Chapter 31: Sherlock's Blessings

"Money can, in fact, unlock numerous doors." This statement holds true even in the wizarding world, insofar as societal stability allows it. Consider the case of Draco Malfoy.

In the previous year, Harry Potter's remarkable aptitude for Quidditch displayed during flying lessons compelled Professor McGonagall to enlist him onto the Gryffindor team. This marked Harry as the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the past century.

This development incited intense jealousy in Malfoy, who had failed to win Harry's friendship during their initial encounter on the Hogwarts Express.

Entering his second year, Draco felt that his Quidditch abilities were still lackluster when compared to Harry's and were unlikely to land him a permanent spot on the team. To compensate, he decided to exploit his father's considerable wealth.

With a strategic donation of seven top-quality broomsticks to the Slytherin team, he secured favor with Professor Snape, who begrudgingly appointed Draco the new Slytherin Seeker.

Feeling triumphant, Draco couldn't pass up the chance to gloat before Harry, and this morning presented a perfect opportunity. However, his gloating failed to have the impact he had fantasized.

Hermione Granger, Harry's friend and a girl born into a mundane Muggle family, admonished that Draco's new position owed entirely to his father's wealth and not any measure of real skill, causing Malfoy to retaliate with a deeply offensive slur. "Nobody asked you, you filthy little Mudblood!"

Those who understood the weight of this slur gasped, their faces blanching. Ron Weasley, who was overwhelmed by anger, lifted his wand to curse Malfoy but unfortunately, he forgot his wand was still badly damaged. The ensuing backfire caused him to spew slugs incessantly, making him the object of ridicule, instead of Draco.

At this moment, an unnoticed figure, Sherlock Forester, who had been silently observing the scene, decided to intervene.

Upon witnessing Ron grappling with his backfired spell, Forester stepped forward. "Impressive slug-vomiting spell, Weasley," said Professor Forester, an enigmatic smirk twisting his lips. "If ever you manage to recreate this spectacle in my classroom, I'll give five points to Gryffindor."

His nonchalant tone brought an abrupt silence, as he turned his wand towards the still retching Ron and effortlessly executed a general counter-spell, causing the steady outpour of slugs to cease immediately.

Next, Forester turned to Draco. He thought the Malfoy boy was not inherently bad, but his flawed upbringing had undoubtedly molded him into an obnoxious brat—a type Forester held in distaste.

"I'm deducting 20 points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy," he declared, his voice cool as ice. "As for your disciplinary action, you will take charge of cleaning all of the boys' washrooms within the castle for one week. I will ensure that Professor Snape is duly informed at tonight's dinner."

Under the intensity of his icy gaze, Draco could only look away, appearing choked.

Though Sherlock wasn't of native wizarding origin and didn't fully grasp the severity of the insult which Malfoy had threw at Hermione, he understood the similarly prejudiced slurs in the Muggle world. Draco's conduct was comparable to the disdain exhibited by an old woman throwing slurs at a foreigner on the bus, a behavior Forester found intolerable.

Following Sherlock's righteous reprimanding of Draco, Harry and his friends voiced their approval. Ron expressed his gratitude next, his face reddening as he stuttered, "Thank you, Professor Forester."

Leaving them with a lasting image of his back receding silently into the distance, Sherlock said, "The weather is rather pleasant today, isn't it? Make the most of your time on the Quidditch pitch"

His departure caused most of the female Quidditch team members to blush, still captivated by his aura. "I wish I could marry him after graduation," admitted Alicia, one of the Chasers.

Alicia's confession prompted Angelina, a Beater, to counter with, "You're only in your fourth year, dreaming away! If anyone stands a chance of marrying Professor Forester, it's me. After all, I graduate next year." (E/N.: Isn't Angelina the same age as Alicia..?)

Alicia rebutted, "Once you graduate, you won't see Professor Forester daily—I will!"

Bizarrely, as Harry and the others prepared to return to the Quidditch pitch, the sky overhead began to churn with billowing clouds. A sudden bolt of lightning was then followed by an unexpected downpour, drenching both their robes and their spirits.

Even as Oliver Wood bemoaned the strange turn of weather, Harry wiped rainwater from his face and said with a glum chuckle, "Professor Forester just wished us a pleasant time, didn't he?"

The tumultuous happenings on the Quidditch field were just the beginning of Sherlock's day. Having left the Quidditch grounds and making his way through the Hogwarts castle, Forester planned to exit through the main gate and head towards Hogsmeade. However, his plans were derailed by the sudden downpour.

Frustrating though he found England's erratic weather, he was forever thankful for the perks of magic. With a casual flick of his wand, he morphed a forlorn broom found in a storeroom into a sizable umbrella, before casting an 'Impervius' charm on his already dampened robes to repel the water.

Thus shielded, he strolled leisurely into the curtain of rain, enjoying the freshness of the air and reveling in the exquisite atmosphere of the warm summer rainfall.

Although it was his first venture to Hogsmeade, Sherlock had no trouble navigating, thanks to the Marauder's Map he had purloined from those notorious twins, Fred and George Weasley.

Due to the rain and the shortage of senior students visiting Hogsmeade, the village was bereft of its usual bustling charm.

Strolling along the main road, Sherlock located the Three Broomsticks Pub that Professor McGonagall had spoken of. As he pushed open the door, a warm, sweet scent enveloped him like a welcoming hug.

Beneath the soft, amiable lights, wizards congregated, savoring their drinks and partaking in spirited conversations.

Upon Sherlock's entrance, a familiar voice beckoned to him. "Over here, Sherlock."