Chapter 65: Even the Magical World Has a Scotland Yard

After seeing Hannah Abbott out, Hermione sat across from Sherlock and stared straight at him.

"What is it, my friend?"

"Consulting Detective Sherlock, pray tell, where might I find the vulnerabilities in the Ministry of Magic's security system?"

"That, you see..."

Sherlock shook his head slightly. "I've already spotted a few from the case report provided by the Ministry just now."

"Huh?"

Hermione looked at Sherlock in sheer disbelief.

"Pity that even knowing these flaws, I have no way to exploit them; this is the magical world, after all. If I were twenty now... well, seventeen should be enough, I suppose."

Hermione: |(*′口`)

Good grief, judging by that tone, were you planning to pull off a major heist at the Ministry of Magic?

"What genuinely surprised me, however, is that the magical world actually has its own Scotland Yard."

If it were Harry and Ron, they probably wouldn't understand the implication of that remark.

But Hermione understood.

"It sounds like you hold Scotland Yard in rather low regard."

"Ah! To be fair, they do possess a certain degree of operational capacity and basic investigative competence. When handling routine cases, they can methodically collect clues and question witnesses. Unfortunately, many of their detectives have rather rigid mindsets; they tend to follow established investigative templates while lacking innovative thinking and bold deductive hypotheses. Especially when confronted with complex criminal cases, Scotland Yard's reaction time and counter-strategies are frequently found wanting. Take that residential burglary before the start of term, for instance—they overlooked crucial clues, which brought the investigation to a dead end."

Hearing Sherlock dissect the flaws of Scotland Yard with absolute mercilessness, Hermione was momentarily at a loss for words.

She had occasionally heard her parents and other elders complain about the inefficiency of Scotland Yard, yet no one had ever articulated the problems quite as lucidly as Sherlock.

"What I didn't expect is that the Ministry of Magic is no better. In truth, this case is exceptionally straightforward, much like the other problems I've helped people resolve previously. Because I possess this capacity to analyze matters through intuition, they hand all the evidence over to me, and I steer them back onto the correct track. Actually, all criminal acts share strikingly similar traits. If you are intimately familiar with the intricate details of a thousand cases, it would be quite bizarre indeed if you could not explain the thousand and first.

Had I encountered a truly complex case, I suppose I would have had to do some running around and conduct investigations in person. Regrettably, the clues regarding Miss Abbott's father are glaringly obvious; the contents of that report alone were sufficient to draw conclusions, yet the Ministry chose to turn a blind eye to those clues hidden beneath the surface. Indeed, the impression the Ministry gives me is that they merely wish to close the case as quickly as possible. As for the identity of the true culprit, they care not in the least. Consequently, even though I have provided the correct direction, I fear it will still take Madam Abbott a fair bit of effort to resolve this matter. Still, since she managed to smuggle out the Ministry's investigative report, I suppose justice will ultimately prevail. Oh, and thank you for reminding me of that young lady's name earlier."

"Ah?"

Good heavens, so if she hadn't blurted out the name Hannah Abbott right at the start, he wouldn't even have known who she was?

On second thought, though, it made perfect sense.

This fellow had stated long ago that his brain functioned like a hard drive, refusing to store information he deemed useless.

Forgetting his classmates' names was hardly a rare occurrence.

Hermione even suspected that if Ron didn't share a dormitory with Sherlock, the latter would probably end up remembering the former's name as something like Redbeak Weasel.

Time slipped away unnoticed, like fine sand through one's fingers.

Between studying and mastering magical knowledge, taking Harry on morning jogs, teaching Hermione how to fly, and helping classmates solve various dilemmas, Sherlock had been at Hogwarts for nearly four months.

Which also meant... Christmas was approaching.

Much like Halloween, this originally religious holiday had evolved over time into a public holiday throughout the Western world.

On this day, everyone exchanged gifts and held grand banquets.

To enhance the festive ambiance, traditional holiday decorations such as Christmas trees, stockings, Santa hats, and wreaths made their sparkling debut.

It was a remarkably lively affair.

For the young wizards of Hogwarts, this holiday held even greater significance than Halloween.

On one hand, its arrival marked the conclusion of the first half of the term.

The entire school would enjoy a full fortnight's holiday, not returning until New Year's Day.

On the other hand, the children eagerly anticipated a white-bearded old man in a red hat delivering presents directly into their hands.

Of course, in the magical world, owls shouldered this responsibility.

Yet that did little to dampen the children's delightful expectations.

The school had long since made preparations, asking all students to register whether they would be staying behind for the holidays.

The vast majority of students chose to go home.

This was entirely normal, considering that throughout seven years of school life, they only had two opportunities a year to return home.

Naturally, there were exceptions.

"I truly feel sorry for those people," Malfoy sneered in a sarcastic tone during a Potions class. "They're forced to spend Christmas at someone else's house because their own families don't want them."

Despite repeatedly running into brick walls, Malfoy seized every opportunity to antagonize Harry.

Naturally, out of deference to Sherlock, he didn't dare push things too far, contenting himself with petty behind-the-scenes mischief.

By now, he had figured out a certain fact.

As long as his verbal taunts didn't cross the line into outright hostility, Sherlock would ignore him.

This realization had filled him with inexplicable excitement.

Consequently, he refused to let such opportunities pass him by.

Yet this time, neither Sherlock nor even Harry could be bothered to dignify him with a response.

After all, Harry had no desire whatsoever to spend Christmas at Privet Drive with the Dursleys.

So even though Malfoy deliberately glared at Harry while speaking, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle's snickering from the sidelines, Harry felt not an ounce of sadness—he actually found it rather amusing.

This only made Malfoy grow even gloomier, as though he had thrown a punch into a soft heap of cotton.

Conversely, for Harry, this would likely be the finest Christmas of his life.

In truth, when Professor McGonagall had initially circulated the sign-up sheet for students staying over the holidays, he had intended to sign his name.

"Sherlock, I won't be going home for Christmas..."

"No, you are going home."

"Home?" Harry asked in astonishment. "Sherlock, it's not like you don't know my situation..."

"Home with me," Sherlock replied calmly. "My parents want to meet my friend."