"Holmes, s-sorry, Weasley just pulled out these two sticks, and I couldn't help myself for a moment, so I—"
Even though he had advanced to second year, Neville still hadn't managed to change his introverted personality.
Of course, it was precisely because of this that he had become one of Professor Lockhart's favorite students.
"There are plenty by the lake," Sherlock glanced at the two of them and commented casually, "Wrong grip."
"Hey, we're just fooling around! Why be so serious about it?" Ron said.
Neville's eyes lit up immediately. "Sherlock, what's the correct way to hold a stick?"
"It's not holding a stick, it's holding a sword."
As Sherlock spoke, he took the long stick from Ron's hand and casually demonstrated a standard sword-holding stance.
This was content he had already taught Harry when he began learning fencing.
Neville firmly imprinted this scene in his mind.
After a brief stay in the dormitory, Sherlock went to the Great Hall for breakfast with Ron. Hermione, who had arrived earlier, saw only the two of them and couldn't help but ask curiously.
"Where's Harry?"
Usually at this time, Sherlock and Harry, having just finished their morning training, should have just arrived together.
Today not only was Sherlock faster, but Harry was nowhere to be seen.
"Wood dragged him off to Quidditch practice!" Ron said with his mouth still full of food, speaking unclearly. "Woke me up too."
"Early to bed, early to rise makes one healthy," Hermione said irritably, then looked at Sherlock and extended an invitation. "Shall we go to the library later?"
Although it was phrased as an invitation, it had actually become their regular pattern of spending time together.
Since last term, the two would spend their weekends in the library together.
If nothing unexpected happened, this week would be the same.
However, this time, just as her words fell and before Sherlock could even respond, a voice suddenly interjected between them.
"Sherlock, could I have a word with you?"
Along with this mature yet lazy voice, a striking figure appeared beside the Gryffindor table.
Tall figure, chestnut-colored long hair, beautiful face—Gemma Farley, a sixth-year Slytherin student and also Slytherin's female prefect.
Seeing her appearance, Hermione immediately became alert.
"Prefect Farley, what are you doing here?"
"Didn't I just say?" Farley smiled slightly at Hermione, then looked at Sherlock. "I have something I'd like to discuss with Sherlock privately."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What can't be said here that requires a private conversation?"
Farley maintained her elegant smile, but her words made Hermione frown.
"Miss Granger, I invited Sherlock. This doesn't seem to concern you."
"I'm Sherlock's friend."
Despite being shorter than Farley, Hermione's presence was in no way inferior. She looked directly at Farley.
"As a friend, I have a responsibility to help Sherlock guard against people with ulterior motives."
"Miss Granger, who exactly are you calling ulterior?"
"Whoever takes the bait, that's who I'm talking about."
"If you're referring to me, that's rather petty."
"Based on what students from your house have done, I can't help but be petty."
Recently, the conflict between Gryffindor and Slytherin had become increasingly intense.
Every time Gryffindor gained points in other subjects and pulled ahead, Slytherin would use their home advantage in Potions class to even the score.
Professor Snape continuously awarded points to Slytherin students while deducting points from Gryffindor until they became "Gran-nothing-dor."
Under such circumstances, Hermione naturally wouldn't have any pleasant expression for this prefect.
Watching the spirited Hermione, Gemma Farley couldn't help but be somewhat surprised.
This year's Gryffindor class was truly talented!
Having the Lion King and the Boy Who Lived was already enough to make them happy, but she hadn't expected there to be another expert here.
Last year, she had thought this know-it-all miss only knew how to study from books, but now it seemed that wasn't the case at all.
With this thought, she decided to temporarily abandon her confrontation with Hermione and redirect her attention to the main target. Looking into Sherlock's gray eyes, she asked.
"Sherlock, will you come?"
Sherlock nodded and stood up directly. "Let's go."
Seeing Sherlock agree, Hermione became anxious immediately.
"Sherlock!"
"Hermione, don't worry."
Sherlock said calmly, then left with Farley under Hermione's surprised and helpless gaze.
After they left, Hermione turned to look at Ron, who was still eating his breakfast, and angrily said.
"All you do is eat! Why didn't you try to persuade him?"
"Persuade?" Ron swallowed the food in his mouth with effort. "Why would I persuade him?"
"That's a Slytherin prefect! Have you forgotten what happened at the end of last term? If she has ill intentions—"
"Hermione, I think you're being too sensitive. If Miss Farley really had ill intentions, how could Sherlock not see through it?"
"That's hard to say!" Hermione snorted coldly and said irritably.
"Don't worry!" Ron laughed. "If Miss Farley really wanted to harm Sherlock, I think she'd be the one who should be worried. Besides, I feel like Miss Farley isn't that kind of person. Have you forgotten? Even Percy and Ravenclaw's Prefect Clearwater said she's different from other Slytherins."
Hearing Ron say this, Hermione felt somewhat reassured. "It better be that way."
"But there is one thing that's really strange."
"What?"
"Didn't you notice just now? Miss Farley actually called Sherlock by his first name too. I clearly remember that last term she still called him 'Holmes'—"
Hermione suddenly looked up.
Hadn't her own relationship with Sherlock improved dramatically starting from when they began calling each other by their first names?
She was so used to calling Sherlock by his name that when she heard Farley address him directly, she hadn't noticed the problem. Instead, it was discovered by Ron!
This was not a good sign!
Sherlock followed Gemma Farley along the staircase.
The wooden stairs creaked softly under their feet, echoing in the empty corridor.
They walked all the way to the fourth floor. When they reached an empty classroom, Gemma gently pushed open the old wooden door, which emitted a faint creaking sound.
She gestured for Sherlock to enter the classroom, then closed the door behind them.
The door made a dull sound as it closed, as if cutting off all the noise from the outside world.
"This classroom is usually deserted," Gemma said, walking directly to the center of the classroom and stopping in front of a desk.
She gently waved her wand, and a faint blue light flickered from its tip. Silver mist swirled around two cups of orange juice that appeared.
"I think you should like them."
Wisps of steam rose from the cups, creating a hazy vapor in the air.
Sherlock noticed that one cup had a mint leaf on its rim—clearly a sign of a house-elf's obsessive attention to detail.
"Your friend," Gemma said, gently tapping the cup with her well-manicured nails, "seems to imagine me as a Chimaera?"
A Chimaera was a very bloodthirsty and violent magical creature native to Greece. It had a lion's head, a goat's body, and a dragon's tail.
The British Ministry of Magic had classified the danger levels of most magical creatures, and the Chimaera held the highest classification of XXXXX.
At this moment, Gemma deliberately mimicked Hermione's tense expression from earlier, but her sky-blue eyes revealed a hint of mischief, clearly expressing her displeasure in this way.
"Not seems to be," Sherlock also walked to the desk and sat down unhurriedly.
He leaned back in his chair, casually resting his hands on the armrests. "Not just Hermione—most Gryffindor students find it difficult to have good feelings toward you all.
But I don't recall that a Slytherin prefect's duties include dispensing Calming Draughts to every paranoid Gryffindor?"
Gemma frowned slightly, a hint of helplessness flashing in her eyes.
"Sherlock, you don't need to be so aggressive when talking to me. I think you should know that even as a prefect, I can't possibly control every Slytherin student."
"Why would you need to control them?"
"What?"
"If Slytherin students need prefect control to live normally, I think they should leave early. Hogwarts isn't suitable for them."
Gemma's eyes lit up. She looked at Sherlock with an appreciative gaze, her eyes full of admiration.
"Sherlock, I'm increasingly convinced you should be in Slytherin."
She leaned forward slightly, placing her hands on the desk, a movement that revealed her fine figure beneath the loose robes.
"Resourceful, strong-willed, and a certain disdain for rules—these qualities of yours really suit Slytherin perfectly."
Sherlock seemed to pay no attention to this scene. His face wore a polite smile, but that smile carried an almost indiscernible distance.
"Sorry, Miss Prefect, but as far as I know, Slytherin currently has no Muggle-born wizards."
Gemma keenly noticed this and responded by pouting slightly, showing a hint of mock annoyance.
"Didn't we talk about this during the holidays? Don't address me so formally anymore. And on the first night of term, I didn't even get a chance to correct you!"
"Alright, Miss Gemma, so which Slytherin student did you call me here for today? As a prefect, you really do worry yourself sick over them."
Gemma glared at Sherlock. "Can't it be just to see you?"
When she said this, her voice was as gentle as a spring breeze.
Sherlock's tone remained calm. "No."
Gemma couldn't help but be slightly stunned. "Why not?"
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