Hermione was furious.
She had already been upset that Sherlock hadn't contacted her at all during the holidays.
Now, hearing that he had taken Harry to visit Privet Drive without even telling her only made things worse.
Such an interesting event—and he didn't think to invite her?
Unfortunately, it was too late to complain now.
In the end, it was only under Ron's strong insistence that Sherlock made up for it by playing several of their favorite violin pieces.
This was Ron's golden opportunity.
Sherlock played the violin exceptionally well—capable of performing complex and difficult pieces.
But.
He simply refused to play properly.
During his stay at the Holmes residence, Ron had been forced to endure Sherlock's grating solos more than once.
Every evening, Sherlock would lean back in his armchair, rest the violin on his lap, close his eyes, and begin playing whatever came to mind.
Sometimes it was piercing and mournful, other times strange and frenetic, and occasionally it was so screechy it sounded like sawing wood.
Ron found it nearly unbearable.
But Mr. and Mrs. Holmes seemed completely used to it.
Harry didn't say a word either.
Ron could only retreat to the bedroom and shut the door.
Yet Sherlock's violin had incredible resonance—even with the door closed, the sound pierced through clearly.
It was pure torture.
Now that Hermione had arrived, Ron seized the moment and made his request.
In the end, everyone was satisfied with the outcome.
Hermione calmed down.
Ron breathed a long sigh of relief.
He even thought that if things had gone on any longer, he might've lost it.
After dinner, the Granger family took their leave.
Hermione was reluctant to go.
But as she left, she reminded Sherlock again—be sure to write, either by phone or owl.
A few days later, the date finally arrived: December 25, 1991.
Christmas Day.
On this day, Mr. Granger's sarcastic prediction from a few days earlier came true.
An "unbreakable alliance" collapsed effortlessly—becoming the laughingstock of the international stage.
Without exaggeration, the collapse of the alliance marked the most significant global event affecting the Muggle world since World War II.
Whether this would affect the wizarding world remained to be seen.
But for the young witches and wizards studying at Hogwarts, this event clearly didn't mean much.
Many of them weren't even aware of it, and even if they were, they cared far more about their Christmas presents.
When Sherlock, Harry, and Ron woke up that morning, they each found presents waiting in their rooms.
One of the perks of the wizarding world.
Owls could serve as stand-ins for that red-hatted, white-bearded man and deliver Christmas gifts.
Sherlock stared silently at the mountain of packages before him.
He was genuinely surprised.
So many people had sent him gifts?
"Surprise!"
"Merry Christmas!"
Just as he was lost in thought, Harry and Ron suddenly burst into his room.
Clearly, they had hoped to surprise him.
But when they saw the room piled high with gifts, they both gasped in unison.
"Whoa…"
"Sherlock, you got that many presents?!"
Harry had already been surprised that morning when he saw a small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.
Right then, Ron had knocked on his door, and Harry excitedly pointed them out:
"Come look! I actually got a few presents!"
"What did you expect? A cabbage?" Ron joked, then laughed.
His own pile of gifts was much larger than Harry's.
Which was only natural—Ron had far more family and friends.
The two of them decided to visit Sherlock first.
Only to witness this astonishing scene.
After a moment, Ron pointed to a bulging paper bag and said, "That one's definitely from my mum."
"Ron, are you finally learning to deduce like Sherlock?" Harry teased.
"I saw the same package in your room earlier."
Ron muttered, "She probably knitted each of you a Weasley sweater… Hermione likely got one too."
At their urging, the three of them gathered all their presents and opened them together.
As Ron had guessed, Mrs. Weasley had made Sherlock a blue hand-knitted sweater with a big red 'S' stitched on the chest.
Harry's was green with an 'H', and Ron's was maroon with an 'R'.
Each sweater came with a big box of homemade fudge, which tasted excellent.
Next was Hagrid's gift.
He had hand-carved a flute for each of them—rough in craftsmanship, but remarkably sturdy.
Hermione's presents were a bit more… intriguing.
She gave Harry a box of horseshoe-shaped chocolates, Ron got a large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans...
And Sherlock received a book.
To Harry and Ron's surprise, it wasn't the "Magical Crime Case Files" they had previously discussed—it was…
"The Charismatic Speaker's Handbook"
A note on the cover, written in elegant handwriting, read:
"Study well."
Sherlock: ￣△￣
Harry and Ron: ()
Sherlock opened the front page, and the inside read:
[This book offers exclusive techniques in verbal communication, helping you become a master speaker who leaves a lasting impression.]
Sherlock: _
Seeing Sherlock remain silent, Ron couldn't help but ask, "So… what did you get Hermione?"
"It wasn't another book, was it?" Harry guessed.
"It was a book."
The two leaned in.
"The title is: Makeup for Beginners."
Harry and Ron gasped in horror.
Good lord.
The two of them are just roasting each other at this point.
"I don't get it," Harry said, baffled.
"Why would you give her that kind of book?"
After all, Sherlock's gifts to both him and Ron had been quite thoughtful—Ron had received a wand to replace his broken one, and Harry got wizard chess, which wasn't bad at all.
So why was Hermione's gift… like that?
"When giving a gift, one must consider practical needs," Sherlock replied.
Harry: '(°ー°〃)
"Sherlock, let me ask you this—do you really think Hermione needs to learn about makeup and dressing up?"
"Obviously."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances.
Ah, so that's why.
No wonder Hermione swapped out the book they'd picked and gave that one instead.
"So, uh… what did you give the others?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued.
"Professor Dumbledore: a voucher for three years of free dental check-ups and cleanings.
Professor McGonagall: a British-style tea set.
Professor Snape: a mini fridge designed for long-term potion storage.
Professor Flitwick: a music box that can charge and run on batteries.
Professor Sprout and Hagrid: books. The Illustrated Guide to Home Gardening and Rare and Wild Creatures Compendium, respectively."
Hearing this, Harry and Ron looked at each other, dumbfounded.
So here was the question:
If all the gifts he gave to others were so… normal…
Why was Hermione's the only one that went completely off-script?
Why indeed?
Forget it—no point dwelling on it now.
What's done is done.
As for Hermione and Sherlock…
Whatever happens, happens.
As they continued unwrapping presents, Harry and Ron finally understood why Sherlock had received so many gifts.
"Dear Holmes, thank you for always covering for me in Charms class. —Your loyal friend, Seamus Finnigan."
"To Holmes, thanks for recommending a great Seeker for our team. We'd love for you to join too! —Oliver Wood."
"Sherlock, thank you for always helping me find Trevor. —Neville Longbottom."
"Holmes, thanks to you, my father was cleared of suspicion. Merry Christmas. —The Abbotts."
"Mr. Holmes, thank you for solving my troubles. —Cho Chang."
---
Only now did Harry and Ron realize just how many good deeds Sherlock had done behind their backs.
As weird as that sounded, it was the truth.
"Sherlock… have you ever thought about becoming a detective?" Harry asked.
"Dear Harry, my childhood dream was to become a pirate."
"Uh… right…"
Harry didn't know how to respond.
"Wait, back up—what's a detective?" Ron interjected.
And so the morning passed in peaceful chatter.
After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes went for a walk, leaving the trio indoors.
Harry and Ron resumed their game of wizard chess—for Ron, battling in top-tier games daily made the occasional bronze match a nice change of pace.
Sherlock, on the other hand, was simply staring at the wall.
Had no one interrupted, he might've stayed like that all afternoon.
Until Hermione called.
Her tone was curt.
She told Sherlock that Mr. Granger had taken Mr. Holmes's advice and exchanged some currency at the bank.
Given current trends, it looked like he'd made a profit.
Just how much remained to be seen.
When she realized Sherlock wasn't offering any explanation for her gift, she hung up in a huff.
Soon after, the phone rang again. Hermione launched into a long monologue about the other presents she'd received.
Not perfect, but decent.
Still, Sherlock offered no response.
Hermione angrily hung up once more.
Afterward, Sherlock declared he was going out for a walk—and forbade Harry and Ron from tagging along.
As soon as Sherlock left, Ron muttered, "Honestly, I think Hermione can be really annoying sometimes… Sherlock probably left just to avoid her calls."
"Obviously."
"Oi! Don't start talking like Sherlock!"
"Did I?"
"Obviously."
"You're one to talk!"
They were still bickering when the phone rang again.
They glanced at each other.
And ignored it.
But Hermione was persistent—it seemed she was absolutely determined to get through.
"She's really relentless…"
Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. "Come on, mate. You know I can't deal with that thing…"
With a heavy sigh, Harry picked up the phone.
The shrill ringing stopped abruptly.
"Hermione, Sherlock already went out!"
But to his surprise, there was silence—then a man's unfamiliar voice spoke:
"Are you Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley?"
Harry froze. "Who are you?"
The stranger chuckled. "Me? Let's just say I'm the closest thing Sherlock Holmes has to a friend."
"What are you talking about? What does that even mean?"
Alarmed, Harry signaled frantically to Ron.
Ron looked at him, confused.
Harry gestured wildly, mouthing words until Ron finally understood—and dashed out the door to find Sherlock.
The man on the phone seemed unaware, and continued in a calm voice:
"An enemy—or so he believes.
If you ask him, he might call me his arch-nemesis. He does love the dramatics…
Am I wrong, Mr. Potter?"
"How do you—?"
Harry's unease grew.
This stranger had instantly guessed who was on the line—and now, he had singled him out directly.
"You just told Mr. Weasley to leave, didn't you?"
The man laughed.
"Clearly, Sherlock never told you that multitasking affects your vocal cords.
And your friend slammed the door so loud I heard it several feet away."
"Who are you?!"
"I told you. I'm Sherlock Holmes's nemesis. So, tell me—do you still want to be friends with him?"
"That's none of your business!"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that."
The man chuckled again, his voice light.
"I'm calling to offer you a generous reward, should you agree to do me a small favor."
"What favor?"
Now on full alert, Harry sharpened his tone.
"Information. Nothing invasive, nothing dangerous. Just tell me what he's up to."
"Why? Who are you? What's your real goal?"
This was the third time Harry asked—and the man still wouldn't answer.
"Because he worries me. I care about his wellbeing.
But due to certain… constraints, I need you to keep this between us."
"I refuse!"
"Calm down, Mr. Potter. I haven't even told you how much I'm offering."
"I don't care. I'm not interested—Sherlock is my friend, and I won't help you spy on him!"
Harry's voice was firm.
"So, you trust no one but Sherlock Holmes?"
Oddly, the voice wasn't angry—it sounded even more amused.
"Or perhaps… I should speak to Ronald Weasley instead?
From what I gather, he's not exactly flush with cash. I'm sure he'd be happy to help me."
---
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