"That's right."
Sherlock nodded at Hermione's look of surprise, seeing nothing at all wrong with what he'd said and even went on to explain himself.
"As it happens, Luna asked me to come to Hogsmeade with her as well. But I'd already agreed to your invitation first, so I had her wait a while at another location. Then we could all go together."
Hermione: "...."
A tangle of feelings rushed through her all at once—surprise that he could describe something so nakedly like taking a number in a queue, a fleeting pang of sympathy for Luna, left waiting alone on Valentine's Day, and beneath it all, a faint, barely-noticed flicker of delight.
Sherlock had answered her first, and put Luna second.
So, I really do matter more to him.
But right on its heels came a thin thread of bitterness.
If Luna had gone to Sherlock first, would he have made me wait alone instead?
In that moment, she could picture it clearly—Luna sitting quietly in the Three Broomsticks, her radish earrings swaying, waiting for them. Wait. Wasn't this exactly what she should have seen coming all along?
From the day she'd promised Sherlock, on the Quidditch pitch, that she would practice at love—she should have known this was where it would lead!
The warm little teahouse suddenly felt faintly stifling—all that pink and lace now seemed entirely out of step with Sherlock's cold, rational planning. Hermione turned to look out the window. The rain had finally stopped.
It was easy to spot Luna the moment they reached the Three Broomsticks.
Even in a pub packed shoulder to shoulder, she still managed to look utterly her own.
"Sherlock, Hermione, over here!"
The instant Sherlock and Hermione caught sight of her; Luna was already waving both arms at them with all her might.
That burst of enthusiasm left Hermione feeling a little embarrassed, if anything.
Because only a moment ago, when Sherlock had mentioned that Luna was still waiting for them, she'd actually felt a flash of wanting to keep Sherlock all to herself. That simply wasn't acceptable.
Think of Harry—even after he'd started seeing Cho, Ginny still hadn't given up, had she?
If even Harry was like that, then someone as exceptional as Sherlock was bound to have more than one girl trailing after him.
Even Gemma could see that clearly.
Looking at Luna now, Hermione suddenly felt she'd been a bit selfish.
Once she'd worked that through, she took the initiative, pulling Sherlock along as she walked toward Luna.
"You're here so early!" Luna said, delighted. "I thought it'd be a while before you two showed up!"
"The rain stopped, so we came straight over." Sherlock glanced around as he spoke. "Just said hello to someone you know?"
"Yes, Hagrid was just here!"
Luna said, in that singsong voice of hers: "He asked if I'd seen Harry and Ron. I told him they were off playing Quidditch.
"And Parvati Patil and Padma Patil too—they said they saw the two of you out on a date.
And Dean and Seamus, they stopped by for a bit and then went off to buy things at Zonko's..."
Luna rattled through everyone who'd greeted her, quite quickly, and only then went on:
"Daddy's just waiting to publish this wonderful long article about the Crumple-Horned Snorkack he found recently—it's a very important piece..."
Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, was the editor of the wizarding magazine The Quibbler.
His wife, Pandora Lovegood, had died when a spell went badly wrong, back when Luna was nine.
Ever since, father and daughter had more or less relied on no one but each other.
So really, Luna's own personality said everything about what kind of man Xenophilius Lovegood was.
He remained utterly convinced, for instance, that the fantastical creatures the wizarding world generally dismissed as fiction: Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Blibbering Humdingers, Billywigs, and the like were every bit as real as anything else.
Sherlock and Hermione simply listened as Luna told her stories, plainly enjoying every word of them.
When Luna had finally, at long last, finished, Hermione asked, somewhat baffled: "Luna, is this—is this all you wanted Sherlock to come here for?"
"Well, yes. Is that not allowed?" Luna tilted her head.
As far as she was concerned, being with Sherlock made her happy regardless.
"Never mind."
Where the workings of minds like Sherlock's and Luna's were concerned, Hermione decided it was probably best not to guess.
By the time they left the Three Broomsticks, the last light of the setting sun had washed the rooftops of Hogsmeade in warm, glowing orange.
Luna still seemed lost in the wonderful world of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, walking ahead of them with light steps, humming some tuneless little song under her breath. Sherlock and Hermione walked side by side on the road back to Hogwarts.
Hermione kept up an easy, offhand conversation with Sherlock, but the feelings underneath it were anything but simple.
As the castle's silhouette sharpened against the gathering dusk, Hermione drew a deep breath of the cold air, thick with the scent of grass and damp earth, trying to let it settle the turmoil in her chest.
The three of them passed through the great oak doors and into the entrance hall.
"Sherlock, Hermione, I'll head back now!"
Luna said it in that ethereal voice of hers, her silvery-grey eyes looking especially hazy in the dim light.
"I'm glad you two spent today with me."
She waved at the two of them, then drifted off toward Ravenclaw Tower like a wisp of smoke.
"I'll be off too. Goodnight."
Once they'd climbed through the portrait hole past the Fat Lady and into the Gryffindor common room, Hermione said this too, quietly.
"Goodnight."
Sherlock's reply was, as ever, brief and to the point.
But watching Hermione's retreating back which carried more than a hint of someone fleeing the scene, a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes.
Women's emotions really were baffling.
The next morning, in the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
The hall was thick with the smell of breakfast and the morning chatter of students.
The owls came pouring in at their usual hour.
Hermione, as she did every morning, poured milk into her porridge while unfolding her subscription copy of the day's Daily Prophet out of habit. But the moment her eyes swept across the front page, she froze. Her spoon slipped from her fingers with a clatter into the bowl, and milk splashed across the tablecloth. That wasn't all—her face went scarlet in an instant.
Her eyes were fixed on that unmistakable headline and byline, and for a moment her breath seemed to stop entirely.
"What's wrong?" Harry and Ron asked at the same time.
"N-nothing."
Hermione hastily folded the newspaper shut and shoved it against herself.
Seeing her like this only made her friends more curious, of course.
"What kind of earth-shattering news scared you like that?"
Lavender saw her chance and lunged for it. "Let me see!"
"Lavender, let go!"
But Hermione absolutely refused to let Lavender wrestle the paper away from her.
The two of them grappled over the table, and several sheets of parchment went sliding to the floor in the struggle.
Sherlock, watching this, couldn't help but shake his head.
In that single instant just before, he'd already made out the headline on the Daily Prophet in Hermione's hands, and understood at once exactly what had happened.
It went to show: once reason is smothered by emotion, people tend to lose their good sense entirely—even a girl as clever as Hermione was no exception. Hadn't it occurred to her that something like this could never be kept hidden?
Just then, gasps and buzzing conversation began breaking out from other corners of the hall.
After all, Hermione was hardly the only one with a subscription to the Daily Prophet.
"Merlin's beard! Look at the front page!" a Ravenclaw girl shrieked.
"'SHOCKING! LION KING CAUGHT IN LOVE TRIANGLE? THE ROMANTIC VALENTINE'S SECRETS OF HOGWARTS' RESIDENT GENIUS!'"
Another student, this one a Hufflepuff, stood up and read it aloud, his voice was resounding through the noisy hall:
"By our special correspondent, Rita Skeeter—sourced from well-informed insiders."
"Rita Skeeter? Her again? Hadn't seen anything from her in ages—thought she'd vanished."
"Lion King? Is that supposed to be Holmes?"
"Obviously it's him—it can't very well be Professor McGonagall!"
"Love triangle? Between who and who?"
In almost the same instant, countless eyes turned to fix themselves on the Gryffindor table—Hermione and Sherlock most of all.
"Hermione! Let us see it!"
Ron, for his part, couldn't sit still the moment he heard—that headline was simply too thrilling to ignore.
"No! There's—there's nothing worth seeing in this!"
Hermione's voice was a mix of pleading and mortified fury as she pressed the paper flat against her legs, absolutely refusing to let Lavender pry it away and, without quite meaning to, she found herself shrinking a little closer to Sherlock's side.
Except she knew perfectly well that none of this could stay hidden any longer.
"Ha! I've got one right here!"
Fred had produced a copy of the paper from somewhere or other, and began reading aloud in a deliberately theatrical, sing-song voice:
SHOCKING! LION KING CAUGHT IN LOVE TRIANGLE? THE ROMANTIC VALENTINE'S SECRETS OF HOGWARTS' RESIDENT GENIUS!
By our special correspondent, Rita Skeeter—sourced from well-informed insiders.
Dear readers, while you were still lost in the rose-and-chocolate haze of Valentine's Day, a storm far more dazzling—and, dare I say, far more complicated—than any magic was brewing quietly over the towers of Hogwarts Castle!
Our Triwizard Champion, the one and only "Lion King," Mr. Sherlock Holmes—celebrated for his astonishing intellect and his cool, captivating charm, a young man who has stolen more hearts than anyone can count—his love life, dear readers, is anything but the picture of calm his composed exterior suggests!
[EXCLUSIVE SIGHTING: A TRAIL OF PINK THROUGH HOGSMEADE]
According to several reliable eyewitnesses, who described the scene to this reporter in no small excitement, on this very day devoted to love, Mr. Holmes was spotted by more than one set of eyes—in the company of Gryffindor's own "Miss Know-It-All," Hermione Granger, at the celebrated "lovers' hideaway," Madam Puddifoot's tea shop!
The pair reportedly lingered a good long while together in a secluded corner draped in lace and pink heart decorations (this reporter can only leave it to your imagination exactly what transpired!). When Miss Granger emerged, her cheeks were flushed scarlet and her eyes could not stop darting about and that, dear readers, was surely not the doing of a hot cup of coffee alone!
As all of Hogwarts well knows, Miss Granger is a witch of Muggle birth, celebrated for her formidable intelligence and unshakeable resolve.
She is, without question, the Lion King's earliest and most steadfast companion in the wizarding world.
Multiple eyewitnesses have confirmed time and again that, beside the leaping flames of the Gryffindor common room fire, the pair are often found lost together in a small world built entirely of books and murmured secrets and the wordless understanding, the sheer focus between them, is more than enough to set any onlooker's heart aflutter!
More intriguing still—later that same evening, Mr. Holmes went on to arrange a "mysterious rendezvous" with none other than Ravenclaw's famously unconventional Miss Luna Lovegood, at the bustling Three Broomsticks!
When Miss Lovegood departed, she was humming a little tune, her mood evidently as bright as a daisy in full spring bloom!
To have arranged private meetings, in a single day, with two witches of such strikingly different character, in the romantic surrounds of Hogsmeade no less—one can only marvel at our Lion King's positively masterful command of time!
[THE SHADOW OF A GRADUATED UPPERCLASSWOMAN]
But this reporter's network of sources digs deeper still!
According to an anonymous individual with close ties to Mr. Holmes, the young man's rich tapestry of romantic connections extends far beyond these two witches still walking the school halls!
One graduated upperclasswoman who once shone brilliantly within Slytherin House, having served as both prefect and Head Girl—possesses, alongside her considerable leadership and her air of mystery, a connection to Mr. Holmes that is anything but ordinary, and one that reportedly runs deep and far back.
This figure, who has asked not to be named and who has already left the school behind—does her influence still, even now, pull like an invisible thread at the strings of our Lion King's heart? And what manner of delicate relationship might exist between her and the two witches newly caught up in campus gossip?
This tangled, unravelling web of emotion is, frankly, more captivating than even the most complex of potion recipes!
[THE LION KING'S PATH OF CULTIVATION]
Mr. Holmes is renowned for his reasoning powers, unmatched by anyone and yet in the ancient, profound discipline of love, he appears to be undertaking an unprecedented exercise in multitasking.
Is this simply the singular way a genius explores matters of the heart or is it the inescapable whirlpool of charm that no young wizard can quite avoid?
Whatever the truth of it, this young man, forever standing at the very centre of one mystery or another, has now become, in his own right, the most gripping puzzle currently shrouded in pink mist anywhere at Hogwarts!
This publication will continue to follow, with the closest attention, this affair of the heart now gripping the minds of countless young witches at Hogwarts (and, it must be said, more than a few young wizards as well), and will bring readers every fresh and thrilling development the very moment it happens!
Stay tuned!
By the time Fred finished reading out that final, wildly exaggerated exclamation point, an eerie silence had fallen over the entire Gryffindor table.
And then it broke, all at once, into an even greater wave of noise and whispered chatter.
Every pair of eyes swept back and forth between Sherlock, Hermione (who at this point wished nothing more than to bury her face in her bowl of porridge), and Luna, over at the Ravenclaw table.
Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the rest all wore expressions thick with shock and worry.
"Rita Skeeter?!"
Harry caught on at once, turning to Sherlock across the table, his voice full of disbelief. "Sherlock! That Rita Skeeter! Wasn't she caught by you, and then your brother—"
Ron caught on too. "Right, how's she out here writing this rubbish again? Did your brother just stop keeping an eye on her?"
Sherlock, who'd been eating, looked up at the mention and cast a glance at the paper in Fred's hands.
His grey eyes swept sharply across the bold headline on the front page and Rita's trademark, inflammatory prose style—it took him less than a second. "No."
Sherlock set down his knife and fork and spoke with a note of certainty.
"The very fact that this article exists is proof that Mycroft has been keeping very close watch over her indeed.
Clearly, this wasn't something she did on her own initiative—it was done on Mycroft's instructions."
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