HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

When Sherlock finally left Compartment, evening had already fallen.

Returning to their own compartment, they were startled to find Lavender Brown already there.

Sherlock’s expression was, as ever, unchanged.

Harry and Ginny were briefly caught off guard before it registered.

Really, it wasn’t unexpected at all.

If anything, the fact that Lavender hadn’t glued herself to Ron the instant they’d boarded—that she’d waited until the three of them had left before making her move, already counted as remarkable restraint on her part.

The moment the three of them returned, Ron eagerly asked what had happened.

Naturally, it fell to Harry, gifted as he was at summarizing and retelling, to answer.

Everyone listened with great interest as he did.

”So, the Potions professor this year is Professor Slughorn?”

Luna, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke up.

”Obviously, my friend.”

”And Snape... is really going to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

”Ron, you sound less than thrilled.”

”Hey, Harry, don’t act like you’re overjoyed either—honestly, I was hoping that curse on the position hadn’t been lifted yet, so he’d only last a year before he was gone for good.”

”Never mind that for now—Harry, Ron, since Potions has a new teacher, doesn’t that mean the two of you can take Potions again?”

”I suppose so... I’m not really sure.”

”Have a little confidence, my friend. Why else do you think Professor Dumbledore sweet-talked that professor out of retirement?”

Before long, that same voice came over the train again, warning them they’d soon be arriving, and telling the young witches and wizards to change into their school robes.

Everyone began packing up and changing.

By the time the train pulled into Hogwarts station, Hagrid had already led the first-years off to cross the Black Lake by boat.

The second-years and above climbed into the carriages drawn by thestrals.

Only this time, the carriage seating had shifted somewhat.

Sherlock, Harry, Hermione, Cho Chang, Luna, and Ginny shared one carriage.

Ron, now that he had a girlfriend, was no longer content to play third wheel to his two friends, and went off to ride with Lavender Brown instead.

”Sherlock, was Dumbledore really bringing in Professor Slughorn just so Harry could take Potions?” Hermione finally couldn’t hold the question in any longer, once they were underway.

Harry, Cho, Luna, and Ginny all turned to look at Sherlock at that.

”That’s the most important reason,” Sherlock said.

”Meaning there are other reasons too?” Ginny pressed.

Sherlock nodded.

”For one thing, we already know Professor Lupin still hasn’t come back.

”So Defence Against the Dark Arts genuinely needs a professor of real weight behind it.

Things aren’t what they were. Professor Karkaroff alone can’t carry the weight of that subject.”

”Isn’t Mad Eye Moody weighty enough?” Cho asked, curious. ”His style’s different from Professor Lupin’s, sure, but he’s still one of the very best teachers we’ve had.”

”Because of Voldemort, Moody can’t devote all his energy to teaching.”

Sherlock glanced at Ginny, who had visibly shuddered, and went on:

”Judging by how the new Minister for Magic has been acting, the ties between the Ministry and Hogwarts are only going to tighten further.

”Even if Mad Eye Moody stays on as a Hogwarts professor, that will only be one of his duties among several.”

”So you’re saying, if Harry had earned an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L., Dumbledore still would have brought in Slughorn?” Hermione asked again.

”That’s right—though in that case, Slughorn would more likely have ended up teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, not Snape.”

”Then Professor Snape has finally gotten what he wanted.”

Hermione sighed, glancing at Harry with something like regret.

With the times being what they were, making Harry wear a mask to class would have been rather out of place.

Chatting the whole way, the carriage soon arrived at Hogwarts Castle.

As in years past, once Hagrid had handed the new students over to Professor McGonagall, she took charge of the Sorting Ceremony.

The Sorting Hat sang its song again—much the same as the previous year, urging everyone to stand united against a common enemy.

Moody and Umbridge, the two teachers the Ministry had sent last year, were still at the staff table.

Once the Sorting was finished, Dumbledore, as always, announced that everyone should eat and drink their fill.

When Harry reached across Ron for two chicken legs and a handful of chips, Neville decisively lent him a hand.

”Here, Harry!”

”Thanks, Neville.”

Neville hesitated a moment looking at Harry, then finally spoke, somewhat helplessly.

”You know, Harry, while I was patrolling the train just now, so many people kept grilling me about whether you’re really the Chosen One—”

”Yeah, our prefect Longbottom’s been run unkempt,” said the other prefect, Parvati, with a sigh of her own.

”Hermione, I think your next book should be all about that topic—it’d sell like hotcakes.”

”And it’s not just you two—even the ghosts have been talking about it.”

Nearly Headless Nick, overhearing their conversation, drifted his head over to listen in.

As that head, hanging on by no more than a scrap of skin, passed straight through Neville’s body on its way toward Sherlock and Harry, Neville’s face went utterly horrified.

Why is it always me?

Nick, however, hadn’t noticed this at all nor had he noticed his own head wobbling precariously on its ruff.

”Among the ghosts, I’ve more or less become the authority on Potter matters, since everyone knows how close he and I are,”

he said, looking terribly pleased with himself.

”But I’ve assured the other ghosts that I would never pester him for details.

”Harry Potter knows he can trust me absolutely, that he can confide in me completely.

”I told them, ’I would sooner die than betray his trust.’”

”That doesn’t really prove anything,” Ron pointed out bluntly, ”seeing as you’re already dead.”

After a moment’s silence, Nearly Headless Nick said, sounding rather wounded.

”Why—why must you always wound people with your words, like a blunt axe?”

”Spend enough time around Sherlock and you’ll end up the same way,” Ron said, shrugging.

At that, Nick gave Sherlock one long look, then swiftly rose and drifted away before Sherlock could say a word, floating off toward the far end of the Gryffindor table.

”Sherlock, it looks like it’s actually afraid of you.”

Hermione said thoughtfully.

Just then, Dumbledore rose from behind the staff table, and the laughter and chatter echoing through the Hall died down almost at once.

”Good evening, everyone.”

He smiled warmly, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the whole Hall.

”Welcome, new students; welcome back, returning students! A new year of magical education awaits you...”

Dumbledore’s speech was much the same as in years past—the reminder not to enter the Forbidden Forest, and that anyone wishing to try out for their House Quidditch team could sign up—all standard fare.

The one real difference was that Lee Jordan, who had done the Quidditch commentary in years past, had now graduated, so the school was on the lookout for someone new; interested students could put their names down with their Head of House.

There was also caretaker Filch’s usual reminder—that students were strictly forbidden from bringing in any joke products purchased from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

”See that? Your brothers have quite the reputation now,” Hermione said, smiling at Ron and Ginny. ”They’ve already graduated, and Dumbledore still makes a point of bringing them up at the start-of-term feast.”

”Yeah, yeah, famous as they are, and they still won’t let their own little brother take anything from the shop for free,” Ron said sourly.

Ginny, stroking the Pygmy Puff in her hands, shot Ron a look. ”If they ever did agree, you’d empty the whole shop.”

The little group all burst out laughing.

Dumbledore then finally began introducing the new teacher.

”This year, we are delighted to welcome a new member of staff, Professor Slughorn!”

Hearing his name called, Slughorn rose to his feet.

His bald head gleamed in the candlelight, and his broad, waistcoated stomach cast a wide shadow across the table.

”He is a former colleague of mine, and I am delighted to say that Professor Slughorn has agreed to take up his old post once again, teaching Potions.”

”Potions?”

”Potions?”

The word echoed through the entire Hall—everyone, save a few, was certain they must have misheard.

At the staff table, Umbridge watched Professor Slughorn with a look of naked envy.

Clearly, compared to how she herself had been introduced the previous year, Dumbledore’s introduction of Professor Slughorn was far weightier, far more respectful.

What subject Slughorn would actually be teaching, by contrast, seemed almost an afterthought to him.

”At the same time, our former Potions teacher, Professor Snape, will be joining Professors Moody, Karkaroff, and Umbridge in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

The entire Hall went utterly still, every head was turning at once toward the staff table.

Snape sat to Dumbledore’s right; on hearing his name, he didn’t rise, only lazily lifted one hand.

The gesture was his acknowledgment of the cheers rising from the Slytherin table.

Of course, there was no ranking one subject above the other between Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions but for Snape personally, this reassignment was, without question, exactly what he’d hoped for.

Sherlock caught it keenly—the flicker of pleasure that crossed Snape’s face, there and gone in an instant.

But the moment Snape noticed Sherlock watching him, his expression stiffened at once, snapping back into its usual blank mask.

Sherlock smiled faintly. ”Interesting.”

Meanwhile, the Hall had already returned to its earlier buzz of noise.

After all, everyone except the first-years knew perfectly well that Snape had been angling for this position all along.

Now that he’d finally gotten it, the whispers were inevitable.

Dumbledore seemed not to register just how much of a stir the announcement had caused.

He said nothing more about the staff appointments, waiting several seconds instead to let the Hall settle into complete silence before he went on.

”Everyone in this Hall knows that Voldemort and his followers are, once again, stirring up trouble, their strength only growing.”

As Dumbledore spoke, a tense, anxious silence gripped the Hall.

This was especially true the moment he uttered the name ”Voldemort.”

No matter how many times it happened, whenever that name was spoken aloud in public, there was always a collective, sharp intake of breath.

”I must stress, above all, that the present situation is extremely dangerous.

”Every one of us here at Hogwarts must be exceptionally careful in order to ensure our own safety.

”The castle’s magical defences were reinforced over the summer; we now have new and more effective protections in place.

”But every student and teacher must still remain constantly vigilant, without the slightest room for carelessness.

”For that reason, I ask that you strictly follow every safety rule your teachers set down, however tiresome those rules might seem.

”In particular, please observe the rule against leaving your dormitories after lights-out.

”I implore you whether within the castle or outside it—to report anything unusual or suspicious to a member of staff at once.

”I trust that, for the sake of your own safety and that of others, you will hold yourselves to this standard.

”In the near future, the Ministry will also be introducing a series of new policies, further deepening its ties with Hogwarts—”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes swept over all the students, and then his face broke once more into a smile.

”Well then—your beds await you, as warm and comfortable as you could hope for.

I know your most pressing task right now is to get a good night’s rest and be ready for lessons tomorrow.

So, let us say ’good night.’

”Nitwit!”

”What’s a nitwit?”

Some first-year couldn’t help but ask.

”That’s not something you need to worry about—hurry along and follow your prefects back to your House common rooms!”

As always, benches scraped back with a harsh screech, and several hundred students filed out of the Great Hall, streaming toward their dormitories.

As Gryffindor’s prefects, Neville and Parvati had already grown far more practiced at their duties than they had been the year before.

Neville especially without needing anyone to remind him, he’d already gone off to look after the first-years, fulfilling his prefect’s duties without being asked.

”Sherlock, aren’t you coming?”

Noticing that Sherlock was still seated, showing no sign of leaving, Harry asked, curious.

”Hagrid wants to see me about something.” Sherlock gestured toward the staff table.

Harry looked over toward the staff table and, sure enough, spotted Hagrid waving vigorously at Sherlock. Harry gave Hagrid a smile in return which meant, of course, that he’d be staying behind too.

Ron had long since been dragged off by Lavender. Once Hermione learned what was going on, she decided to stay behind as well.

Sure enough, once the crowd of students filing out of the Hall had thinned to nothing, Hagrid strode over with his great heavy footsteps:

”Hey, you three—I just knew you’d be able to read my signal!”

Watching his enormous, fan-sized hand come swinging down toward her, Hermione jumped and quickly ducked behind Sherlock.

As a result, his hands landed instead on Sherlock’s and Harry’s shoulders, one on each, and both of them staggered under the weight.

”You know what, Grawp’s got himself a new home up in the mountains—Dumbledore arranged it.

”It’s a lovely big cave, and he’s a lot happier there now than he ever was stuck in the Forbidden Forest!”

Watching Hagrid beam with delight, Sherlock took it more or less in stride, but Harry and Hermione couldn’t help exchanging a look.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it what Hagrid brought up next was far more mortifying.

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