Chapter 40: The World's Number One Sport

"In all my years at Hogwarts... I have never..."

McGonagall was torn between heartbreak and fury; her spectacles could not conceal the indignant flash in her eyes.

"How dare you!"

Indeed, how did he dare?

Harry and Ron looked at Sherlock with eyes full of admiration. A true Gryffindor! Sherlock was truly fearless!

"Bravery is the best synonym for stupidity—or so I have always believed. However, Professor, you would do well to see Harry's performance before making a final decision. I trust he will not disappoint you. After all, it is never pleasant to spend weeks avoiding Professor Snape, is it?"

"Sherlock Holmes!"

At that moment, McGonagall seemed truly enraged. As for Harry and Ron, they now looked at Sherlock with nothing but pure worship. Any experienced student knows that when an elder calls you by your full name, it means serious trouble. That was clearly the case with Professor McGonagall now.

Though Sherlock was technically correct—the Slytherin Quidditch team was formidable, especially after Gryffindor’s crushing defeat last year—McGonagall had, as Sherlock suggested, spent weeks avoiding Snape. How Sherlock knew this, she did not care to ask.

"Do you... wish to serve detention?"

Facts were facts, but being pointedly reminded of them by Sherlock was like rubbing salt into Professor McGonagall’s wounds. Knowing that deducting house points had little deterrent effect on him, she opted for a more direct punishment. The icy chill within her grim voice made Harry and Ron duck their heads instinctively. Both boys felt their limbs stiffen and their hands turn cold; they wanted to say something, but not a word could escape their lips. At this moment, they both began to regret coming to see McGonagall, especially Harry. Professor McGonagall had originally held a very good impression of Sherlock, but now he was being treated like this. It was all his fault.

"Detention is a means, not an end, and it certainly does not solve the problem."

Facing the angry lioness, Sherlock remained calm and composed. "Even if you put me in detention, Professor, I still suggest letting Harry join the house team. That is the only way to truly resolve the issue."

Having been at school for over a month, Sherlock was no longer the novice who knew nothing of the magical world. He understood exactly how fanatical wizards were about Quidditch. In the wizarding world, Quidditch held the same status as football in the Muggle world—perhaps even higher. The main reason was that the Muggle world, lacking magic, relied on physical prowess, making their sports far more diverse. Setting aside track and field, in terms of ball games alone, football was the undisputed world sport. The quadrennial World Cup was the premier sporting event in the Muggle world, rivaled only by the Olympics, which encompassed hundreds of sports. No single event could compare to the World Cup. Basketball and volleyball had their fair share of enthusiasts, and sports like tennis, table tennis, badminton, and rugby enjoyed regional popularity. With the rise of a certain mysterious Eastern power, the status of table tennis and badminton had soared rapidly. Even niche sports like field hockey, ice hockey, cricket, and golf had their dedicated fanbases.

Yet in the wizarding world, the only large-scale event was Quidditch. It was no exaggeration to say that everyone in the magical world loved Quidditch. If one couldn't play, that was fine—just as there were those in the Muggle world who weren't fast runners—but if one couldn't even engage in a conversation about Quidditch, one was practically an outcast. Given this premise, Sherlock was certain McGonagall would concede.

Sure enough, after Sherlock pointed out the crux of the matter once more, the expression on Professor McGonagall’s face shifted. Finally, after noticing Sherlock’s unshakable confidence, she spoke:

"The three of you, follow me."

Sherlock followed without a word. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, their legs seemingly regaining sensation, and they hurried to join them. By the time they left the castle and reached the Quidditch pitch, someone was already waiting. It was a sturdy, ordinary-looking young man.

He was tucking a large wooden crate under his arm.

"This is Oliver Wood, a fifth-year and the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

Without any unnecessary pleasantries, Professor McGonagall got straight to the point with Sherlock:

"Mr. Holmes, let Potter demonstrate his talent now. I trust you understand that if he fails to satisfy Wood and me as you claim he will..."

"Then I shall volunteer for a month of detention," Sherlock replied. Seeing that Professor McGonagall seemed to have more to add, he added, "And I will no longer absent myself from Defense Against the Dark Arts."

McGonagall looked at Sherlock with some surprise. This young boy... his powers of observation and analysis were truly sharp! He had guessed what she was thinking yet again. She began to harbor a faint suspicion: back in the first Transfiguration lesson, had Holmes seen through her disguise?

"Sherlock!"

Harry, moved to tears, started to say something, but Sherlock cut him off.

"My dear Harry, if you don't want me to end up smelling of that awful garlic just like the rest of you, you had better perform well."

It was common knowledge that wherever Professor Quirrell went, the air was thick with the scent of garlic—rumored to be a precaution against a vampire he had encountered in Romania. Harry nodded firmly.

Only then did Wood have a chance to speak. He looked Harry up and down.

"Professor, is this the one you mentioned..."

"No, it is Mr. Holmes who mentioned him."

At the mention of Quidditch, the Gryffindor captain seemed to transform. He paced around Harry, inspecting him closely.

"The famous Harry Potter... well, that’s not important. But judging by your build, you do seem suited to be a Seeker—light and agile... Tell me, Potter, I hear you were raised by Muggles. Have you ever watched a Quidditch match?"

Harry shook his head honestly.

Though Wood looked slightly surprised, he didn't dwell on it. He opened the crate, revealing four balls of varying sizes. Beside him, Ron’s eyes lit up.