Gryffindor's Quidditch try-outs turned out to be even more of a spectacle than Harry had expected.
Half of Gryffindor House had shown up, first-years through seventh-years.
In fact, it wasn't only Gryffindors. A fair number of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had come too.
Even Slytherin, which had never gotten along with Gryffindor, had sent a scattered few.
Just as Sherlock had said, every one of them was there for Harry Potter.
Sherlock, who had long since been treated as an unofficial member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, walked onto the pitch as a matter of course, just like always.
Hermione had come up to the stands together with Luna and Cho Chang.
She hadn't sat with her own dormmates, Parvati and Lavender, for the simple reason that she was worried her arm might get seized in another one of Lavender's crushing hugs.
"Harry looks a bit nervous, doesn't he?" Cho said quietly to Hermione.
"Understandable. It's his first time as captain, and there's such a crowd today besides."
Hermione looked out over the pitch. The first-years were gripping a handful of battered old school brooms with white-knuckled tension, while the seventh-years towered over everyone else, all long limbs and an intimidating air.
Luna had once again put on her lion-head hat; to show she was rooting for Gryffindor.
"Why is Sherlock down there too? Is he trying out as well?"
"No, Harry asked him to come along," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Though now that I think of it, it might not have been such a good idea..."
Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was already popular enough as it was. And now they'd gone and added the great detective Sherlock Holmes on top of it.
Even Hermione, sitting up in the stands, could feel the heat of all those girls' stares.
And as Sherlock's rumoured girlfriend, she and Luna were drawing no small amount of attention themselves.
It wasn't a comfortable feeling.
Still, from Harry's point of view, asking Sherlock to help out with the try-outs had been a good idea.
Because among the seventh-years was a big, hulking boy with a shock of coarse, wiry hair.
Both Sherlock and Harry recognized him on sight—he was the boy who'd tagged along with them on the Hogwarts Express to meet Slughorn.
"Hey, Sherlock, Harry—we met on the train, in Sluggy's compartment."
He said it with total confidence, striding out of the crowd and offering his hand to both of them. "Cormac McLaggen. Keeper."
Harry felt a flicker of awkwardness.
He couldn't help wondering—did this bloke actually think that just because he'd gotten one of Sluggy's invitations, he was entitled to special treatment here too?
Sherlock, characteristically, was more direct about it. His gaze swept over the tall boy, and he said flatly:
"I don't believe we know each other well enough for first names."
Cormac McLaggen: "..."
Everyone turned to stare at Sherlock in astonishment.
Most students, especially the Gryffindors, had heard about the Lion King's prickly reputation, but hearsay was one thing—seeing it. Now that they'd actually heard Sherlock talk like that, they understood: the rumours hadn't come from nowhere after all.
The great detective really was a hard man to get along with.
Seeing Sherlock speak up on his own, Harry breathed a sigh of relief and quickly pointed toward the edge of the pitch, near where Hermione and Cho were sitting. "Go wait over there with the others."
Once McLaggen had gone, Harry turned to Sherlock. "Should we just start the try-outs?"
"My dear Harry, you're the captain."
Oh, right!
Harry snapped back to himself with a start.
Though really, that wasn't entirely his fault.
With Sherlock around, everyone tended to go a bit lazy in the head and stopped bothering to think things through for themselves.
Just then, Sherlock spoke up again. "Though personally, I'd suggest starting with a simple basic test."
"A basic test?"
"Yes. Just have them get on their brooms and fly one lap around the pitch."
Sherlock's gaze swept over everyone gathered for the try-outs, and he sighed.
"It seems I'll have to have a word with Hermione. When she writes 'The Greek Interpreter,' she really oughtn't make it sound quite so miraculous." Harry didn't entirely follow what Sherlock meant, but he carried out the instruction without hesitation.
He had everyone applying to join the team split into groups of ten, then, just as Sherlock had suggested, sent them up on their brooms to fly one lap around the pitch.
As it turned out, Sherlock never disappointed.
It really was a wise decision.
The first group of ten was made up entirely of first-years.
These little ones had never flown before in their lives.
Only one boy managed to stay flying for a few seconds.
Even he himself looked utterly stunned by it, and moments later smashed straight into one of the goalposts.
If Katie Bell hadn't reacted fast enough to grab him, he'd have ended up in Madam Pomfrey's care.
The second group at least had some older students in it, but the trouble was, all ten were girls.
Harry could have sworn he'd never met such a silly bunch of girls in his life—next to them, even Parvati and Lavender, who used to giggle at everything, might as well have been babies still on the bottle.
The moment he blew the whistle, they collapsed into fits of giggles, doubled over, clinging to each other.
Romilda Vane, who'd once tried chatting Sherlock up on the train, was among them.
Seeing this, Harry didn't bother being polite and told them all to leave.
To Harry's surprise, they went off cheerfully enough.
Then simply sat down in the stands and started bickering loudly among themselves.
Catching Harry's helpless glance in his direction, Sherlock shrugged.
This was nothing yet.
The real trouble was still to come.
Sure enough, the basic test that followed only got messier.
The third group actually managed to get midair, but halfway around the pitch they crashed into a pile.
No question about it—the whole group was cut.
The fourth group was even more absurd. Most of them had shown up without brooms at all, and only started borrowing from each other once they were already there.
"Would anyone show up to a duel without their wand?"
Harry said through gritted teeth and, needless to say, the whole group was cut too.
Just when he thought he'd already reached the limit of his patience, he discovered, to his astonishment, that the fifth group—ten girls—were all Hufflepuffs.
"I..."
Harry took a deep breath. He really was furious now.
He'd known students from other Houses had come to watch, but he hadn't expected they'd actually slip in among the people trying out instead of staying in the stands.
"There are more of them over there," Sherlock said, tilting his chin toward the crowd.
Harry finally lost his temper.
"If anyone here isn't in Gryffindor, leave right now!"
After a brief pause, several younger Ravenclaw students burst out laughing and dashed off the pitch.
Before they left, every one of them shot a long look back at Sherlock.
Clearly, these were the great detective's fans.
One basic test had eliminated over ninety percent of the field—which only made Harry more grateful he'd asked Sherlock to come along. For those who'd made it through, the actual selection went more smoothly.
Though "smoothly" was, of course, only relative.
Because plenty of people lost their tempers during the rounds that followed.
One person smashed a Comet 260 to pieces; another had a few teeth knocked out. And naturally, the ones who didn't make the cut had no shortage of complaints. In the end, Harry chose three excellent Chasers.
As before, all three were girls.
Katie Bell, of course, rejoined the team—her performance had been outstanding.
Ginny Weasley did just as well; last year she'd been the reserve Seeker, and this year she'd officially take the field as a Chaser.
There was also a newcomer named Demelza Robins, whose reflexes were remarkably sharp.
The Beaters weren't quite on the level of the Weasley twins, but they were serviceable enough, each with strengths of his own.
Jimmy Peakes had real muscle behind his swing; the other, Ritchie Coote, wasn't as strong but had a dead-accurate aim.
For the final spot, Keeper, Ron won out over the competition thanks to his new broom, the Cleansweep Eleven, and rejoined the team alongside Katie Bell.
By rights, that should have been the end of it.
Instead, Cormac McLaggen, who'd been cut, rounded up a group of other rejected Keepers and marched straight up to Harry.
"His sister didn't even bother throwing properly," McLaggen said, his face flushed red with anger. "She lobbed him easy saves."
"That's a lie!"
Up in the stands, Cho couldn't stay put and came running straight down toward them.
"That shot had the trickiest angle of anyone's, and it had spin on it too. We all saw it clearly."
She planted herself beside Harry and met McLaggen's eyes without backing down.
"That's right!"
The other team members stepped forward as well, one after another, backing Harry up.
"Then let me try again," McLaggen pressed on. "I saved four. He saved five penalties—"
"So, you do know four is fewer than five."
Sherlock lowered his hands and said coldly.
"What I don't know is whether, in an actual match, once the other team scores against you, you plan on telling their Chasers, 'let me try that again.'"
Hearing Sherlock's jab, the people around them couldn't help laughing.
No surprise there. That was just Sherlock.
"Sherlock, you—"
"I believe we've established that our relationship hasn't reached the point of first names."
Sherlock frowned, about to say more, but Hermione, sensing where this was headed, stepped in first.
"We all saw the try-outs clearly just now.
"Ronald saved five shots. You only saved four.
"As for your claim that Ginny wasn't throwing seriously, that's nothing but your own assumption—it can't count as evidence.
"Harry, as Quidditch captain, has already made his decision and chosen Ronald as Keeper. There's no need to keep pushing this."
Hermione's tone was calm, but her words left no room for argument.
"That's right, that's right!" Lavender jumped in at once. "Who says you get to demand a do-over just because you feel like it? Do you think this is your family's private Quidditch team?"
Seeing everyone looking at him with expressions somewhere between amusement and contempt, McLaggen finally clenched his fists, turned, and walked off—muttering threats into the air the whole way.
"Whew."
Harry couldn't help letting out a breath. For one moment there, he'd genuinely thought the other boy might take a swing at him.
"If it had come to that, he'd have been the only one left standing on the ground."
Sherlock, once again reading Harry's thoughts perfectly, said mildly, "My dear Harry, don't forget—you happen to be Gryffindor's boxing champion." Everyone burst out laughing together, and the whole pitch filled with a cheerful, easy air.
Once the Quidditch try-outs wrapped up, everyone made plans to head down to Hagrid's hut together.
Cho and Ginny were coming along too.
But this time, Sherlock didn't join them.
Mainly because he didn't see the point.
Hermione bit her lip, but decided to go along to Hagrid's hut all the same.
To everyone's surprise, when Luna heard they were going to see Hagrid, she chose to go with Hermione.
"I'm actually quite interested in magical creatures myself," she said, in that sing-song voice of hers. "I expect I'll take the N.E.W.T. advanced class next year as well."
Hearing Luna say this, Hermione's mood lifted a little, and she looped her arm through Luna's.
Sherlock went alone to the Restricted Section of the library and spent a while looking through the forbidden books there; time slipped by without his noticing, and mealtime arrived before he knew it.
By the time he reached the Great Hall, Slughorn was already waiting to waylay him.
"Ah, Sherlock! Just the man I was hoping to see!"
He said it warmly and loudly, fingers twirling the tip of his walrus moustache, his ample belly thrusted forward: "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! Tonight—"
"Dinner at your place?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"How did you know?"
Slughorn looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"Ah, I see—it must be that singular deductive method of yours, mustn't it?"
"Quite right. I also happen to know you've invited McLaggen and Zabini, and that you mean to invite my friends Harry and Hermione as well."
"Ha-ha-ha!"
Slughorn clapped Sherlock heartily on the shoulder.
"Remarkable, simply remarkable—you really are the most interesting student I've ever had. Speaking of which, aren't they with you?"
"They're here."
Following Sherlock's gaze, Slughorn spotted a group of students filing into the Great Hall, and sure enough, Harry and Hermione, the two he'd meant to invite, were right there among them.
"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!"
Watching him rush toward Harry with exactly the same enthusiasm he'd just shown him moments earlier, Sherlock wasn't the least bit surprised.
Clearly, the professor meant to revive the Slug Club, just as he had back when he'd once taught at Hogwarts before. In the days that followed, Dumbledore, Moody, and Umbridge would all take turns disappearing from the school from time to time.
That much was easy enough to confirm—Mad-Eye Moody and Umbridge were both teaching staff, and whenever one of them was absent, some other teacher naturally had to cover their classes. Karkaroff's teaching hours had increased considerably as a result.
As for Dumbledore, he was rarely even seen at mealtimes anymore.
Sherlock's own deduction on the matter was that the ties between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts were growing steadily closer.
So far, the new Ministry administration had been coordinating better and better with Hogwarts.
The letter Gemma had sent had also been full of praise for the new Minister for Magic.
He'd already publicly declared that the Order of the Phoenix, led by Dumbledore, was the backbone of the resistance against Voldemort.
Presumably, corresponding policy measures would be rolling out before long.
Sherlock's deduction was borne out soon enough.
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