Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 517 The Youngest Warrior
Even if I die and am nailed to a coffin, I will still shout with this decaying voice—Gryffindor minus ten points!

It is impossible to know who first said this.

However, Severus Snape, the head of Slytherin House and professor of Potions, did just that through his actions.

Even though they reluctantly let Sherlock and Harry leave the Potions classroom, Gryffindor still lost a full 100 points.

The little lions were all angry but dared not speak out.

Sherlock and Harry followed Colin out of the classroom, and as soon as the door closed, Colin said impatiently:

"I'm sorry, Harry, Sherlock, it's my fault that you got points deducted by Professor Snape."

Sherlock shook his head: "It has nothing to do with you."

"Yes, even without you, he would still deduct points from our score."

Harry sighed, thinking to himself that he should have just said Mr. Bagman was gathering champions and not mentioned the photo.

However, he knew that Colin was just like that and didn't mean any harm, so he didn't say it aloud.

Unexpectedly, as soon as he finished speaking, Colin immediately said:

"So that's really impressive, isn't it, Harry?"

"Ah, what do you mean?"

Harry was momentarily stunned. He had just been apologizing, how did he suddenly become so important?
"You and Sherlock have both become warriors!"

Colin danced with excitement, “Gryffindor has produced two champions at once, and Harry, you’re the youngest one!”

"Yes, it's remarkable."

So why are they taking pictures, Colin?

Harry's tone was very serious, but Colin didn't notice and continued to answer cheerfully:

"I think it was probably published in the Daily Prophet!"

Harry sighed again.

He would never want to do such a thing if he could.

Sherlock's gaze swept over Colin. "So, you volunteered to come to us, right?"

"That's right!"

Colin patted his chest. "Mr. Bagman said, 'Can anyone go and call Sherlock and Harry?'"

I happened to be nearby, so I said, "I'll do it!"

Then I ran to the underground classroom to find you.

"I don't know."

Harry looked at Colin with a serious expression. "How did you know we were having Potions class at this time?"

"What are you talking about, Harry? I've already memorized your schedule!"

Harry: "..."

Seeing Colin's matter-of-fact look, Harry thought to himself, "I shouldn't have asked that question!"
"Harry, Sherlock, good luck!"

Colin kept talking to Harry the whole way, and Harry could only manage to keep up.

Only after leading them to the outside of a room on the first floor of the castle did Colin excitedly pump his fist at the two of them:
"That's it!"

Sherlock, who knew the structure of Hogwarts like the back of his hand, immediately recognized that this was a small classroom that was not used much.

He took the lead, pushing open the door and entering, with Harry close behind.

Most of the desks in the room were pushed to the back of the classroom, leaving a large open space in the middle.

Behind the velvet-covered desk, Ludo Bagman was talking to a witch dressed in a magenta robe.

Sherlock recognized the other person at a glance.

This woman was present when Peter Pettigrew was tried.

At the time, Sherlock judged her as a journalist, and a very capable one at that.

Now that they are meeting again, Sherlock is able to confirm his initial judgment.

The other seven warriors have arrived, and just like last time, they are divided into three distinct groups based on their schools.

However, even within Durmstrang's trio, Quidditch World Superstar Krum was the most unique.

He maintained his usual gloomy expression, standing in a corner, keeping his distance from the other two students who were talking.

The three men from Beauxbatons were talking. Fleur seemed very happy, occasionally shaking her head, her long silver hair shimmering with a dazzling luster.

Cedric seemed a little bored, but when he saw Sherlock and Harry enter, his eyes lit up and he immediately waved to them.

Besides these people, there was also a portly man holding a large, slightly smoking black camera.

Sherlock noticed that he was secretly watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

At that moment, Bagman also saw Sherlock and Harry, quickly stood up, and jumped forward.

"Ah, it seems he has brought them here!"

Sherlock, Harry, come in quickly!
There's nothing to worry about; it's just a wand testing ceremony. The other referees will be here soon—"

Hearing Bagman's words, Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

No wonder Colin told them to bring everything.

Harry asked somewhat uneasily:
"Detection wand?"

"Well, we need to check if your wands are fully functional and in good working order."

Because in future competitions, the magic wand will be your most important tool.

Bagman explained, "The experts are upstairs with Dumbledore—we'll take some pictures after this is over."

Oh, let me introduce you—this is Rita Skeeter.

She is writing a short article for the Daily Prophet about the championship.

Upon hearing Bagman say that the witch was Rita Skeeter, Sherlock immediately understood.

However, is The Daily Prophet sending this reporter here to stir up trouble?

After all, judging from her previous articles, they are filled with a strong desire to stir up trouble.

The next moment, Sherlock's prediction came true.

"Maybe it won't be that small, Ludo."

Rita Skeeter said she looked at Harry, then at Sherlock.

Her gaze darted quickly between the two men before finally settling on Harry.

"Before we begin, may I speak with Harry for a few minutes?"

Although she was asking Bagman a question, her eyes remained fixed on Harry.

To be precise, it was staring at Harry's forehead:
"The youngest warrior, you know... just to add some color to the article."

"no problem!"

Bagman said loudly, "Exactly—I wonder if Harry objects?"

"Uh--"

Harry was still hesitating.

"Great."

Rita Skeeter said that almost in the blink of an eye, her claw-like fingers, painted with bright red nail polish, had firmly gripped Harry's arm.

Harry was surprised to find that the woman was incredibly strong.

He was nervous and instinctively shouted out:
"Sherlock!"

Then Rita Skeeter failed to pull Harry.

Because Sherlock's hand grabbed Harry's other arm.

At this moment, Harry was once again surprised to discover that Sherlock's strength was also extraordinary. "My friend doesn't seem to have agreed to your request, Miss Skeeter."

Sherlock held Harry firmly, while staring at Rita Skeeter, and slowly began to speak.

"Oh?"

Rita Skeeter was surprised that she had made a mistake and glanced at Sherlock a couple more times.

"So, Harry, would you like to have a chat with me?"

"I don't want to!"

Harry rejected her outright.

Harry was very disgusted by her actions.

He hadn't observed carefully enough before, but now that he looked again, he noticed that Rita Skeeter's hair was styled into elaborate, stiff, and oddly shaped large curls, which looked particularly awkward against her large chin.

She wore jeweled glasses, her thick, fleshy fingers clutched a crocodile-skin handbag, and her two-inch-long, bright red nail polish was painted on.

In short, it makes a terrible first impression.

Rita Skeeter was taken aback at first, then reassured him, "It's just a quick chat, it's fine, right, Ludo?"

Mr. Bagman waved his hand generously, "Yes, Harry, Miss Skeeter is a well-known reporter in the wizarding world!"

Harry instinctively didn't want to go out with Rita Skeeter, but he also sensed that Ludo Bagman seemed to be asking him to go along with Rita Skeeter.

He frowned, looking somewhat conflicted.

“In that case, let’s say what we have to say here,” Sherlock said calmly. “If that doesn’t work, then forget it.”

Rita Skeeter looked at Sherlock again, her eyes filled with surprise.

Sherlock stopped her twice, making her realize that if she didn't deal with the little boy today, she wouldn't be able to take Harry away smoothly.

Rita Skeeter's gaze swept across Sherlock's face like a blade, her bright red lips curving into a stiff arc.

"It's okay, of course it's okay."

Her voice suddenly rose in pitch, carrying an exaggerated sweetness that drew the attention of everyone else in the room.
"We have plenty of time...during the competition, right?"

She deliberately emphasized the last few words, her gaze sweeping over the scar on Harry's forehead, her fingernails almost digging into the crocodile-skin handbag.

She abruptly released Harry's arm, the movement so quick that Harry stumbled, but was fortunately caught by Sherlock.

Rita quickly turned to the portly photographer, her voice shrill:

"You! Burns!"

Don't just stare at that charming lady!
Quick! Focus on shooting Potter!
Multiple angles! The goal is to highlight his... um... nervousness and awkwardness!

Yes, that's the state!
The mysterious boy's forced confrontation with fate!

She waved her arms, giving instructions, her cheeks, heavily made up, flushed slightly with excitement.

The photographer hurriedly adjusted the angle, and the large black camera emitted another small puff of smoke.

"I wasn't forced!"

Harry instinctively tried to avoid the camera, but it was too late.

He couldn't help but glare at the photographer and Rita Skeeter.

"So, you signed up voluntarily!"

"Yes."

Do you still remember your parents?

"do not remember."

"If they knew you were going to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, how do you think they would feel? Pride? Worry? Or anger?"

"do not know!"

Harry was annoyed.

How could he possibly know how his parents would feel if they were alive?

At this point, Ludo Bagman seemed to finally sense the awkward atmosphere, cleared his throat, and tried to smooth things over:

"Ah, yes, Rita, we can talk about work later, we need to take care of business first..."

Just then, the classroom door was pushed open again.

Professor Dumbledore entered, his long silver hair gleaming in the flickering candlelight.

"Dumbledore!"

Rita Skeeter exclaimed loudly, looking delighted.

"Are you OK?"

As she spoke, she stood up and extended a large, masculine hand to Dumbledore:
"Did you read my article from this summer about the International Confederation of Wizards conference?"

“That’s wonderful,” Dumbledore said, his eyes shining. “I especially loved the part where you described me as a rigid old madman.”

It's an obvious irony.

However, Rita Skeeter showed no embarrassment whatsoever.

"I just wanted to point out that some of your views are a bit outdated, Dumbledore, and many wizards outside—"

“I would love to hear your frank reasoning, Rita.”

Dumbledore interrupted her, but then politely bowed:
"But I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this issue later, as the wand testing ceremony is about to begin."

His deep blue eyes lingered briefly on Sherlock and Harry, especially on Harry's slightly pale face, before looking away.

Behind him were four other referees.

Mrs. Maxim's tall figure almost touched the ceiling.

Professor Karkaroff surveyed the room with a cold, scrutinizing gaze.

Mad-Eye Moody remained unchanged; he gave Rita Skeeter a cold look before averting his gaze.

The five students took turns sitting in the chairs behind the velvet-covered desks.

"Please forgive our lateness. All warriors are in position, which is good."

Please allow me to introduce Mr. Ollivander.

After Dumbledore sat down in the judges' box, he addressed the nine people in the room:
"He will be checking your wands to make sure they are in good condition before the match."

The room fell silent instantly, and even Furong stopped tossing her long silver hair.

The somber figure of Durmstrang in the corner—Viktor Krum—straightened his back almost imperceptibly.

The tension in the air seemed to ease slightly with the arrival of the principal, but was then overshadowed by new pressure from the upcoming tests.

Harry looked around and noticed an old wizard with two large, light-colored eyes standing quietly by the window.

This surprised him greatly. "When did he arrive?"

"With the referees," Sherlock smiled slightly, "your observation skills need improvement, my friend."

Harry felt a little embarrassed; he had been so upset by Rita Skeeter that he hadn't noticed any of this.

At this moment, Mr. Ollivander also walked to the open space in the center of the room:
“Miss Delacour, would you please have Beauxbatons go first?”

Fleur Delacour nodded, walked over to Mr. Ollivander, and handed him her wand.

Ollivander twirled the wand between his slender fingers like a conductor's baton, causing it to spew out many pink and gold sparks.

Then he brought the wand close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Not bad, really not bad..."

He said softly, “Nine and a half inches, very flexible, made of maple, and the core is—oh my god!”

He suddenly raised his head and looked at Furong, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

(End of this chapter)