In the end, Sherlock didn't take Harry to explore other houses' dormitories. When they returned to the Gryffindor common room, they received an enthusiastic welcome. The last time there had been such enthusiastic celebration was when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup last term.
Everyone was screaming, cheering, and whistling. The Weasley twins were still somewhat dissatisfied about Cedric being selected as captain.
"Why does that big oaf get to be captain? Just because he's older?" George shouted.
"And there's revenge for that last Quidditch match," Fred added fuel to the fire.
"Please, why do you two have such a grudge against him?" Angelina Johnson said. "He took my position, and I'm not acting like you two."
"That's right. Diggory is tall and handsome—many girls like him," Alicia Spinnet said.
Katie Bell also laughed. "Yes, he's well-built and doesn't talk much."
After saying this, the three female Chasers giggled foolishly together.
"Good looks don't put food on the table!" Fred said impatiently.
"He talks little because he's too stupid to speak two words at once," George was even worse.
Their words immediately drew the three girls' displeasure.
However, the topic of Cedric Diggory lasted only a short while. Soon, the Lion King and the Boy Who Lived's names echoed throughout the common room. With the Weasley twins stirring things up, both were repeatedly tossed into the air. This frightened Hermione and Ginny terribly.
When the two were finally put down, Lee Jordan produced a Gryffindor house banner from somewhere and, together with Ron, draped it around Harry like a cloak. Sherlock was too agile—they couldn't catch him.
It wasn't until Professor McGonagall arrived at the common room in her nightclothes that this celebration finally ended.
"I feel like this scene is oddly familiar," Harry said wearily.
Ron beside him gloated. "Being a champion comes with a price."
"Ronald, you were the one exciting things up the most just now!" Hermione said disapprovingly. "You even encouraged others to toss them in the air—what if they hadn't caught them?"
"Please, Harry fell from that height on the Quidditch pitch and was fine. This little bit is nothing at all."
"Ron, are you saying you hope your best friend falls again?" Ginny said with her hands on her hips.
"Hey, I didn't say that."
"Come on, let's let them rest. It's already very late." Hermione looked at the smiling but silent Sherlock, pulled Ginny aside, and bid the three boys goodnight directly.
Upon returning to the dormitory, Harry was about to collapse into bed when he suddenly realized he was still wearing the bright red Gryffindor banner Lee Jordan had tied around him earlier. He wanted to quickly remove it, but the knot was tied very tightly.
"Ron, come help me out!" Harry looked at Ron's motionless, spectating appearance and said without good humor. "You were part of this too."
Ron walked over with a grin and began helping Harry remove the banner.
"A thousand Galleons in prize money—that's really nice... and no end-of-year exams either..."
"You make it sound like we're definitely going to win the championship."
"Aren't we? With you and Sherlock, defeating Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would be a piece of cake!"
"It's not like that at all!"
When Harry finally removed the banner and tossed it into the corner, he somewhat helplessly recounted what had just happened.
Ron's eyes widened. "Ha! They're actually stupid enough to think their older age is an advantage?"
"From normal logic, their thinking isn't wrong," Sherlock said. He was already lying in bed and spoke slowly. "If they were wizards who had already graduated, three years' age difference might not matter. But for students still in school, seventh years versus fourth years means three full years of additional magical education. Many spells that are easy for senior students to cast might be ones we haven't even heard of yet."
"But you're different!" Ron protested indignantly. "In your first year, you already faced You-Know-Who head-on and won! In your second year, you defeated him from fifty years ago! If we count the time when Harry was still a baby, You-Know-Who has already lost to Harry three times!
No matter how dangerous the Triwizard Tournament is, it can't be more dangerous than You-Know-Who, can it? At least the Triwizard Tournament has been restarted now, but still, no one dares speak You-Know-Who's name..."
Harry suddenly realized that what Ron said made a lot of sense—he found himself unable to argue.
Then Sherlock delivered a heavy blow to Ron. "How is there no one? There are two right in front of you—Voldemort—Harry, demonstrate once more!"
"Don't—!" Ron shuddered all over. "Mate, my dear best mates, I was wrong, I was wrong, okay?"
He looked at Sherlock with a somewhat resentful gaze. Actually, Ron had some ulterior thoughts. As the least valued child in his family, Ron had to compete with so many brothers at home. Who knew that after entering school, he would become roommates with the Chosen Ones. And not just one, but two!
No matter where they went, it was always Sherlock and Harry who attracted everyone's attention. Every time people saw them, Ron was left to the side.
For these past few years, he had silently endured this, never mentioning it once. Because he was still reasonable and knew that none of this was Sherlock and Harry's own pursuit. This was different from Gilderoy Lockhart.
But this time, how should he put it? He wanted to take a gamble. Never mind the slots for those seventeen and older—there were two slots for those under seventeen! Although everyone, including himself, believed that the Lion King and the Boy Who Lived being chosen was a foregone conclusion, still... what if?
What if he possessed some quality that had been overlooked all along, allowing him to replace Sherlock or Harry and be chosen by the Goblet of Fire?
So, these past two days, while he appeared calm on the surface, his heart was actually panicking terribly. Until the moment the answer was revealed, he finally gave up.
He was ultimately just an ordinary person, unable to compare with these two exceptional individuals. But this emotion, suppressed in his heart with no outlet, made him very uncomfortable. So, during the celebration, he had gone a bit overboard compared to usual.
Fortunately, everyone was too excited about Sherlock and Harry becoming champions to notice his petty thoughts. But now, when talking with Sherlock and Harry, he was being somewhat passive-aggressive. Very subtly, of course, because he knew what he was doing wasn't right. Yet precisely because of this, he felt even more awkward.
If this continued, he might lose control and say something strange. He never expected Sherlock would forcibly bring him to a halt in this manner.
"Dear Ron, being too emotional will inevitably hinder correct reasoning and distance one from the truth."
Hearing Sherlock suddenly come out with such a seemingly random statement, both Harry and Ron showed surprised expressions.
Ron paused, then couldn't help asking, "Sherlock, what are you saying? I don't understand."
"Emotion is an excellent catalyst, Ron. It can ignite passion, but it can also blur boundaries." Sherlock maintained his posture with hands clasped supporting his chin while turning to look at Ron.
As Ron's gaze gradually shifted from confusion to clarity, Sherlock slowly said, "But true choices, especially those concerning right and wrong, concerning paths forward, require us to temporarily treat emotions as evidence to be analyzed, rather than letting them sit in the judge's seat issuing commands. Chains of logic always withstand scrutiny better than momentary impulses, especially when they concern what we hold dear."
If this had been in the past, when Sherlock suddenly spoke such a lengthy passage, Ron definitely wouldn't have understood. He wouldn't have wanted to spend mental effort figuring it out—he would have just asked Sherlock for the answer directly.
But this time, he miraculously understood.
That's right! He suddenly realized—this was Sherlock!
Someone who could see through people's thoughts without using Legilimency! How could his little schemes escape Sherlock's notice?
"Sherlock, I..."
"Forget what I just said."
"What?" Ron looked at Sherlock in surprise.
"You only need to remember one thing: never let emotions control your reason or influence your judgment."
After Sherlock finished speaking, the dormitory fell into a brief silence, with only the sound of wind outside the window and the faint noises typical of Gryffindor Tower.
Harry remained completely confused, but he was truly exhausted today. Despite his puzzlement, his head hit the pillow and he fell asleep.
Before long, he began talking in his sleep, harmonizing rather well with Neville's snoring. As for Ron, he definitely couldn't sleep. Sherlock's words were like stones thrown into still water, and the ripples they stirred spread silently through his heart.
Time moved into November, and Sherlock continued taking Harry and Neville for morning training as usual. Taking advantage of Neville practicing his swordwork alone, Harry couldn't resist asking about what Sherlock had mentioned yesterday.
Sherlock looked at him with some surprise. "Old chap, I thought you would have forgotten about it!"
"Hurry up and tell me!" Harry urged.
Seeing Harry like this, Sherlock revealed yesterday's unfinished words. Anyone wishing to enter Hufflepuff had to tap the designated barrel following a specific rhythm. Once the tapping rhythm was wrong or they simply tapped the wrong barrel, the bottom of another barrel would burst open, drenching the intruder in vinegar while triggering an alarm.
On the morning of November first, Sherlock kept his promise and told Harry about the Hufflepuff common room's disciplinary measures, finally satisfying his curiosity. On their way back to the dormitory, students who had already eaten breakfast immediately welcomed them enthusiastically upon seeing them.
Without doubt, Sherlock and Harry were now heroes of Gryffindor, and indeed of all Hogwarts.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Seeing Harry suddenly become hesitant, Neville asked curiously.
Harry was now somewhat reluctant. If he entered the Great Hall at this moment, it meant he would have to face other students' enthusiastic welcome again. But if he didn't go to the Great Hall, he could only stay here and let the Creevey brothers pester him.
These two were different from others—they weren't interested in Sherlock and were purely Harry's fanatical fans. Like now, they were desperately waving at Harry, hoping he would go over to them.
"How about I go down and bring you some bread?" Neville offered kindly.
"Good idea!" Harry said gratefully.
"What about Sherlock? You're not going to the Great Hall either?"
"I'm going. Why not?" Sherlock smiled slightly, then looked at Harry. "Old chap, I think you shouldn't pay too much attention to others' opinions."
Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded and followed beside Sherlock. Following Sherlock gave him at least some sense of security.
Sure enough, upon arriving at the Great Hall, the two received everyone's welcome. Of course, so did Cedric. However, as the only two remaining underage wizards among the nine competing champions, their attention was naturally higher than Cedric's. Even the Hufflepuff students seemed more interested in them.
Watching Sherlock's indifferent appearance, Harry said admiringly, "When will I ever be able to do what you do?"
Hermione and Ron nodded in agreement, sharing the sentiment. To some extent, all three of them were the type easily affected by others' words and actions.
Harry needn't be mentioned—since first year, he had suffered from the troubles of being noticed. No matter where he went, people would stare stupidly at his forehead, often with pitying looks. Harry had always wanted to tell them he didn't need this. He would gladly trade this treatment to have back his parents, who were killed by Voldemort.
Hermione wasn't much better off. In first year, she had asked Sherlock about this very issue. The method existed, but the result was that she couldn't do it. To this day, she still had no way to accomplish it.
Ron was about the same. If he didn't care too much about others' gazes, he wouldn't be troubled by being constantly overlooked, which then led to jealousy.
"You can do it right now," Sherlock said calmly. "Walk your own path and let others talk."
"I'm not Dante—I can't reach his level," Hermione said with a bitter expression.
Sherlock looked at Hermione. "No, you're wrong."
"Huh?" Hermione paused, then said blankly, "Sherlock, you—"
"No, what I mean is, this phrase wasn't said by Dante."
"It wasn't? I remember this is exactly what Dante wrote in 'The Divine Comedy: Purgatorio,' Chapter Five, as words spoken by the guide Virgil!"
"No, the original phrase was: 'Come follow me, and let the world wag its tongue!'" Sherlock said with a smile. "However, Marx later quoted this famous saying of Dante's in the preface to 'Capital.' He said: 'I welcome any scientific critical opinion, but as for the prejudices of so-called public opinion, to which I have never made concessions, I still follow the motto of the great Florentine poet: Go your own way and let others talk!' Thus, Marx modified Dante's original words. With the widespread circulation of 'Capital,' Marx's version of 'Dante's quote' also became widely known."
This time, the content of Sherlock and Hermione's discussion was incomprehensible to the others.
"Stop worrying about Marx and Dante's business! I have good news for you!" George said.
"Dear Professor Hagrid is now having us take Blast-Ended Skrewts for walks!" Fred announced.
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