With all champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons selected, only the three Hogwarts champions remained. As hosts of this Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts received the most attention.
Ron suddenly leaned over. "I really hope the contestant over seventeen is Angelina."
"Me too!" Hermione said, still gripping Sherlock's hand tightly and holding her breath.
"Don't worry, we'll know very soon," Harry said, staring fixedly at the Goblet of Fire.
At that moment, the Goblet's blue-white flames danced as if sensing the approaching climax. Just then, the Goblet turned red again, sparks flew, and flames shot high into the air. Dumbledore drew the seventh piece of parchment from the tip of the flame.
"The champion and captain from Hogwarts—Cedric Diggory!"
"Oh no!" Ron and Seamus shouted together.
But except for Sherlock, Harry, and Dean nearby, no one heard them. Because the Hufflepuff table beside them instantly erupted with thunderous cheers, stamping feet, and screams. The shouting reached the ceiling, and some Hufflepuff students even stood on the benches.
Cedric slowly stood up. His face radiated surprise, pride, and a gentle smile. Amid the applause that nearly lifted the roof, he calmly waved to the Hogwarts students and walked steadily toward the room behind the staff table. Judging purely by appearance, he was in no way inferior to Krum and Fleur—perhaps even surpassing them.
The home advantage of the hosts was fully displayed at this moment. The applause for Cedric continued for a long time, causing Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime's expressions to sour somewhat.
However, not everyone was supporting Cedric. Ron snorted coldly: "Great, we already have a champion over seventeen. Now it's up to you lot!"
Harry suddenly felt his left palm tighten. Turning his head, he couldn't help but laugh bitterly. Somehow, Ron was gripping Harry's hand tightly, just like Hermione was gripping Sherlock's. Obviously, although Ron had put his name in the Goblet, he knew in his heart he wasn't champion material.
"Listen, now that guy has taken the captain's position. If neither Sherlock nor you are selected next, that would be truly terrible."
"Ron, what are you saying!" Hermione said with some displeasure. "Although we all hoped Angelina would be selected, once Cedric is chosen as champion, he's our ally."
"Hmph, if he's captain, doesn't that mean Sherlock and Harry have to listen to him?"
"Exactly, I don't think he's cleverer than Sherlock," Fred also chimed in.
Although they'd joked with Sherlock and Harry before, when this moment truly arrived, the Weasley twins were very clear that they were inferior to the Lion King and the Savior in every respect.
George laughed. "Never mind. If Cedric won't listen to Sherlock, Sherlock can just take Harry and let him play by himself!"
"Oh, don't say that. Cedric isn't that kind of person," Harry couldn't help but speak up for him, then his voice lowered. "Besides, we might not even be selected."
But as soon as he finished speaking, Dumbledore's voice rang out: "The second champion from Hogwarts—Harry Potter!"
BOOM!
This time the cheers came from the boiling Gryffindor table!
"Potter!"
"The Fist King!"
"The Savior!"
The shouts rose one after another. Ron clapped until his hands were red, and Hermione's eyes sparkled with bright light.
Harry had imagined countless times what his emotions would be if chosen by the flames, but when the moment truly arrived, his mind still went completely blank.
At the head table, Professor Dumbledore straightened up and shouted loudly again: "Harry Potter—Harry! Please come up here!"
"Go on, what are you waiting for!" Ron urged loudly, giving Harry an elbow for good measure.
Harry: (*￣︿￣)
That Ron!
He glared at Ron, but the fellow had turned his head away, pretending to look at the scenery.
"Go on, Harry," Hermione urged softly.
Harry looked at Sherlock, and the moment he met those gray eyes, his heart suddenly calmed. Harry stood up and walked along the passage between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, then, like the six champions before him, passed along the staff table and through that door, leaving the hall.
"Harry Potter," Karkaroff said the name softly with some emotion. "Not surprising at all!"
As he said this, he couldn't help glancing in Moody's direction again, then quickly withdrew his gaze after seeing that magical eye.
Madame Maxime smiled and said, "I even suspect this rule change was prepared for this little boy."
"Don't say that, Madame Maxime," Bagman interjected. "The rule change wasn't decided by the British Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. The ministries of your countries and your two schools all agreed with both hands raised."
"That may be true, but the problem is that the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are all sixth or seventh-year students. Am I right, Madame Maxime?"
"Correct, all three of them are already seventeen."
"In other words, the Goblet believes Potter is more qualified than other older contestants," Bagman said somewhat impatiently. "Now, don't disturb Dumbledore. The final contestant's name is coming out."
While they were talking, the flames in the Goblet turned red again. Sparks crackled and spat. A long tongue of flame suddenly shot into the air and produced another piece of parchment.
Dumbledore immediately reached out one long hand and grasped the parchment. He held it far away, staring at the name written on it. A long silence.
Dumbledore stared at the paper in his hand, and everyone in the hall stared at Dumbledore. Then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read aloud—
"Sherlock Holmes."
Gryffindor House erupted in deafening shouts for the second time. Ron shouted that phrase for the second time: "Not surprising at all!"
"The Lion King arrives!"
"The great detective Holmes!"
"Tremble—our king has come!"
Hermione squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly one last time, then released it. Sherlock stood calmly amid the waves of sound, a faint smile on his lips, nodding slightly in acknowledgment to the crowd cheering for him.
"Lion King? What's that?" Bagman asked curiously.
Karkaroff examined Sherlock with interest. "Looking at his age, he's not seventeen either, is he?"
"Dumbledore, your school truly produces talent in abundance. The Goblet really did only select one seventeen-year-old wizard."
Madame Maxime straightened her towering figure, her massive chest in black satin was heaving. She recognized Sherlock as the person who had spoken with Fleur today and said this with considerable displeasure.
"It was all the Goblet's choice," Dumbledore replied calmly. His gaze swept over Sherlock, who walked with steady steps, his black robes wafting, composedly disappearing through the door.
Sherlock naturally noticed Dumbledore's gaze but didn't respond. He walked briskly through that door, left the hall, and entered a small room.
"Well, now that all our champions are selected, I know I can completely trust all of you, including the other students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. You will certainly give your champions your full support. By cheering for the champions, you too will make a great contribution to this event—"
Dumbledore's voice came from behind, but Sherlock paid no attention. He noticed that portraits of wizards hung on both walls. In the fireplace opposite him, the fire burned brightly. As he entered, all the faces in the portraits turned to look at him. A wrinkled witch whooshed out of her frame and squeezed into the adjacent frame with a wizard sporting a walrus mustache. The wrinkled witch began whispering in his ear.
Sherlock was not unfamiliar with this scene at all. Since discovering the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirement, Hogwarts held almost no secrets from him anymore. He'd been to this room countless times.
The eight champions who had arrived before him were all gathered around the fire, forming three distinct groups. From Durmstrang: Viktor Krum, Toby Thorsen, and Lucas Polyakov. From Beauxbatons: Fleur Delacour, Phily Raven, and Roy Lefan. Hogwarts was relatively outnumbered with only Cedric and Harry.
Sherlock's gaze swept over them, immediately grasping their situations with about ninety percent accuracy. Apart from Harry, whom he knew extremely well, the three captains made the deepest impression.
Krum leaned against the mantelpiece, hunched over, pondering something, maintaining some distance from the other two Durmstrang students. Cedric was speaking quietly with Harry. Fleur was also talking with her two companions, a man and a woman.
When Sherlock entered, all eight turned their heads in unison, their gazes moving together to him.
"Sherlock!" Harry was the most excited, immediately rushing forward and grabbing Sherlock's arm. "I knew you'd come!"
Sherlock smiled slightly. "Thanks to your good wishes, Harry."
He then looked toward Cedric, who immediately smiled and nodded at him: "I was just telling Harry that if you could come, that would be wonderful. We..." He suddenly realized that people from the other two schools were present, and some things weren't convenient to say.
"In any case, it's wonderful that you could come."
Cedric's attitude didn't surprise Harry. Sherlock nodded slightly to him, then turned to Fleur Delacour: "We meet again, Miss Delacour."
Phily Raven and Roy Lefan, the two Beauxbatons students, heard Sherlock's words and looked back and forth between Fleur and Sherlock in surprise.
Finally, the somewhat slender girl Phily couldn't help asking, "Fleur, you knew each other before?"
"You saw him at lunch today too, Phily," Fleur turned her head, tossing her waterfall of silver hair. "Then Madame Maxime took us away."
"Ah, it's him!"
With Fleur's reminder, Phily also realized. She looked at Sherlock with eyes full of curiosity.
At Beauxbatons, the boys pursuing Fleur could be said to be as numerous as fish crossing a river—countless. But Fleur Delacour was like a rose with thorns. Her public boyfriends changed one after another, yet only those who knew Fleur well, like Phily Raven, understood that these boys were all shields. There was no substantial progress between them. These boys also knew Fleur was using them, but even so, they were content with it.
That Fleur would receive pursuit from boys at other schools during the Triwizard Tournament was expected. But this Sherlock Holmes before her eyes—wasn't the age gap a bit too much?
A fourth-year boy wanted to pluck the Rose of Beauxbatons? Or were British people more mature than French people?
As she was thinking this, Sherlock suddenly turned toward her: "Miss, you seem to be thinking something quite impolite."
"Ah?"
Phily Raven was already slender, and now, suddenly having her thoughts exposed by Sherlock, the frail girl was like a startled rabbit. Her face instantly flushed red, her delicate fingers twisting together: "I didn't..."
Her reaction further confirmed Sherlock's deduction. A playful arc curved Sherlock's lips, though it wasn't mockery but rather a composed certainty of seeing through everything.
"I think you may have some misunderstanding about me."
"I... I didn't..."
Phily was about to explain when Sherlock interrupted her. "Of course, I don't mind."
"..."
Phily Raven looked at Sherlock in surprise, momentarily unable to grasp the situation.
Fleur Delacour beside her frowned, examining Sherlock up and down as if meeting him for the first time.
Roy Lefan, seeing his schoolmate embarrassed, immediately stepped forward, positioning himself in front of the two girls. He was a moderately built strongman, his physique considerably larger than Sherlock and Harry's current builds.
"This... sir, pardon my directness." He glanced outside, then withdrew his gaze and looked at Harry before speaking slowly, "But you and your companion are too young, really unsuitable for participating in the competition. I think the Goblet must have made a mistake."
Harry almost immediately wanted to argue back, but glancing at Sherlock, he forced himself to hold back. Cedric, however, immediately spoke up in support: "The one who's mistaken is you, isn't it? Professor Dumbledore already said yesterday that each school must have at least one student over seventeen participating. Do I need to explain to you what 'at least' means?"
"I certainly understand. Since the Goblet selected them, does that mean your school has no other presentable wizards over seventeen?"
"You—!"
Just as Cedric was becoming angry, Sherlock spoke: "Thank you, Cedric."
Having said this, he turned to Roy Lefan. "You're quite right."
"Ah?"
Roy Lefan had originally intended to attack Sherlock and Harry using age, then extend that to the topic of Hogwarts having no one available. He never expected Sherlock to directly and simply admit it.
However, Sherlock's next sentence made him unable to keep his composure: "So if you have any objections, go tell the Goblet of Fire yourself!"
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