"Who on earth is this bloke?" George watched the tearful scene—like the Weasleys were welcoming a long-lost child—and leaned in to whisper to Fred. "Why did Mum get so worked up the second she saw him? I don't remember her looking like that even when Bill left Hogwarts."
Fred looked Sherlock up and down, then put on a mock-serious expression.
"Well, judging by his age, he's about Charlie's. Maybe he and Charlie really are twins—just like us—only Mum and Dad accidentally left him somewhere and forgot to pick him up."
Ginny, the youngest, took her brothers' nonsense at face value and shook her head hard enough to rattle her pigtails.
"No way! He doesn't look anything like Charlie! And his hair's light blond!"
"Oh, Ginny, honestly," George and Fred said together, staring at their sister in exaggerated disbelief. "Don't you know? Our family's hair is naturally light blond. We just magically dye it red every year. You do it too—don't you?"
Ginny froze on the spot, completely thrown.
When the twins finally burst out laughing, her face went scarlet and she launched herself at them, swinging her small fists.
Nearby, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were whispering as well.
"I've seen him before," Harry said suddenly, sounding certain.
Ron frowned. "If you've seen him, there's no way I haven't."
"It was this summer," Harry explained. "On my birthday. I was still at Aunt Petunia's. He ran past the pavement outside—I saw him once."
"I think I bumped into him earlier too, when we first came into Diagon Alley," Hermione added. "I only saw his back, but it was… hard to miss."
Ron pulled a face.
"So both of you have seen him, Mum and Dad are acting like he's their long-lost son, and none of us knows who he is?"
Sherlock very much wanted to know the answer to that as well.
Right now, he was trapped between Mr and Mrs Weasley, being bombarded with concern. It was awkward enough to make his skin crawl—yet he still had to keep his face cold and unreadable.
So what sort of background did the original owner of this body have?
A rich father in the Muggle world and a mad mother in the wizarding world, sure—but that couldn't possibly explain this.
Professor McGonagall treated him like a favourite pupil, constantly advising him and fussing over him. Fine.
But why did the Weasleys fuss over him even more than their own children?
The original owner had been unpleasant—surly, sharp-tongued, difficult to like—yet neither McGonagall nor the Weasleys seemed to mind in the slightest.
It made Sherlock's performance feel flimsy, like he was playing the part of the world's most ungrateful bastard.
Still, the show had to go on.
"I'm doing fine. Thank you for your concern."
On its own, it might have sounded polite. But paired with his flat tone and distant expression, it came out cold enough to grate on everyone's nerves.
At once, the children behind the Weasley couple—including Harry and Hermione—pulled faces. Their first impression of him dropped through the floor.
Mr and Mrs Weasley, however, didn't look offended at all.
"Fine is good," Mrs Weasley said quickly, as though relieved. "It's nice to see you out and about again. Are you doing anything after you're finished in Diagon Alley? You could come round tonight and—"
She tugged Harry forward by the shoulder.
"This is your Aunt Lily's son. You'll know his name—Harry Potter. He's twelve now, starting his second year at Hogwarts."
Sherlock's mind went briefly blank.
Brilliant. So he'd known Harry Potter's mum as well.
The connections were only getting messier.
The original owner's background was nowhere near as simple as Sherlock had assumed.
He looked at the thin, slightly dazed boy in front of him and greeted him first.
"Hello, Potter. Even when I was still at Hogwarts, I'd heard of your… fame."
By now, Sherlock had learned the rhythm of the original owner's speech.
The words could be civil, but the delivery had to stay flat—cold, detached, faintly irritating.
Harry hesitated, then shook his hand, already sensing this man wouldn't be easy to deal with.
"Er… hello, Mr…?"
"Given my current position," Sherlock said coolly, "you should address me as Professor Cavendish."
He had no intention of hiding his identity. Once Hogwarts reopened, the news would spread regardless.
Everyone around them stared.
"P-Professor Cavendish," Harry asked, wide-eyed, "which subject are you teaching?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"Oh, that's wonderful, Sherlock!" Mr Weasley beamed, stepping forward and hugging him as though he couldn't help himself. "You're finally living your dream. I heard the originally appointed Defence professor—some wizard called Gilderoy Lockhart—turned out to be a criminal. I never imagined Dumbledore's replacement would be you."
Mrs Weasley's face tightened with worry.
"But I've heard… the Defence post isn't very safe…"
Before Sherlock could answer, Mr Weasley shot her a sharp look.
"Molly, don't start. How can you believe that rubbish? Those professors who came to grief only had themselves to blame. It's got nothing to do with the post itself!"
Sherlock didn't comment.
After all, this Defence professor had more than enough problems of his own.
But Mr Weasley, oblivious to Sherlock's thoughts, pressed on cheerfully.
"We're off to buy the kids' new-term books—come with us! Ever since you left the Ministry, everyone's missed you."
He clapped a hand around Sherlock's arm, leaving him no room to refuse, and marched him off with the Weasley and Granger families towards Flourish and Blotts.
Behind them, the younger lot whispered among themselves.
"He's the one replacing Lockhart?" Hermione sounded stunned. "He's so young—he looks barely twenty."
After Lockhart's arrest, The Daily Prophet had naturally exposed his planned appointment as Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and a reporter named Rita Skeeter had even mocked Dumbledore's judgement. (TN: Fair. How did he ever hire Lockhart?)
Lockhart's fans—including Hermione and Mrs Weasley—had been furious for days, feeling utterly cheated.
Ron muttered, "Lockhart wasn't even thirty."
George and Fred exchanged a look.
"This bloke looks as stuck-up as Percy," they said bluntly.
Percy spun on them, glaring.
Harry glanced back at the ice cream cart where Sherlock had been standing only moments ago, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Professor Cavendish looked like he was about to buy ice cream," Harry said quietly. "But when he saw us… he changed his mind."