Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 435 Gemma's Kiss
Gemma took out a pair of scissors from her robe, her fair fingers tightening slightly around the metal handle.

With a flash of cold light, a lock of Sherlock's hair was precisely cut off.

They moved swiftly and without the slightest hesitation.

Gemma's movements as she retrieved Sherlock's hair were extremely light and quick, with barely any extra sound as the scissors opened and closed.

It was as if they were afraid that if they delayed even slightly, Sherlock would change his mind.

As for the moment it was cut, it was so light that it was almost imperceptible.

As for Sherlock, he only noticed a very faint sound in his ear, like the sound of hair separating as if a butterfly were flapping its wings.

The whole process took only a few seconds.

After obtaining a small strand of Sherlock's hair, Gemma quickly withdrew her hand, clutching the strand of black hair tightly in her palm, almost embedding it between her fingers.

Her knuckles turned pale from the force she exerted, and there was a hint of tension hidden in her movements.

It was as if what I was holding in my hand was not an ordinary strand of hair, but a fleeting glimpse of precious white moonlight.

In fact, that's exactly what Sherlock's hair represents for Gemma.

The custom of gifting hair locks was prevalent in Europe from the Middle Ages to the 19th century.

People would cut off their own hair and weave it with their lover's hair to make rings, brooches, bracelets, and other ornaments, which they would then give to their partner as tokens of love.

The hair taken from the other person symbolizes life and loyalty.

These private and unique items carry the deep affection of giving a part of oneself to the other person.

Victorian lovers often used this as a way to commemorate their relationship.

Even when separated, they can still feel their bond through this personal item.

"Okay."

Gemma's voice was a little steadyer than before, but it still carried a very faint tremor.

Sherlock turned around and slowly opened his eyes.

Gemma then raised her hand from the other side and, just as decisively, cut off a lock of her chestnut-colored hair.

His gaze naturally fell on her clasped hands.

One strand was a familiar strand of his own hair, glossy with an inky black sheen.

The other strand was a soft chestnut color, like autumn leaves falling, belonging to Gemma Farley.

At this moment, Gemma carefully gathered them together in her palm, her fingertips gently caressing the ends of the hair, as if holding an invisible yet heavy vow.

A hint of inquiry flashed across Sherlock's eyes.

Even though he had just closed his eyes, his keen senses still clearly captured Gemma's action of taking his hair away.

Sherlock did not stop her; his first thought was that Gemma wanted to take his hair to make Polyjuice Potion.

But judging from her expression at this moment, that was clearly not the case.

Gemma didn't explain, she just gave Sherlock a slight smile.

The curve of her lips held a hint of mischief, like a carefully planned little trick that had finally succeeded, but her eyes shone with a light that only she herself could understand.

Then, with a deft flick of her wrist, the wand was suddenly in her hand.

As she whispered a short incantation, two completely different yet equally resilient strands of hair suddenly intertwined on their own.

They are intertwined as if they were alive, their two different lusters complementing each other and indistinguishable.

In the blink of an eye, an exquisite ring quietly took shape in her palm.

From Sherlock's perspective, the ring appears to be woven from transparent silk threads, gleaming with a faint silver sheen.

Two strands of his and Gemma's hair were cleverly embedded in the center, giving them a simple, even handcrafted look.

However, in Gemma's eyes, this simple ring weighed a ton, carrying the unspoken thoughts in her heart.

After doing all that, Gemma almost immediately stuffed the ring into her pocket.

The movements were so quick it was as if they were dodging something—afraid that Sherlock would see the details, and even more afraid that he would ask questions.

“Alright!” she said in a light tone. “This is a little amulet; I hope it will bring me some good luck.”

Gemma deliberately avoided the word "token" and made no mention of the ancient meanings of hair as representing life, loyalty, and connection.

Based on her understanding of Sherlock, Gemma was certain that Sherlock might not be aware of this implication.

Of course, Gemma was also well aware that with Sherlock's keen insight, he could guess something from her actions.

After all, hair has a very special meaning, and her actions just now were so obvious.

Even so, she chose to keep her true feelings to herself.

I'm just burying my head in the sand!
She won't tell you unless Sherlock asks.

If Sherlock asked, she would just give him a nonsensical answer.

Although I have come to understand my own heart, this is the limit I have reached.

Compared to Gemma, who looked guilty, Sherlock's gaze slid over her fingers clutching her pocket before finally settling on her eyes.

Despite Gemma's best efforts to conceal it, he still caught a glimpse of the blush that hadn't completely faded from the girl's cheeks, like the rosy glow of candlelight.

And there's that glimmer of blue water in the depths of his eyes, like the surface of a lake moistened by morning dew.

Just as Gemma suspected, Sherlock was indeed unaware of the custom of giving hair locks as gifts.

But he was still keenly aware of the abnormality behind this behavior.

The scene of Gemma giving him that Galleon was still vivid in his mind.

This practice of picking up, making, and taking away gifts on the spot is completely different from her previous gift-giving style.

A deduction quickly popped into Sherlock's mind.

This is a secret possession, a mark bearing a strong sense of privacy.

Even so, Sherlock did not press for details, but simply nodded:

"This is indeed a unique amulet, but..."

Gemma breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he didn't ask any further questions, and gently pressed the outline of the ring on the outside of her pocket with her fingertips.

She knew Sherlock must have noticed something was wrong, but he chose to respect her silence, and that was enough.

But when she heard Sherlock say "however" again, she immediately tensed up:
"But what?"

"However, the workmanship seems a bit rough."

Sherlock's gaze returned to her fingers gripping her pocket, and she said earnestly, "Not refined enough."

Gemma: "!"

She glanced at Sherlock with a hint of helplessness. "I really don't know how someone like you can have friends, let alone more than one."

"You should ask yourself that question, dear Gemma."

Sherlock shrugged. "I remember it very clearly. You were the one who suggested we be friends first."

"you……"

Gemma was speechless after Sherlock's words.

She took a deep breath and wisely decided to skip the topic:

"Consider this a gift from you; now it's my turn." "Oh?"

This was something Sherlock hadn't expected. Not only was he being given his hair as a gift, but he was also being given another gift in return.
Is this considered a give-and-take?
Gemma had already reached up and unbuttoned the second button on her collar.

Under Sherlock's somewhat surprised gaze, she carefully removed the student council president badge, its silver surface gleaming coldly in the candlelight.

That wasn't all; she then took out another slightly different badge from her pocket with her other hand.

With Sherlock's keen observation skills, he naturally recognized at a glance that this was the Slytherin prefect's badge she had been wearing last year.

Two silver badges lay side by side in her palm, gleaming warmly under the lamplight.

"They represent the proudest and most arduous years of my life at this school."

Gemma opened her palms and pushed the two silver badges in front of Sherlock.

She smiled gently, a smile that carried a sense of relief, yet also concealed a barely perceptible bitterness:
"You are the one who witnessed firsthand how I put on them and how I shouldered the responsibilities they brought."

I think it makes more sense for you to keep them than for them to be kept in my jewelry box.

They belong not only to me, but also to my friend Sherlock, who saw through all my schemes and efforts.

This was the first time Gemma had openly admitted her scheming in front of Sherlock.

Perhaps because she was opening up, her voice carried a slight, almost imperceptible sob, and the last syllable trembled slightly.

Even so, her eyes were unusually bright, filled with an unprecedented honesty and reluctance:

"For me, they are not a burden, but a symbol of memories."

When you have time to tidy up your memory loft, seeing these things might remind you of the fun days we spent together.

I remember that Slytherin prefect who always tried to prove himself to me, and... the student council president who later became a little different.

Looking at the two silver badges in Gemma's palm, which bore witness to her power and growth, Sherlock raised an eyebrow but did not immediately respond.

His silence felt like an eternity to Gemma.

The air in the Room of Requirement seemed to freeze, leaving only the steady but slightly heavy breathing of the two people.

This made Gemma worry. Had she been too bold in what she had just done?
Just when Gemma thought he wouldn't respond any further and was about to suppress her disappointment and say something else, Sherlock finally moved.

He gently picked up the two badges, his fingertips tracing the cool metal surface, and held them in his palm.

"Thank you for your parting gift, dear Gemma."

Sherlock gave Gemma a deep look, his tone remaining calm:

"I will keep them safe, after all, this is the first time you have treated them with such care."

I'd only ever seen Percy Weasley treat these two badges like this before.

Sherlock's first statement was like a piece of honey, while the second was like a sour lemon.

Gemma was both amused and exasperated, but she couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you very much, my dear Sherlock, but this is not a parting gift."

"No?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

Gemma smiled mischievously, her sea-blue eyes sparkling.

She walked gracefully and lightly to Sherlock.

At this moment, the two stood very close, close enough to feel the warmth of each other's breath brushing against their cheeks.

The candlelight cast two overlapping shadows behind them, swaying slightly with the flickering flame, as if they were merging into one.

Sherlock didn't look away, but just looked at her with some confusion.

For the first time, those gray eyes, which always seemed to see through everything, revealed an inscrutable bewilderment.

This is extremely rare for him.

Because at this moment, Gemma seemed to have erased all the subtle signals on her body that could be analyzed, like a mystery shrouded in thick fog.

What on earth does she want to do?
"Then, goodbye, Sherlock."

Gemma's voice was as light as a feather brushing against the strings of a violin, carrying both decisiveness and an indescribable tenderness.

The moment the last syllable fell, she swiftly stretched out her arms and placed them on Sherlock's shoulders as if offering a blessing, then pressed her warm, soft lips to his left cheek.

The kiss was as light as a snowflake falling on the palm of your hand, as quick as a fleeting glimpse, yet it carried the sweet fragrance of a young girl's hair.

It was like a scalding brand, instantly piercing through Sherlock's usual composure.

She lingered on his cheek for a very short time.

It was so brief that Sherlock barely caught the sensation of those cool lips and warm breath intertwined, so brief that all the meticulously crafted analytical logic in his mind seemed to freeze for a moment.

Then, Gemma withdrew without hesitation, her movements as fluid as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times.

Her cheeks were as radiant as the morning sun, and her sea-blue eyes shimmered with tears, a strange coexistence of shyness and determination in them.

She didn't give Sherlock any chance to see her expression, nor did she wait for any form of response from him.

But when she turned around, the tips of her ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed.

"Take care of yourself."

The whisper was so soft it seemed almost carried away by the wind, accompanied by the graceful arc of her chestnut hair as she turned lightly.

Beneath the unbuttoned shirt collar, the skin at the collarbone rippled slightly, as if still lingering from the rapid heartbeat.

She walked quickly to the door, and the latch clicked softly as she pulled it open.

A gentle breeze blew in from the corridor, carrying the cool scent unique to Hogwarts Castle, a scent mingled with the aroma of stone walls and old book pages.

The breeze ruffled her skirt and hair, and also dissipated the last trace of her fragrance in the room.

Just as the door was about to close, she looked back one last time.

Sherlock remained standing in the same spot, the two gleaming silver badges shimmering slightly in his palms, casting a cold white hue on his fingertips.

His profile was turned toward her, half bathed in candlelight and half hidden in shadow.

His expression was somewhat blurred at the boundary between light and shadow, like a silent, contemplative statue.

Gemma didn't have time to decipher the meaning behind that expression.

For her, this level of achievement is already the absolute limit.

If she could, she would certainly want to kiss the places that express a closer relationship.

But she can't do it yet.

"Click."

The door was completely closed.

The room instantly fell silent, leaving only Sherlock and the two unexpected tokens in his hands, each carrying the weight and warmth of life.

The prefectural leader's badge and the student council president's badge on her palm still retained the warmth of Gemma's fingertips.

The sensation on my cheek hadn't faded yet, and the fragrance of her hair seemed to still linger in the air.

"It was just a kiss on the cheek, is it really that big of a deal?"

Sherlock tilted his head, finding it somewhat incomprehensible.

(End of this chapter)