Hermione quickly realized she'd gotten ahead of herself.
A series of gasps erupted from the table across the aisle.
She looked over—and to her astonishment, saw that Sherlock had fully transfigured his matchstick into a proper needle.
Professor McGonagall didn't hesitate in her judgment:
"A natural talent in Transfiguration!"
Students who managed to transfigure the whole matchstick into a needle earned four points, while those who only transformed one end received one.
This time, McGonagall awarded Gryffindor House its points openly and justifiably—even her gaze toward Sherlock and Hermione had grown noticeably warmer.
Thanks to their outstanding performance, the scolding she'd intended to deliver at the end of class—"You're the worst class I've ever taught!"—was never uttered.
But Hermione knew the truth.
Of the five points Gryffindor received, only one was technically hers, and even that was likely thanks to Sherlock's presence.
Her Transfiguration had earned her a smile—nothing more. That one point probably only came because of the standard set by Sherlock.
She suddenly understood how Ron and Harry felt.
It's what it's like to have a top-tier teammate carry you.
And yet... she couldn't feel entirely happy about it.
Her parents had told her before term began to look after him. Now it felt more like the opposite.
Still, no one noticed her conflicted emotions.
Classes carried on. Students followed the same routines—study, meals, sleep.
It wasn't until bedtime that Harry finally asked the question that had been eating at him all day:
"Sherlock... did you really not know that the cat was Professor McGonagall?"
The other three boys in the dorm, though seemingly fast asleep, all perked up their ears at Harry's question.
Sherlock smiled. "Dear Harry, I was wondering when you'd ask that."
Then he countered with a question of his own: "So, what do you think?"
Harry thought about it. He felt he ought to be honest with Sherlock.
"I think you were lying to her."
Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Harry, you've spotted the blind spot."
He nodded, then said calmly under the dim dorm light:
"As I've told you before: what matters is not simply looking, but observing."
"You noticed the markings around the cat's eyes, but you didn't connect them to Professor McGonagall."
"The cat's behavior was inconsistent with a normal feline. If you're familiar with cats, you'd spot the differences easily."
"And of course, I knew about Animagus transformation magic."
"Pull all that together, and it wasn't hard to deduce the truth."
Harry nodded, though he was still digesting it.
Ron, on the other hand, suddenly sat up, looking indignant.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock! I thought you didn't lie!"
"In most situations, I don't," Sherlock replied evenly. "Unless it's necessary."
"Today counts as necessary?"
"A kind lie is often more useful than a harsh truth—especially with someone like Professor McGonagall. I'd rather not have her targeting me the rest of the year."
After all, Sherlock still planned to explore Hogwarts freely.
Harry and Ron exchanged glances.
Once again, their understanding of Sherlock had deepened.
Sherlock had high hopes for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Given how skilled the other professors were, his expectations were reasonable.
Even Professor Binns—monotone and dull as he was—had real knowledge if you asked the right questions.
But Professor Quirinus Quirrell turned out to be the exception.
From the moment they entered the classroom, the air was thick with the pungent scent of garlic.
Though he didn't explain why, rumors suggested it was to ward off a vampire he'd encountered in Romania.
After all, garlic was a classic vampire repellent, and Quirrell, with his nervous stammer and twitchy demeanor, was the sort of man who'd take such precautions to heart.
He even offered an explanation for the oversized turban he wore—claiming it was a gift from an African prince he had once saved from an inferius (a reanimated corpse).
The students, understandably, were skeptical.
Curious, Harry whispered, "Sherlock, do you think any of that is true?"
Sherlock shook his head.
Quirrell's stories might be fiction—and that alone wouldn't be a problem. The real issue was that he couldn't teach.
To put it bluntly, the man was a glorified tape recorder.
His lectures were even less engaging than Binns'. At least the ghost had depth if you asked questions.
Quirrell, by contrast, stuttered, deflected, and changed the subject—often rambling about the weather to avoid giving straight answers.
In a subject that was supposed to be all about practical application, this was a disaster.
Sherlock didn't even know what to say.
Clearly, not all Hogwarts professors were impressive.
Harry, however, felt oddly relieved.
At least now, he realized, he wasn't the only one struggling.
Some of the pure-blood students weren't doing much better than he was.
In fact, the top performers so far were Sherlock and Hermione—two Muggle-born students.
That thought gave Harry enough peace of mind to crack a joke.
"Actually, I think Professor Quirrell's a nice guy. I even met him in Diagon Alley before term started…"
He told Sherlock the whole story—how they'd met, and how Quirrell had supposedly been a bright Ravenclaw student before.
Sherlock's expression darkened slightly.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Harry," Sherlock said slowly, "what do you think causes someone to suddenly change personalities?"
Harry thought about it and offered, "Hagrid said Quirrell wanted real-world experience. He went into the Forbidden Forest, fought a vampire and a hag… and came out like this."
"Sounds like a reasonable story."
But Sherlock's flat tone didn't match the words.
Harry looked puzzled. "Wait—you don't believe it?"
"My friend," Sherlock said, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder, "drawing conclusions without sufficient evidence is always a dangerous thing."
He stood. "Come on, let's grab lunch."
Later that day, after their third Herbology class of the week, the students prepared for the only class scheduled at night:
Astronomy.
Professor Aurora Sinistra required all first-years to use telescopes to study the stars.
The lesson focused on identifying constellations and tracking planetary orbits.
Compared to their other subjects, this class was far simpler.
It was the only one that didn't involve magic.
But what happened next left everyone stunned.
Because Professor Sinistra had heard of Sherlock and Hermione's reputation, she decided to call on both of them—specifically because they were Muggle-born.
Hermione answered brilliantly. Not only did she name all nine planets, she even explained the difference between the ecliptic plane and the celestial equator.
Then came Sherlock's turn.
He stood up and admitted—without hesitation—that he knew absolutely nothing.
He didn't even know that the Earth revolved around the Sun.
The entire class was left speechless.
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