Rubeus Hagrid served as the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, and also held the position of Professor of Care of Magical Creatures.
His usual attire had always been filled with a rustic air, giving people the feeling that he had just emerged from deep in the mountains and forests.
However, given his height of eleven and a half feet, combined with his profession, it didn't seem out of place at all.
But today his outfit left Harry, Hermione, and Ron utterly astonished.
He was wearing a furry brown suit, paired with a yellow and orange checkered tie.
All three of them knew this was Hagrid's best set of clothes.
The problem was, it was simultaneously his most hideous set of clothes.
What made it worse was that Hagrid seemed to have attempted to straighten his hair, using large amounts of what appeared to be machine lubricating oil or something similar.
But now his hair was slicked smoothly back into two bunches.
The three guessed he had perhaps originally intended to tie it into a ponytail like Bill's, but discovered his hair was too abundant, ultimately resulting in this awkward and peculiar appearance.
The three friends looked at each other, completely unable to understand what stimulus Hagrid had received to dress himself this way.
Ron kept staring at Hagrid's strange hairstyle, just about to open his mouth to comment, when he received an elbow from Harry.
"Hiss—"
Ron immediately drew in a sharp breath of cold air.
Did you have to be so ruthless?
Harry shot Ron a look and quickly asked, "Er—Hagrid, where are the Blast-Ended Skrewts?"
"Out in the pumpkin patch," said the dull-witted Hagrid, who hadn't noticed anything amiss at all. Hearing Harry's question, he said cheerfully, "Ha! They've grown enormous, each one must be three feet long now—there's only one problem, they've started killing each other."
Harry: "..."
This time even he didn't know how to respond.
Hermione took a deep breath. "Oh, that's terrible, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Hagrid said mournfully, "but it's all right, I've separated them into boxes now. There are probably only about twenty left."
"Ah, thank goodness for that," Ron said, having finally caught his breath.
However, Hagrid clearly hadn't caught the sarcasm in Ron's remark.
At this moment, Ron also understood why Harry had elbowed him.
But he suspected Harry was getting revenge, since yesterday when they saw Krum, in his panic Ron had also given Harry several elbows.
If he wanted to remind him, there was no need to use so much force.
After a few pleasantries, Hagrid began making tea, and they sat down at the table.
"Where's Sherlock? Why didn't he come?" Hagrid asked.
"Maybe he doesn't want to hear about 'vomit' again—ow, what was that for!"
Ron had just recovered from the effects of Harry's iron elbow, only to unexpectedly receive another elbow from Hermione.
He looked at Hermione with an innocent expression, feeling utterly wronged.
Anyone seeing S.P.E.W. for the first time would think it meant vomit, wouldn't they?
Hermione's elbow had cut Ron off, and she immediately spoke to Hagrid with hopeful expectation about the house-elves.
In her view, someone like Hagrid who loved magical creatures would surely support her.
But when Hermione showed him the badge, he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W.
"It's not a good thing for them, Hermione," he said with a rare serious expression. "It's in their nature to look after humans. They like it, understand? If you don't let them work, they'll be sad, and paying them wages is an insult to them."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, wearing expressions that said "just as we expected."
Harry even had a malicious thought: maybe Sherlock really was, as Ron had said, unwilling to hear about vomit anymore, which was why he hadn't come with them to Hagrid's hut.
The reason Sherlock hadn't gone with the three friends to find Hagrid was partly because he indeed didn't want to hear Hermione talk about S.P.E.W. anymore.
As he had previously told Hermione, Sherlock could understand her approach, but absolutely did not agree with it.
In human society, human rights absolutely took precedence over other rights.
On the other hand, it was because he genuinely had things to do.
Walking with ease to the headmaster's office, the gargoyle jumped aside as soon as it saw Sherlock, just as it always did.
Sherlock immediately knew Dumbledore was in his office. He knocked on the door knocker and heard a voice from inside: "Please come in."
When Sherlock walked into the room, he found Professor McGonagall was also there.
From their postures, they had been here for quite a while.
Dumbledore wasn't surprised by Sherlock's arrival, but Professor McGonagall asked in astonishment, "Mr. Holmes, how did you get in?"
"I walked in."
"That's not what I'm asking!" Professor McGonagall said irritably. "How do you know the password to the headmaster's office? Don't tell me you can even deduce that!"
"Dear Professor McGonagall, you may not believe this, but I don't need a password to come here."
"How is that possible?" Professor McGonagall blurted out.
"All right, Minerva," Dumbledore said with a smile, interrupting Professor McGonagall. "I told him the password."
Sherlock shrugged at this.
It seemed Dumbledore didn't intend to tell Professor McGonagall about this matter yet.
Professor McGonagall looked at Sherlock with curious eyes and suddenly asked, "Mr. Holmes, are you planning to participate in the Triwizard Tournament?"
Hearing McGonagall's words, Dumbledore also looked at Sherlock with curiosity.
In fact, his original plan was to ask Professor McGonagall to invite Sherlock here after finishing their conversation, but unexpectedly he had come on his own, which saved him the trouble. It just so happened that the question Professor McGonagall was asking was exactly what he had planned to ask Sherlock, so now he could hear his answer.
Sherlock didn't answer directly, but instead asked first, "Professor McGonagall, please tell me first, what are the benefits of winning the Triwizard Tournament championship?"
Professor McGonagall was taken aback by this.
She hadn't expected Sherlock to ask her a question in return, but still answered seriously: "The champion will win eternal glory—this is the first Triwizard Tournament to be restarted after nearly two hundred years. The champion's name will be permanently remembered by the wizarding world. At the same time, they will also receive a generous prize of one thousand Galleons. Of course, more importantly, winning this historic competition as Hogwarts' representative is itself the highest honor."
Professor McGonagall's tone carried undeniable authority and enthusiasm for the school's honor.
Sherlock listened quietly, his face showing almost no ripples.
He directly ignored the parts about glory and Galleons, and a smile flashed through his grey eyes. "In other words, the competition process is filled with puzzles, dangerous challenges, and high-intensity adventure?"
"Of course!" Professor McGonagall straightened her back with some pride. "Each event of the Triwizard Tournament is carefully designed. It tests the champions' wisdom, courage, and magical skills, full of unknown risks and exciting confrontations. This restart, changing the format from individual to team mode, further demonstrates group cooperation and competition."
Sherlock's eyes sparkled, and he nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm... an extreme challenge full of puzzle elements and high-intensity adventure? Sounds much more interesting than classroom work."
Though his tone seemed calm, both Dumbledore and McGonagall could tell that Sherlock was now thoroughly intrigued.
"So, Mr. Holmes," Professor McGonagall asked with anticipation, "what is your decision?"
Sherlock's gaze swept between Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore, who had been observing him with interest all along. He paused for a moment, as if weighing something.
"Professor, allow me to consider it further."
He didn't immediately commit, but the word "consider" itself already indicated his attitude.
Professor McGonagall's face showed a flash of satisfaction. "Of course, this is a very important decision. I trust you will make the best choice for both the school and yourself."
Sherlock's response had softened her tone considerably.
She trusted in Sherlock's wisdom.
If he could truly be selected by the Goblet of Fire to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, it would absolutely be a good thing for Hogwarts.
"Since you're the one who called Mr. Holmes in, I'll take my leave now, Albus."
Professor McGonagall looked at Sherlock with an expectant glance and turned to leave the headmaster's office.
After the door closed softly, only Sherlock and Dumbledore remained in the office.
Dumbledore's blue eyes looked through his half-moon spectacles, his smile seeming to deepen. He pressed his fingertips together and said warmly, "Professor McGonagall seems to think the possibility of you changing your mind has increased. So, Sherlock, have you been attracted by the element of adventure?"
He didn't press for a decision, but directly pointed out the possible motivation.
Sherlock walked to sit in front of Dumbledore's desk. "Let's be direct. My personal wishes don't actually matter much."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because even if I don't participate, you'll find a way to make me Hogwarts' representative—oh, and Harry too."
The office instantly fell silent.
Fawkes ruffled his feathers lightly on his perch.
Light from outside floated in, dancing and flickering on those exquisite silver instruments.
The smile on Dumbledore's face didn't completely disappear, but those blue eyes became unusually sharp, penetrating through the half-moon spectacles as if they could pierce into the hidden corners of one's heart.
He didn't immediately deny it, nor did he maintain an ambiguous attitude. Instead, he calmly observed Sherlock, his fingertips habitually pressing lightly together.
"A very bold inference, Sherlock."
After a moment of silence, Dumbledore finally spoke. His voice remained gentle, but beneath that gentle surface was a new layer of frankness. "And you're not wrong."
"Oh?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow slightly. "I thought you would deny it!"
"Lying to you is not an easy thing, Sherlock."
Dumbledore paused, as if considering how to accurately express his thoughts.
"However, there's one thing you may have misunderstood. The Goblet of Fire's magical contract is ancient and powerful. Its selection process is based on rules that cannot be twisted by external will.
What I want to do is merely ensure that your names meet the procedure of being submitted. As for whether it will ultimately choose you two as champions from all qualified candidates—that is the decision of the Goblet of Fire, the fairest judge. Once the contract takes effect, the Goblet of Fire will select the champions it deems most suitable."
"In other words, you'll throw parchment with our two names into the Goblet of Fire, but won't cast magic to interfere with its choice?"
"Exactly so."
Sherlock clasped his hands together to support his chin, leaning back. "Then how can you be certain that Harry and I will definitely be chosen by the Goblet of Fire?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his gaze becoming serious and earnest. "In your first year, we discussed Harry's special situation and his potential. We had a very important conversation. I hoped and asked you—as Harry's friend, to guide him, help him, and gradually cultivate him during his time at Hogwarts.
You agreed, and you've been doing exactly that. Over these three years, your and Harry's performance has far exceeded my expectations, even exceeded my most optimistic imagination."
Dumbledore's tone carried undisguised approval, his gaze at Sherlock growing more appreciative. "The courage, wisdom, and speed of growth you've both demonstrated are astonishing. If the Goblet of Fire chooses you, this will be another important trial. An excellent opportunity for you to further train and prove yourselves on a higher stage, under greater pressure. Second, don't forget our agreement from last year."
Sherlock's gaze also became serious. "You mean the Horcruxes?"
"Exactly. Searching for Horcruxes is an extremely dangerous task. I once promised you that I would take you along to face them. Participating in the Triwizard Tournament, facing those challenging and even dangerous tasks, can be seen as an extremely important practical rehearsal.
If the Goblet of Fire, this most ancient and rigorous judge, acknowledges that you have the qualifications to represent Hogwarts in battle, and determines that you have sufficient ability to complete those high-difficulty challenges, then..."
Dumbledore spread his hands, his face showing a kind of convinced candor. "What reason would I have not to trust that you possess the strength and mentality to hunt Horcruxes alongside me? You will have completely proven to me that you are warriors ready to face the true storm."
After Dumbledore finished this speech, Sherlock smiled. "In other words, if our names aren't chosen by the Goblet of Fire, it proves that we currently don't have the qualifications to participate in the Triwizard Tournament, and even less could we go with you to find Horcruxes, correct?"
"You could say that—I think you should remember that your requirement at the time was for me to inform you before searching for Horcruxes. Later I thought I could take you along to retrieve the Horcrux, rather than destroy it..."
"I understand. After that, you had second thoughts, feeling you still shouldn't take us along. Unexpectedly, this year the Triwizard Tournament, which hadn't been held for nearly two hundred years, began, and this conveniently gave you an excuse. 'If you can't even pass the Goblet of Fire test, what qualifications do you have to follow me to find Horcruxes!' Right?"
"Sherlock, you..."
Dumbledore couldn't help but show a bitter smile.
The words were crude, but the reasoning was sound.
"I understand—in that case, you can save your effort. I'll convince Harry to put his own name into the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore's bitter smile turned into a genuine smile. "If that's the case, naturally it would be even better."
"By the way, is there any news about Crouch Jr.?" Sherlock asked.
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