HP: Sherlock Holmes at Hogwarts

"This question is actually quite simple."

"You were there at the time. If you'd just paid a bit more attention, you'd have noticed—the letter 'A' in 'RACHE' was written in a style resembling German script. But real Germans typically use Latin characters."

"In contrast, the final letter 'E' was written in a connected cursive style, which is a distinctly British writing habit."

"Whether it was overcompensation, an intentional smokescreen, or simply a lack of skill, either way—the mimicry was far from convincing."

"So I can say with near certainty: this wasn't written by a German."

Ron couldn't help but exclaim, "I knew it! You're incredible!"

Harry noticed that Sherlock looked genuinely pleased by the praise.

He had actually observed this before—whenever someone sincerely complimented Sherlock's skills in deduction, his friend would react the way a girl might when someone praised her beauty: subtly, but unmistakably pleased.

Of course, it only worked if the praise was genuine.

Sure enough, after finishing his analysis of the blood-written message, Sherlock unexpectedly turned to Ron and said, "I can tell you something else."

"What is it?" Ron asked eagerly.

"You've probably always wondered why I insist that Professor Snape is a despicable yet kind-hearted man."

That got everyone's attention. Not just Ron—even Harry and Hermione suddenly perked up.

"Yeah, why is that?"

"Exactly! What makes you say that?"

"Because Professor Snape and Harry's father were romantic rivals."

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The statement was so explosive that the three young witches and wizards sat gaping, mouths wide open, unable to close them for several long seconds.

"Harry, Professor Snape's love for your mother was genuine—and pure."

Sherlock looked calmly at the stunned Harry and continued, "After she passed away, all that love was redirected… to you."

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Silence.

Long, heavy silence.

Eventually, Hermione was the first to snap out of the shock.

She took a deep breath and asked, half disbelieving, "Did… Did Professor Dumbledore tell you this too?"

Even if it had come from Dumbledore, it still sounded utterly insane.

"It's far too obvious," Sherlock shook his head. "You don't even need to observe carefully."

As he said this, Hermione suddenly remembered the scene from their very first Potions class.

"You mean… the Victorian language of flowers?"

Even though Snape had cut off their discussion that day, Hermione remembered the exchange between him and Sherlock quite clearly.

Daffodil—a type of lily, or Lily, Harry's mother's name. Its meaning: 'My regrets will follow you to the grave.'

Wormwood—representing absence and bitter sorrow.

Draught of Living Death—a potion made from powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood, symbolizing a life of hellish suffering.

Snape had asked: "What do you get when you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Sherlock had provided the answer: "Draught of Living Death."

Put together in the language of flowers, and interpreted through Sherlock's lens, the message became crystal clear:

A lily lost to bitter grief. I regret your mother's death with all my soul. And since then, I've lived a life of sorrow and darkness.

Once she realized this, Hermione's eyes widened even further.

"Dear Hermione, I'm glad you remembered," Sherlock said with a smile. "That's why I said—it doesn't require special observation."

Because on the very first day of class, Professor Snape had already expressed the depth of his feelings to Lily's son.

Add to that his behavior in Potions class, and Sherlock had enough to make a solid deduction.

For the entire rest of the day, the trio remained in shock over this revelation.

It was just… too dramatic.

That evening, Sherlock called Harry aside and handed him a box.

"What's this?"

Harry still hadn't fully recovered from earlier. He was curious why Sherlock had pulled him aside, and now even more so about what was inside the box.

Was this… another of Snape's secrets?

"It's a gift your father left for you."

Okay, maybe Harry had been overthinking.

But the moment he heard it was something from his father, his expression changed completely.

As if holding something priceless, he carefully opened the box—then froze.

Inside was a strange object, somewhere between solid and liquid. It shimmered with a silvery-gray sheen, gleaming softly at the center of the box.

Harry reached out cautiously and was surprised to find it was a piece of fabric. Its texture was unlike anything he'd ever felt—almost as if it were woven from water itself.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak. Dumbledore asked me to pass it on to you—and advised that you use it wisely," Sherlock said with a smile. "He didn't say it outright, but I could tell he was worried you'd use it to sneak around doing mischief."

Harry didn't seem to hear that last part.

He gently ran his fingers along the cloak—his father's cloak.

After a long while, he looked up at Sherlock and asked quietly, "Why?"

"Why what?"

Sherlock noticed Harry's eyes were slightly red and felt a twinge of confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Why give this to me?" Harry said in a hushed voice, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "I mean… if it weren't for you, Professor Dumbledore probably wouldn't have given it to me at all."

Sherlock chuckled softly.

"My dear friend, I'm glad you trust me so much."

"But I have to tell you—Dumbledore was planning to give it to you anyway, as a Christmas gift."

"When we were discussing your inheritance, the cloak came up, and I simply suggested that he give it to you now instead. Thankfully, he agreed."

"But I think it's best if you wait until after the Quidditch match to use it. And actually, I was planning to…"

"Sherlock!"

Before he could finish, Harry suddenly threw his arms around him in a hug.

"Harry?"

Sherlock looked at him in surprise, unsure of what to make of this unexpected gesture.

Harry quickly released him, smiling earnestly.

"Sherlock, you're amazing.

I… I don't even know how to put it into words, but—thank you.

Honestly, the best thing that's happened to me since coming to Hogwarts is getting to know you."

Sherlock smiled.

"I'm honored to receive such high praise from the Boy Who Lived."

Harry blushed. "I'm not really the Boy Who Lived… You're way more impressive than I am. I just got lucky."

"Luck is always part of true ability," Sherlock said seriously. "And moving forward, you'll need quite a bit of it."

"I'll follow your lead."

Sherlock smiled again.

Just four simple words—but they held deep trust.

"Oh, right. What were you saying you wanted to do after the Quidditch match?"

Harry asked, curious again.

Sherlock smiled a third time.

"Make you stronger."

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