By the time the students of Hogwarts made their first trip to Hogsmeade that year, it was already the middle of October without anyone quite noticing the time had passed.
Since the Ministry of Magic had stepped up its cooperation with Hogwarts, security around the school had grown steadily tighter. Most students had assumed there would be no more Hogsmeade visits allowed this year at all.
And yet, against expectations, the trip was still happening.
"Seems like both the Ministry and Hogwarts are still confident enough in the security around the school," someone remarked.
The prospect of getting out of the castle and clearing their heads put nearly everyone in high spirits—Harry and Ron included.
Both of them had girlfriends now, and neither was about to pass up a chance like this for a date.
"Honestly, mate, it's lucky you're captain now," Ron said, half-joking, "otherwise we probably wouldn't be going this weekend either."
Harry knew exactly what he meant.
Last Valentine's Day, he'd already arranged to go to Hogsmeade with Cho Chang, only for Angelina Johnson—Quidditch captain at the time to pull the rug out from under him with a training session.
If Ginny hadn't also been there training alongside them, that Valentine's Day would have amounted to Harry spending the holiday with Ron.
At the mention of it, Ginny's eyes lit up for a moment—before she quickly lowered them again.
Now that Harry was captain himself, he obviously wasn't about to schedule practice on a day like this.
Even someone as thick as Ron could work that much out—so how could Harry possibly have missed it?
"Sherlock, what about you? Fancy a walk round Hogsmeade?"
"I think I'll pass," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "By my estimate, the odds of anything worth investigating happening there are fairly low."
"Er—fair enough!"
Harry shrugged. He'd more or less expected that answer.
Ever since those first few trips to Hogsmeade back in third year, Sherlock had simply lost interest in the place.
In Sherlock's own words: "The one village in all of Britain populated entirely by wizards, and even that turns out to be rather unremarkable."
Since then, he only ever went when something happened there, or after a long enough stretch had passed.
Thinking of this, Harry turned to Hermione instead. "What about you, Hermione? Not going either?"
"That's right," Hermione nodded. "I'm planning to stay at the castle and read and it happens to be a good chance to ask Sherlock some questions about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and grinned at each other.
Somehow, none of this came as any surprise at all.
The morning of the Hogsmeade trip.
Sherlock took Harry and Neville out for boxing and fencing practice, as he always did.
After years of this kind of training, both boys' physical conditioning had improved markedly, and their close-combat ability now clearly outstripped that of the average wizard. They simply hadn't had the chance to put it to use, so neither of them realized quite how capable they'd become.
Since a fierce wind had picked up outside, the three of them returned earlier than usual.
Harry began flipping through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making to pass the time before breakfast, not something he normally did lying in bed with a textbook. For anyone else, that kind of thing would have looked distinctly odd.
Even Sherlock was no exception.
Only Hermione was.
Whenever she did it, it merely came across as a little eccentric.
"Yes, Harry—I don't think this can really be called an ordinary textbook either."
Just as Harry was lost in thought, Sherlock spoke up out of nowhere.
By now, Harry was completely used to having his thoughts read by Sherlock, so it no longer surprised him in the slightest.
He simply nodded at the remark.
"You're right, Sherlock—the more carefully I look through this book, the richer I find the contents."
The book wasn't only full of easy shortcuts and clever tips—the very things that had earned Harry Slughorn's enthusiastic praise—its margins were also crammed with all sorts of inventive little hexes and charms, scrawled in wherever there was space.
From the crossed-out, rewritten look of the handwriting, Sherlock had deduced that all of this had been invented by the Half-Blood Prince himself.
Since Sherlock had already worked out the Prince's identity some time ago, none of them were particularly surprised by any of this.
Because, well, the man was a genius.
Back when Jemma had still been at school, she had once cast the Muffliato Charm. According to her, the spell had only ever circulated among a small handful of students, said to have been invented by some senior of theirs years before her time.
It was a clever spell, and a genuinely useful one.
Once cast, anyone nearby would find their ears filled with a droning buzz, making it impossible to make out a word of the conversation taking place.
When Harry found the same spell written in the textbook, everyone finally learned who that legendary "senior" from years past had actually been: Severus Snape.
Beyond the Muffliato Charm, the other spells in the margins were just as interesting.
There was one hex, for instance, that made a person's toes grow at an alarming rate.
Another could glue someone's tongue to the roof of their mouth.
Harry made a point of tracking down a few Slytherins he'd never much cared for to practice on with spectacular results.
But precisely because of this, the group's expressions couldn't help but turn a bit strange whenever they saw Snape afterward.
They genuinely found it hard to imagine that the young Snape could have been someone like this.
Or perhaps it was simply that this Potions textbook of the Half-Blood Prince's had introduced them to a Severus Snape they'd never known.
"Sherlock, I've found another new spell!"
Just then, Harry suddenly called out to Sherlock.
Snape seemed to have put considerable thought into this particular one.
It had clearly been crossed out and rewritten countless times, until finally, crammed into the corner of the page, were these words:
Levicorpus (Silent)
"Want to give it a try?"
Watching Harry's face light up with excitement, Sherlock took the book, glanced over it, and let out a sigh.
"I can more or less guess what this spell does already though I'd suggest you master the counter-curse before you try casting it." Following his gaze, Harry noticed a few words crammed together just beneath it: Liberacorpus.
"Going by the words alone, that one's clearly the counter-curse but you're saying you can already guess what the first one does?"
"My dear Harry, if you were to tell Hermione about this, she would no doubt conclude that using a spell before understanding what it actually does is a deeply irresponsible thing to do."
"Don't worry, I certainly won't be telling her."
"As it happens, you already know this spell—even though you've never actually seen it cast."
"Me?"
"That's right," Sherlock said, his voice distant. "The Quidditch World Cup. Death Eaters. The chaos."
The moment Sherlock strung those words together; it clicked for Harry at once.
Back at the Quidditch World Cup, that mob of Death Eaters had hung people helplessly in midair, leaving them to drift there with no way to fight back.
Just as Sherlock said, Harry hadn't seen it with his own eyes but he'd since heard about it, both from the papers and from people who had.
The thought settled over him like a weight.
"Sherlock, are you saying—"
"I'm merely stating a fact, dear Harry."
Sherlock pressed his fingertips together beneath his chin, his tone calm and unhurried.
"I've always held that a tool, in itself, is neither just nor wicked.
"Take a knife—in a criminal's hand, it's a murder weapon; in a doctor's, it saves lives.
"The reason Dark Magic is judged to be evil is that its primary intent is to inflict harm on others, to exert control, to corrupt and, in the end, to kill.
"A wizard who immerses himself deeply and for a long time in Dark Magic will find his humanity gradually warped by it—even his appearance twisted into something ugly and inhuman. Voldemort is the most extreme example there is."
Harry nodded, only half following.
"So my advice is—this particular spell is worth experimenting with. But this one, on the other hand—"
Sherlock flipped forward through several pages as he spoke, tapping another spell.
Sectumsempra (For Enemies)
"Sherlock, do you think this one might be Dark Magic?"
"For Snape to have gone out of his way to mark a spell 'for enemies'—I wouldn't be in the least surprised if it turned out to be Dark Magic indeed."
"But—but Snape wouldn't even have been of age back then!"
"And what of it?"
Sherlock allowed himself a faint smile.
"A man capable of embedding himself among both the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, playing double agent to both—do you really imagine he was ever some ordinary boy?"
Harry let out a long breath at that.
There was no denying it—learning that the Half-Blood Prince was Snape had thrown open the door to an entirely new way of seeing things. Before, some small part of him had still resented the idea, had simply thought Snape had a few tricks up his sleeve.
But now—
Fine. You win.
Argus Filch, as he always did, stood at the great oak doors, checking off the names of the students cleared to go to Hogsmeade one by one. It was taking longer than usual this year, because Filch kept running his Secrecy Sensor over each student again and again. Snape had given him the device.
"Not going to Hogsmeade this year either, Sherlock?"
Spotting Sherlock and Hermione standing off to one side, not queued up with the rest, Filch couldn't help but ask, curious.
"Not this time. How's Mrs. Norris keeping?"
"Same as ever—though she's not here just now. She'd be delighted to know you'd come by—hey! No cutting in line, you lot, sorry about that, Mr. Holmes, I—"
"Don't mind us. Carry on with your work."
"Much obliged for your understanding."
Watching Filch bustle about, Hermione said, half to herself, with a note of wonder: "I still can't quite believe Filch shows you this much respect."
"I believe I've already told you the whole story behind that, dear Hermione."
"Yes, I know it's because of Mrs. Norris but even so, I still find it—"
"Everyone carries their own particular misfortune. When a person manages to turn that misfortune into happiness instead, a result like this shouldn't come as any great surprise."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully at that.
It was Ron's turn just then.
Perhaps it was Lavender clinging to his arm that had stirred up some sudden surge of manly pride in him.
"And what would it even matter if we smuggled a bit of Dark Magic paraphernalia out of the castle anyway?"
Ron said, puffing out his chest, glaring at the thin wand-like Secrecy Sensor.
"Ron—"
Harry was just opening his mouth to talk him down when Ron had already gone and finished the thought: "Shouldn't you be checking what we're bringing in, rather?"
Harry couldn't help but bury his face in his hand.
Beside him, Cho Chang pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing quietly.
The outcome was predictable enough—Filch showed Ron not the slightest bit of favour just because he happened to be Sherlock's good friend.
Simply because Ron had mouthed off, the Sensor jabbed him several extra times for his trouble.
By the time the group stepped out into the wind and sleet outside, he was still wincing and grimacing from the pain.
Sherlock took the whole scene in and shook his head.
The world may change, but a person's nature never does.
"Let's head back," he said.
"Right!"
Hermione fell into step beside Sherlock, feeling thoroughly pleased with herself.
As it did every year, once the third-years and above had left the castle, Hogwarts grew quiet and empty.
Only a scattering of younger students remained in the common room.
The moment the Lion King and Miss Know-It-All arrived, the young wizards hastily put some distance between themselves and the pair.
There was no helping it—the sheer presence the two of them carried was simply too much for the younger students to be around.
Just as she'd told Harry and Ron she would, Hermione began asking Sherlock for help with her homework.
It didn't take very long at all.
A top student, however impressive, was still no match for a genius but on the crucial points, the smallest nudge was all it took.
The moment Sherlock offered the barest hint of guidance; Hermione had already grasped it.
After that, the two of them fell into relaxed conversation.
She'd taken Mrs. Holmes's advice to heart, believing it would help deepen the bond between herself and Sherlock not that she needed convincing of that herself.
"Speaking of which, every time Professor Slughorn's sent one of his invitations these past weeks, Harry's gone and deliberately scheduled team practice instead."
"Mm. He didn't want to leave Ron out on his own."
Sherlock gave a light laugh and shook his head.
"Honestly, I don't think he needed to bother. Even if you, Harry, Ginny, and I were all invited to that professor's little dinner parties, Ron wouldn't be lonely in the least."
"He truly wouldn't be—not with Lavender there to keep him company. But every time Professor Slughorn invites the rest of us, he—"
"I'm well aware, dear Hermione," Sherlock said with a shrug. "As far as Slughorn's concerned, Ron simply doesn't exist."
"It really is rather unfair of Professor Slughorn to behave that way."
"It's perfectly ordinary, really—this is precisely what a typical Slytherin looks like.
"Show enough talent, and it hardly matters if you were born to Muggles—he'll still take an interest in you.
Be thoroughly mediocre, but come from a sufficiently distinguished family, and he's just as happy to make your acquaintance.
The unfortunate thing is that Ron falls between the two.
The Weasleys may belong to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they've always been shunned by the rest of the families on that particular list.
And don't forget—the Slughorns are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight as well.
There's also the matter of Ron himself being rather too sensitive."
Sherlock delivered the assessment without the slightest hesitation. "In that respect, Lavender really does suit him rather well."
"Oh?"
Hermione's interest was clearly piqued.
"Why do you say that?"
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