Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 317 The Student Council President's Forbidden Fruit Invitation

godfather.

Like Halloween, Christmas, and Easter, this term originated from religion and refers to theologians who were authoritative in formulating or expounding doctrines.

Later, it gradually transformed into giving a religious name to an infant or toddler at the time of baptism and guaranteeing that someone would take responsibility for their religious education.

However, as time went on, even this function gradually weakened.

It can be said that today, the concept of a godfather has long transcended the religious framework, becoming a profound bond that transcends blood ties, and even carries the color of a community of shared destiny.

Anyone who is chosen as the godfather of one's children is undoubtedly a true friend.

Simply put, if Sirius Black hadn't betrayed Harry and landed him in jail, he would have been Harry's undisputed legal guardian.

In some ways, his lineage even predates that of Aunt Penny and Uncle Vernon.

As Hagrid said, under such circumstances, it was only natural that he handed over the baby Harry Potter to Black on that night twelve years ago.

Absolutely no one would blame him for this.

Yet, this very person betrayed the friend who trusted him most.

Not only did he cause their deaths at the hands of Voldemort, but even after escaping from prison twelve years later, he still has no intention of letting their children go.

It’s simply heartbreaking!

Harry looked at Sherlock, his gratitude evident in his eyes.

It was because Sherlock was there that he was able to know about this before the start of the school year, and thus be mentally prepared to some extent.

If this is the first time you've heard this news...

Harry instinctively shivered.

Just thinking about it made him feel unable to accept it.

"Sherlock, I..."

"No need for thanks, my dear Harry."

Seeing Harry's reddened eyes, Sherlock directly revealed his friend's worries.

This made Harry even more embarrassed.

Sherlock smiled slightly at this moment, "My suggestion is that you take out the birthday present Hagrid gave you when you were in your first year."

Harry's eyes lit up when he heard Sherlock's words.

He immediately went to his bedside table, pushed aside the books, and found the photo album.

He had looked at this photo album many times, but he had never paid attention to anyone other than his parents.

This time, he specifically sought out the photo of his parents' wedding.

His father waved to him with a beaming smile, his disheveled black hair standing on end.

The mother, with her red hair, looked radiant as she happily walked hand in hand with the father.

as well as……

Sirius Black, standing beside his father as best man.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

He had seen photos of Sirius Black more than once.

When he saw the wanted poster in the newspaper, he had already keenly discerned the handsome nature of the man beneath his sallow, sunken surface.

But at that moment, he had no way of connecting the person in the photo with the fugitive on the wanted poster.

Harry's father, James Potter, was six feet tall.

Blake was actually slightly taller than James.

A head of elegant and beautiful black hair hung down in front of her eyes. Neither James's nor Harry's hair had ever been as elegant.

His grey eyes, just like Sherlock's, were striking, possessing the same sharpness as Sherlock's, but with an added touch of arrogance.

Judging from this photo alone, he exudes a free and unrestrained temperament, which makes him look exceptionally handsome.

If he hadn't known it was the same person, he would never have guessed that the person in that old photograph was Blake.

It's no exaggeration to say that he looks even better now than Gilderoy Lockhart and a young Tom Riddle.

At that moment, Harry was certain that Sirius Black was the most handsome man he had ever seen, even surpassing Lily, who was a woman.

The eyes of all three people in this photo are shining.

Harry looked at the handsome, smiling Sirius Black, and his thoughts drifted.

Was this person already working for Voldemort when this photo was taken?

Is he already plotting the death of his best friend and his wife?
Did he realize that his actions would lead to a full twelve years in prison, and that this disaster would completely change him?

Just as Harry was lost in thought, Sherlock placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Dear Harry, I suggest you don’t need to think about it so much.”

Harry turned around and looked at Sherlock.

The green and gray eyes met, and Harry understood Sherlock's meaning.

Before going to the headmaster's office to find Dumbledore, Harry was still having a headache over the teachers making excuses to accompany him through the corridors and Percy's constant following of him.

But after learning the whole story, he understood what these people were doing.

After spending three years with Sherlock, Harry has completely developed a brain.

Sirius Black.

He was his father's best friend and his godfather in name only.

His betrayal led to his parents being brutally murdered by Voldemort, leaving him an orphan.

Twelve years later, he still wouldn't let him go, escaping from Azkaban and traveling thousands of miles to hunt him down.

Harry had personally experienced the power of Dementors; the fear and despair he felt almost rendered him incapable of resisting.

But Blake managed to escape right under their noses.

When dealing with someone like that, you can never be too careful.

Not to mention that Black had already visited Hogwarts Castle once.

To Harry's own surprise, even when facing one of the most ruthless and perverse criminals in the history of the wizarding world, he felt little fear. He pondered this and concluded that Sherlock had given him his strength.

Perhaps it's path dependence or habit, but Harry always felt that Sherlock would definitely find a clue and catch Black soon!

The belief I formed in first grade has not faded with time; on the contrary, it has become even stronger.

As long as I follow Sherlock, I'm not afraid of anything!
Harry then put the matter out of his mind and focused all his attention on Quidditch training.

Just like last year, the weather has been getting worse and worse since winter began.

However, the brave and fearless Gryffindor team persevered through wind and rain, training even harder.

Ms. Hodge was always present during Gryffindor team practice sessions.

The official explanation was to supervise team training, but the real reason was to protect Harry.

Besides Ms. Hodge, even Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor, would occasionally appear at the Quidditch pitch.

In her own words, "For God's sake, I'd love to see us win the trophy in the end."

However, she also forbade Harry from joining Sherlock for morning exercises.

The reason is simple: in the early morning, Harry would only have Sherlock and Neville by his side on the playground, which would be very obvious—and she couldn't possibly be with him all the time.

As a result, once again, only Neville Longbottom was left beside Sherlock.

Under Sherlock's guidance, Neville progressed rapidly, and his talent in swordsmanship gradually became apparent.

"I feel like Harry will run into trouble every semester."

After another day of morning training, Neville said weakly, "It was the same last year. He would always go off to do other things while he was training."

"This was to be expected. The savior of the magical world, the boy who survived a great calamity, the nemesis of the Dark Lord... his special identity keeps him constantly in the vortex."

Sherlock chuckled and handed the long, straight stick to Neville. "My dear Neville, could you please take this back for me?"

“Of course, that’s no problem,” Neville said, taking the stick and asking with some curiosity, “But Sherlock, aren’t you going back to your dorm?”

"Someone is looking for me."

Following Sherlock's gaze, Neville was surprised to see Gemma Farley, the former Slytherin prefect, now the head of the student council, and a seventh-year witch, walking towards Sherlock's direction.

She was beautiful, with a figure as graceful as a white swan. The silver badge on her chest shimmered in the light and shadow, attracting the attention of many young wizards nearby.

"Chairman Fali!"

When Neville saw Gemma, he could barely speak.

"Hello, Mr. Longbottom."

When Gemma saw Sherlock, her sea-blue eyes turned into moons.

Neville, who was wielding two long sticks, couldn't help but find it amusing: "Sherlock, you guys went for your morning exercise again?"

"It's obvious."

Gemma tilted her head slightly and looked out of the castle through the high window of the corridor.

Lead-gray clouds were churning and pressing down on the spire, and damp winds were whipping fallen leaves against the windowpanes, making a rustling sound.

"The weather is not good today. I think it's going to pour rain again soon."

"This area is a transitional climate between temperate oceanic and mountainous regions, and this season is characterized by frequent overcast skies, rain, and strong winds."

"Are you showing off to me? If I weren't still studying this course as a Muggle, I really wouldn't know what you're talking about!"

"That's common sense, my friend."

“I don’t think that’s common sense, dear Sherlock.”

Gemma winked playfully, a teasing smile playing on her lips:

"I bet you that less than a third of people can accurately describe the climate characteristics of their own region."

Neville stood to the side, watching Sherlock and Gemma chat about the weather, and suddenly felt that he shouldn't be there.

His eyes darted nervously between the two men. "Um, Sherlock, Chairman Farley, you two talk first, I have to go!"

“Good luck, Mr. Longbottom,” Gemma said gently.

No sooner had he finished speaking than Neville stumbled.

He scrambled to steady himself, his round face flushed red, and disappeared around the corner in a flash.

This female student council president is not only beautiful, but also has a unique temperament.

I feel immense pressure just standing next to her, so I'd better leave this to Sherlock!
Gemma looked around, and the little wizards who were secretly watching hurriedly looked away.

She frowned slightly, a hint of displeasure flashing in her eyes.

"Let's go, let's talk somewhere else."

"Still that classroom on the fourth floor?"

Gemma paused for a moment, then laughed. "Okay, it'll be the same place this time. Next time... I'll give you a gift."

"what gift?"

“We’ll talk about it next time.” Gemma winked mischievously, turned around, and started walking.

The two walked up the spiral staircase, the portraits on the wall watching them curiously.

Once again, they arrived at the classroom on the fourth floor and promptly closed the door.

Her wand slithered out from beneath her robes like a serpent, tracing an elegant arc in the air: "Open the Anti-Alahor!"

The door lock, which had already been closed, made a crisp "click".

"A reverse unlocking spell?"

Sherlock leaned against a desk, his expression calm, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, revealing a hint of inquiry.

"exactly."

Gemma withdrew her wand, gracefully flicked her skirt, and gestured for Sherlock to sit down.

After Sherlock and she were both seated, a helpless yet teasing smile appeared on her lips:
“Penelope told me that last year, Harry happened to see her kissing Weasley in an empty classroom.”

At this point, Gemma paused, her sea-blue eyes fixed on Sherlock's grey eyes:

"I don't want to end up like her, being seen by other people."

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(End of this chapter)