HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

Shortly after Sherlock arrived, the great oak doors at the entrance to the hall swung open once more.

The teachers and students who had been bent over their plates looked up instinctively, setting down their knives and forks as they turned toward the entrance.

Headmaster Dumbledore of Hogwarts walked at the front.

The hem of his deep blue wizard’s robes swayed gently with each step, and the lenses of his half-moon spectacles caught the light from the enchanted ceiling above, scattering tiny glints across his face.

As always, he wore that gentle smile—warm as a spring breeze—and even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed particularly kind.

Beside him, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge wore a crisp, deep-green Ministry uniform, the silver badge at his collar polished to a gleaming shine. His trademark bowler hat still perched atop his head.

But despite his immaculate appearance, his expression was stiff.

His hands repeatedly worried at his tie knot, and every few steps he tugged unconsciously at his collar, as if it were choking him.

Ludo Bagman followed at the rear. His habitually exaggerated smile was considerably dimmer than usual.

Though he still nodded occasionally at passing students, there was a weariness in his eyes that he couldn’t quite conceal.

”Why is he here?”

Harry’s tone was thick with undisguised disgust.

After everything that had happened—Sirius’s exoneration, Voldemort’s return—this Minister for Magic had become, like his name suggested, synonymous with incompetence and avoidance in Harry’s mind.

Particularly when he thought back to that night in the headmaster’s office, seeing Fudge here again made his stomach turn.

”The Ministry has probably finally reached an agreement with Hogwarts,” Gemma said thoughtfully, her voice low enough that only those nearby could hear. ”About how to handle the aftermath of that night—how to inform the public, the plans for tracking down Death Eaters.”

As a reserve member of the Order of the Phoenix, she naturally knew more than most about these matters.

Seeing Fudge appear at this moment, she deduced that the Ministry had made some concessions in the face of reality.

The three took their seats at the head table, ate a bit of food, and then Dumbledore slowly rose from his chair.

This time, he used no magic—merely raised his right hand and pressed his palm down in a gentle gesture.

The hall, which had been filled with whispers, fell instantly silent. Even the clink of silverware ceased, and every eye locked onto him.

”Another year has ended.”

Dumbledore’s gaze swept slowly across every face in the hall, his voice gentle yet powerful. ”Tonight is a special occasion—Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge has told me he has much to say to all of you.

But before that, please allow me, on behalf of Hogwarts, to extend our deepest gratitude to the students and staff of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for their participation in the Triwizard Tournament!”

A round of enthusiastic applause erupted.

Dumbledore smiled, waiting for the applause to gradually subside before continuing. ”Speaking purely of the Triwizard Tournament itself, its revival after more than a century of dormancy has been a resounding success.

The champions from all three schools—Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts—have fully embodied the unique qualities of their respective institutions...”

”What’s Durmstrang’s unique quality—Dark magic?” Ron couldn’t help but whisper in Harry’s ear, his voice audible only to the two of them.

If it weren’t for Viktor Krum, he’d have absolutely no good impression of Durmstrang whatsoever.

Harry nearly laughed out loud but managed to suppress it.

Dumbledore seemed not to notice this small interruption below, maintaining his gentle tone as he continued.

”...In the end, Hogwarts’s three champions overcame trial after trial, passing through the challenges of dragons, underwater rescue, and the maze, ultimately claiming the Triwizard Cup.

Captain Cedric Diggory is a kind and loyal friend, a diligent and hardworking student.

He led by example, charging ahead in every challenge, guiding his two teammates through difficulty after difficulty, proving himself worthy of the captain’s title.”

The Hufflepuff table erupted in deafening cheers. Yellow scarves were hurled into the air, tracing bright arcs against the enchanted ceiling.

Many pounded their fists on the tables, and the usually peaceful badgers were flushed with excitement, waving their arms with fervor.

Chants of ”Diggory!” rose and fell like waves, threatening to fill the entire hall.

See? Even Dumbledore himself had acknowledged Cedric’s exemplary leadership as captain!

Cedric, seated in the midst of the crowd, immediately flushed pink. He scratched his head sheepishly, his gaze drifting toward the Gryffindor table.

Sure enough, Dumbledore continued in the next moment:

”Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter—their wisdom and courage have been equally irreplaceable throughout this journey.

Sherlock has consistently seen through the essence of traps at critical moments, while Harry has never flinched in the face of danger.

But most importantly, Hogwarts’s champions demonstrated unity, cooperation, and mutual support throughout the entire competition.

Facing the dragons, they executed brilliant tactical coordination to secure the eggs.

Underwater, they worked together to rescue their captured captain.

In the maze, they warned each other and avoided danger together...”

Dumbledore paused deliberately here, his gaze lingering on Sherlock and Harry for a second each.

Sherlock merely inclined his head slightly. Harry ducked his head, somewhat embarrassed.

Then Dumbledore smiled and announced.

”Therefore, according to Hogwarts tradition, I am awarding each of them one hundred points!”

The little lions and little badgers erupted in cheers once more. In that moment, the entire hall seemed to transform into a sea of red and yellow.

The cheers and laughter made the very air seem to burn.

The Weasley twins seized the opportunity to pull several Filibuster fireworks from their pockets and light them surreptitiously.

Colored sparks shot up to the ceiling with a whoosh, exploding against the starry backdrop into brilliant flowers, drawing gasps from the younger students.

”This means that this year’s House Cup champion is once again Gryffindor!”

As Dumbledore cheerfully announced this, every Hogwarts student’s face lit up with radiant smiles.

The little lions high-fived each other in celebration, some even embracing in their excitement. Even the most serious students were grinning broadly.

Professor McGonagall pushed her spectacles up her nose, unable to hide the satisfaction in her eyes as the corners of her mouth curved up.

Professor Flitwick was so excited he stood on tiptoe, raising his glass of mead to clink with Professor Sprout beside him.

A few drops of liquid splashed out, landing on the tablecloth and spreading in small, damp stains.

But at the other end of the staff table, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked considerably less pleased.

Karkaroff’s lips were pressed into a tight line, his fingers gripping the tablecloth until his knuckles went white, his eyes full of resentment.

Madame Maxime sighed softly, lifted her wine glass for a sip, but found no pleasure in it.

The truth was, Gryffindor had won this House Cup by standing on the shoulders of their two schools—by claiming the Triwizard Trophy.

But considering what would be announced shortly...

Once that was announced, this cheerful scene would come to an immediate end.

So let everyone be happy a while longer...

Soon enough, they wouldn’t have the chance to be happy even if they wanted to.

Of course, the two headmasters’ expressions were considerably better than those of Fudge and Bagman from the Ministry.

At this moment, Fudge sat beside Dumbledore, his body rigid, hands on his knees, yet constantly glancing toward the speaking headmaster.

His eyes were full of urgency, his lips moving as if he wanted to interrupt but didn’t dare.

Bagman was slightly better off, but he’d lost the excited state he’d maintained since the start of the Triwizard Tournament.

He kept his head down, fingers repeatedly rubbing the rim of his wine glass, his gaze unfocused—clearly weighed down by heavy concerns.

As for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, who had no other considerations, they’d already made peace with the outcome.

Skill was lacking? Then practice more. Nothing to complain about.

The Beauxbatons girls had long since become fast friends with the nearby Ravenclaw students, sitting together in animated discussion about the fireworks.

Fleur was huddled beside Cho Chang, saying something that occasionally made her glance toward Harry. Cho’s cheeks turned redder and redder.

The Durmstrang boys were chatting amiably with the Slytherin students.

Krum, usually so gloomy, had become quite magnanimous, discussing Quidditch tactics with several Slytherin students, even wearing a faint smile.

In a corner of the hall, several tables of champions’ parents who hadn’t yet left remained.

The school had specially arranged seating for them, with tables laden with exquisite pastries and refreshments.

Under Sirius’s introduction, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were chatting with the Diggorys and Madame Delacour.

When they heard Dumbledore emphasizing the three Hogwarts champions on stage, Madame Delacour set down her teacup and said with a smile:

”Holmes and Potter are truly exceptional! To overcome so many challenges at such a young age—it’s remarkable.”

Mr. Diggory, seated nearby, cleared his throat forcefully.

Madame Delacour caught on immediately and added with a laugh:

”Of course, of course—it’s largely thanks to Cedric’s excellent leadership as captain.”

Mrs. Diggory tugged at her husband’s sleeve and offered: ”Cedric has always been considerate of others from a young age, but working with Sherlock and Harry was his good fortune as well.”

Sirius observed this scene from the side with some amusement.

Compared to his steady, gracious, and humble son Cedric, Mr. Diggory really did seem rather petty—he couldn’t even bear to hear other children praised.

But it was human nature, after all.

Parents everywhere were the same.

”Now, I must announce something else.”

Once the cheers in the hall had died down, Dumbledore slowly let the smile fade from his face. His expression grew serious, his tone heavier.

”Though the Ministry initially did not wish me to tell you this, fearing it would cause panic.

But I believe that as members of the wizarding world, you have the right to know the truth, to understand the situation we are facing.”

Fudge, seated beside him, instantly paled, as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head.

He jerked his head up, staring directly at Dumbledore, his eyes full of panic and even a trace of pleading.

He hadn’t expected Dumbledore to be so direct, leaving the Ministry no room to maneuver.

But reconsidering his own behavior before going to Little Hangleton that night, he really had no grounds to object.

Especially after Dumbledore had forcibly dragged him to the graveyard at Little Hangleton, where he’d witnessed with his own eyes he-who-must-not-be-named returning—surrounded by Death Eaters, accompanied by the serpent Nagini—Fudge had nearly wet himself in terror.

At that moment, no matter how unwilling he was to admit it, he couldn’t deny that brutal reality.

He-who-must-not-be-named had truly returned!

So even though Dumbledore was essentially publicly humiliating him at this moment, he didn’t dare interrupt. He could only sit rigidly in his chair, silently enduring it all.

All he could say was: however arrogantly he’d denied the truth before, that’s how wretchedly he now bore the consequences.

”Voldemort has returned.”

When Dumbledore spoke the name ”Voldemort,” he deliberately emphasized it.

Each syllable fell like a heavy stone upon everyone’s hearts.

The next second, a collective gasp of indrawn breath filled the hall.

It might have been an illusion, but even the temperature seemed to change.

After that wave of gasps, the hall immediately erupted in tense murmuring, buzzing like boiling water.

”Is it real? Is the headmaster joking?”

”You-Know-Who... has You-Know-Who really returned?”

”Did we hear that right? Didn’t he disappear years ago?”

Similar voices rose and fell. Nearly everyone stared at Dumbledore in horror and disbelief, their faces written with panic.

Some students’ eyes went wide, their mouths gaping.

Others bit their lips hard, faces pale.

Still others instinctively clutched at the hands of those beside them, their nails digging into the other’s skin.

But in that moment, neither the grabber nor the grabbed seemed to notice.

As if only this could ease the fear and unease in their hearts.

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