"As a matter of fact, Karkaroff really was quite a bit better than Umbridge."
When Harry asked for his opinion, Sherlock smiled. "Besides, he wasn't wrong. Any master of Defence Against the Dark Arts must, by necessity, have a deep understanding of the Dark Arts.
Dark wizards have to be vicious. Light wizards have to be more vicious—otherwise how could they ever fight the Dark wizards?"
At this, the little group all looked thoughtful.
"So does that mean Mad-Eye Moody is going to give us a demonstration too, when he teaches our next Defence class?" Ron asked, sounding rather hopeful. "I wonder if he'll show us some Dark magic the way Karkaroff did."
"Ron, I don't think that's what you should be worried about right now," Harry cut in.
Ron didn't understand. "What should I be worried about, then?"
"Homework," Harry sighed, "and Friday's try-outs."
At that, Ron's face twisted into a piece of pure suffering. "Mate, why'd you have to go and remind me?"
"Would they stop existing if I didn't mention them?" Harry said, half-amused.
Ron gave him a look of pure resentment.
Mate, you've changed.
You're starting to twist the knife just like Sherlock does.
He let out a long sigh and rubbed his nose. "I still can't believe how much homework we've got."
Just as Harry had reminded him, Ron and Ginny, brother and sister had decided to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team on Friday.
In fact, they'd wanted to do it the year before.
For Ron, it was pure love of the sport.
For Ginny, it was love of the sport plus love of Harry Potter.
But because the Triwizard Tournament had been hosted at Hogwarts, the Quidditch Cup had been cancelled, and they'd missed their chance.
So now that the opportunity had come round again, naturally, they weren't about to let it slip.
Not only had they practised hard over the summer, but every evening this first week of term, they'd kept at it.
Ginny, in particular, had taken the initiative and dragged in Harry—the resident prodigy to help.
Which meant Harry had suddenly found himself rather busy.
So busy, in fact, that he'd had to go and specifically apologise to Cho Chang.
After all, since the start of term, he hadn't managed a single proper date with her!
Cho, for her part, had been remarkably gracious about it.
Now in her sixth year, she understood all too well the pressure that fifth-years faced during O.W.L. year.
As an aside, Cho had come away from her O.W.L.s with ten qualifications in total.
Aside from Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes, which she hadn't taken, she'd earned an O.W.L. in every subject she'd studied.
That was a rather impressive result.
On hearing that Harry, on top of a mountain of homework, also had to spend his evenings helping train Ron and Ginny, she'd even offered to pitch in herself, so that the Weasley siblings could make the team.
Ginny had been quite touched and had turned her down.
Even so, the experience had given Harry an even deeper appreciation for how considerate Cho was.
It only made him like the girl, lovely in both looks and nature—all the more.
But because training was eating up so much of their time, homework had become an absolute disaster for the two fifth-years.
Mostly because Sherlock and Hermione's essays weren't something you could simply copy outright.
At best, you could borrow from them a little.
The end result was that, even though they both knew perfectly well how badly written their essays were, they cobbled something together and turned it in regardless.
Sherlock and Hermione, for their part, were perfectly understanding about it.
It was a matter of personal choice, after all, nothing more to be said.
Time passed quickly, and Friday arrived, the sky just as grey and damp as it had been all week.
Ron had insisted that Sherlock and Hermione come along to watch the try-outs for Gryffindor's new team members.
Which was to say, come along to cheer for him and Ginny.
With Oliver Wood gone, whoever was selected for the Keeper position this time round would go straight onto the team as a full member.
So, although Ron wouldn't say it aloud, he was clearly under a fair bit of pressure.
Ginny, by comparison, had it rather easier.
She was competing for a Chaser position.
Gryffindor already had Harry, so what she was really competing for was a reserve spot.
The bar for a reserve player was, naturally, somewhat lower than for a full team member.
Once afternoon classes let out, Sherlock and Hermione went with Ron and Ginny, as promised, down to the Quidditch pitch.
As for Harry—unlike Sherlock and Hermione, who would simply sit in the stands as spectators, he had to head down onto the pitch himself to help with the selection, being an official member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
"Harry, I know Weasley's your good friend, but that doesn't mean you can go easy on him."
Harry scratched his head, a little awkwardly. "I won't."
Gryffindor's other two Chasers, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, both laughed.
"Angelina, you'd be better off saying that to those two, not Harry," said Katie Bell, pointing at the Weasley twins, who were off to one side hawking joke-shop products to the poor first-years who'd come to try out.
"Too right—those two are Weasley's own blood, his nearest and dearest!" Alicia said, laughing along.
Angelina sighed and rubbed her temples, looking rather pained.
She glanced up at the stands, which were completely empty except for two figures: the Boy Who Lived, and Miss Know-It-All.
Which was, of course, only to be expected.
Even though this was an internal team selection, it wasn't the sort of thing just anyone could sit in and watch.
The only reason Sherlock and Hermione were allowed to sit in the stands at all was because of their unusual standing.
On this point, her view happened to align rather perfectly with Oliver Wood's—there was always a chance some spy from another House might use the opportunity to sneak a look at their tactics.
Slytherin, naturally, was the main concern.
"Ginny's got nothing to worry about."
In the empty stands, Hermione pointed at the pitch and explained to Sherlock, "I asked Angelina about it—she said that if Harry weren't already on the team, Ginny's skill level would be good enough for her to be a proper Chaser at Gryffindor."
"Ron's fine too," Sherlock said, watching the players zip about the pitch, tossing the remark off almost casually.
"Oh? Why's that?"
Hermione found this rather odd. "There are so many people trying out—and I can see several of them who are clearly better than him."
With Sherlock's help, Hermione had finally managed to get past her fear of heights, and her flying had been steadily improving.
Of course, she was nowhere near a monster like Harry.
But it was fair to say that she'd become a solid flyer in her own right.
Hermione studied the pitch carefully for a moment, then pointed at one of the players. "I think that one flies better than Ron does."
"Two of them, actually."
Sherlock corrected her, his gaze sweeping across the pitch and settling on two candidates whose performances stood out. "It's obvious—of everyone here trying out for Keeper, Ron isn't the most technically skilled."
Off to one side of the pitch, a tall sixth-year boy was attempting an agile dive to intercept a wickedly angled Quaffle that Katie Bell had thrown.
His movements were clean and precise, and though the save fell just short, the sheer solidity of his technique drew a round of applause.
Once he'd landed and steadied himself, he frowned and started muttering irritably at his broom handle.
By the look of it, he seemed to be complaining about the broom's balance, or perhaps the wind.
On the other side of the pitch, a fifth-year witch was performing even better.
She'd shown remarkable stability and anticipation moving laterally, cutting off a pass from Alicia to Fred with effortless, elegant precision.
"That sixth-year, Geoffrey Hooper—his technique really is solid, and his reactions are quick."
Hermione followed Sherlock's gaze and, after a moment's inspection, nodded in agreement. "And that fifth-year, Vicky Frobisher—she flies steadily, and her technique is really beautiful.
Compared to them, Ron seems a bit nervous. I've noticed his movements are rather stiff."
"Purely in terms of flying technique, those two are indeed a cut above."
Sherlock smiled. "There's no getting around that.
But Angelina, as captain, has to think about the whole season's stability, the players' level of commitment, and their ability to manage their time."
Hermione considered this for a moment. "You mean—those two have issues in other areas?"
"Obviously, my friend."
Sherlock shifted his posture slightly, his gaze was still sharp as he observed the details on the pitch, watching Angelina's reactions in particular.
He noticed Vicky Frobisher glance instinctively at her wrist again, right after pulling off a decent save.
She wasn't wearing a watch but the gesture itself said quite enough.
As for Geoffrey Hooper, right as a Quaffle grazed past his fingertips, he said something loudly to Katie Bell nearby.
Sherlock couldn't quite make out the words, but thanks to his particular skill set, he could tell the boy was complaining that the light on the pitch was too dim and was affecting his vision—his tone was filled with unnecessary irritation.
Angelina stood at the edge of the pitch with her arms crossed, watching intently.
When Hooper complained again, her brow furrowed subtly, and she turned to murmur something to Alicia Spinnet beside her, who nodded knowingly in response.
Sherlock took all of this in, and continued. "From what I've observed, that Frobisher girl seems to be someone with a great many social commitments."
He paused, his gaze shifting to Ron, who had just pulled off another somewhat clumsy but ultimately successful save.
"As for Geoffrey Hooper—his technique is fine, but the problem is his character.
He complains far too much—complaining about his broom, complaining about the weather.
Once the real matches start, he'll be complaining about his teammates' passing, complaining about the rules—
The moment the smallest, most trivial thing sets off an endless stream of grumbling from him, he'll already be off Angelina's list.
That kind of character flaw is exactly the sort of thing that can become a real liability over the course of a long, high-pressure season."
Sherlock's gaze finally settled on Angelina, who was watching as Ron made yet another save. This time, though the motion wasn't especially graceful, his reaction was quick, and he clutched the Quaffle Katie Bell had thrown firmly to his chest.
At last, Angelina's face broke into the first approving smile of the entire try-out, and she gave a firm nod.
"Ron, on the other hand—though his technique has its flaws, he has strong motivation and plenty of time to spare."
Sherlock smiled. "His course load is relatively light."
Hermione looked baffled. "He still hasn't even finished his homework!"
"That's exactly why I said relatively—he's taking the bare minimum of two electives."
Sherlock added, with a hint of teasing, "Haven't you noticed? Most of the time, his homework just barely gets finished right before the deadline.
And there's something else—he's Harry's friend, and a member of the Weasley family.
That might not seem like much on the surface, but it's precisely because of it that he feels a genuine, heartfelt sense of belonging and pride when it comes to the Gryffindor team.
For Ron, being able to make Quidditch enough of a priority, being available whenever needed, having a strong sense of team loyalty, and not complaining endlessly over trivial things the way that other boy does—that's exactly what Angelina needs.
Especially now, with Wood gone and her newly appointed as captain—she needs, more than anything, to rebuild the team's cohesion and morale."
"I understand—you're right."
Hermione said softly, her voice was carrying a trace of relief, along with a certain anticipation for her friend's chances of making the team.
"Reliability, stability, and full commitment—that's exactly what Gryffindor's Quidditch team needs right now."
She looked at Sherlock, admiration in her eyes. "Ron may have his flaws in other areas, but that much, he can genuinely deliver."
Sherlock didn't respond to the compliment. His gaze drifted, going distant for a moment, before passing over the noisy pitch to settle on the heavy, lead-grey clouds hanging above the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
The roar of the Quidditch try-outs, the whoosh of broomsticks, the shouts of the players—it all seemed to form a kind of membrane around him, sealing him off.
Hermione caught the flicker of gravity that passed through his eyes, and after a moment's hesitation, asked, "What are you thinking about? The Horcruxes?"
She leaned in slightly toward Sherlock, lowering her voice, her lips barely moving as she spoke, almost mutely.
Sherlock drew his gaze back and looked at Hermione. "More or less."
He answered just as quietly, his voice pitched so that only Hermione could hear it over the noise of the pitch. "There's still no sign of Hufflepuff's cup. As for Ravenclaw's relic, we still don't even know what form it takes. And then there's that snake, Nagini—"
"I know what you mean. Professor Dumbledore's attention is being pulled in too many directions by Voldemort. We can't rely on him alone."
"Exactly," Sherlock said, nodding. "Do you have any ideas?"
Hermione thought for a moment before speaking slowly. "I still think the library is our foundation.
But the clues are more likely to be hiding somewhere unexpected.
I think I need to more systematically go through every legend and text connected to the four Founders of Hogwarts—Ravenclaw especially.
Particularly the things that seem inconsequential—just like the Chamber of Secrets.
But that's going to take a great deal of time and focused attention, and this year, our time is already being eaten up by our coursework."
Hermione looked at Sherlock's profile, her expression was earnest. "Sherlock, I'll do everything I can to help you."
Sherlock smiled faintly. "You always have."
A breeze swept across the empty stands, carrying with it a touch of chill and the damp scent of earth from the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Down on the pitch, Ginny pulled off a beautiful diving feint, fooling one of the Keeper hopefuls, and sent the Quaffle sailing easily through the hoop, drawing a small cheer from the onlookers.
Against the backdrop of Sherlock's calm profile and Hermione's furrowed brow, this brief burst of youthful, athletic joy felt all the more precious for it.
The pressure of O.W.L. year hung over Hogwarts like a storm cloud.
And beneath the deceptively ordinary surface of school life, a deeper darkness was spreading, silent and unseen.
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