Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts

In the expectant gazes of Harry and Hermione, Sherlock's lips curled into a slight smile as he chuckled softly:

“Dear Harry, would you be so kind as to retrieve the Christmas gift Professor Snape sent?”

Hearing this, Harry's eyes lit up instantly.

He hurriedly reached into his robes, his movements tinged with eagerness and care.

Soon, he produced a small, crystal-clear bottle.

Bathed in the dim, flickering light, the bottle refracted a dreamlike glow.

It was filled with a shimmering golden liquid, its light dancing gently like fireflies on a summer night.

Even at a glance, one could tell it was a high-quality item.

“Heavens, it’s Felix Felicis!”

Hermione couldn't help but exclaim, her hands quickly covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and excitement.

As a top student, she was well aware of the potion's value.

The ingredients alone were all rare and high-grade:

The known components included Ashwinder eggs, horseradish, squill bulbs, Murtlap, tincture of thyme, Occamy eggshell, and rue powder.

Not to mention the brewing process was exceptionally complex, often taking up to six months.

The brewer needed to be fully focused, eyes fixed on the cauldron, the stirring rod gently moving in a specific rhythm, every action allowing no room for error.

The consequences of any mistake were unimaginable.

It could trigger a cataclysmic explosion or create a bizarre and dangerous substance.

Just thinking about it was frightening.

The high cost and complex brewing process resulted in magical, almost dreamlike effects:

It not only enhanced the user's abilities but also brought them good luck.

In more detail, it allowed the user to enter a wonderful state, free from emotional control, for 12 hours after consumption.

In extreme situations, the brain would be exceptionally clear, making accurate actions.

It not only greatly improved all aspects of ability, making one feel that everything was going smoothly, as if an invisible hand was pushing them along in the dark.

It also brought good luck, smooth sailing, and endless opportunities.

As if the goddess of luck was always by their side, hence the name.

Although this bottle of Felix Felicis seemed small, such a generous gift of high-level potion could probably only come from a few people in all of Hogwarts, like the Potions Master, Snape.

“Mix them together, and we'll split it among the three of us.”

Hearing Sherlock's words, Harry's eyes immediately brightened.

That’s right, how had he not thought of that?

With the magical effect of Felix Felicis, combined with the potion that could pass through flames, it would definitely be enough to help them enter the next room.

Moreover, after drinking Felix Felicis, it would play an even greater role in what followed.

After all, in the last room, they were very likely to fight Quirrell, or even Voldemort, again.

Thinking of this, a hint of determination flashed in Harry's eyes as he clenched his fist tightly.

Hermione also hadn't expected Sherlock to use this method to solve the problem.

She bit her lip gently, her eyes full of hesitation.

Originally, she wanted to say that this precious potion should be saved for more important moments in the future.

But then she thought, they were facing Voldemort this time!

Could there be a more important moment than this?

Even for a magical potion like Felix Felicis, this was a high-stakes game.

So she nodded, expressing her agreement, and stepped forward, reminding them with concern:

“Don't pour it all in; make sure we each have a small sip.”

Felix Felicis was a good thing, but excessive consumption also had its dangers.

It could lead to dizziness, recklessness, and arrogance, and even make people too confident, losing their instinct for self-preservation.

Having been reminded by Hermione, Harry nodded.

He carefully picked up the bottle and slowly tilted it.

The golden Felix Felicis flowed out slowly like a nimble stream.

Finally, Harry poured out half the amount of Felix Felicis, and after mixing it with the potion in the small bottle, the three of them drank it separately.

The potion mixed with Felix Felicis was like cold water, instantly penetrating their entire bodies.

A coolness spread from their throats to their limbs, and their bodies instantly became light, as if they could fly.

Then, the three of them walked towards the menacing black flames.

Although the black flames made a "crackling" sound, constantly licking their bodies, they felt nothing.

The next moment, they arrived in the last room.

The furnishings in this room were even simpler than Snape's potion challenge.

The entire room contained only a luxurious mirror.

It was the Mirror of Erised that Sherlock and Harry had seen during their nighttime stroll through Hogwarts.

The final test was this mirror?

Seeing this, Sherlock immediately understood why the old codger wouldn't tell him about his arrangements.

Unlike Sherlock, Harry and Hermione focused more on the person standing in front of the mirror.

Pale complexion, signature large turban.

It was the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell.

Unlike usual, his eyes were no longer twitching as they normally did.

Quirrell calmly looked at the three who had entered the room, eventually focusing his gaze on Harry:

“You've arrived.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

Although they had been reminded by Sherlock more than once, when Quirrell actually stood there, the two couldn't help but feel a sense of absurdity.

“Hello, Professor Quirrell, we meet again.”

Sherlock took half a step forward, carefully observing Quirrell, whom he was meeting again.

“Looks like you've recovered well?”

Hearing Sherlock mention this, Quirrell's face immediately turned ugly.

He hadn't forgotten that on that night in the Forbidden Forest, it was this young wizard who gave him a sword.

That sword made him rest until after Easter!

Being stabbed by a first-year student was a complete disgrace for Quirrell.

He took a deep breath, “Holmes—I was just wondering if I would meet you here.

And Potter, after all, it’s always Snape who likes to hinder me.”

Sherlock did not comment on his statement, “Looks like you haven’t gotten the Philosopher’s Stone yet? I really overestimated you.”

“Y-you’re not stuttering!”

Harry exclaimed suddenly.

He was surprised to find that Quirrell had finished such a long speech very fluently.

It was completely different from his usual stuttering performance.

Seeing Harry's surprised look, the annoyance originally brought about by Sherlock's mockery was suppressed.

“St-stutter? Hahahaha!”

Quirrell laughed loudly, this laughter was not his usual high-pitched, piercing tremor, but a chilling sneer.

“Potter, compared to your friend here, you are really far behind.

But thinking about it, Snape is like a giant bat flying around, making himself annoying to everyone.

With him there, who would suspect the p-p-poor, st-st-stuttering Professor Q-Quirrell?”

Quirrell deliberately switched to his usual stammering manner at the end.

Full of mockery.

“So, the person who wanted to kill me during the Quidditch match was you, but Professor Snape wanted to save me? He was also there as a referee in the second match for my sake?”

Harry stared straight at Quirrell.

He was somewhat surprised to find that he didn't feel much fear when facing Quirrell.

He wondered if it was the effect of Felix Felicis.

“Oh, looks like you’re not too stupid.”

Seeing Harry's performance, Quirrell seemed a little surprised, he said coldly:

“He did want to make sure I didn’t harm you anymore, but the other teachers all thought Snape wanted to stop the Gryffindor team from winning.

I have to say, he succeeded, with him as the referee, I really couldn’t do anything to you.

And during the first Quidditch match, it was also because he kept chanting counter-curses—

Speaking of this, he paused: “Potter, I can only say you were very lucky.

If my clothes hadn’t suddenly caught fire that day, I would have knocked you off the broom long ago, no matter how many counter-curses Snape chanted.”

Speaking of this, he looked towards Hermione again.

Meeting Quirrell's cold gaze, Hermione couldn't help but tremble in her heart.

This professor, who was originally regarded as a joke by everyone, gave her an extremely dangerous feeling at this moment.

She couldn't help but lean towards Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock frowned and spat out two words: “Idiot.”

“What did you say?”

Quirrell turned his head abruptly.

If his hatred for Harry stemmed from his master’s mission, then his hatred for Sherlock stemmed from Quirrell himself.

Not only was he stabbed by Sherlock, but he was also mocked by him in such a contemptuous tone just now, Quirrell's annoyance could be imagined.

However, he never expected that this was just the beginning.

“Quirrell, I really suspect that the Sorting Hat was secretly dozing off when you enrolled.”

Sherlock said with a look of disdain.

“What did you say?”

Quirrell's voice suddenly rose.

Magic surged throughout the room, and even the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees.

Sherlock continued as if he hadn't heard anything:

“You were right just now, no one would suspect you, because you were originally just a self-proclaimed clever clown.

If the flames hadn't reached your pale neck, you would still be staring at Harry and chanting spells, a wizard didn't even have the most basic awareness of his surroundings.

I should really suggest that your master throw you into the classroom of logic and common sense, and relearn how to observe the world, so you don't make such a fool of yourself and make people laugh.

To be honest, even Longbottom's pet toad is smarter than you—at least it can make sure it doesn't really get lost every time.”

“Shut up!”

Quirrell was furious, veins popping out on his forehead.

Sherlock continued as if he hadn't heard:

“Heh, you really opened my eyes, wearing that pale as paper face all day long, wrapped in that ridiculous turban, facing the clues in front of you, but you can only stare blankly.

Your twitching eyes are probably only focused on showing fear, and haven't learned to read information from them at all.

Your stuttering mouth probably can't utter a useful deduction at a critical moment.

Clearly, you have Voldemort's support, and you are in Hogwarts, where magical knowledge gathers, the conditions are so favorable, but you have turned out to be such a miserable fox.

No wonder you haven't gained anything so far, and have become a pitiful bug in this competition.”

Sherlock went all out, and finally ended with a pitying remark:

“The intelligence of the entire Ravenclaw has been lowered by you.”