"I've been at Hogwarts for many years… never... never have I…"
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with both anger and disbelief. Even her spectacles couldn't hide the furious gleam in her eyes.
"How dare you!"
Yes—how dare he?!
Harry and Ron looked at Sherlock with awe.
Now this was Gryffindor courage!
Sherlock Holmes was too brave—no, too bold!
"Courage is just a fancy word for foolishness—that's always been my view," Sherlock said calmly. "But Professor, perhaps it would be better to judge Harry based on his performance. I trust he won't let you down.
After all… spending weeks avoiding eye contact with Professor Snape doesn't feel very good, does it?"
"Sherlock Holmes!"
This time, McGonagall sounded truly furious.
Harry and Ron were already past admiration; now they looked at Sherlock with pure worship.
Any student with experience knew: when a professor used your full name like that, it meant trouble.
McGonagall was no exception.
Admittedly, Sherlock wasn't wrong.
The Slytherin Quidditch team was formidable.
Especially last year, when Gryffindor had suffered a humiliating defeat at their hands.
Just as Sherlock had said, McGonagall had gone weeks without being able to meet Snape's eyes.
As for how Sherlock knew that… she didn't even want to ask.
"Do you want to serve detention?"
Facts were facts—but having them thrown in your face like salt in an open wound was another matter entirely.
Knowing that point deductions didn't faze Sherlock, she went straight for another punishment.
Her voice was cold as ice, sending a chill through the air. Harry and Ron instinctively lowered their heads, stiff as boards, their hands clammy with dread. They wanted to say something, but no words came out.
At that moment, both of them deeply regretted coming here.
Especially Harry.
McGonagall had once held Sherlock in high regard.
And now… she was treating him like this.
It was all his fault.
"Detention is just a method, not a solution," Sherlock said, still unflustered in the face of the lioness's wrath. "Even if you punish me, Professor, I still recommend that you let Harry try out for the team. That's the only real solution."
It had been over a month since the start of term, and Sherlock was no longer the clueless newcomer to the wizarding world.
By now, he fully understood just how obsessed wizards were with Quidditch.
In the wizarding world, Quidditch held the same cultural weight as football did among Muggles—perhaps even more.
Because Muggles didn't have magic, their sports required pure physical prowess, making their games far more technically intense than those of wizards.
Putting track and field aside, ball games alone told the whole story.
Football was, without a doubt, the greatest sport in the world.
The FIFA World Cup, held every four years, was the biggest sporting event in the Muggle world—rivaled only by the Olympic Games, which themselves encompassed hundreds of events, including football.
No single event could compete with the World Cup.
Basketball and volleyball were also wildly popular. And while tennis, table tennis, badminton, and rugby were more regionally dominant, they had considerable global audiences too.
With the rise of a certain "mysterious Eastern superpower," table tennis and badminton had skyrocketed in global prestige.
Even niche sports like hockey, ice hockey, cricket, and golf had their loyal fans.
Particularly cricket—which, thanks to the rise of that same nation, had rapidly gained worldwide traction.
But in the wizarding world, only Quidditch had earned the right to be called a large-scale sport.
It wasn't an exaggeration to say: everyone loved Quidditch.
Not knowing how to play was one thing—just as some Muggles weren't athletic.
But if you couldn't even hold a decent conversation about Quidditch, you'd have a hard time fitting in.
Given that, Sherlock was confident McGonagall would eventually give in.
Sure enough, after he calmly laid out the truth, her expression began to shift.
Finally, seeing Sherlock's confident face once again, McGonagall said:
"You three. Come with me."
Sherlock immediately followed.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance—then their legs, suddenly unburdened by fear, carried them forward.
The three of them followed McGonagall out of the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch.
Someone was already waiting for them.
A broad-shouldered student with a large wooden crate tucked under one arm.
"This is Oliver Wood," McGonagall said crisply. "Fifth year. Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
She didn't waste time on pleasantries. Turning to Sherlock, she went straight to the point.
"Mr. Holmes, let Mr. Potter demonstrate his talent. I trust you understand: if he doesn't perform as you promised—"
"I'll volunteer for a month of detention," Sherlock said calmly.
Seeing that McGonagall was about to add more conditions, he added, "And I'll stop skipping Defence Against the Dark Arts."
McGonagall gave him a startled look.
This boy…
His observation and analytical skills were far too sharp.
He'd read her intentions again.
She was beginning to wonder—back during that first Transfiguration lesson, had Sherlock seen through her Animagus disguise?
"Sherlock!"
Beside them, Harry was overwhelmed with emotion. He opened his mouth to say something—but Sherlock beat him to it.
"Dear Harry," he said, smiling, "if you don't want me to join you in suffering through Quirrell's garlic-scented lectures, then you'd better do well today."
It was common knowledge that wherever Professor Quirrell went, a strong smell of garlic followed.
Harry nodded solemnly.
Only then did Oliver Wood finally speak. He looked Harry up and down.
"So this is the boy you were talking about, Professor?"
"No," McGonagall said. "This is the boy Mr. Holmes was talking about."
As soon as Quidditch was mentioned, Wood practically lit up. He circled around Harry, eyeing him with interest.
"The famous Harry Potter… well, that's not important.
Judging by your build, you're actually well suited to be a Seeker—light and fast...
Tell me, Potter, I heard you grew up in a Muggle household. Have you ever seen a Quidditch match?"
Harry shook his head honestly.
Wood looked a little surprised, but said nothing. Instead, he popped open the crate, revealing four balls of varying size.
Ron's eyes lit up instantly.
-----
30 Advance Chapters on Patreon!
p(a)treon(.)com/HudaLin
-Remove the parenthesis to access patreon normally
Thanks for the Support!