"Adjust the diet, promote exercise, and use medicinal treatment."
When Filch asked Sherlock how to address Mrs. Norris's condition, Sherlock didn't bother with any suspense and gave a straightforward answer.
"Temporarily reduce food intake. Switch to smaller, more frequent meals to lessen the strain on the stomach.
Choose easier-to-digest foods, such as canned cat food with high moisture content.
You can also use probiotics and anti-bloating medications, like simethicone."
Filch: (((φ(◎ロ◎;)φ))) What in Merlin's name was that?
Even though he had been paying close attention, Filch still felt like he was studying magic again.
Canned cat food? Probiotics? Simeticone...?
He swore that even the most complex incantations he had ever heard were easier to understand than Sherlock's explanation.
But seeing Mrs. Norris—who had been listless for days—now rubbing against Sherlock's chest with a look of serene contentment, Filch suppressed his confusion and listened intently like a student trying to take diligent notes.
And so, Sherlock walked forward with Mrs. Norris in his arms, while Filch trailed close beside him.
One spoke, the other listened, until they reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Only then did Filch realize—wait a second, wasn't he supposed to be leading the way?
How did Sherlock know where he was heading?
Before Filch could ask, Hagrid's voice called out from not far ahead:
"That you, Filch? Hurry up, I'm about to set off!"
"Here you go."
Hearing Hagrid, Sherlock smoothly handed Mrs. Norris back.
Filch's face darkened when he noticed that Mrs. Norris—who usually never let anyone but him touch her—was now clinging tightly to Sherlock, reluctant to leave his arms.
It felt as though he had just lost something important.
Naturally, the question he wanted to ask earlier vanished from his mind.
"Follow the instructions I gave you. I'll also ask my family to send some cat food and anti-bloating meds suitable for her."
Sherlock spoke in his usual calm tone.
A conflicted look flashed across Filch's face.
He wanted to say he didn't need the help.
But when he saw Mrs. Norris gazing at him with shining eyes full of expectation, he finally gave in.
"Th-thank you, Mr. Holmes."
Merlin knew how much effort it took for him to get that sentence out.
At that moment, Hagrid finally reached them.
He was visibly surprised to see Filch getting along so well with someone else.
Knowing Filch's personality, Hagrid had expected him to be chewing out Holmes by now.
The fact that they were chatting like friends? Incredible.
Could Holmes really be so good that even someone like grumpy old Filch could be charmed?
If that were true, it was actually great news.
The more capable Holmes was, the better their chances of investigating the Forbidden Forest.
"Filch, I'll take it from here."
"Right."
Filch gave Sherlock a nod and left without another word.
Even after Filch's figure disappeared from view, Hagrid still looked bewildered.
Scratching his head, he couldn't help but ask:
"Holmes, how'd you do that?
Why's that old coot suddenly acting so nice to you?
You didn't tell him you were serving detention on Dumbledore's orders, did you?"
In Hagrid's mind, that was the only explanation.
"No, I gave him some catnip."
"Ah! That explains it!"
Hagrid broke into a hearty laugh.
"He's a grump, sure—but he does love that cat of his."
Clearly, as someone familiar with magical creatures, Hagrid knew how effective catnip could be.
As the two of them walked and talked, they reached the edge of the forest.
A chilly wind blew past, making even the burly Hagrid shrink into his coat.
Sherlock, on the other hand, had already cast a Warming Charm on himself and didn't feel a thing.
Hagrid didn't notice this little detail. He raised his lantern and pointed toward a narrow, winding path that disappeared into the dark woods.
"Holmes, look there—that silvery stuff, that's unicorn blood."
Sherlock focused his gaze and sure enough, he saw the glimmering silver trail Hagrid spoke of.
This was yet another key difference between the magical world and the Muggle world.
In Muggle tracking lore, there's a saying: "Dark means mud, white means stone, shine means water."
It means that at night or in poor lighting, dark spots are likely to be muddy areas, white ones are hard surfaces like rocks, and reflective parts are likely water.
It helps people avoid stepping into mud or puddles while navigating tough terrain.
But such logic clearly didn't apply in the magical world.
Hagrid went on:
"Here's the deal—one of the unicorns in the forest has been attacked. It's badly hurt.
Actually, I found one dead just last week. Other creatures in the forest would never harm them, so I reckon it's a poacher.
Even if we can't figure out who it is, we need to find the injured unicorn and… ease its suffering."
It was clear Hagrid was distressed.
The creatures in the Forbidden Forest were his dear friends—especially noble beings like unicorns. Seeing one harmed or dead was deeply upsetting.
He'd been investigating for two weeks with no results.
When he reported the dragon egg incident to Dumbledore, he suddenly remembered Sherlock's talents and asked if the boy could help.
To Hagrid's surprise, Dumbledore agreed immediately.
The rest followed naturally.
Hagrid rambled on for a bit, even sharing detailed descriptions of unicorns.
Sherlock listened carefully, asking a few questions only after Hagrid had finished.
"Ease the unicorn's suffering?"
Sherlock shook his head. "With all due respect, Hagrid, that's the wrong goal."
"Say what now?"
Hagrid's eyes widened.
"There's little point in easing the unicorn's suffering. If this was done by a poacher, then we should be talking about easing his suffering."
Hagrid jumped at that response.
He glanced at Sherlock in the moonlight—he wasn't joking.
Immediately, Hagrid regretted recommending Sherlock to Dumbledore.
Sherlock Holmes—definitely a Gryffindor!
That kind of guts was admirable in some ways, but still...
"Listen here, Holmes. I admit you're clever, probably can see through people like Dumbledore can...
But if there really is a poacher going around injuring and killing unicorns, he's dangerous—way beyond what a first-year like you can handle!"
Hagrid paused, then added:
"The Forbidden Forest is dangerous, especially at night.
But as long as you stick close to me and Fang, nothing in there will harm you."
Sherlock: "Oh."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I understand. I was just making a suggestion."
Hagrid nodded, satisfied. "Good, good."
Hidden under the Invisibility Cloak nearby, Harry nearly laughed out loud.
During Astronomy class, Sherlock had told him about his detention cover story and invited him to tag along.
It was basically a field test of everything they'd trained for.
Naturally, the adventurous Harry was thrilled.
What he didn't expect was to be treated to such a delightful show right at the start.
Filch was baffling, Hagrid was hilarious.
This was way more fun than sneaking around the castle.
Once Sherlock gave his assurance, Hagrid led him into the dreaded Forbidden Forest.
As they walked, Hagrid kept sneaking glances at the boy.
Sure, Sherlock was in Gryffindor, but he was only eleven—why didn't he look nervous at all?
In fact, his eyes were shining with... anticipation?
Sherlock was indeed looking forward to the Forbidden Forest.
If such a place had existed in the Muggle world, he'd have finished exploring it within a month.
Only because this was the magical world—and he started off knowing nothing—had he waited so long.
Only he knew how hard it had been to hold back for five whole months.
But if he'd waited that long, a few more minutes didn't matter.
Subtly, he gestured behind him to Harry, signaling him not to fall behind, then asked:
"By the way, Hagrid, that flute you gave us for Christmas—was it made from something special?
A Graphorn horn? Maybe a Re'em's? Or the antennae of a Moke?"
"Ha! Sherlock, you really do know your stuff!"
Hagrid's form of address had changed again.
"But no, you were off from the start. It's not from a magical creature at all!"
"Really?" Sherlock looked surprised. "It seemed so tough, I thought it was definitely some kind of horn."
"That's just what most people think!"
Hagrid chuckled. "Actually, I made it from the shell of a Color-Changing Giant Snail!
You've heard of those, right? Huge snails.
They're used in making Love Potion antidotes, but their shells are also pretty handy.
They change color every hour, so I figured they'd make fun flutes."
"It's brilliant!"
Sherlock praised sincerely, then casually added:
"Hagrid, since you've been at Hogwarts for so long, you must know the creatures in the Forbidden Forest really well, right?"
Getting Hagrid to talk was easy.
All you had to do was give him an excuse, and he'd spill everything you could ever want to know.
Sometimes Sherlock even suspected that one of the key ingredients in Veritaserum was Hagrid's saliva.
If it wasn't, it probably should be.
Sure enough, Hagrid perked up and launched into a long-winded explanation of the forest's many magical creatures.
Sherlock listened attentively, making mental notes all the while.
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