The Mending Charm was a remarkably practical spell, capable of restoring most damaged objects.
Sherlock’s performance in his first Charms class was much the same as in his other subjects, continually asking Professor Flitwick questions.
As before, his goal was to gain a comprehensive understanding of the entire subject right from the start.
To his pleasant surprise, Professor Flitwick proved exceptionally enthusiastic toward inquisitive students.
As a result, Sherlock not only achieved his initial objective but came away with an unexpected bonus: he learned a very useful new spell from Flitwick—the Warming Charm.
As the name implied, a single cast flooded the entire body with cozy warmth, feeling as though one were wearing a pair of thick, fleece-lined thermals.
For Sherlock, who was recovering from a serious illness and facing such damp, chilly weather, it was immensely practical.
The other students could only look on with envy.
After all, pupils capable of mastering and applying the Mending Charm in their very first lesson were few and far between; aside from Sherlock, only a handful like Hermione managed it.
But even Hermione lacked the remaining energy to tackle an extra charm on top of that.
This caused her to quietly clench her little fists.
*Holmes, I won’t lose to you!* On Tuesday afternoon, Charms was immediately followed by Transfiguration, making for a rather tight schedule.
This was especially true for the Gryffindors, mainly because of Harry.
Compared to their excitement at breakfast in the Great Hall, the crowd of onlookers was now even more intense.
Students with no classes lined up outside the classrooms, standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the hero who had defeated the Dark Lord as a mere infant.
In the corridors, the students’ behavior was even more exaggerated.
They would walk right past Harry, only to double back and stare unabashedly at him.
Had it not been so rude, some would have leaned right in to inspect the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
Harry sincerely wished they wouldn’t, as finding his way to class was already difficult enough.
On one hand, the first-years didn’t know their way around; on the other, navigating Hogwarts was naturally a nightmare.
The pathways shifted constantly: staircases led to different places depending on the time of day; steps vanished halfway up, forcing people to remember where to jump; and some doors weren’t doors at all, but solid walls pretending to be doors.
Even the people in the portraits moved around continuously to visit one another, making them useless as landmarks.
Everything was in perpetual motion, so trying to remember where anything was was a daunting task.
The overwhelming crowd surrounding Harry only compounded the difficulty.
“Sherlock, you’re amazing!” Led by Sherlock, Harry and Ron swiftly navigated an unruly staircase, leaped over two vanishing steps, detoured around Peeves the Poltergeist who was looking for mischief, and finally opened a door that didn’t look like a door at all in just the right way.
Harry couldn’t help but offer his heartfelt praise.
“How on earth do you remember such a complex route?” Sherlock smiled faintly.
“Actually, you could do it too.” “Me?” Harry pointed to himself, looking completely bewildered.
“Yes, my dear Harry.
In fact, I’ve told you many times before: your eyes see no less than mine do.
What I can do, you can do as well.” “That’s impossible!” Before Harry could answer, Ron chimed in from the side.
“As far as I know, no first-year in our house—no, in the whole school—can remember all the right paths to class like you.
Even among the older students, I bet only George and Fred could pull it off.” Harry nodded repeatedly, clearly agreeing with Ron.
Sherlock stepped aside slightly, dodging a ghost that suddenly burst out from behind a door.
His complete indifference left a look of deep disappointment in the ghost’s eyes.
He explained, “Harry, remember when we first met?
I mentioned that your uncle dropped you off at the station, and you seemed quite surprised.” “That’s true.” Recalling their first meeting, Harry was still amazed by it.
“Yet, after I explained my reasoning to you, you felt it was all utterly self-evident.” “Right.
Every time I hear you explain your deductions, it always seems so obvious—almost laughably simple, like something I could have deduced myself.” Harry scratched his head, asking in confusion, “But before you explain it, I’m always completely baffled by every single step.” “Me too!” Ron interjected again, sounding slightly reluctant to concede.
“Still, I reckon our eyesight is just as good as yours.” “Actually, you aren’t wrong about that.” “Huh?” Ron blinked in surprise.
*Wait, I just said that off the cuff.
Why is he agreeing with me?* “The problem is that you see, but you do not observe.
The distinction is quite clear.” Seeing the bewildered looks on Harry and Ron’s faces, Sherlock paused before continuing, “For instance, you have been at this school for three days now.
Do you know how many staircases there are in the castle?” “I have no idea,” said Harry.
“How on earth…
could anyone know that?” Ron exclaimed.
“Because you do not observe; you merely see.
That is precisely my point.
There are one hundred and forty-two staircases in Hogwarts, divided into three types: those with nine, twelve, and fourteen steps.
Gryffindor Tower stands on the east side of the castle, with its common room on the eighth floor; together with the Astronomy Tower and Ravenclaw Tower, they form the three tallest towers in the school.
I know all this because I have not merely seen, but observed.” His explanation left both Harry and Ron thoroughly stunned.
“Well, here we are at the classroom.
We can save this topic for another time if you’re interested.” Thanks to Sherlock leading the way, the group arrived five minutes before class was scheduled to begin.
Even so, the classroom was in utter disarray, mainly because Professor McGonagall, who taught the class, had not yet arrived.
She was the Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, renowned for her strictness and fairness.
Had she been present, the students certainly wouldn’t have dared to act out.
“Why is there a cat over there?” Ron called out in surprise as he surveyed the room.
Naturally, Sherlock had noticed the little cat sitting on the teacher’s desk long before Ron had.
After staring at the cat for a few seconds, a subtle, intriguing smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Harry, where do you suppose this cat came from?” “Maybe it’s Professor McGonagall’s pet?” Harry answered hesitantly.
“Incorrect.” “Incorrect?” “Conveniently enough, allow me to demonstrate the process of drawing deductions through observation.” Under the astonished gazes of everyone nearby, Sherlock strode up to the teacher’s desk, seized the little cat firmly by the scruff of its neck, and hoisted it into the air.