"Harry, first let me thank you for your trust." At this point, Sherlock slowly stood up, his robes catching the moonlight streaming through the common room windows in a cold gleam.
"Your honesty is beyond question—but please remember that human senses have tremendous limitations. What a person sees and hears may very well be carefully orchestrated by others, deliberately presented to your eyes and transmitted to your ears."
Harry stared at Sherlock. "I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Actually, reviewing the many cases I've encountered, such situations are quite common. Those goldfish at Scotland Yard think they've grasped the full picture of a case and spend their days smugly satisfied, never realizing they're being completely manipulated by criminals—no different from marionettes.
Here we are in the magical world, old boy, and the situation is far more complex than ever before. You spent nearly four hours in Lockhart's office. If he truly wanted to manipulate you somehow, with our current abilities, we might not even notice. Don't forget—he is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Sherlock's gaze was deep as he stared meaningfully at Harry. "I hardly think a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be ignorant of dark magic."
After these words, Harry felt as though he'd fallen into an ice pit.
"Sherlock, I... I..."
Harry suddenly realized he had no way to refute Sherlock's reasoning. This fact was momentarily hard for him to accept.
"Of course, you don't need to be too anxious. At least from my observations of you since you entered this room until now, you appear completely normal—no different from usual. Even if that professor possessed such abilities, he lacks sufficient motive to use them. After all, up to this point, you've been cooperating with him quite well. Moreover, you still have the protection of your mother's great love..."
Seeing that Harry seemed frightened by his words, Sherlock chuckled softly.
"I'm merely trying to show you that eliminating all impossible circumstances isn't as simple as you imagine. To investigate this matter thoroughly, even I need time—which is why I asked whether you'd heard similar voices before."
Though the question had circled back to the beginning, Harry was now somewhat shaken by Sherlock's analysis, speaking with hesitation. "I'm... I'm not sure. It seems like I have, but then again, maybe not... Sorry, Sherlock, I can't remember..."
"Stop looking so glum—come have a drink!" Sherlock suddenly smiled. "We'll discuss this matter another time. After this drink, we should go to sleep."
Full of doubts, Harry put on his pajamas and lay down in bed. Today's only gain from Lockhart's office was learning how to handle Colin Creevey. He hoped the method Lockhart had taught him would work.
Replying to Lockhart's fan mail had been exhausting—his arm was still numb. So, despite Harry's troubled thoughts, he fell asleep within minutes.
Hearing the gentle breathing beside him, Sherlock smiled slightly. Harry could hear voices others couldn't hear, while he himself could see creature's others couldn't see.
It seemed his second year at the magical school wouldn't be any more boring than his first.
Magic truly was fascinating!
Time passed quickly, and before anyone knew it, they'd been at school for a month. When October arrived, Hogwarts was suddenly struck by a flu epidemic that spared neither staff nor students.
In Sherlock's dormitory alone, only he and Harry remained unaffected. Ron, Neville, and Dean had all succumbed to the illness. Other houses and year groups faced similar situations.
This made Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse and matron, the busiest person at Hogwarts. She had specifically brewed Pepperup Potion for the situation.
Though called Pepperup Potion, it was actually a magical remedy for common colds. It worked quite well—once consumed, it made one feel warm all over, though one's ears would steam for several hours afterward.
Sherlock was playing his violin. The sound, like sawing wood, was unbearable for everyone in the dormitory. However, they all knew this was simply Sherlock's way with the violin.
Initially, it was indeed painful, but if one could endure it, the discomfort would pass. Once past that stage, the remaining time became quite enjoyable.
Sure enough, after satisfying himself, Sherlock played a beautiful piece as compensation. The three boys' frowns immediately smoothed out.
Much better!
When the piece ended, the energetic Harry looked at the sickly Ron and couldn't help saying. "Ron, you really should come morning training with us. That way you might not have caught this cold. You always say 'next time for sure, next time for sure,' but you've never actually come with us..."
Due to his stuffy nose, Ron's voice was nasal. "Next time for sure! Trust me, Harry, this time it's absolutely genuine!"
Harry: "..."
'I'll believe that when pigs fly!'
Nearby, Neville heard their conversation and sneakily glanced toward Sherlock.
Sherlock put down his violin and turned to Neville. "No problem, Neville. Starting tomorrow, you can join our morning training."
Neville, who had been lying in bed, first froze, then suddenly sat up, staring at Sherlock in shock and couldn't help exclaiming. "Galloping gargoyles!"
Harry and Ron's attention was drawn by Neville's reaction.
"Neville, what's wrong?"
Neville was stunned for quite a while before stammering. "Sh-Sherlock said exactly what I was thinking! But I didn't say anything at all!"
Harry and Ron were also amazed.
"What's going on here, Sherlock?"
After a moment, Ron couldn't help shouting. "This is completely unexpected!"
Whenever something like this happened, Ron would become excited. This time was no exception. Even his cold couldn't dampen his enthusiasm.
Though Harry said nothing, his gaze was fixed intently on Sherlock. Clearly, he too wanted to know how Sherlock had divined Neville's thoughts when Neville hadn't spoken a word.
Seeing his three roommates' puzzled expressions, Sherlock laughed cheerfully.
"Ron, I think you should remember something."
"What?"
"Not long ago, I discussed with Hermione a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, in which a character deduced his companion's unspoken thoughts step by step. At the time, you thought this was merely the author's clever device—like what Lockhart does in his novels. I told you then that I had the same deductive habits, but you didn't believe me."
Ron frantically waved his hands. "I didn't—I never—don't make things up!"
"You didn't say so aloud, Ron. But I'm certain that's exactly what you were thinking. So, when I saw Neville lost in thought just now, I was delighted to have an opportunity to demonstrate this."
Sherlock then looked at Harry. "This is precisely where you differ from Ron—you've always had complete faith in my deductions."
Harry: o(￣︶￣)o
Ron and Neville looked at each other, momentarily speechless.
Seeing their expressions, Sherlock burst out laughing. "Fellows, if you don't believe me, shall we make a wager? If my conclusions convince you, please take your Pepperup Potion. I'm quite tired of listening to you sniffling and yawning all day in the dormitory—it always reminds me of patients suffering withdrawal symptoms."
The two exchanged glances and nodded their agreement.
Just then, Harry, who had been looking satisfied, suddenly spoke. "Sherlock, if I remember correctly, the example you and Hermione discussed isn't quite the same as this situation."
"Harry, please speak more plainly."
Meeting Sherlock's encouraging gaze, Harry boldly continued. "The reasoner you mentioned drew his conclusions by observing his companion's actions. If I remember correctly, his companion stumbled over some stones, or looked up at the stars, things like that. But just now Neville was lying quietly in bed—what clues could that provide you?"
Though Neville didn't speak, he nodded repeatedly, clearly agreeing with Harry's words. Ron stared intently at Sherlock, as if demanding a proper explanation or he'd transform into a bat and devour Sherlock whole.
"Ha!" Sherlock laughed aloud, his gaze moving from Harry to Neville. "Neville, Harry has quite wronged you there."
"Wronged?" Neville pointed at himself in surprise. "Me?"
"Indeed. Facial expressions are how people convey emotions, and your facial expressions are your faithful servants."
"Sherlock, you mean you could read Neville's thought process from his facial expressions?"
"Precisely, Harry. I reached my conclusion through facial expressions, particularly the eyes. But Neville, you probably can't remember how you fell into contemplation, can you?"
"Sorry, I... I can't remember."
"Then let me tell you!" Sherlock's speech suddenly quickened, his eyes bright with excitement, as if entering a state of euphoria.
"You were originally lying expressionlessly in bed, but when Harry just began discussing morning training with Ron, you suddenly turned over to face our direction. This movement caught my attention.
After that, your gaze fell on the foot of Harry's bed—where the wooden sticks we use for fencing practice during our morning training are kept. From the change in your facial expression, I could see you had begun thinking, though at that point I hadn't reasoned very far ahead.
After a while, your gaze shifted to Harry's right hand. Later still, you turned to look at me as I played violin, showing a hesitant expression as if you wanted to say something.
So, your meaning was quite obvious—you hoped to join Harry and me in our morning fencing training."
"Merlin's beard! Sherlock, you observed me far too thoroughly!" Neville said with amazement.
Not only him, but Harry and Ron were also stunned.
'Such methods existed?'
"In fact, the clues I used to deduce your thoughts weren't limited to these. Remember that day when Harry couldn't join our morning training because he had Quidditch practice? When I returned, I found you and Ron fencing—using these very wooden sticks, of course."
"Of course I remember, but what does that prove?"
Ron asked, puzzled.
"It proves Neville is very interested in fencing." Sherlock stated with certainty. "At the time, I corrected both your sword grips. Ron merely nodded, but Neville's expression and movements told me he had taken my words deeply to heart. Though I didn't see it directly, I'm certain of one thing."
Ron quickly asked. "What thing?"
"During this time, Neville has certainly been practicing fencing alone in the dormitory quite regularly, hasn't he?"
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