HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

The moment Sherlock mentioned the Blast-Ended Skrewt, the color drained from both Harry’s and Cedric’s faces.

Every Hogwarts student above third year had a vivid impression of that particular magical creature a hybrid Hagrid had bred entirely on his own initiative.

The six champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, however, exchanged puzzled looks.

Fleur tilted her head toward Sherlock. What was a Blast-Ended Skrewt, she wondered, and why should thinking about it make anyone happy?

Bagman and Moody glanced at each other, surprise flickering in both their eyes.

He had figured it out that quickly?

The great detective Holmes, the legendary Sherlock the name was clearly no exaggeration.

”So... beyond the creature Professor Hagrid has prepared, will there be other obstacles?”

Krum spoke again.

”Certainly. There are also various jinxes and traps that will need to be cleared before you can move forward... I’m sorry, I can’t say much more. Things of that nature, you understand.”

The young witches and wizards all furrowed their brows at Bagman’s words.

Hagrid’s creatures. Jinxes and traps scattered throughout.

That meant once they entered the maze, they would not only have to find the right path but overcome every obstacle blocking their way. This final task was shaping up to be the ultimate test of intelligence, strength, and teamwork.

Only Harry wore a thin, pained smile.

Bagman had said Hagrid had provided ”a whole heap” of creatures, not just Blast-Ended Skrewts.

What sort of animals would Hagrid choose for an occasion like this?

Impossible to say. And Harry found nothing remotely entertaining about the thought.

Any fool could see it: this was a man who had spent years quietly suppressing his wilder instincts, finally handed a legitimate excuse to indulge them to the fullest.

”What are you smiling about, Potter?”

Moody turned to Harry.

”Er... I’m just happy that Hagrid gets to help everyone,” Harry said, a little awkwardly.

Moody regarded him with suspicious eyes for a moment but ultimately said nothing.

”Very well. If there are no more questions, shall we head back to the castle? It’s rather cold out here...”

As the group stepped over the ever-growing hedges, Bagman fell in beside Harry with quick, purposeful strides.

Harry braced himself. He knew what was coming Bagman was about to offer help again.

Just as Sherlock had said, the closer the final task drew, the more anxious everyone was becoming.

He never sought out Sherlock or Cedric. He always came to Harry. Because he thought Harry was the most easily persuaded of the three.

Sure enough, the very next moment Bagman clapped him on the shoulder.

”Could I have a word?”

Strange — there was an echo.

Bagman turned around in surprise just in time to see Krum saying the exact same thing to Sherlock.

The two men stared at each other.

What were the odds?

While Bagman and Krum exchanged bewildered looks, Harry glanced over at Sherlock with a questioning expression.

Sherlock returned a look that said figure it out yourself, then turned and walked off the pitch with Krum.

Krum did not head toward the Durmstrang ship. He walked toward the forest.

”Doesn’t it strike you as odd?” Krum finally said when Sherlock made no move to speak.

”Why would it?”

”You’re not curious... about why we’re taking this path?”

Krum pressed, as they passed Hagrid’s hut and the brilliantly lit Beauxbatons carriage.

”Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ”You don’t want anyone to overhear what you’re about to say.”

Krum stopped short.

He was right. Again.

Krum fell silent and kept walking. At last, the two arrived at a quiet clearing, a fair distance from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock.

Krum stopped beneath the shadow of a tree and turned to face Sherlock, his expression dark.

”I want to know...”

He had barely begun when Sherlock answered.

”Hermione and I are close friends. I was the one who told Delacour the secret of the golden egg. And we are going to win the third task.”

Krum stared at him, speechless.

It took him a long moment to find his voice again. ”How did you... how did you...”

Krum’s English was accented at the best of times, and the shock made him stumble further.

”How did I know what you were going to ask? Isn’t that rather self-evident?”

Sherlock gave a quiet laugh, his eyes calm as he held Krum’s stunned gaze, speaking quickly.

”When you called me aside, you were being conspicuously secretive. By ordinary logic, that usually means the subject matter is sensitive, or that you don’t want others to know. Combined with your recent behavior, it wasn’t difficult to conclude that the matter involved her.

”You invited Hermione to the Yule Ball and were turned down yet your attention toward her never wavered afterward.

”As for the golden egg, Fleur Delacour is in the Beauxbatons camp, and Beauxbatons performed far better in the second task than anyone expected. That clearly came from correctly interpreting the clue. Since I passed the information to Fleur, and since you know I had contact with her, it follows naturally that I was the source.

”And the third task...”

Sherlock paused, his tone flat but carrying an absolute certainty.

”Based on the performance across the first two tasks and the current standings, Hogwarts has an overwhelming advantage. As long as we avoid careless mistakes, victory is inevitable.”

The shock on Krum’s face gradually gave way to something that was equal parts frustration and fury.

His dark complexion looked even starker in the dim light, heavy brows pulled tight together.

Sherlock’s analysis had been terrifyingly precise, laying bare everything Krum had kept locked inside himself, and the helplessness of it was suffocating.

”You are too arrogant!”

Krum found his voice at last. His accent was thick, but his tone was hard.

”The match is not over! Durmstrang will not give up so easily! The maze... the maze holds too many unknowns! Hagrid’s creatures, those traps... there is no guarantee you will reach the Cup first!”

He balled his fists, his broad frame leaning slightly forward, radiating the same physical authority that made him so formidable on a Quidditch pitch.

He was trying to win back some ground — to prove he hadn’t been completely seen through.

But inside, he knew.

More than Sherlock’s declaration of victory, it was the remark about Hermione that truly stung.

You and Hermione are friends? Just friends?

If that were truly all it was, why would she have said ”I’m worried Sherlock will get the wrong idea”?

Did Sherlock take everyone for a fool?

For that matter, even Krum himself didn’t fully understand why he had developed feelings for Hermione in the first place.

In terms of looks alone, Hermione had been stunning at the Yule Ball, but compared with Fleur or Cho Chang, there was still a certain gap. To say nothing of the beautiful girls back home in Northern Europe.

And yet, somehow, it was Hermione who had gotten under his skin.

So hearing Sherlock speak so casually about it only made it worse like a man who had won everything and didn’t even bother to acknowledge it.

Sherlock looked at him steadily. His expression did not change. Krum’s anger and declarations seemed to pass over him like a breeze.

”The unknown is relative, Mr. Krum.”

Sherlock’s voice was clear and even in the dark.

”For someone who is well-prepared, the unknown becomes opportunity. For someone who relies on luck or brute strength, it becomes an obstacle.

”Durmstrang’s ability deserves respect. But...”

He paused, his sharp gaze meeting Krum’s directly.

”In strategy and perception, you are behind. That is the basis of my confidence. It isn’t arrogance. It is a conclusion drawn from fact.”

Krum opened his mouth to argue, but found he couldn’t. Sherlock’s logic was seamless.

The strength and Quidditch skill he prided himself on were beginning to seem like they might not be decisive advantages in a maze. The cool, commanding intelligence Sherlock projected, this sense of having everything already accounted for pressed down on Krum in a way he had never felt off a pitch.

A night wind moved along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, carrying coolness and the soft rustle of leaves.

The silence between them stretched several seconds, heavy and still.

At last, Krum let out a low grunt and turned sharply away.

”We will see, Holmes,” he said, his voice low and carrying unmistakable resentment. ”The maze will settle it.”

He said nothing more. He walked away with long, deliberate strides, his broad back disappearing into the deep night.

Sherlock stood where he was, watching the direction Krum had gone. His face was unreadable.

Moonlight broke occasionally through gaps in the clouds and fell across the sharp lines of his profile. His deep-set eyes reflected the distant pinpoints of light from the castle windows, perfectly still, as though the brief exchange had never happened.

He straightened his collar where the wind had ruffled it, turned, and began walking back toward Hogwarts at his own unhurried pace.

In the darkness, his figure looked very composed, very upright.

By the time Sherlock returned to the common room, Harry was already back.

He was telling Hermione and Ron about what had just happened with him.

Ludo Bagman had pulled him aside, just as expected, to renew his offer of help.

Harry had turned him down again, with the same reason as before.

This time, though, Bagman had seemed considerably more agitated than the last.

”Probably the pressure from the goblins,” Ron guessed. ”A debt is a debt.”

Hermione shook her head. ”It’s ridiculous, really the goblins who should’ve been the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’s problem somehow ended up entangled with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. And for that of all reasons.”

”What, are you going to start worrying about goblins now too?” Ron looked at her. ”Planning another S.P.U.G. or whatever Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?”

”Oh, do shut up, Ronald,” Hermione said coolly. ”Goblins don’t need protecting. Have you not been listening to Professor Binns when he covers the goblin rebellions?”

”No,” Harry and Ron said simultaneously, in exactly the same tone as students caught off guard by a teacher.

”Well then, listen: they are extremely good at handling wizards. They’re very clever far more inclined to stand up for themselves than house-elves, I assure you.”

”Oi!” Ron was staring at the doorway.

Sherlock walked in.

”Took you long enough,” Ron said at once. ”I should’ve asked you to get me an autograph while you were at it. I was going to send Hermione to get one, but she refused to have anything more to do with Krum... ow, what was that for?”

He looked over at Hermione, bewildered by the kick beneath the table.

Harry suppressed a sigh. Of course. Hermione was already desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and Krum, and Ron had just brought it up in front of Sherlock. Served him right.

Still, in the interest of keeping the peace, Harry quickly asked: ”Sherlock, what did Krum want? Was it the same as Delacour did he want your help?”

The question was designed purely to change the subject.

Hermione shot Harry a grateful look.

Good girl.

Sherlock settled into a chair, drew a slim flask from inside his robes and took a sip, then gave a brief account of his conversation with Krum.

”Wait that’s what Krum called you aside for?” Harry genuinely had not seen it coming.

He had assumed that Krum pulling Sherlock away like that meant something serious was being discussed.

”Doesn’t seem like he’s given up on Hermione...” Ron shook his head philosophically, grabbing a biscuit and pushing it into his mouth. ”A real femme fatale,” he added, muffled by crumbs.

”Ron!” Hermione’s voice carried obvious displeasure.

Her cheeks went slightly pink. She shot Ron a glare, then turned to look at Sherlock with a faintly anxious expression.

”What? I’m not wrong,” Ron said, swallowing the biscuit and pressing his case without any apparent remorse. ”He was furious at Sherlock over it, it couldn’t be more obvious! He must think you and Sherlock are...”

”Ronald!”

Hermione’s voice climbed sharply, unmistakably a warning, her face even redder now.

Sherlock spoke as though he hadn’t caught Ron’s last few words, his tone perfectly even.

”Krum’s reaction was predictable. He needs time to process the situation and reassess Durmstrang’s strategy for the maze. Anger and resentment impair judgment. For us, that is not a bad thing at all.”

Harry nodded slowly, turning it over.

Relieved that Sherlock had let the subject go, he let out a quiet breath.

She had turned Krum down plainly enough, he’d thought and yet here Krum was, still not ready to let it rest, going so far as to seek out Sherlock privately.

The important thing was that Sherlock hadn’t misunderstood.

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