In the Gryffindor common room, Sherlock was calmly describing to Hermione his assessment of Gilderoy Lockhart. "From the very first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Professor Lockhart has struck me as a collection of contradictions.
The content that students find most tedious is precisely what he enjoys most.
As for the material that students actually appreciate, that's exactly what he despises."
"How is that possible?" Hermione stared in amazement, her eyes widening. "You're right that he likes promoting his own adventures, but—but those lessons where he actually teaches us useful skills—you're saying he doesn't enjoy those?"
"Don't doubt my judgment, Hermione.
Based on his performance since the start of term, Professor Lockhart is undoubtedly a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. However, his interest in actually teaching is far less than his interest in promoting himself and his works.
I believe you should remember what I said to Harry in Diagon Alley? His reason for dragging Harry into that photograph and giving him his complete set of books wasn't charitable kindness, but to leverage Harry's fame for his own greater success.
His various behaviors at school have only confirmed this point.
The excessive dramatization of his adventures in every class, getting everyone to act out scenes from his books with him—if he didn't truly enjoy it, why would he do it? I can sense that whenever he does these things, he experiences genuine pleasure.
Conversely, when it comes to using actual magic, he shows a peculiar resistance."
"But—but he clearly teaches us real skills in every lesson—"
"Look, this is precisely my point." Sherlock looked at Hermione with an almost-smile. "Even a devoted admirer like yourself recognizes which classroom content is actually useful to us.
Consider this carefully. if those practical lessons weren't included, would other wizards still be willing to indulge his theatrical performances?"
Hermione fell silent. She had to agree.
"Therefore, there is only one truth!" Sherlock said slowly. "Gilderoy Lockhart didn't come to this school to teach!"
Hermione was stunned. This wasn't her fault—anyone would be shocked to hear that a professor had come to school for reasons other than education.
"You needn't be so surprised. Exchange of interests, mutual benefit—" Sherlock said quietly, "This is the fundamental logic of how society operates."
Hermione remained silent.
"Incidentally, this isn't Professor Lockhart's only suspicious trait."
"Suspicious trait?"
"Indeed. He was a Ravenclaw, and happened to be one of Professor Flitwick's former students, so I specifically asked about his opinion of this professor. I thought you'd be very interested in this."
"Tell me quickly!"
"During his student years, Lockhart was remarkably intelligent. At the time, Professor Flitwick and other teachers believed his talent exceeded that of most students. If he had applied himself seriously to his studies, he certainly would have achieved considerable success in the future.
Unfortunately, he preferred to direct his energy elsewhere. Take the end-of-year examinations, for instance. He consistently earned 'Outstanding' marks in Charms class, while his other subjects were mostly 'Exceeds Expectations' or 'Acceptable.'
Professor Flitwick believes this was because the Charms professor was also the Ravenclaw Head of House—demonstrating his calculating nature. In his fifth year, he convinced the prefect of the time to willingly give up the position to him. In his seventh year, he repeated this feat, persuading the Head Boy to surrender his position as well.
Even now, Professor Flitwick still doesn't understand why Headmaster Dumbledore would appoint Lockhart as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
After hearing Sherlock's analysis, Hermione was left speechless with shock.
"Sherlock, you mean—"
"I told you not to look at me with such surprise, dear Hermione. In fact, whatever secrets Lockhart may be hiding, as long as they pose no danger to us, I don't mind if he continues as he is.
Compared to last year's Quirrell, Professor Lockhart can teach us genuinely useful things. As Professor Flitwick said—everyone has their secrets. This was Professor Flitwick's sentiment as well."
Hermione left with a somewhat dazed expression. What Sherlock had told her today had quite an impact, and she needed time to process it all.
Watching Hermione's retreating figure, Sherlock clasped his hands together under his chin and fell into contemplation once more.
Time passed imperceptibly.
When Harry, barely able to lift his arms, returned to Gryffindor Tower with weary steps from Lockhart's office, seeing only Sherlock in the common room nearly moved him to tears.
"Sherlock!" Harry approached and called softly.
"You're back?" Sherlock checked the time and looked at Harry. "Judging by your right hand's current range of motion, Lockhart has even more fans than I imagined, though you've returned somewhat earlier than I expected."
Harry paid no attention to Sherlock's deduction. His voice was somewhat hoarse. "Sherlock, have—have you been waiting here for me this whole time?"
"Not exactly. After Hermione left, I simply became absorbed in my thoughts."
The air suddenly felt heavy with silence.
Harry decided not to dwell on this matter for now. "Sherlock, if you're not too tired—I have something important to tell you."
"Speak."
Hearing Harry's words, Sherlock immediately fixed his bright gaze on Harry. He could smell adventure in the air.
"I just heard a strange voice in Lockhart's office." Harry paused thoughtfully, seeming to consider how best to describe it.
"It was a speaking voice—blood-curdling, breath-stopping, ice-cold and malicious! I heard it say, 'Come... come to me... let me rip you... tear you apart... kill you...' But Lockhart said he heard nothing at all!"
Harry spoke with somewhat frantic energy. "He said I was just tired from being there for four hours, that I was getting drowsy—but I know that wasn't it! I swear I heard that voice clearly!"
Sherlock said nothing, merely watching Harry quietly.
"Really, Sherlock, you have to believe me!"
"Tell me everything that happened from the moment you entered Professor Lockhart's office—in as much detail as possible, don't leave out any particulars!"
Hearing Sherlock's words, Harry immediately perked up. "Yes!"
He knew that the last time Sherlock had said this was during the Greek Translator case, and before that, the case of Cho Chang's missing eyeshadow, and before that, Hannah Abbott's father's wrongful accusation case.
So, whenever Sherlock spoke like this, it meant he was taking things seriously!
Harry composed himself and began recounting how he and Hermione had gone to Lockhart's office, how Hermione had been dismissed by Lockhart, how he had followed Sherlock's guidance in asking Lockhart for advice on handling obsessive fans like Colin Creevey.
Then came the task of helping Lockhart reply to fan mail—hundreds, perhaps thousands of letters. Just when he was exhausted and ready to give up, he suddenly heard that voice.
At first, Harry had indeed thought it was his imagination. But when he snapped to attention, he heard the voice even more clearly. Yet Lockhart not only heard nothing but suggested Harry was hallucinating from fatigue and dismissed him.
After finishing his explanation, Harry suddenly realized. 'Oh no! I promised Hermione I wouldn't tell anyone about this—
Well, Sherlock doesn't really count as "anyone else," so never mind.'
"No wonder you returned earlier than I expected. So apart from what you just told me, you heard nothing else from that voice?"
"That's right."
"What else did Professor Lockhart say?"
"He told me to go back and rest quickly."
"Could you determine which direction the voice came from?"
"I couldn't tell."
Harry's face showed an apologetic expression. He could sense that Sherlock trusted him, but unfortunately, he couldn't provide any constructive insights.
"Come, come to me, let me tear you apart, kill you." Sherlock clasped his hands under his chin, quietly repeating the phrases Harry had just recounted.
"Whoever it is, these words sound rather foolish—like a thief-catcher shouting 'Stop!' in the street."
Sherlock made this assessment, then asked. "Now then, have you ever heard a similar voice before?"
"What?" Harry was confused—he hadn't expected Sherlock to ask this question.
"Harry, I once told you that when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Given this, let us begin our deductions. First, we eliminate the possibility that this was a hallucination."
Harry nodded vigorously. "I'm certain it wasn't a hallucination!"
"Second, we assume Professor Lockhart truly didn't hear this voice."
"I don't think he was lying. His surprise seemed genuine."
"Very good. Having eliminated all these assumptions, it means you can hear a voice that others cannot—a voice likely produced by some strange creature."
"Yes, exactly!" Harry raised his fist excitedly. "Sherlock, you're amazing! You've seen through to the truth immediately!"
"No."
"Huh?"
"I said no. This isn't necessarily the truth."
Harry stared at Sherlock with a look that clearly said "Are you kidding me?". "But didn't we eliminate all the assumptions?"
"Did we really?"
Hearing Harry's words, Sherlock suddenly smiled. "What if I propose another hypothesis? What if you're lying to me about this entire incident?"
"Sherlock!" Harry was furious. "I would lie to anyone before I'd lie to you!"
Harry wasn't just angry—he felt deeply hurt. How could Sherlock do this? Ever since they'd met, Harry had considered him the best friend in the world. After everything they'd been through together last year, how could he not trust him!
In that instant, Harry nearly felt like crying.
Yet Sherlock seemed oblivious to Harry's emotions. "Dear Harry, I certainly believe you wouldn't lie to me, but what if this wasn't your conscious action?"
"Wh-what?!"
Though Sherlock spoke each word clearly, when strung together, Harry found himself completely lost.
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