Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts.

Chapter 537 A Perfect Ending
The rules of the Triwizard Tournament were clearly defined from the beginning:

Each warrior may carry only their own magic wand as their sole weapon.

Sherlock's usual longsword and shield were naturally excluded.

However, longswords were of little use against the dragon's scales and flames.

However, shields, which can effectively resist impacts and burns, are also prohibited from being carried.

In this situation, Sherlock decisively took a different approach and stuffed the rock bread that Hagrid had baked himself into his robe bag.

The biscuit was so hard it could be used as a slab of stone; it had even helped Sherlock withstand the Unforgivable Curse before, and now it could serve as a temporary shield.

As he just told Ms. Pomfrey: Nobody knows how long this event will last, so it's perfectly reasonable to bring some food with you.

What's even more interesting is that, apart from him and Harry, even Hagrid himself wouldn't associate this unremarkable food with equipment, let alone the person himself.

As it turned out, this seemingly ordinary rock-skin cake did indeed play a crucial role on the competition field.

Even so, the ever-meticulous Ms. Pomfrey remained uneasy.

She cast a full restorative spell on Sherlock, and a pale green light swirled around him before dissipating.

She then placed her hands firmly on her hips, her brows furrowed into a tight knot, her gaze fixed intently on Sherlock and Cedric:
"Alright, now you all sit quietly for five minutes—sit down!"

As soon as she finished speaking, she couldn't help but shake her head at the air.

He lowered his voice, muttering to himself with a hint of helplessness:
"But at least Potter was safe this time. That guy is always a worry for me—he's always involved in something!"

It was obvious that Harry's reputation as a troublemaker had already left a deep-rooted mark on Mrs. Pomfrey's mind.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow upon hearing this, and paused for half a second in the rhythm of his tapping.

Cedric pursed his lips, suppressing a laugh, his shoulders trembling slightly; both of them couldn't help but chuckle.

The next five minutes were tough for both Sherlock and Cedric.

Sherlock was never one to stay still.

His fingertips tapped out a rhythm unconsciously at his side, his gaze sweeping quickly over the herb bottles and bandage rolls arranged in the tent.

The labels on the bottles, the number of folds in the bandages, and even the concentration of the herbal scent in the air all became material for his rapidly processing brain.

Making him stop thinking and sit there doing nothing is even more torturous than confronting a fire dragon.

Cedric wasn't much better off.

He clasped his hands on his knees, his toes lightly touching the ground, his eyes filled with barely suppressed excitement and anxiety.

After all, they had just passed the first stage of the three-way battle so decisively, how could they easily suppress their excitement?
So when Ms. Pomfrey said the five-minute time limit was up, Cedric practically jumped out of bed.

The chair legs scraped across the floor with a sharp sound as he moved.

He looked at Sherlock, his tone tinged with uncertainty: "Now...shouldn't you be giving us our scores?"

Sherlock saw through his thoughts at a glance, and a faint smile appeared on his face: "You're planning to go out and take a look?"

"Uh... to be honest, I think having Harry there keeping an eye on things is enough, but... I still want to see the scores with my own eyes."

Cedric seemed a little embarrassed.

"You can watch it if you want."

Sherlock stood up decisively, patting the wrinkles in his robes. "Let's go."

"Let's go!"

Cedric immediately perked up, his tone full of eagerness.

The two walked side by side toward the tent entrance. They had just lifted the coarse cloth curtain hanging at the door and hadn't gone far when a figure rushed in, almost bumping into them.

Unexpected, yet perfectly logical—it was Hermione.

"Sherlock!"

Her voice was hoarse and somewhat distorted, as if something was blocking her throat.

Even as soon as the name was called out, her breathing became rapid.

Sherlock looked closely and was somewhat surprised.

Hermione's face was marked with several fresh red marks, which she had scratched herself with her fingernails in her haste, and some of them had even broken the skin.

The stray hairs on his forehead were soaked with cold sweat and stuck to his skin, and his once neat sideburns were now disheveled.

Her eyes were as red as cherries soaked in blood, brimming with tears that were about to overflow.

She was clearly terrified.

Although they already knew the details of the first project from Harry, they were still eager to witness firsthand the warriors battling the dragon's flames.

Only then did she truly understand the suffocating fear brought by that giant beast.

"You're amazing! You're so amazing!"

She gripped Sherlock's sleeve, her fingertips turning white from the force.

She repeated the sentence over and over again, tears welling up in her eyes, a few glistening teardrops already clinging to her eyelashes.

Upon seeing this, Cedric's eyes flashed with a knowing smile.

He gave Sherlock a quick glance, said nothing more, and quietly walked past the two men towards the paddock.

Suddenly, only the two of them were left.

As soon as Cedric left, Hermione could no longer suppress her surging emotions and lunged at Sherlock.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, so tightly that it seemed she wanted to embed herself into his body.

"Hermione, I'm fine, you..."

Sherlock instinctively tried to comfort her, but before he could finish speaking, the girl in his arms suddenly let out a suppressed sob.

Large tears rolled down Hermione's cheeks, soaking the fabric of Sherlock's robe and creating a cool sensation.

This left Sherlock somewhat bewildered.

He rarely dealt with such intense emotions; he raised his hand and gently patted her back, the movement noticeably awkward.
"Oh, my friend, there's nothing to cry about!"

"Yes, I was so stupid!"

Hermione suddenly looked up, her voice shrill from crying.

As she spoke, she stomped her foot hard on the ground. The next second, her crying burst out completely, turning from suppressed sobs into unrestrained wailing, her shoulders heaving violently.

The all-knowing lady who could always clearly list out knowledge points and remain calm and rational in the face of crisis had vanished without a trace.

At this moment, only a little girl, terrified by the extreme danger and fear, remained, turning all her worries into tears.

Although he was not used to such intense emotional expression, Sherlock could clearly feel the trembling in her chest and the burning sincerity in her tears.

Sherlock rarely offered comfort.

Or rather, his way of comforting people is always unconventional.

But at this moment, his heart, long accustomed to logic and reasoning, trembled slightly. After hesitating for a moment, his finger hovered in mid-air for a moment before finally falling gently.

He patted her back gently, his movements slightly clumsy but exceptionally tender.

"It's okay, I'm fine, aren't I?"
We're all fine. Although it looked dangerous, we're all okay.

Hermione's crying did not stop immediately despite the somewhat clumsy attempt at comforting her.

It was as if she wanted to release all the fear, worry, and lingering apprehension that had accumulated throughout the competition through this crying.

Her petite body trembled violently in Sherlock's arms, her hands gripping his robe tightly until her knuckles turned white.

"I thought... I thought you had just been... breathed by dragon's breath... or... or scratched by claws..."

She sobbed, her words broken and fragmented, each syllable tinged with a heavy nasal tone:
"You...you were so close...that fire...that fire was almost burning you..."

“Statistically speaking, given our position at the time and the space I had reserved for avoidance, the chances of us being hit head-on were very low, not to mention that I had a contingency plan.”

Sherlock tried to soothe her with his usual rational analysis, but his voice was much softer than usual:
"As for the flame splash, I took full precautions."

Do you remember Hagrid's rock crust cake?

It has considerable physical and magical resistance.

Our plan was thorough and our calculations were accurate; the risks are manageable.

"But that's a fire dragon!"

Hermione finally managed to stop crying, and raised her tear-streaked face to glare at him.

Her eyes were swollen and red like walnuts, with undried tears clinging to her eyelashes, and the tip of her nose was also red, yet she still held a stubborn seriousness in her expression.
"It's not an obstacle to the Quidditch training ground!"

It's not a mannequin used for practicing in a spells class!

"The slightest mistake...could cost me my life!"

As she finished speaking, her voice trembled with tears, and she could no longer continue.

In the end, she could only bury her face in Sherlock's chest, both angry and frightened. This time, however, her cries were softer, turning into intermittent sobs.

Sherlock looked down at the top of her head; a small patch of her soft brown hair was damp with sweat and smelled faintly of shampoo.

He suddenly realized that the problem before him was completely different from reasoning about the case and designing tactics.

This is a friend's unreserved concern, a care mixed with fear.

He paused for a moment, no longer trying to persuade her with probability and planning, but simply lowered his voice:

“I knew it was dangerous, but we all accomplished our goal safely, didn’t we?”
My dear friend, you might listen to the cheers outside; I think that's the referee scoring us.

This was probably the most straightforward comfort he could offer.

The deafening cheers outside the tent grew louder and louder, as if confirming his words.

Hermione's sobs gradually subsided, and the arms around Sherlock's waist loosened slightly, but she didn't immediately let go.

She first wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Once she had calmed down a bit, she suddenly reached out to touch the scorched hem of Sherlock's robe. Her fingertips gently pressed against the blackened fabric, and her brows furrowed again.
"Is everything really alright here?"

She paused, then suddenly seemed to remember something and hurriedly rummaged through her pockets:
"I have calendula herbal ointment in my bag. It's a Muggle recipe my mother sent me, and it's gentler than magical potions..."

Oh no—I threw my backpack on the stands when I rushed in!

Only then did she realize how out of control she had been.

Seeing the large wet patch on Sherlock's chest, the tips of her ears turned bright red. She quickly took half a step back and muttered under her breath:

"I...I didn't mean to cry, it's just that when I saw you almost get hit by the dragon's breath, my mind went blank for a moment..."

She caught a glimpse of the smile on Sherlock's lips, and suddenly felt a little annoyed, lightly kicking a pebble on the ground:

"dare you laugh!"

Sherlock's smile faded slightly, but his eyes softened: "My friend, I wasn't laughing at your concern for me."

These words made Hermione's cheeks burn even hotter. She turned her face away, a strange sense of annoyance suddenly rising in her heart.

I was so focused on crying that I forgot to ask Sherlock if he was tired or if he felt unwell, and I almost made him miss checking his scores.

This feeling was familiar, just like a few days ago when I was forcing Harry to get to know Ginny again. I was so focused on feeling sorry for Ginny that I didn't notice Harry's furrowed brow.

She looked at the water stains on Sherlock's chest, and that bit of annoyance welled up in her heart again.

It turns out my worries were never "unnecessary," but I always seemed to express them incorrectly:

For Ginny, it was to force Harry to realize his own feelings.

Sherlock, however, cried so hard that his clothes were soaked.

"that……"

She looked up, meeting Sherlock's gaze. Her ears were still red, but she whispered:

"Let's go check the scores quickly... I'll go get the bag from the stage and bring you the ointment."

And... I'm sorry about earlier, I was in too much of a rush.

The two walked towards the wall together, but Hermione suddenly remembered Harry and Ginny and paused.

Perhaps it's time to approach their affairs in a different way.

Meanwhile, at the judges' table on the edge of the paddock, the scoring had already begun.

Harry sat with Ron and Ginny, watching Cedric walk over alone, and asked curiously:
"Hey, why are you alone? Where's Sherlock?"

“Oh…he’s with Miss Granger.”

Cedric felt a little embarrassed; if he had stayed any longer, he might have witnessed Hermione crying.

To be honest, he wasn't very familiar with Hermione, and staying there would only make him feel awkward.

"Oh, she did seem about to cry just now."

After successfully completing the first event of the Triwizard Tournament, Ron now finds Cedric much more agreeable.

Upon hearing Cedric's words, she said helplessly, "She's really crazy. I don't know what she's thinking... You're all perfectly fine."

Harry sighed, recalling how Hermione had rushed out earlier, and nodded subconsciously: "Yeah, there's really nothing to cry about."

"Harry, Hermione is worried about you."

Ginny interjected softly at this moment, her gaze fixed on the direction of the tent, her tone earnest:

"She was standing at the very front of the stands, her hands gripping the railing the whole time, her knuckles were white."

Sherlock nearly fell as she dodged the dragon's breath; I had to catch her—she was genuinely terrified.

Because of Hermione's earlier words, Harry is still a little awkward around Ginny.

But noticing that Ginny's tone was as calm as ever, he nodded slightly and whispered in agreement, "It was indeed quite dangerous just now."

"And you, Ginny, why aren't you scared?" Ron asked curiously.

(End of this chapter)