"Mr. Potter?"
When Cho Chang turned to greet Harry, he jumped to his feet so quickly that he knocked over his pumpkin juice.
The deep orange liquid immediately spread across the tablecloth.
"S-Sorry!"
Flustered, Harry grabbed a napkin and began wiping at the mess chaotically.
Sherlock glanced at him calmly and said, "Shall I remind you, dear Harry—you're wiping my sleeve."
Hermione sighed, and Ron struggled to hold back a laugh.
Cho couldn't help but let out a giggle at the scene.
Then, with a flick of her wand at the table, she cast, "Scourgify."
The tablecloth—and Sherlock's sleeve—were instantly cleaned.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at the display.
Cho's spellwork was proficient, on par with her own.
Harry didn't notice the magic. It took considerable effort just to drag his gaze away from the silver-threaded cloud patterns on Cho's sleeve.
Thanks to this little mishap, the initial awkwardness among them faded significantly.
Penelope and Cho took seats at either side of the table.
"So, what was the punishment?" Sherlock asked, looking at Cho sitting beside Harry.
The smile brought on by Harry's antics vanished. She replied quietly:
"The stolen item was returned and a fine imposed.
Ravenclaw lost fifty points. It was stated that Marietta was the one penalized, but the exact reason wasn't made public.
She'll remain at school over the holidays and during free time, doing manual labor—without magic.
Her access to certain public areas is temporarily restricted."
"My advice? Spare her no undeserved kindness," Sherlock said coldly, noting Cho's downcast expression. "Her actions were entirely self-inflicted and merit no sympathy.
Your friendship with her won't return to how it was. Miss Keyes, on the other hand… is a good friend worth keeping."
Cho nodded. She had indeed come to see many things clearly after this ordeal.
The conversation continued, and everyone grew more relaxed and familiar.
Eventually, Penelope cleared her throat. "Mr. Holmes, you won't tell anyone about what happened, right?"
"I'm not interested," Sherlock replied.
"Me neither."
"Don't worry, I won't say a word."
"Same here!"
With reassurances from all four, Penelope and Cho stood up. The latter even gave a slight bow to them before leaving.
Once they were gone, Ron couldn't help but remark, "What a kind and beautiful girl—even after all that, she's still thinking of her friend… Right, Harry?"
Harry winced under Ron's teasing gaze.
He had to admit—he had definitely been judging by appearances earlier.
Fortunately, Ron didn't dwell on it. His attention was quickly diverted by the feast on the table.
It was Easter, after all, and the Great Hall dinner was far more lavish than usual.
Soon, Ron entered his "dual-drumstick" combat mode.
Harry, worn out from the Quidditch match, felt his hunger return and quickly joined in.
Sherlock and Hermione, having burned plenty of mental energy on the case, also dug in. As they chatted and ate, the atmosphere grew increasingly cheerful.
And so, the first day of the Easter holidays passed without much excitement.
For Sherlock, having resolved Penelope and Cho's case, the break ahead looked rather dull.
Then again, expecting a new mystery every day wasn't realistic.
Otherwise, Hogwarts might as well rename itself Azkaban.
In the meantime, the pile of homework assigned by the professors consumed much of his time.
Especially Professor McGonagall.
She gave special "attention" to Sherlock, her star Transfiguration student—his essays were always longer than anyone else's.
If others were assigned five inches of parchment, his would be seven.
Naturally, Sherlock had to spend more time on his assignments.
The nighttime Hogwarts tours he used to conduct with Harry had to be paused once more.
The main reason? Oliver Wood's training.
It was something even the Weasley twins couldn't comprehend.
They'd spent three whole days trying to figure out how Wood managed to squeeze in so much Quidditch practice while preparing for O.W.L.s.
Every time he showed up on the pitch, he was full of energy.
"Before we begin training, I want each of you to loudly state your name and your position on the team!
I want everyone to go into practice with full spirit—begin!"
"Chaser, Angelina Johnson!"
"Good, next!"
"Beater, George Weasley!"
"Too weak! I couldn't hear a thing! Again!"
"Beater, George Weasley!"
"Nice energy! Next!"
"Beater, Fred Weasley!"
"Can't hear you! Whispering like that and you still want to win the Cup? Again!"
…
This pre-practice morale booster was already exhausting. What made it worse was that weather was never part of Wood's equation.
Even in pouring rain, practice was never canceled.
As expected, the Gryffindor Quidditch team returned from the pitch every day utterly worn out.
Until one morning, the Hospital Wing received more than a dozen bladders full of Invigoration Draughts—and only then did Madam Pomfrey intervene and force Wood to take a break.
The team sighed in collective relief and began worshipping Pomfrey as their savior.
Ron didn't have to endure Wood's training like Harry, but the homework alone was enough to bury him—despite having both Sherlock and Hermione around.
By the time the holiday ended, both Harry and Ron felt like Easter had been even more exhausting than a regular school week.
It was the first time either of them wished the break would end faster.
Sherlock and Hermione, naturally, were faring better.
With Harry back from practice, the trio—Lion King, Boy Who Lived, and the Know-It-All—returned to their usual library haunt.
As for Ron…
Studying? Impossible. Doing homework? Not a chance. Copying—that was the only way to survive.
Sherlock didn't mind Ron's choices.
Harry and Hermione, on the other hand, were a bit disappointed in him.
Still, even if Ron didn't show up to the library, under Sherlock's guidance, he always managed to grasp the spells. That was at least something.
On the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class after the holiday, Professor Quirrell finally reappeared.
He looked worse than ever—more hunched, more pale.
"Hey, Sherlock, you're amazing!"
Seamus couldn't help but give Sherlock a thumbs-up from behind.
Before the holiday, Sherlock had predicted when Quirrell would return—and he was spot on.
Sherlock sat by the window in the second-to-last row.
Harry was beside him, with Ron and Neville ahead, and Seamus and Dean behind.
"That kind of deduction is child's play for Sherlock," Ron said, turning around to join the whispering.
"But he looks even worse than before. Can you figure out what's wrong with him this time?"
"I told you last time—I stabbed him."
Sherlock said it with a straight face.
Everyone froze, then burst out laughing.
"Holmes, how long are you going to keep that joke going?"
"I swear, if that's true, may I never get a girlfriend before I'm twenty—hahaha…"
"Hey, quiet down!"
Hermione scolded them from across the aisle.
Quirrell might seem timid and easy to bully… but let's not forget—he was Voldemort's pawn.
Even if Dumbledore had things under control, it was best to be cautious.
Maybe Quirrell's disguise was too convincing, or maybe Ron's memory was just terrible. Either way, he clearly missed Hermione's point and grinned at Neville:
"Neville, why don't you just go up and ask him?"
"M-Me? Better not…"
To Neville, Quirrell might not be as scary as Snape, but he still didn't dare confront a professor alone.
Except for Professor Sprout—she always reminded him of his gran.
"I'll do it!"
Seeing Neville chicken out, Seamus volunteered. Before class began, he ran up to check on Quirrell.
Harry and Hermione both tensed.
Hermione was worried, but Harry—he knew that Quirrell was the same crawling figure they'd fought in the Forbidden Forest.
If Sherlock said he stabbed him, then it really happened.
Still, seeing Sherlock's calm demeanor, Harry forced himself to act like everything was normal.
Seamus soon returned with an answer—Quirrell claimed a vampire curse had flared up again, and he'd needed time off to suppress it.
Also, the garlic stench from his turban was stronger than ever.
Harry could hardly focus during the entire class.
After lunch, back in the Gryffindor common room, Ron finally asked:
"Harry, what's up with you today? You're totally out of it."
Quirrell's lectures were usually dull and stuttering, but Harry had never seemed this distracted.
"Quirrell… is back."
"Yeah, and I have to admit—Sherlock was right. The old bat really is better than Quirrell. At least he actually teaches us something."
Ron nodded dramatically, then whipped out his wand: "Expelliarmus!"
The West Lake Dragon Well tea in Sherlock's hand didn't budge.
Sherlock shook his head. "If you want to disarm me, Ron, next time try a smaller wand motion."
"Heh…"
Ron scratched his nose sheepishly.
Then he turned to Harry: "I know you don't like him, but we can't expect the old bat to teach both subjects forever.
Even if Sherlock and Hermione rack up all the points in the world, it won't be enough if we flunk Defense!"
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