have to attack him while he’s showering, Harry.”

Hearing George’s words, everyone laughed.

”Why not ask Sherlock?” Ginny said. ”He definitely knows.”

”Right, ask Sherlock!”

”Where’s Sherlock?”

Everyone looked at each other, only now realizing Sherlock had disappeared at some point.

”When the Hufflepuffs left just now, he went out with them,” Hermione said softly.

”Ha, I know, he must have been dragged to the Hufflepuff common room!” George said.

”That’s right, we pulled in Diggory, they pulled away Sherlock, perfectly even—want a jam tart, Hermione?”

Hermione looked suspiciously at the plate Fred handed her. She knew what tricks the twins had been up to lately.

”Don’t worry,” Fred grinned. ”I haven’t done anything to them. What you really need to watch out for are the custard creams—”

Neville had just taken a bite of a custard cream, and hearing this, he choked.

He quickly spat out the biscuit, causing everyone to laugh.

George laughed and said, ”Come on, Neville, we’re just having a little fun...”

Hermione picked up a jam tart and then said, ”Did you get all this stuff from the kitchens, Fred?”

”Yeah.”

Fred said, smiling at her.

He squeezed out a shrill, piercing voice, imitating a house-elf: ”’We can prepare anything for you, sir, anything!’ They’re so enthusiastic... as soon as I say I’m a bit hungry, they’ll roast me an ox.”

”Did you just tickle the pear to get in?” Hermione asked in a casual, offhand tone.

”That’s right, didn’t expect you to know too...” Fred looked at her warily. ”What are you up to?”

”Nothing,” Hermione said quickly.

”Going to try to lead the house-elves in a strike again, are you?” George said. ”Looks like you’re giving up on those pamphlets and such, mobilizing them to rebel?”

Several people giggled.

Hermione didn’t answer.

”Don’t you go muddling their thoughts, telling them they must wear clothes and get wages!” Fred warned her. ”You’ll make them not want to cook!”

Just then, Neville suddenly turned into a large canary, temporarily diverting everyone’s attention.

”Oh—sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted amid everyone’s laughter. ”I forgot—those are the enchanted custard creams—”

Fortunately, in less than a minute, Neville shed his feathers.

When all the feathers had fallen off, he looked completely normal again.

He even laughed along with everyone else, not feeling offended at all, and even found it quite fun.

”Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excited crowd: ”George and I invented them—seven Sickles each, very cheap!”

Everyone immediately crowded around, even Ron squeezed in.

He really hadn’t expected the Weasley twins could come up with something so interesting.

At this moment, Harry, the original star of the show, was actually being neglected.

But he didn’t feel the least bit left out. He was sitting in a corner of the sofa, head down, eating a plate of jam tarts with relish.

Today was the most comfortable day since the start of term. No Rita Skeeter spreading nonsense, no threat from dragons, just solid victory and relaxation.

Taking this opportunity, Hermione sat down next to Harry.

She placed a glass of butterbeer in front of Harry.

”Harry, about the last time we talked about Ginny, I want to apologize.”

She didn’t beat around the bush, her tone calm yet carrying clear sincerity.

Harry’s chewing motion abruptly stopped, jam smearing on the corner of his mouth.

He looked up in surprise, his green eyes full of bewilderment: ”Huh? It’s okay, I know you were doing it for Ginny...”

In his view, that incident had long been put behind them with the victory of the first task.

”No, it matters,” Hermione gently interrupted him, her voice softer, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing against the side of her butterbeer glass.

She met Harry’s gaze, her eyes no longer holding the urgency from that time by the lake, only honest apology: ”I was too eager to help Ginny express her feelings, but I forgot to ask if you even wanted to talk about it, and I forcefully imposed my thoughts on you.”

”Ah, well...” Harry was stunned, his fingers unconsciously scratching at the jam on the corner of his mouth, his eyes slowly changing from bewilderment to understanding.

He finally realized what Hermione was talking about.

He remembered that day by the lake when he frowned and said ”you seem to only be thinking about Ginny,” and Hermione clutching her robes, her ears turning red. So she had been remembering it all along.

”Also, I forced you to reconsider Ginny,” Hermione paused, her gaze passing over the crowd to rest on the empty doorway of the common room, as if remembering something, yet her tone remained steady: ”Feelings have never been about what should be, they’re your business. Even if I think you should perhaps see Ginny’s changes, I should wait until you’re willing to think about it yourself, willing to discover it, rather than using my judgment to pressure you.”

She withdrew her gaze, just catching Harry’s puzzled look, and suddenly smiled, gently segueing with the topic: ”Like Sherlock, everyone thinks he was dragged to the Hufflepuff common room.”

”Huh? He didn’t go celebrate?”

Harry blinked, about to ask more, when he heard Hermione continue: ”I think he probably went to see Gemma.”

She said cheerfully, her fingertips finally leaving the glass. ”You might not have noticed? At the end of the match they exchanged glances, and now that the first task is over, it’s the perfect time for them to catch up.”

These words left Harry increasingly surprised.

In the past, whenever Hermione mentioned Gemma, her tone always carried a barely perceptible tension.

But today she spoke lightly, with no ripple in her eyes.

Hermione seemed to see through his thoughts and added, her fingertips finally stopping their rubbing motion: ”It’s quite normal, isn’t it? Everyone has friends they want to see alone, private space they don’t want disturbed. Before, I always felt that for your own good, I should lay everything out, but actually I was completely overstepping.”

Only then did Harry realize.

Hermione wasn’t just apologizing about Ginny, she was expressing a sense of boundaries.

It was the same with him as it was with Sherlock.

Harry looked at Hermione’s serious profile and suddenly smiled.

He reached for the butterbeer and took a large gulp, the cool liquid dispelling the lingering sweetness: ”Actually... I think you should be honest with Sherlock too, shouldn’t you?”

Hermione hadn’t expected Harry to turn it around on her. She instinctively lowered her head, her fingertips gently stirring the butterbeer in her glass, foam leaving delicate traces on the glass wall.

”I...” She paused, saying in a very soft voice, ”Once I figure out how to say it.”

Seeing that Hermione didn’t evade this time, Harry smiled too.

Finally getting the hint.

After all, the holidays were approaching, and everyone would be fifteen next year.

Gemma’s sudden appearance had indeed put pressure on Hermione.

Deep in the castle, the corridor had long since quieted down, with only the hallway lamps casting dim yellow halos, illuminating the stone brick floor in mottled patterns.

Sherlock’s footsteps were particularly clear in the empty corridor.

Just as Hermione had deduced, he wasn’t heading toward the Hufflepuff common room, but instead turned into the staircase leading to the eighth floor.

His robe swept past the dusty windowsill, stirring up fine particles of dust.

His destination was naturally the Room of Requirement.

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