Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 397 Snape's Coercion and Enticement

Harry felt he had been so busy lately that he was practically running around on his feet.

The crackling flames in the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room made his dark circles under his eyes even more noticeable.

For the sake of the Quidditch match, he had to suspend his morning training with Sherlock yet again—he had almost forgotten how many times this had happened.

He irritably ran his fingers through his messy black hair; it wasn't that he wanted to be lazy.

It was because he felt that his energy was like the potion in Simo's cauldron, unknowingly leaking out completely from the burned-through bottom.

There are only seven days in a week, and now he spends five nights on the Quidditch pitch, the wooden handle of the broom always leaving light red marks on his palms.

One night, I had to practice the Patronus Charm with Professor Lupin, and the silvery mist kept flickering at the tip of my wand.

On the last night, I still had to fight against a mountain of homework, and the ink had formed dark scabs on my fingertips.

It's no wonder you're exhausted in this situation.

Neville, who always maintained perfect attendance, expressed his understanding towards Harry and even offered him words of comfort:

"It's okay, you can do morning exercises with us after this game is over."

That's why Harry was so puzzled.

Even though he was already in this state, Hermione seemed even busier than him.

After a period of time since school started, it seems that the relaxed mood she had during the holidays has finally run out.

Every night she seemed glued to the armchair in the Gryffindor common room, the table in front of her covered with all sorts of things:

The "Advanced Arithmetic Divination Tutorial" lay open on the astrological charts, a quill pen was tucked between the pages of an ancient rune dictionary, and next to the diagrams of Muggle Studies were piles of parchment rolled into tubes, covered with dense notes, the writing as small as ants lining up.

Her fingers remained hovering above the parchment, and she was in a state of extreme agitation, barely paying attention to anyone except for the occasional whispered conversation with Sherlock.

Harry’s shoulders slumped involuntarily as he looked away.

He really couldn't understand why Hermione had driven herself to this point, but he was now in a precarious situation himself.

The parchment for the paper Professor Snape assigned, "On the Twelve Disguise Forms of Undetectable Agents," was already frayed at the edges by him.

Although Harry was grateful to Professor Snape for providing him with chocolates during the public trial, this did nothing to lessen his disgust for the paper.

Incidentally, shortly after the start of the school year, Rita Skeeter, the journalist who published the article "Potion Master May Engage in a Godfather Battle with Returning Heroes," actually published an apology in the Daily Prophet.

She claimed that many of her views in that previous article were subjective conjectures and lacked solid evidence.

In fact, the Potions Master Severus Snape and the miraculously alive Harry Potter had a normal teacher-student relationship, and there was no competition between him and the triumphant hero Sirius Black.

Please forgive any misunderstandings this may have caused.

The friends all speculated that Snape might have gone to coerce or entice Rita Skeeter.

Otherwise, why would she go back on her word and contradict herself?
A classmate named Euryrain even boldly proposed a hypothesis—it was definitely Snape who went to poison her!

As for Sherlock, he simply smiled and remained silent.

"How exactly did she do that?"

Noticing Harry's gaze, Ron couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "I really don't understand how she manages to attend all her classes?"

At this moment, Hermione's face was almost completely obscured by a large pile of rickety books.

The hard cover of "Seeing the Future Through the Fog" was draped diagonally over "How Muggles Invented the Light Bulb," with a few strands of brown curls peeking out from between the pages.

Her cheeks were flushed an unnatural red, and the dark circles under her eyes were even more pronounced than Harry's.

In contrast, Sherlock, sitting next to her, was fiddling with the model of the galaxy they had bought together in Diagon Alley, and after a while he would take out a flat bottle from his pocket and take a small sip.

One was radiant, the other grew increasingly haggard.

The fact that the two were sitting together created a stark contrast.

Ron continued to lower his voice:

"Just this morning, I heard her talking to Professor Victor—the witch who teaches you arithmetic and divination."

They were talking about yesterday's class, but Hermione couldn't possibly have gone to class.

You know, she was with us in Haig's magical animal conservation class at the time!
Also, Ernie McMillan told me that Hermione never missed a single Muggle Studies class.

But half of them conflicted with the divination class time, and amazingly, she was with us in every single one of her divination classes!

Harry's quill drew a crooked line on the parchment.

He didn't have time to think about Hermione's incomprehensible schedule right now; Professor Snape's dissertation deadline was fast approaching, and he really needed to finish it as soon as possible.

So he offered a direct suggestion: "Why don't you just ask Sherlock? He definitely knows the answer!"

"You think I didn't ask?"

Ron said irritably.

He had just gone over to Sherlock and Hermione, but before he could even get started, Hermione verbally abused him and chased him away.

This made him very depressed.

Hermione wasn't like she used to be, so why is she suddenly acting like this again?

"If that's the case, she must have some secret." Harry put down his quill and rubbed his aching wrist.

“But we’re friends!” Ron said, sounding aggrieved. “She shouldn’t have kept it from us.”

“Everyone at Hogwarts has secrets, my friend,” Harry sighed. “If she doesn’t want to talk about it, then let’s just leave it at that.”

Ron's eyes widened suddenly: "You're mimicking Sherlock again!"

Harry raised an eyebrow: "I didn't."

"You have!"

"I don't!"

"You have!"

"Please, my dear Ron," Harry pulled the parchment closer, the ink spreading into a small smudge on the paper, "I still have homework to do, so please don't talk to me for now, okay?"

"Fine, fine, so you're starting to dislike me like Hermione does now? Fine, I'll leave, I'll leave, okay?"

Harry:

January slipped away quietly, and February arrived with the same biting cold wind.

The snow outside the castle was frozen solid like a slab of stone, and icicles hanging from the eaves like crystal spears reflected the pale sunlight.

The cold wind howled through the cracks in the corridor's stone walls, sounding like countless invisible hands pounding on the windows.

As the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw drew closer, the atmosphere in the castle seemed to be affected by the weather, growing increasingly tense.

The Weasley twins pulled a fast one: the countdown parchment for the match on the Gryffindor common room bulletin board was fixed in place by a spell, and the numbers would automatically update every morning.

Harry devoted most of his energy to Quidditch training, his sweat soaking through his uniform and quickly freezing into tiny ice crystals in the cold wind.

Perhaps due to this shift in focus, his training in resisting Dementors became increasingly difficult. In the following lessons, he fainted twice more when Dementors, transformed from Boggart, drifted towards him with a putrid aura.

Harry was angry with himself. Even though Sherlock had already said those things, he still secretly longed to hear his parents' voices again.

Later, after much painful reflection, he made up his mind and prevented such a thing from happening again.

Even so, the practice results were not satisfactory.

Because whenever the Dementor that Boggart transformed into approached him, he could only conjure a blurry, silvery-white shadow—let's call it a guardian spirit for now—no matter how hard he tried.

But this guardian deity was far too weak to drive away the Dementors.

It simply hung there like a semi-transparent cloud.

Harry had already exhausted all his energy just to prevent it from disappearing.

Yet it still hangs there like a semi-transparent cloud, its edges constantly dissipating and reforming.

"You have too high expectations of yourself!"

During the fourth week of training, Professor Lupin put away his wand and said solemnly.

"For a thirteen-year-old wizard, having a vague guardian deity is already a remarkable achievement."

Besides, you're not fainting anymore, are you?

“I thought the Patronus would chase the Dementors away or something,” Harry said dejectedly, “like you did on the train.”

“A true guardian angel can indeed do that,” Lupin said, “but you can’t do that right now.”

Perhaps sensing he had been a bit too serious, Lupin softened his tone and spoke as gently as possible:

“Harry, I’m not trying to comfort you, but for two thirteen-year-old wizards, this is really remarkable.”

“I’m fourteen,” Sherlock interjected.

His birthday is in January, while Harry's is in July.

"...Even at fourteen, it's still remarkable."

Lupin paused for a moment, then smiled and shook his head, his tone tinged with helplessness, "You have made great progress in a very short time."

He paused, cleared his throat, as if organizing his thoughts:

"It seems you still don't fully understand the difficulty of the Guardian Spell, so I'll say it again."

The Defense Against the Dark Arts course, which you took in fifth grade, didn't include this spell at all.

Anyone who manages to unleash this skill will undoubtedly receive a substantial bonus—even if it's just a vague and unclear guardian deity.

Even for most adult wizards, the ability to summon an unseen guardian spirit is considered a sign of great magical power.

Even at Hogwarts, only the Headmaster and the four Headmasters have been able to successfully summon a complete Patronus…

“And you, Professor,” Harry said immediately.

"Compared to other professors, I am not worth mentioning at all."

Lupin waved his hand, speaking humbly.

Compared to Harry's vague Patronus, Sherlock's Patronus is much clearer.

At least you can make out the outline of a lion, with its silver mane swaying slightly in the air.

However, the situation became somewhat complicated because Sherlock practiced by using Harry's fear of Dementors.

As soon as the Guardian Charm is cast, Boggart transforms into Sherlock Holmes, who is paralyzed from the waist down, drooling in a wheelchair with vacant eyes.

Then, by unleashing the "Funny Funny" technique specifically designed to deal with Boggarts, the paralyzed Sherlock will transform back into a spirited Sherlock.

Therefore, he didn't know whether the guardian he summoned could dispel the Dementors.

"Even if you can't dispel them, you can at least temporarily control them with your current level of expertise."

Professor Lupin said, "I have complete confidence in you."

Seeing that Professor Lupin didn't seem to be comforting him, and after glancing at Sherlock and receiving a reassuring look from him, Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief, and his tense shoulders relaxed a bit.

"Alright, I noticed you haven't been to Hogsmeade this month, so I brought you some good stuff from your three brooms..."

As he spoke, he took three amber-colored bottles out of his briefcase.

"Great, it's butterbeer!"

Without hesitation, Harry exclaimed, "I like this!"

Sherlock tilted his head. "I still prefer brandy."

"Brandy is too strong, this is more suitable for us."

Lupin handed the butterbeer to the two men and then raised his glass:

"Alright—let's wish Gryffindor a victory over Ravenclaw!"

After saying that, he suddenly realized his mistake and quickly added:
"Uh... as a teacher I shouldn't be biased, so I wish Gryffindor and Ravenclaw all the best!"

Although Sherlock says he prefers brandy, butterbeer is indeed quite good.

The three chatted and drank beer. After they finished their drinks, Professor Lu Ping stood up.

"Alright, that's enough for today... Harry, I'm afraid you'll have to go back to your dorm alone today."

Harry looked up, somewhat surprised. "Why?"

"Albus told me to bring Sherlock to him after today's training."

"Dumbledore wants to see Sherlock?" Harry's eyes widened, his voice filled with surprise. "Why?"

“I don’t know either,” Lu Ping shook his head and spread his hands to indicate that he was unaware of the situation. “He didn’t tell me the specific reason.”

Harry glanced nervously at Sherlock, who smiled slightly at him with a calm expression.

“It’s alright, my friend. I think I know why Dumbledore wanted to see me.”

"why?"

Harry asked the same question for the third time.

Even Professor Lupin looked at Sherlock with curiosity, a hint of inquiry flashing in his eyes.

He was also curious about why the principal had suddenly summoned the boy.

He wasn't lying; Dumbledore had simply instructed him to bring Sherlock to the headmaster's office after today's training session, without explaining why.

But then Sherlock says he already knows?

“Do you remember what I told you on the train at the end of second year, my dear Harry?”

Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "The matter that was delayed because of the prisoners of Azkaban is finally about to begin!"

(End of this chapter)