Hogwarts Castle, eighth floor.
In the spacious room, still embedded in the floor was the stone fire pit surrounded by pebbles, its leaping orange-red flames driving away the cold.
Gemma Farley sat quietly in the wide, soft, high-backed velvet armchair near the fire pit.
Her sea-blue eyes stared at the slender glass vase on the mantelpiece, containing white hyacinths.
On today's competition field, the scene Sherlock experienced had worried her greatly, but she hid her emotions well, not letting anyone see.
Until the match ended and she locked eyes with Sherlock.
When she saw Sherlock's gaze, she understood that Sherlock definitely understood her meaning.
Meet at the usual place!
But now, having waited in the Room of Requirement for a long time, Sherlock still hadn't arrived.
Even so, she wasn't anxious at all.
She believed Sherlock would eventually come.
If he hadn't appeared yet, something must have detained him.
Just then, a gentle knock came at the door.
Gemma immediately turned her head.
Sherlock Holmes had arrived.
"Sorry, Gemma, they insisted I go to the Hufflepuff common room..."
Before he could finish, a fragrant breeze swept over as Gemma stood up and rushed straight into Sherlock's embrace.
Sherlock couldn't help but freeze.
He hadn't expected that after their long separation, Gemma would be so enthusiastic, giving him a hug right upon meeting.
After a brief embrace, Gemma released Sherlock with a slightly flushed face, then said: "Long time no see."
"Long time no see."
Sherlock's gaze swept around, suddenly realizing the environment here was exactly the same as when he last parted with Gemma in this place.
This was clearly Gemma's intention.
"Your performance today was excellent," Gemma invited Sherlock to sit, returning to her usual elegant manner: "Especially that Summoning Charm—no one could have imagined you would get past the dragon that way."
"Everyone fell into a set way of thinking," Sherlock picked up the drink on the table and took a sip. "To be honest, it's really not worth mentioning—Krum performed much better than us."
"But if you hadn't done that, he wouldn't have thought of that move," Gemma couldn't help but laugh. "That Mr. Bagman's voice was really too loud, Krum must have heard his commentary."
The two chatted easily about today's match, not at all awkward despite not seeing each other for half a year.
"It seems you've been doing well in Romania?" Sherlock suddenly said.
"I knew you'd be able to tell," Gemma said with a smile. "But I still want to hear what you've observed."
Sherlock's gaze swept over Gemma, his sharp eyes like keys to a puzzle, quickly capturing subtle clues.
Her skin, hand movements, and clothing details.
On the back of her right hand were several newly scabbed light brown scars, their color so faint they nearly blended into her wheat-colored skin.
Sherlock remembered that when they parted at Hogwarts half a year ago, her skin was still as delicately pale as the castle's cool stone walls, but now it showed an even layer of sun-bronzed tan.
There were still barely noticeable traces of peeling at her temples, revealing signs of long-term sun exposure.
And during their hug just now, he noticed a faint smoky smell from around her neck.
It mixed with a sulfur-like mineral scent, completely at odds with her usual elegant perfume.
"The scars on the back of your hand were left recently, weren't they?" Sherlock directly stated his deduction based on his observations.
Gemma smiled: "Still the same as before—whenever you state your deductive conclusions, it always gives people a feeling that it's so simple. I'm in charge of caring for newly hatched Norwegian Ridgebacks at the reserve. They were just born, and their fire-breathing practice is as unpredictable as a baby learning to walk. A week ago, a young dragon got startled and spat out a small flame, and my hand got splashed. The dragon reserve in Romania is in a valley, with intense sunlight..."
Sherlock and Gemma's meeting was very pleasant, and the two chatted for a long time without realizing it.
By the time Sherlock returned to the Gryffindor common room, it was already past midnight.
His four roommates had long since fallen asleep, Harry's sleep-talking and Neville's snoring rising and falling in turn.
A small model of the Hungarian Horntail sat on the table beside Harry's bed.
The little dragon yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes.
The golden egg rested securely on Sherlock's bed.
With one glance, Sherlock knew his roommates had only just returned not long ago.
A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he pulled the four-poster bed curtains closed and went to sleep.
The topic of heroes fighting dragons continued for several weeks.
As hosts, Hogwarts taking first place in the first task gave the Hogwarts teachers and students a sense of vindication.
The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were no longer as high-profile as before.
As for Sherlock, Harry, and Cedric, the three champions who had won glory, they received unprecedented welcome.
Wherever the three went, they would cause waves of cheers.
Besides Cedric, people even came to ask Sherlock and Harry for autographs.
This included students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
This left Harry somewhat flattered.
After all, after Rita Skeeter's previous article came out, people from these two schools had been full of malice toward him.
"Harry, you won their respect with your own ability," Hermione said seriously. "Now everyone knows that woman was talking nonsense."
Speaking of Rita Skeeter, since receiving Sherlock's "advice," she had been quiet for a while.
Even with such good material as the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, she hadn't published anything to stir things up.
The Daily Prophet did publish a relatively objective and fair article, detailing the process of the competition.
However, the article heavily criticized the Ministry of Magic, believing their safety protection measures were inadequate and they lacked emergency plans.
This was also the Daily Prophet's usual style.
"You're right..." Harry couldn't help but shrink his neck. "To be honest, I'm less and less willing to have outdoor classes."
"Me too!"
At this moment they were on their way to Care of Magical Creatures class.
Hearing Harry's words, Ron also said with feeling.
He looked at Durmstrang's large ship stopped on the lake surface, feeling grateful for the castle's warm fires and thick walls.
The ship was currently pitching and rolling in the strong wind: "I bet it's freezing cold in Durmstrang's mobile housing. Sherlock, Harry, are you really not going to ask Krum if he'd like to stay on our side?"
"No point," Sherlock said concisely.
"Alright... alright..." Ron sighed, then wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"
"Pure malt whisky," Sherlock said without hesitation. "It's what Hagrid provides for Madame Maxime's horses."
"Bloody hell!" Ron couldn't help but say. "Is he trying to get us all drunk?"
He was just complaining, but when class officially started, this feeling became particularly obvious.
A strong alcoholic smell drifted from the feed trough in the corner of the temporary stable, making all the students coming to Care of Magical Creatures class feel a bit dizzy.
This wasn't good news for the students.
Because even now, they still needed to care for those terrible Blast-Ended Skrewts.
Professor Hagrid's requirements for the students were getting higher and higher.
Although these things had been reduced to just over a dozen through mutual slaughter, when the young wizards saw them now, each one looked ashen-faced and trembled.
Of course, they couldn't be blamed.
As the saying goes, survival of the fittest—the Blast-Ended Skrewts that survived the mutual slaughter were all the large, strong, and maximally ferocious ones.
Now each one was nearly six feet long, with thick gray protective shells.
Not only that, they constantly waved their powerful legs and their explosive, fire-spewing tails.
Combined with those stingers and suckers, they naturally gave the students a Lovecraftian creature feeling.
"I can't be sure if they hibernate," Hagrid said very honestly. "Let's try and see if they want to sleep... let's settle them in these boxes..."
As he spoke, he brought out large boxes, each lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.
Even though everyone was Hagrid's friend, they were all speechless at this sight.
Just as a teacher, their big friend was really not qualified at all.
However, even Sherlock, such an excellent detective, hadn't anticipated what happened next.
First, the Blast-Ended Skrewts did not hibernate.
Second, they did not like being stuffed into boxes lined with pillows and having lids put on them.
They really didn't like it.
Next, the Blast-Ended Skrewts rampaged through the pumpkin patch.
The ground was scattered with smoking box fragments.
Most students, seeing this scene, immediately fled through the back door into Hagrid's hut without a word.
At this moment, the Lions and Snakes rarely united.
The little Lions and little Snakes locked themselves inside, trembling.
"Don't panic, don't panic!"
"You're Gryffindors, how can you be afraid!"
"Show your courage and come help me subdue them!"
Under Hagrid's loud encouragement, Sherlock and Harry fully demonstrated the responsibility of Triwizard champions.
The two led by example, moving forward bravely, and began assisting Hagrid.
Hermione and Ron immediately followed without a word.
Surprisingly, the next person to step forward was actually Neville.
"Don't go, Neville..." Dean quickly grabbed him. "It's too scary!"
"No," Neville's legs were clearly trembling, but he still said firmly, "Sherlock said the way to overcome fear is to face it!"
With that, he shook off Dean and rushed out.
Seeing his roommate helping Hagrid, Dean stamped his foot heavily and ultimately followed.
Once Dean went out, Seamus naturally couldn't just watch and also ran out.
At this point, seeing even the admittedly most timid Neville had acted, some of the young wizards in Hagrid's hut couldn't hold back anymore and ran out to help one after another.
What surprised Harry was that Malfoy, along with Crabbe and Goyle, also came out.
However, he quickly threw this surprise to the back of his mind.
Because the Blast-Ended Skrewts were large, strong, and explosive, they were really difficult to deal with.
But before class ended, they finally subdued nine Blast-Ended Skrewts and tied them up.
However, the price they paid was heavy.
They had countless burns and scratches on their bodies.
These injuries were naturally nothing to Hagrid.
But for the young wizards, they were already quite serious.
When only one Blast-Ended Skrewt remained, to everyone's amazement, Hagrid called out: "Hey, don't frighten it!"
"We frighten it?" Malfoy's eyes widened as he pointed at the Blast-Ended Skrewt. "Does it look frightened to you?"
At this moment, whether little Lions or little Snakes, they all nodded repeatedly, agreeing with Malfoy's words.
Because the remaining Blast-Ended Skrewt was viciously advancing toward them, the stingers on its back arched up, trembling slightly.
Anyway, it didn't look like it could be frightened.
"Use rope to tie up its stingers, then it won't hurt the other Blast-Ended Skrewts!"
"..."
After this class, the little Lions and little Snakes looked at each other much more favorably.
When everyone queued to see Madam Pomfrey, they rarely refrained from mocking each other.
Indeed, an effective way to resolve internal conflicts is to introduce external conflicts.
Madam Pomfrey was furious about Hagrid's teaching methods, but she still efficiently treated everyone's injuries.
In the last month of 1994, Hogwarts unsurprisingly welcomed strong winds and sleet.
But this terrible weather was soon overshadowed by an exciting piece of news.
The Yule Ball!
In a Transfiguration class, when Professor McGonagall announced this news as Head of Gryffindor House, everyone was surprised.
This was a traditional component of the Triwizard Tournament, considered an excellent opportunity for different schools and even different countries to interact.
Importantly, the ball was only open to fourth-year students and above.
Sherlock's deduction before the start of term was once again confirmed.
The dress robes on the school supply list were prepared for this ball.
"Of course, although the ball is only open to fourth-year students and above, you can also invite a younger student if you wish. The ball will be held in the Great Hall on Christmas night at eight o'clock and end at midnight. In short... the Yule Ball will undoubtedly give us an opportunity to—ahem—let our hair down and relax."
Her words made everyone laugh.
Because Professor McGonagall's hair was always pulled into a tight little bun, and she seemed to have never let her hair down.
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