Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 318 The Second Shirt Button That Was Unbuttoned
As the name suggests, the Anti-Alohomora Charm was created specifically to counter the Alohomora Charm.

Lock-picking spells are spells used to unlock doors, windows, and other locked items; they are also known as "the thief's friend."

In the early 17th century, the home of the famous spellcaster Burragdon Burray was broken into 19 times in just two weeks by thieves using a lock-picking charm.

People's talents cannot be generalized, so he invented this spell in a state of extreme anger.

Upon hearing Sherlock's description of the Reverse Lockpicking Charm, Gemma couldn't help but feel somewhat helpless.

Did something go wrong?
That wasn't the point of what I just said, okay?

This gave her the feeling of giving a flirtatious look to a blind person.

How could a teenager, who is clearly in the middle of puberty, remain so indifferent?

Seeing that the other party was not cooperating, Gemma had no choice but to temporarily give up teasing them.

Her fingertips unconsciously twirled a strand of chestnut hair, her delicate brows furrowing slightly. She let go of her resignation and looked at Sherlock with a hint of expectation.

"I think... you should know why I contacted you, right?"

"It boils down to two things: Sirius Black and the Quidditch match that's about to begin."

Sherlock's long, slender fingers tapped out a regular rhythm on the wooden table, as if he were playing a mystery symphony unknown to anyone.

"However, it seems more likely to be the latter now."

"You really can't hide anything from me."

Gemma chuckled softly, her wand deftly twirling in her palm, drawing a streak of silver light.

In an instant, two steaming glasses of butterbeer appeared on the table, their fine foam dancing merrily.

Sherlock's gaze fell on the amber-colored liquid: "You brought back Three Brooms' Butterbeer?"

"That's it."

Gemma lightly touched the rim of the glass with her fingertip, and ripples spread across the surface of the wine: "They were made by the elves in Hogwarts kitchens to imitate the taste there. Although they are slightly different, they are still acceptable."

As she spoke, she pushed a glass of beer in front of Sherlock, a sly glint in her eyes:

"Actually, when I went to Hogsmeade before Halloween, I wanted to have a drink with you, but I just couldn't find the opportunity."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You didn't go to Hogsmeade that day."

"My dear Sherlock, I'm so flattered that you care about me so much!"

Gemma feigned surprise and covered her mouth with a laugh.

Sherlock looked at Gemma without saying a word.

Gemma: "..."

She experienced that same feeling again.

She sighed inwardly and continued, "You and Miss Hermione have been inseparable lately, so even if I were to go there, it probably wouldn't be the right time."

"Well said."

Gemma: "..."

Seeing that Sherlock was just staring at the wine glass without making a move, she said half-jokingly, "What, are you worried that I poisoned it?"

“Gemma, you seem a little different from last year.”

Sherlock noticed some of Gemma's subtle movements, his gaze sweeping across her delicate face like a precise scalpel, trying to dissect those subtle changes.

Upon hearing Sherlock's words, Gemma's gaze drifted slightly as she looked out the window at the churning clouds, her tone tinged with a sense of relief:
"Maybe it's because I'm graduating this semester and I've figured some things out."

She raised her glass, the amber liquid reflecting her smiling face.

Seeing this, Sherlock also picked up his cup and gently clinked it against hers. The crisp sound echoed in the empty classroom, making Gemma's heart flutter.

"Let's get down to business. This Saturday was supposed to be a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but things have changed."

Gemma's fingers unconsciously traced the rim of the glass, her delicate nails leaving faint marks on its surface.
"Marcus Flint came to me this morning and said that Seeker Draco Malfoy broke his leg after falling off a flying broomstick during a recent practice."

He has already submitted the application to the school, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, this Saturday's match will be between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

"Fell off a flying broomstick?" Sherlock's brow furrowed instantly, like a keen hunting dog sensing something suspicious. "Is that true?"

“I know you will question this, but it is true that Malfoy broke his leg.”

Gemma met Sherlock's sharp, hawk-like grey eyes, her tone serious:
"Since the start of this semester, the Slytherin Quidditch team has been training very hard, no less so than Gryffindor."

Just yesterday, they chose to train in inclement weather to simulate the extreme conditions of a real match, but unexpectedly, Malfoy had an accident during training.

Her voice carried a hint of regret, "Uh... when he fell from the sky, his flying broomstick, Nimbus 2001, was blown away by the wind."

Later, it crashed into that willow tree that was said to "beat people," and turned into a pile of fragments.

Sherlock nodded slightly, and his fingers began tapping the table again, the rhythm gradually increasing.

After a moment, he slowly said, "Without a doubt, this is a golden opportunity for the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"Chance?"

"Yes, the reason for the ball seeker's injury could allow them to avoid this bad weather and postpone the game."

Malfoy's poor performance in training precisely demonstrates that the Slytherin team's performance in this weather is indeed less than satisfactory.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I was going to try to stop Flint, but Malfoy is indeed in the hospital.” Gemma’s eyes were full of apology. “Although Madam Pomfrey has healed him, it also means he needs to rest for another two or three days.”

I've already seen the wreckage of the Nimbus 2001 that was damaged by the Willow of Vengeance. Even the most skilled wizard couldn't repair it..."

"Why are you apologizing?"

Before Gemma could finish speaking, Sherlock interrupted her, a warm smile playing on his lips:
"This has absolutely nothing to do with you!"

"not my business?"

"If you were speaking from the perspective of a Slytherin prefect last year, there is no need to do so this year."

You are the student council president for the entire school, not just Slytherin.

Sherlock's voice was steady and powerful, carrying an undeniable certainty:
"The Seeker was injured before the game and his broomstick was damaged. Under these circumstances, it is a perfectly legitimate reason to postpone the game."

Of course, these difficulties are entirely surmountable—as you said, Malfoy will still be able to make it to the game once he leaves the school hospital.

It wouldn't be difficult for his wealthy father to buy him a new flying broomstick.

But...why?

Neither the Slytherin team nor Malfoy himself had any need to do this.

On the contrary, Flint's approach was more reasonable.

"Sherlock, you..."

A look of surprise flashed in Gemma's sea-blue eyes, and her shoulders, which had been tense with worry, quietly relaxed.

"You can't just follow the rules when they're in your favor."

Sherlock winked at her, a hint of teasing in his smile. "My dear president, this is true for everyone."

Slytherin thought they had avoided the bad weather and had a better time to perform.

Don't forget that bad weather affects both sides of a Quidditch match simultaneously.

Their opponents will perform even better if they play on a sunny day.

The outcome remains to be seen.

As Gemma looked at the young man before her, she felt a surge of warmth in her heart.

Just a few days ago, Gemma thought Sherlock was too rational to offer emotional value to others.

Even just now, she thought Sherlock was too calm and couldn't understand the unspoken meaning behind her words.

But now, she was experiencing the benefits of Sherlock's rationality and composure.

His analysis was like sunshine dispelling the gloom, freeing her from worrying about unfounded misunderstandings.

Perhaps this is the reason why I made the change...

"But this is still unfair to the Gryffindor team, after all, they have been practicing against Slytherin for a while."

“Fairness is relative, unfairness is absolute,” Sherlock said slowly, staring into Gemma’s eyes. “I’m glad you can look at this issue from a Slytherin perspective, my friend.”

"Thank you for your compliment, dear Sherlock."

Gemma's expression also brightened as her mood improved:

"Wood, the captain of Gryffindor Quidditch, always says that this year is his last chance to win the Quidditch trophy because he is graduating this year—which is true for me as well."

Gemma naturally steered the conversation to herself through Wood, saying quietly, "After I graduate next year, my father plans to send me away from England to another country."

In that case, we probably won't be able to see each other for a very long time.

"Is this to expand the Farley family's influence in other regions?" Sherlock immediately retorted.

"I'm afraid it's difficult."

Gemma gracefully swirled the butterbeer in her hand and downed the rest in one gulp.

She then waved her wand, and the butterbeer that had been drunk disappeared, replaced by a brand new beer.

She raised her glass and gently clinked it against Sherlock's again, saying softly:

"The Farley family is not one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Pure-Blood Families; their influence is limited to England."

The reason we were able to put pressure on the Malfoy family at the start of this school year was because Lucius Malfoy's behavior last year was too outrageous; many people couldn't stand it anymore, and that's why we were able to act accordingly.

A bolt of lightning suddenly flashed past the window, gilding the outline of her profile with a silver edge.

“My father wants me to go to Greece and get involved in the magical mineral trade there, but I want to apply for an apprenticeship in the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania.”

After discussing it with my father several times, he finally agreed with my point of view.

She took a document from her bosom and placed it on the table; the raised wax seal glistened.

"Of course, this is only temporary."

Gemma leaned forward slightly, and with this movement, the silver pendant around her neck swayed gently.

The student council badge that was always neatly pinned to her collar was now faintly visible through the unbuttoned collar of her shirt.

(End of this chapter)