In the final days of the winter holiday at Hogwarts, the atmosphere within the castle had quietly changed.
The corridors lacked their usual chasing and roughhousing figures, while the common rooms now held more young wizards hunched over their work, scribbling frantically.
Most people couldn't break the habit of playing first and catching up later—not to ntion that this year also featured the Christmas Ball tied to the Triwizard Tournant.
Almost everyone had enjoyed themselves thoroughly from the start of the holiday, only to panic and rush through howork as the end approached.
In this atmosphere, the top students of each year beca the most sought-after resources.
Especially Hermione Granger of Gryffindor House.
As the top student of her year, the howork assigned by teachers posed no difficulty for her.
If that were all, it would be one thing.
The key was that her handwriting looked printed, and she wrote out solution steps with crystal clarity.
Whether for copying to complete assignnts or borrowing to organize one's thoughts, her work was ideal reference material.
For a ti, her popularity even exceeded that of Harry and Sherlock, who were participating in the Triwizard Tournant. Students wanting to borrow her notes ford a small queue.
Hermione knew perfectly well that her classmates' enthusiasm was entirely for her howork.
Yet even so, she ultimately softened her heart.
After all, so young wizards genuinely wanted to reference her thinking process, not simply copy answers.
But even though she stopped those who wanted to copy directly, those who borrowed her howork would turn around and pass it to others.
In the end, her howork still circulated widely.
At the long table in the Gryffindor common room, Ron lay sprawled over his star chart.
His mood was irritable, his quill scraping loudly against the parchnt.
When he looked up and caught sight of Sherlock's actions, he froze.
He discovered that his friend wasn't holding a textbook but rather a detective novel with a cover printed in unfamiliar characters.
"Sherlock, when did you finish your howork?"
Harry, who was also drawing star charts, looked up when he heard Ron's question.
Now only the two of them were still working on Divination howork.
Hermione had completely given up on that class.
Although Sherlock occasionally attended Divination, he never did the howork.
Fortunately, they still had Parvati and Lavender to help them, or the two wouldn't know what to do.
Unlike Ron, however, Harry's gaze swept across the book cover and imdiately recognized it as a Christmas present from Cho.
Since the year Harry spent Christmas at Sherlock's house, she'd given Sherlock detective books every year.
She always gave books from this series.
"While you were hugging your Butterbeer and chatting with Harry about Quidditch and Fleur Delacour," Sherlock said without looking up.
Ron fell silent.
That hit ho, Sherlock.
Harry and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
Why would Ron actively seek out disappointnt by asking Sherlock such a question?
Seeing that Ron had stopped talking, Hermione turned to Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock, what about your Transfiguration essay?"
Sherlock still didn't look up but simply pointed at his bag.
Hermione imdiately grabbed Sherlock's bag and pulled out his Transfiguration howork to read.
Noticing that Hermione had casually set Sherlock's bag aside, Ron's eyes darted around, and he stealthily reached his hand toward it.
His target was the History of Magic report and the Potions potion analysis.
Hermione never let them copy howork, so Ron had to settle for Sherlock as second-best.
After all, Sherlock had always been quite indulgent with them on this matter.
However, just as Ron's fingertips were about to touch the bag strap, Hermione suddenly turned around and clutched the bag to her chest, moving as quickly as a mother lion protecting her cub.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron's hand froze in midair, his face the picture of grievance.
"I should be asking you that," Hermione hugged the bag even tighter, her brow furrowing into a small knot. "Trying to copy howork again?"
"But you're copying too!" Ron pointed at the Transfiguration essay in front of Hermione, eyeing it hungrily as if it were a freshly roasted chicken leg.
"I'm referencing it," Hermione refused to yield, her voice rising. "After I read Sherlock's howork, I can understand all the principles of Transfiguration. Can you say the sa?"
Of course Ron couldn't, but he still protested. "You're being way too controlling! I'm copying Sherlock's howork, not yours! And Sherlock doesn't even mind..."
"That's because he indulges you!" Hermione cut him off irritably, her tone carrying helpless exasperation. "You're fourth-years now—don't you understand yet? Howork and exams are just ans to an end. Learning the knowledge is what matters!"
Ron was about to argue back when Sherlock suddenly closed his book and looked up. "I'm not without objections."
Harry, who had been silently watching the drama unfold, suddenly raised his head, his eyes full of surprise.
He'd thought Sherlock wasn't even listening to their argunt.
"I simply haven't voiced them," Sherlock said, his gaze sweeping over Ron and Harry, his tone calm. "After all, learning has always been one's own responsibility. Others can't help forever."
Once Sherlock spoke, Ron imdiately fell silent.
On the other hand, with Sherlock's support, Hermione's posture straightened even more.
She turned to Ron and glared at Harry as well. "I can help you check your howork and point out mistakes, but copying like this without using your brain is absolutely not acceptable! And you too, Harry!"
"What?" Harry pointed at himself, looking innocent.
He hadn't said a word throughout—how did the fire spread to him?
"That's right, you!" Hermione stared at the helpless-looking Harry and said sharply, "Don't think I don't know—you've been copying Sherlock's History of Magic howork all along!"
Harry opened his mouth but couldn't refute it.
He had indeed copied History of Magic howork for several years.
After all, that class didn't require waving a wand—cramming before exams was enough.
But compared to Ron, he at least organized his own notes.
So Hermione didn't say more, just turned to look at the book in Sherlock's hand. "Is this book interesting?"
"Not bad. The cases in it have given quite a few new ideas." Sherlock handed over the book, its cover bearing: "Tales of the Extraordinary."
Hermione took the book, her fingertips lightly tracing the characters. "But this is in Japanese—can you understand it?"
"Bilingual edition," Sherlock smiled. "Ever since Miss Chang first gave a Japanese detective book, I told her that if she's going to give books in the future, it's best if they're bilingual Japanese-English. Japanese is a very sweet language, especially these kinds of works about strange tales and anecdotes—they have more flavor in the original language."
"So you're learning another new foreign language?" Hermione's eyes widened; her tone full of admiration.
Seeing Sherlock nod, she couldn't help but exclaim, "Sherlock, you're a genius!"
Harry and Ron also looked at Sherlock with awe.
They'd long known Sherlock spoke several foreign languages but hadn't realized he was still learning new ones.
Sherlock shook his head. "It's nothing really."
However, from the expression on Sherlock's face, seeing his three friends so surprised and showing admiration clearly made him quite pleased.
"By the way, I need to tell you sothing," Sherlock changed the subject. "Tomorrow I'm going out with Professor Dumbledore."
"What did you say?"
All three froze simultaneously, their faces showing unprecedented surprise.
Harry gasped, his quill clattering onto the table.
Hermione stared at Sherlock blankly, nearly dropping the bag from her arms.
Ron choked on his own saliva and coughed out, "You—you kept this secret from us?"
"I only just rembered to tell you." Sherlock explained about his private eting with Dumbledore.
However, following Dumbledore's request, he omitted the part about Neville's parents.
The three exchanged glances for a long while before Ron said with solemn respect, "rlin's beard... You're actually going with Dumbledore to investigate at You-Know-Who's old ho! This is so like you, Sherlock—only you could do sothing like this!"
Harry and Hermione looked at Sherlock with hopeful anticipation.
Sherlock saw through their thoughts imdiately and shook his head. "You don't need to co."
Hearing Sherlock's words, both showed disappointed expressions.
This wasn't their first day knowing Sherlock.
Once he gave a clear answer, it ant the matter was not up for discussion.
"You must be careful, Sherlock," Hermione couldn't help but warn, her voice carrying worry. "Voldemort might have left so trap there..."
"Don't say that na!" Ron imdiately protested, beginning to tremble all over, his face paling several shades.
Harry nodded in agreent. "That's right—maybe that missing person really is connected to Voldemort."
"Hey—!" Ron covered his ears, looking resistant.
Hermione ignored Ron and continued speaking to Sherlock. "Even though you're with Dumbledore, if this really is connected to Voldemort, you can't be too careful."
Ron's expression: (;Д`)
At this mont, his heart held only grievance.
On the last day of the Christmas holiday, Sherlock, who was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, received a letter delivered by Watson.
"Is it from Dumbledore?" Harry couldn't help but ask, seeing Sherlock take the letter from Watson's leg.
"Yes." Sherlock nodded, opened the envelope and scanned it quickly, then folded it and put it in his jacket pocket. "He's asked to et him at the school gates after breakfast."
"Be careful," Hermione warned again, the worry in her eyes not diminishing in the slightest.
Harry nodded repeatedly, his fork pausing mid-air.
Only Ron bit carelessly into his sausage and said indistinctly, "I really don't know what you're all worried about! Dumbledore is the only person You-Know-Who fears! Never mind just going to his old ho—even if they t face-to-face, there's nothing to fear, right?"
"Dumbledore naturally has nothing to fear," Hermione frowned and retorted, her tone carrying a hint of doubt about Dumbledore. "But he might not be able to spare attention to protect Sherlock."
Just from their years at school, too many things had happened at Hogwarts.
The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, Dentors...
Hermione's blind trust in Dumbledore had long since gradually faded.
Now, she even worried whether Dumbledore could truly protect Sherlock in monts of danger.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine," Sherlock said, standing up.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron imdiately set down their utensils and followed him toward the school gates.
As they approached, the three spotted Dumbledore's figure from afar.
His iconic silvery-white beard hung to his chest, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the morning light as he stood on the steps before the castle with his hands behind his back, gazing toward the distant Forbidden Forest.
"Should we not go over?" Ron tugged at Sherlock's sleeve, his voice very low.
"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.
"If Dumbledore finds out you told us about this, he might say sothing about not telling others about secrets in the future." Ron pursed his lips.
Harry paused, then couldn't help but smile.
He was clearly once bitten, twice shy.
Having been reminded by Dumbledore last ti, he still rembered it to this day.
However, after a brief discussion, the three ultimately stopped behind a stone pillar in the distance, watching helplessly as Sherlock walked alone toward Dumbledore.
"It seems you've told your friends about this," Dumbledore said, hearing footsteps. He turned around, his face wearing a gentle smile.
"That's right." Sherlock walked up to him, his tone frank. "I don't think there's any need to conceal this—they're my friends."
"You're right. Friends should be honest with each other." Dumbledore nodded, his eyes behind the lenses full of approval. "So... are you ready?"
"Apparition? Here?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"No, Apparition is forbidden within Hogwarts grounds." Dumbledore smiled and shook his head.
"That's not what you said last ti," Sherlock looked at him suspiciously. "You said the Headmaster has special privileges."
"You're quite right, but with the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations still in the castle, we must be mindful of appearances." Dumbledore patted his shoulder. "Co, let's go to Hogsade."
Sherlock shrugged—he didn't mind either way.
As long as they could begin the investigation quickly, it didn't matter where they departed from.
The two walked along the path outside the castle. Morning dew dampened the grass, and the air carried the fresh scent of fir and earth.
It didn't take long before they reached the entrance to Hogsade village.
Dumbledore stopped and looked around.
The shops in the village hadn't yet opened, the streets were quiet, with only a few owls circling above the rooftops.
"Sherlock, you've Apparated more than once now. I assu there shouldn't be any problems?"
Dumbledore asked, withdrawing his gaze.
Seeing Sherlock nod, Dumbledore smiled, his eyes showing satisfaction.
He extended his arm. "Co, take hold of ."
Sherlock reached out and grasped his arm. The next second, the familiar sensation of spinning through space rushed over him.
The sound of wind roared past his ears, and the scene before his eyes instantly blurred.
His body felt pulled by so force, moving rapidly toward a certain direction.
When he opened his eyes again, Sherlock found himself at their destination.
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