"Hey, Sherlock, wait for me!"
Hermione chased out of the tent, only to discover that Sherlock had no intention of waiting for her—he was planning to leave directly.
She hurried to catch up with him in quick steps, saying with a hint of reproach.
"I already said I wanted to go with you. Why didn't you wait for me?"
"Because I just noticed your hesitation."
Sherlock said bluntly, "Your desire to come with me isn't strong enough."
Hermione: "..."
This person is really... What more do you want from me!
Before Hermione could voice her opinion, Sherlock was already pointing in a direction.
"Let's go, keep up, Hermione!"
Seeing this situation, Hermione couldn't help but sigh, and could only helplessly follow Sherlock.
What choice did she have? After all, he was Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes was just like this.
As the sun rose in the east, the thin mist over the campground finally began to disperse gradually.
This also allowed Sherlock and Hermione to clearly see that they were surrounded by tents in all directions, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Sherlock slowly walked between the tents, looking around with great interest, observing wizards from different countries.
Finding people was just an excuse anyway.
The water-fetching trio would come back sooner or later.
Looking at Mr. Weasley's enthusiastic expression, even if the trio and they didn't return, he could play with that fire all day.
As for the already-lit campfire, Sherlock wasn't too worried.
Although Mr. Weasley was unreliable, with Sirius and the twins there, they certainly wouldn't let him do anything reckless.
Sherlock wasn't in a hurry, and Hermione was even less so.
Why did she come out with Sherlock?
Wasn't it to spend time alone with this guy?
Hermione had taken Gemma's parting words to heart, along with that crucial kiss.
So now she had to find ways to create opportunities to spend as much time alone together as possible.
Otherwise, after three years passed and Gemma returned forcefully, she'd probably have no chance at all.
Just like that, Sherlock and Hermione walked side by side, leaving two rows of shallow, staggered footprints on the grass.
Hermione looked at this scene and smiled with satisfaction.
Growing fond over time—that's how it works.
"What are you smiling about?" Noticing Hermione's somewhat peculiar smile, Sherlock asked.
"I thought of something happy."
This time, Sherlock didn't probe further into the girl's thoughts, but instead got down to business. "The number of wizards is actually larger than I imagined."
Hermione heard this and, putting aside her private thoughts, nodded in agreement. "Yes, so many people..."
Previously, she had only mastered the theory.
The entire British region had about 3,000 wizards, and worldwide there were fewer than 300,000.
Of course, although the Quidditch World Cup was popular, it wouldn't attract all the world's wizards—half would be remarkable.
But even with a hundred thousand wizards gathered in one place, the scene was quite spectacular.
Thinking of this, Hermione felt somewhat understanding toward the Ministry of Magic—maintaining order for so many people was indeed no easy task.
By this time, those campers who had arrived before last night were gradually waking up.
Naturally, families with young children were the first to rise.
Hermione suddenly pointed. "Sherlock, look over there!"
They saw a little boy about two years old squatting outside a large pyramid-shaped tent.
He was holding a wand in his hand, happily poking at a slug on the grass.
As a result, the slug slowly swelled to the size of a sausage.
By the time Sherlock and Hermione walked in front of him, the boy's mother noticed something was wrong and hurriedly emerged from the tent.
Seeing this scene, she immediately shouted loudly.
"How many times have I told you, Kevin?
You must not—touch—your father's—wand—oh no!"
Before she finished speaking, she happened to step right on that fat slug.
Unsurprisingly, the slug exploded with a "pop."
"..."
Even after Sherlock and Hermione had walked far away, they could still hear her shouting in the quiet air, mixed with the little boy's crying.
"You stepped on the bug! You stepped on the bug!"
Sherlock and Hermione couldn't help but exchange glances and smile.
"Sherlock, this is my first time seeing such a young wizard!
You've probably never seen a wizard this age before, have you?"
"No, I have."
"You have? When?"
Hermione looked surprised.
"I saw a photo at Grimmauld Place."
Sherlock briefly explained about the letter Harry's mother Lily had sent to Sirius.
Hearing that when Harry was one year old, he could already fly around the house on the toy broomstick Sirius had given him.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "No wonder he became the youngest Seeker in a century. His talent was already showing at such a young age."
"Really? Then they're not bad either."
Hermione followed Sherlock's gaze and saw young witches about the same age as that two-year-old boy named Kevin.
They were riding two toy broomsticks, flying low, their feet lightly skimming the dew-covered grass, giggling happily.
"Magic is really so useful! When I think back to receiving my Hogwarts letter, I still can't believe it!"
Hermione couldn't help but sigh. She glanced at Sherlock, a complex emotion in her eyes.
"If I hadn't received that letter delivered by owl, we probably would never have crossed paths in this lifetime!"
Sherlock didn't catch the relief and gratitude in Hermione's words, explaining very seriously. "That's not necessarily true."
"You mean, even if I weren't a witch, fate might still have brought us together?"
In that instant, many romantic encounter scenarios appeared in Hermione's mind, but before she could develop these thoughts further, Sherlock defeated them with one sentence.
"With your intelligence, if you engaged in criminal activities, Scotland Yard probably couldn't catch you.
At that point, the police would inevitably consult me, and that way, we'd know each other, wouldn't we?"
Hermione: (ー`ー)
What was I even expecting!
At this moment, Hermione wanted to find a deserted place and bang her head against the wall.
Just then, an adult wizard hurried past them, saying with an unhappy expression.
"Doing this in broad daylight! Their parents are probably sleeping in—"
Hermione sighed and took the opportunity to change the subject. "That's a Ministry employee, right?"
"Obviously."
As they continued forward, more and more interesting things began to appear before them.
Adult wizards began emerging from their tents in waves, starting to make breakfast.
But their actions made Sherlock and Hermione unable to suppress their amusement.
Some wizards looked around furtively, secretly lighting fires with their wands.
Others, like Mr. Weasley, were striking matches, but with doubtful expressions on their faces, as if they believed this couldn't possibly work.
Three African wizards sat together discussing something seriously, all wearing long white robes, roasting something that looked like a wild rabbit over a pile of purple flames.
A group of middle-aged witches sat chatting and laughing, with a glittering banner hung high between their tents.
The Salem Witches' Institute
"Sherlock, can you understand what they're saying?"
Seeing Sherlock listening attentively, Hermione couldn't help but look surprised.
She had caught fragments of words but couldn't understand a single one, only feeling that everyone sounded very excited.
"Mm, I can roughly understand the meaning."
Meeting Hermione's puzzled gaze, Sherlock explained.
"They're discussing who has better odds in the match between Ireland and Bulgaria.
Most people think it's Ireland, but Bulgaria has a very skilled Seeker who might turn the tide."
"You really understood?"
"Dear Hermione, I've said I basically don't lie—unless necessary—and such situations are very, very rare. This clearly isn't one of them."
"Uh... sorry, I'm not doubting you, I'm just too surprised. What language are they speaking?"
"Latin, mixed with some dialects and slang, so I can't understand it completely."
"Wait, Sherlock, you know Latin?"
"You seem very surprised?"
"Of course I'm surprised, you never mentioned it!"
"You never asked."
"...Fine, well now I'm asking. How many foreign languages do you know?"
"French, German, Latin."
"You mean, including English, you can speak four languages!"
A fourteen-year-old boy who was fluent in four languages!
Although Hermione had long known Sherlock was a genius, she still hadn't expected there were mysteries about him she didn't know.
At this moment, her gaze toward Sherlock was full of surprise and admiration.
"Dear Hermione, you needn't be so surprised."
The corners of Sherlock's mouth curved slightly up. "For me, my language abilities merely serve my detective work."
"Foreign languages... Sherlock, I want to learn foreign languages with you too, even just one more would be great."
Hermione said with some emotion. Just as she was preparing to discuss learning foreign languages with Sherlock in more depth, she suddenly felt something was wrong with her eyes.
Everything entering her vision had become a sea of green.
But she quickly realized it wasn't her eyes—she and Sherlock had indeed walked into a green ocean.
All the tents were covered with a thick layer of shamrocks, looking like countless oddly-shaped green hills sprouting from the ground.
Hermione was stunned. "What's... going on?"
Sherlock was also momentarily surprised, but then chuckled and shook his head.
"Ha... security measures against Muggles—I find that laughable."
Of course, among the vast Muggle population, there might be people who liked self-decoration in green like this.
But even Muggles who decorated their tents this way would inevitably attract attention from others.
So only wizards could do this.
Stubborn, self-centered wizards who wouldn't listen to advice.
Just as Sherlock was unconsciously analyzing the personality traits these tent owners possessed, someone suddenly called their names from behind.
"Hey! Sherlock, Hermione!"
Hearing this voice, even without turning around, Sherlock knew who it was.
His roommate—Dean Thomas.
However, Sherlock was well aware he wasn't the owner of this tent, but rather a guest.
Sure enough, when he turned around, he saw standing beside Dean the tent's true owner.
His best friend, also their Gryffindor classmate, nicknamed "Demolition Expert"—Seamus Finnigan.
At this moment, Seamus was sitting in front of his shamrock-covered family tent, with a woman with light yellow hair standing beside him.
Sherlock took one look and immediately deduced this was his mother.
"This is my mum."
Sure enough, the next moment Seamus introduced Sherlock and Hermione to Mrs. Finnigan, while saying with a grin.
"Do you like the decorations? Though the Ministry isn't too happy about it."
"Ahem, why shouldn't we be able to show our colors?"
Hearing her son's words, Mrs. Finnigan said somewhat dissatisfied.
"They should go see how the Bulgarians have covered their tents—I don't know why they're always watching us.
That said, I assume you're all supporting the Irish team, aren't you?"
Having said that much, Sherlock and Hermione finally understood their purpose.
They were supporting their favorite team—Ireland was represented by the color green.
When her bright eyes were fixed on them, Hermione felt a bit embarrassed and could only go along with Mrs. Finnigan, saying she also supported the Irish team.
In such an atmosphere, she really didn't know how to refuse.
Then Sherlock beside her immediately provided a textbook example of refusal.
"I don't support either side, Mrs. Finnigan."
Sherlock looked at Seamus's mother and said under her shocked gaze.
"First, I came here because I'm interested in world-class Quidditch matches, without any preset position.
Second, I don't think your actions will have any positive effect on the team you support.
Third, the Ministry is trying to stop you because your actions have caused difficulties for their normal work, which is wrong.
Finally, Bulgaria covering their tents is also wrong. You can't compete with them in a race to the bottom just because they're doing it."
"You... you... you..."
Mrs. Finnigan was stunned by Sherlock's clear and logical statement.
After a while, she finally reacted, pointing at Sherlock and stammering "you, you, you" for a long time without managing to say a complete sentence.
Seeing the situation going south, Seamus and Dean grabbed Sherlock from both sides and pulled him away.
Hermione hurriedly said goodbye to Mrs. Finnigan and ran after them.
When she caught up outside, she was surprised to see Seamus and Dean praising Sherlock unrestrainedly, their admiration was practically overflowing.
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