HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

Dumbledore wasted no time with preamble. He announced it plainly.

”Professor Igor Karkaroff has decided to resign as Headmaster of Durmstrang and remain at Hogwarts.”

”What?!”

The words dropped like a stone into still water.

Just as everyone had come to expect, every single thing Dumbledore had said that evening carried the force of a shock. This was no different.

For a long moment, the entire hall was struck dumb—none more so than the Durmstrang students themselves. Viktor Krum and his classmates turned as one toward the staff table where Professor Karkaroff sat, too astonished to speak.

The Headmaster of Durmstrang… resigning? Staying at Hogwarts?

What on earth did that mean?

”Sherlock,” Harry said, turning to him with bewilderment written across his face, ”what’s going on?”

Through Sirius and Lupin, they had learned something of Karkaroff’s past—that he had once been a Death Eater, and that in exchange for his freedom from Azkaban, he had betrayed many of his former comrades. Despicable as that was, it had at least served the side of good.

And only recently, Snape had declared with certainty that the moment Voldemort truly returned, Karkaroff would run—because Voldemort and the Death Eaters would never forgive him.

So, what was this?

”For him, it’s actually the sensible choice—if he ran now, he’d most likely be dead before he got anywhere.” Sherlock said it mildly. ”Setting aside his magical ability, his talent for concealment is simply catastrophic.”

At that, Harry found himself thinking back to the night before the first task, when they had spotted Karkaroff lurking about. Sherlock’s assessment, he had to admit, was hard to argue with.

”Dear Harry,” Sherlock said, the faintest smile crossing his face, ”I think you may have overlooked something. Even at the height of Voldemort’s power, Hogwarts was universally regarded as the one safe place. And Dumbledore is…”

”The only person Voldemort ever feared,” Harry said at once. ”I understand now—rather than flee, he’d rather stay at Hogwarts and shelter under Dumbledore’s protection.”

”Self-evident, my friend.”

The others around Sherlock nodded along, and the logic of Karkaroff’s choice settled over them. Survival, after all, wasn’t something to be ashamed of. If it meant keeping yourself alive, what was a headship worth?

”Still,” Ron said, frowning slightly, ”I don’t see what he’d actually do here. He’s the Headmaster of Durmstrang—wait, he’s not going to become our Deputy Headmaster, is he?”

Ginny immediately pulled a face. ”What, let a former Death Eater become our Head? Dumbledore would never agree to that!”

Sherlock and Harry exchanged a glance but said nothing.

The girl was still too young. She seemed to have forgotten that Snape—also a former Death Eater—had been teaching Potions at Hogwarts for over a decade. More than that, he was the youngest Head of House the school had ever appointed.

”He won’t,” Gemma said, shaking her head gently. ”I’d imagine he’s more likely to assist Professor Lupin, or perhaps Professor Snape…”

While they murmured among themselves, Dumbledore had resumed speaking.

”I confess I had hoped I was mistaken—but I was not. And so, in the time ahead, we will all face a period of darkness and difficulty. Every parent in this hall lived through that particular chapter of history. Some of you lost loved ones to Voldemort’s cruelty, families torn apart at the roots…”

At that, Sherlock glanced toward Neville.

He sat with his fists clenched tight in his lap, his whole body trembling.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

Neville’s parents had not been killed by Voldemort directly—but the cause led back to him all the same.

That bastard.

”…And now, I invite the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, to say a few words. Please welcome him.”

Dumbledore’s tone remained courteous, yet Sherlock could detect something that had quietly shifted—a new edge to how he regarded Fudge. The patience, the old deference, was gone.

Good. Some people never deserved that courtesy to begin with. And if a Minister proved too inconvenient, sitting in a chair he had no right to—well, the solution was simple enough. If your thinking won’t change, you move. If your attitude won’t straighten, you make way. If your ability falls short, you step aside.

After Dumbledore sat down, Fudge rose, clutching in both hands the parchment his ministry staff had prepared for him. He cleared his throat—and found his voice far rougher than he had expected. When he finally spoke, there was an almost imperceptible tremor in it.

”What… what Professor Dumbledore has just said—I am in complete agreement.”

That single sentence seemed to exhaust whatever courage he had gathered. He paused for several seconds before pressing on.

”Regarding the… the news of You-Know-Who’s return—the Ministry, following its most recent investigation, has now confirmed. it is true.”

Because of Dumbledore’s careful groundwork, the hall did not erupt as it might have done. There was still the low murmur of whispered voices, but the great majority sat in silence, watching Fudge, waiting.

Fudge noted their restraint. His grip tightened on the parchment, and he forced his voice higher, as though volume might mask his unease.

”I am aware that many of you may question the Ministry’s silence until now. But I ask you to trust that we needed time to verify the information and prevent unnecessary panic. After all, stability in the wizarding world is the foundation on which all of us stand.”

It was still very official. Very formal.

Dumbledore seized the moment to clear his throat softly and turn toward Fudge.

”Minister, I believe what people most want to know right now is the Ministry’s specific plan going forward. Confirming the facts is only the first step; the real question is how we respond.”

Fudge latched onto this like a lifeline and nodded quickly.

”Quite right, quite right—Professor Dumbledore is absolutely correct. The Ministry has already activated its security protocols. First, we will be deploying additional Auror patrols to key locations—Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries—to ensure the safety of critical areas.

Second, we will be working in coordination with the Ministries associated with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to share intelligence networks on Death Eater activity, taking every precaution before any threat can materialize.

Additionally, regarding Hogwarts students specifically, we will do everything in our power to support the school’s defensive measures—this includes supplying the most current materials on defensive magic, and seconding senior Aurors to assist in strengthening the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum.”

His delivery, once he reached this section, was noticeably smoother than before.

”I think that’s because he’s been reading from the parchment with his head down the whole time,” Hermione murmured, leaning close to Sherlock’s ear.

”Talking about ’full cooperation’—just last week the Daily Prophet was insinuating that certain distinguished figures in the wizarding world had a habit of exaggerating things. And now look how quickly the tune has changed.”

Hermione’s warm breath brushed lightly against Sherlock’s ear as she spoke.

Had it been Harry on the receiving end of such closeness from a girl, the boy would surely have felt something careening about inside his chest. Sherlock, however, merely raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze on the parchment in Fudge’s hands, replying evenly.

”His speech was revised not long before this.”

”Why couldn’t he have simply done that from the start?” Harry sighed.

He genuinely could not understand why some people had to be driven headfirst into a wall before they would accept reality.

The thought made something stir in him, and he glanced toward the Ravenclaw table—to find both Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood looking back in his direction.

He corrected himself almost immediately. Cho was looking at him. Luna, almost certainly, was looking at Sherlock.

He caught Cho’s eye briefly. Before they left tomorrow, he realized, he really ought to find a moment to speak with her properly.

”One more thing,” Fudge said, as though suddenly remembering. He straightened the bowler hat on his head, and—surprisingly—his voice carried a rare note of sincerity.

”In recognition of the outstanding performance of Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, and Cedric Diggory during the Triwizard Tournament, the Ministry has voted to increase the prize sum from one thousand Galleons to one thousand five hundred Galleons. And now—would the Hogwarts champion, Diggory, please come forward to collect the prize?”

The hall broke into a roar.

Money, it turned out, had a remarkable effect on people. And five hundred extra Galleons was no small sum.

Cedric blinked, then stood and made his way up to the front, accepting the pouch from Fudge’s hands.

With that, Fudge’s address was effectively over. The atmosphere had eased considerably from the awkwardness of his opening. He gave a bow to the hall, returned to his seat, and stole a quick sideways glance at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore acknowledged him, then rose once more. Silence fell over the hall instantly.

His gaze swept the room, his voice settling into something heavier than before.

”The Minister’s plan gives us a foundation—but we must be clear. darkness does not retreat simply because we are prepared. In the coming term, Hogwarts will comprehensively intensify its curriculum in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms, with an emphasis not merely on theory but on practical application. We will also be inviting Mr. Moody and other witches and wizards with experience combating Death Eaters to give regular specialist lectures.”

The moment he finished, an excited wave of conversation swept through the tables below. The eyes of most of the young witches and wizards lit up at once.

Professor Lupin’s Defense classes had always been vivid and genuinely useful. Now, with the addition of Mad-Eye Moody—the most formidable Auror the Ministry had ever produced—the prospect was almost too exciting to sit still with.

”Finally,” said Dumbledore, raising his goblet. The liquid inside caught the light and glowed with warmth. ”I know the days ahead will be full of challenge. But remember this. so long as we trust one another and stand together, darkness can never devour the light. Now—let us enjoy the rest of this feast.”

When the time came to leave the castle, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes made their way up to Sherlock’s dormitory. Mrs. Holmes cheerfully helped Sherlock and Harry pack their trunks, and—much to his delight—lent a hand with Ron’s as well. He had always found this the most dreaded part of the end of term.

The following morning, everyone crowded into the bustling entrance hall, waiting for the carriages that would carry them to Hogsmeade Station.

It was another beautiful, gentle summer’s day.

”My dear Apolline, you must bring Fleur and Gabrielle to stay with us this holiday,” Mrs. Holmes said, holding Madame Delacour’s hands in both of hers, reluctant to let go.

”I will, Violet,” Madame Delacour replied with a smile.

Mrs. Holmes then embraced Fleur and Gabrielle in turn, repeating the same warm invitation.

After her embrace with Mrs. Holmes, Fleur did not immediately follow her mother and sister. Instead, she turned to Sherlock and extended her hand.

”Holmes—thank you for everything you did for us. It has been a genuine pleasure getting to know all of you.”

She then went around the group—Harry, Hermione, Gemma—shaking hands with each of them and offering her thanks.

Ron, spotting this, immediately edged forward, his expression alight with barely concealed hope.

Beside him, Ginny’s brow creased.

Fleur, oblivious, noticed Ron approaching and shook his hand without hesitation, perfectly composed.

Ron’s face turned roughly the same color as his hair.

Fleur was about to leave when something seemed to occur to her, and she paused.

”By the way—may I call you Sherlock?”

When Sherlock confirmed she could, Fleur broke into a radiant smile.

”Wonderful. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again very soon. Enjoy your holiday.”

With that, she turned and hurried away across the lawn toward Madame Maxime, her silver hair rippling in the sunlight like the surface of a lake.

At the far end of the grounds, Hagrid was helping Madame Maxime harness the two great palominos. The Beauxbatons carriage was nearly ready to depart.

”So,” Ginny said, eyeing her brother’s dreamy expression with barely concealed exasperation, ”I suppose you’re never going to wash that hand again?”

She didn’t particularly enjoy mocking her own brother in public—but Ron’s behaviour was simply beyond the pale. He was still turning the hand Fleur had shaken this way and that, gazing at it like it held some kind of treasure. Had Sherlock or Harry made such a spectacle of themselves? No, they had not.

”What are you on about,” Ron said, suddenly aware of himself. He cleared his throat and changed the subject with some haste. ”I wonder how the Durmstrang lot are getting back without Karkaroff. D’you think they can even sail the ship without him?”

”Karkaroff never touched the helm,” said a low, graveled voice. ”He spent almost the entire voyage in his cabin. We did all the work.”

It was Krum. He had come to stand before the group, and his eyes went straight to Hermione.

”Could I have a word? Just the two of us?”

Everyone looked at Hermione. She, in turn, glanced at Sherlock.

She knew perfectly well that if she agreed, Sherlock wouldn’t think anything of it. But thinking of the way Fleur had been with him lately—and the fact that Gemma had now confirmed she wasn’t returning to Romania—Hermione felt a stronger resolve take hold.

She wanted to make her position unmistakably clear.

And so, with Krum’s lonely gaze fixed upon her, she shook her head.

”You can say whatever you need to say right here.”

Krum: (´;ω;`)

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