The moment Sherlock's gaze landed on the oddly shaped lion-head hat on Luna's head, Luna's keen senses caught it at once. Seeing that he was interested, her slightly prominent eyes lit up as if they held little points of starlight.
"Yes, yes, I made it myself!"
Her voice was bright with excitement, utterly unbothered by the strange looks from around the hall.
"Sherlock, let me show you what it does..."
She tapped the hat with her wand as she spoke.
"ROOOAR!"
The lion's head snapped open its great jaws, and a deafening roar tore through the air.
Remarkably, the sound was so lifelike it seemed as though an actual lion had charged into the Great Hall.
The silverware around them rattled in fine tremors, and the milk in every goblet rippled.
More than a few students jumped at the sudden noise, loaves of bread frozen halfway to their mouths, nearly dropped.
"Not bad, is it?
"I actually wanted it to eat a snake to represent Slytherin, but there wasn't time."
Sherlock nodded. "Impressive."
"Ha, I knew you'd say that!"
Hearing his words, Luna's eyes creased into a smile, faint dimples were appearing on her cheeks.
"I'll wear it to cheer for Gryffindor later. And... good luck in your first match, Ron!"
Only after she had drifted away did everyone recover from the shock.
People all around cast odd looks at Sherlock and Luna, accompanied by a ripple of murmuring.
"What a pair of weirdos."
"Yeah, really."
"I suppose only that Holmes fellow could ever get along with her..."
"Well, they're both odd ones, after all."
"Yeah, really."
Cho Chang, overhearing others gossip about her friend, was about to speak up in her defence, but Harry caught her arm.
Cho looked at him in some surprise, only to see him shake his head bitterly, then turn to look at Sherlock.
Sherlock, for his part, couldn't care less what anyone said about him.
He drew his gaze away from Luna and turned his attention to Ron.
"My dear Ron, I can sense that you're rather nervous right now."
Ron was, indeed, very nervous.
His shoulders were rigid, his eyes were fixed on the milk in front of him, his fingers were pressing faint indentations into the rim of his bowl.
Most telling of all: since he'd sat down, he hadn't touched his breakfast at all.
It looked for all the world like a last meal before an execution.
Harry, on the other hand, knew this feeling all too well.
Before the first match of every season, he used to look exactly like this.
Back then it had been Hermione and Ron talking him down. Now the roles were reversed.
"Eat something, Ron."
Harry held out his bowl of cereal, coaxing him.
Hermione chimed in too. "Being nervous is actually a good thing for you—every time you're not nervous at all before an exam, you end up doing badly."
Even Ginny, who usually had nothing but sharp words for her brother, offered a few words of comfort.
But none of it was getting through to Ron.
Seeing this, everyone turned to look at Sherlock.
After all, it had been the same with Harry once—no one else's words had worked, only Sherlock's could ever talk him down.
Then Hermione had a sudden idea. She reached out and tapped Lavender's arm.
Lavender, who had been chatting with Parvati, flinched in surprise.
Then she saw Hermione jerk her chin toward Ron, and she understood.
Without a moment's hesitation, she walked briskly over to Ron and threw her arms around him in a great hug.
And that wasn't all.
Right there in front of everyone, she planted a loud kiss on his cheek.
"Lavender, you—"
Ron raised a hand to touch the spot where he'd been kissed, his eyes were full of a kind of pure, dumbstruck confusion, clearly still trying to work out what had just happened.
Seeing his baffled expression, Lavender leaned in close to his ear and murmured something only the two of them could hear. Ron gave a full-body jolt, staring at her in disbelief.
Though her ears were burning red, Lavender nodded firmly all the same.
In that instant, Ron felt some invisible force surge into him.
The next moment, he finally picked up his spoon and set to work on his breakfast in earnest.
Before the others could quite process what had happened, Angelina came hurrying over with Katie and Alicia in tow.
Sherlock's gaze swept past them and noted that Alicia's eyebrows, once crookedly askew, had finally been restored to normal by Madam Pomfrey just in time for the match.
"Is everyone ready? I think we should head to the pitch now to check things over and get changed."
There was a note of urgency in Angelina's voice.
"We'll be there in a minute," Harry promised quickly.
"Ron needs to eat something first," Ginny added.
A flicker of impatience crossed Angelina's face, but in the end, she said nothing more, leading the rest of the team off ahead.
Ten minutes later, with Lavender by his side, Ron had finally managed to eat a little. Then he hurried off with Harry and Ginny to get changed.
Only after their figures had vanished through the doors of the Great Hall did Hermione turn to Sherlock, asking with some concern:
"Sherlock, are you sure everything will be all right?"
"Of course."
Sherlock stirred his bowl of milk and cereal unhurriedly.
Rising steam curled into a faint mist, softening the sharp lines of his face.
"It can't be denied that Ron's skill hasn't reached Wood's level yet, but he's working hard to improve.
"Even so, Gryffindor's overall strength still surpasses Slytherin's.
"Do you remember their two Beaters from last year?"
Miss Know-It-All wasn't especially well-versed in this particular subject.
While she was still thinking it over, Cho spoke up beside her.
"You mean Derrick and Bole?
"You might not believe this, but we used to joke about how they ever found their way to the pitch without a map.
"Then again, they've graduated now. If the players Montague's found are even better than they were—"
The corner of Sherlock's mouth curved into a faint smile. "And what if I told you Slytherin's new Beaters are worse than either of those two?"
"What?"
"Who is it?"
Hermione and Cho exchanged a glance, both looking surprised.
Sherlock didn't bother keeping them in suspense. He gave the answer outright: "Crabbe and Goyle."
"Crabbe and Goyle?" Hermione's voice rose involuntarily, her face was full of disbelief. "They can't even tell which end of a broom is which in flying lessons."
Cho blinked at Hermione's words, asking without thinking, "There are really people like that?"
"Indeed. They're dim enough that if they saw a cake sitting on the ground, they'd eat it without a second thought."
There was a note of scorn in Sherlock's tone. "So, I wouldn't expect much from Slytherin."
"I heard from Harry that Ron's biggest weakness is that he loses confidence the moment he makes a mistake."
Cho said thoughtfully, "The moment he lets one goal in, he gets rattled, and then he lets in even more."
"To put it precisely, he lacks the ability to hold up under pressure," Sherlock said, shrugging, his tone was flat. "That's something only he can overcome on his own."
"No—there's also Lavender." Hermione shot Sherlock a playful wink. "The power of love is greater than you might imagine, Sherlock."
"Perhaps so."
Sherlock rose to his feet as he spoke, straightening his cuffs. "Come, let's go watch the match."
By then Luna had finished her breakfast too, and came bounding over still wearing her lion-head hat.
The lion's mane along the brim swayed with each bounce of her step, drawing more than a few glances.
The three walking beside her, of course, paid such looks no mind at all.
The four of them crossed the entrance hall together and went down the stone steps, and at once a bitter chill swept over them.
The frost-covered grass crunched underfoot, and the sky was an even, pearly white.
The visibility was just right for the weather, without any glare from the sun—perfect conditions for a match.
By the time they reached the stands, the two prefects, Neville and Parvati, had already saved seats for their housemates.
The instant they spotted Sherlock and Hermione, they waved frantically.
Seeing this, Cho and Luna decided not to head to the Ravenclaw stands after all, and instead followed Sherlock and Hermione to sit on the Gryffindor side.
They had barely settled into their seats when the two teams emerged from the changing rooms on either side of the pitch.
Sherlock saw clearly that when the two captains shook hands, Montague's grip was brutal, as if he meant to crush her fingers—showing not the slightest restraint just because she was a girl.
He gave a private shake of his head. Ever since Gemma had graduated, Slytherin really had gone downhill year after year.
Fortunately, there was nothing but resolve in Angelina's eyes; it was as if Wood's very spirit had possessed her, and she didn't flinch in the slightest.
As Madam Hooch blew her whistle, fifteen broomsticks rose into the air together, the sound of them slicing through the sky clearly audible.
Up in the commentary box, Lee Jordan—good friend of the Weasley twins—immediately launched into his commentary:
"Angelina Johnson's got hold of the Quaffle first—what a girl, though I've been saying that for years and she still won't go out with me—"
"Jordan!"
Professor McGonagall's stern voice cut him off at once.
"Just a joke, Professor, only trying to liven things up—"
Lee Jordan hastily backpedalled.
Since the two teams thoroughly disliked each other, the match turned fierce from the very first whistle.
The Quaffle was intercepted back and forth in the middle of the pitch, neither side was able to break through and score first.
As a Gryffindor student himself, and on good terms with the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan naturally spared no effort in his praise as he commentated:
"Let's have a look at Gryffindor's Keeper, Ron Weasley!
He's the younger brother of Beaters Fred and George, and Gryffindor's rising star—the whole team has high hopes for him—"
But all that praise didn't seem to do much good.
Barely five minutes in, Ron let in the first goal.
Sherlock saw it clearly—Ron hadn't misjudged at all; his body had lunged in the correct direction in time.
Unfortunately, the Quaffle just barely slipped past under his arm and sailed straight through the centre hoop.
"Ten–nil, Slytherin takes the lead. Looks like Ron's luck just wasn't with him there..."
There was a note of regret in Lee Jordan's voice.
"I think Ron needs a new broom," said Cho, frowning as she watched. "His broom's performance is worse than mine."
Sherlock nodded—that was, indeed, an objective factor at play.
After all, Cho's broom was a Comet Two Sixty.
That model had already been pushed down to the second tier back in their first year, overtaken by the Nimbus 2000 and the Cleansweep Eleven. Now, a full four years later, it was hardly an exaggeration to call it a relic of a bygone age.
And if even Cho thought Ron's broom was worse than hers, that told you just how bad it really was.
"But he doesn't have the money for a new one," Luna said, in a tone that suggested this was simply self-evident.
Cho: "..."
That left Cho with nothing much to say in response.
Hermione, meanwhile, asked a little anxiously: "Sherlock, we're going to win, aren't we?"
"Of course." Sherlock smiled faintly; his gaze steady as it rested on the pitch. "The match has only just begun."
And then...
Ron let in three goals in a row.
Even a detective as excellent as Sherlock was caught off guard by Ron's performance.
The score had become forty–nil, Slytherin was firmly in the lead.
"Ron's in a terrible state." Hermione had spotted the problem too, her brow furrowed. "He seems to have completely lost his confidence."
Cho sighed. "If this keeps up..."
Lavender grew anxious at once. "What'll happen?"
Cho glanced at her, seeming to find it a bit hard to say outright.
"They'll lose," Seamus said bluntly. "Slytherin's lead is only going to keep growing."
"No—surely not?" Lavender grew even more anxious at his words.
"It doesn't matter. It's fine even if Ron lets in every goal there is," Luna suddenly spoke up.
Everyone turned to stare at her in surprise.
She tilted her head and said, in the most matter-of-fact tone imaginable: "As long as Gryffindor wins the match, no one's going to care about that."
"Luna, you really do just say it like it is..."
Everyone shook their heads, a little helpless, then turned their eyes toward Harry.
Luna's blunt logic wasn't wrong, exactly. But it all hinged on Gryffindor actually winning in the end.
So, it really did come down to Harry.
"Don't worry."
Sherlock spoke even more plainly than Luna had, his tone carrying an unshakable certainty: "Harry will absolutely catch the Golden Snitch before the score gap reaches a hundred and fifty points."
Whatever happened, all anyone could do now was trust in Harry.
As the match went on, Slytherin scored two more goals.
But Gryffindor's Chasers refused to be outdone—Angelina and Alicia each seized their chance and scored a goal apiece. The score became sixty–twenty, the gap was narrowing somewhat.
That brought everyone a small measure of relief.
Then, at this critical moment, Ron as if suddenly possessed by the spirit of Wood himself—pulled off a save.
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