Naturally, Sherlock didn't resist.
From Professor McGonagall's words and demeanor, he had already deduced that she wouldn't compromise on this matter.
Since that was the case, there was no point in putting up unnecessary resistance.
With his deep understanding of psychology, he knew well—when one side holds all the power, the more the weaker party struggles, the more the dominant party tends to enjoy it.
"Potter, your father would be proud of you," McGonagall said as the matter with Sherlock was settled, turning her gaze back to Harry. "He was an outstanding Quidditch player in his time."
As she spoke, a smile bloomed across her face.
Harry was momentarily stunned.
He had been at Hogwarts for weeks now, but he had never seen Professor McGonagall smile so radiantly.
Even when Sherlock and Hermione earned points for Gryffindor in Transfiguration class, the most she gave was a faint smile.
Yet now, she was genuinely joyful just because he joined the Quidditch team.
So she was a good person after all.
It would be even better if she assigned less homework.
The atmosphere was warm and harmonious—this venture into the Quidditch team had ended perfectly.
Just then, a jarring voice interrupted the moment:
"Um… did you all forget something?"
Ron, who had been ignored for quite a while, raised his hand weakly. "What about me?"
Since they had met, the only time Wood had even glanced at Ron was when he mentioned Charlie Weasley.
Compared to Sherlock and Harry, Ron's presence was nearly invisible.
"You?"
"You?"
Both McGonagall and Wood looked at Ron with skeptical expressions.
Under their gazes, Ron, who had only been murmuring softly before, couldn't hold back any longer.
He protested indignantly, "I've played Quidditch with Charlie since I was little! I want to join the team too!"
Wood's interest was piqued. "Do you have talent like Potter?"
Ron's face turned as red as his hair.
That blush was answer enough.
Although a bit disappointed, Wood still decided to give him a shot. "Let's see you fly."
"Okay!"
Ron nodded vigorously.
Given the opportunity, Ron gave a solid performance—maybe even above his usual level.
He even pulled off several daring maneuvers he'd only dreamed of before.
Even by Wood's critical standards, Ron wasn't bad at all—for a first-year, he was pretty decent.
But nowhere near good enough to earn an exceptional spot on the team like Harry had.
Wood didn't sugarcoat it. He told Ron the result straight.
Ron was immediately dejected.
Harry was about to offer some comforting words when Wood suddenly turned to Sherlock. "Holmes—how about you? Want to give it a go?"
Harry: ((*）ゞ→→
Ron: o(一︿一+)o
Wood didn't notice their reactions—or if he did, he simply didn't care.
In his view, Sherlock's earlier flight—even though just meant to highlight Harry's skills—had been impressive.
At the very least, Sherlock was clearly better than Ron.
Still, he needed to see more before making a judgment.
But to everyone's surprise, Sherlock declined.
"No need. I'm not interested."
Having Harry on the team was more than enough for his information-gathering purposes. Joining himself would be redundant.
His time and energy were better spent elsewhere.
Wood was visibly disappointed.
But what the team desperately needed was a Seeker—and Harry was their only viable option.
Sherlock might be a great player, but Gryffindor didn't urgently need help in other positions.
Since they already had Harry and Sherlock wasn't interested, Wood didn't push it.
Top priority now: get Harry trained as soon as possible.
As the trio left the pitch, McGonagall was just about to speak when Wood impatiently blurted out:
"Professor, when will you speak with Professor Dumbledore?"
McGonagall: -_________-'
Enough already!
"Sherlock, you really should've accepted," Ron said the moment they stepped off the Quidditch field. "I appreciate you looking out for me by refusing Wood, but opportunities like this aren't easy to come by."
"Uh… I think you've misunderstood."
Sherlock turned to Ron, expression serious.
"I declined because I don't have the time to commit to training three times a week. It has nothing to do with you.
In fact, whether I joined or not wouldn't have changed your result."
Ron: (;д｀)ゞ
Even if that's true… did you really have to say it?
Seeing Ron's expression, Harry couldn't help but whisper, "Sherlock… maybe you don't always have to be that blunt."
"Dear Harry, I've told you before—I don't lie unless absolutely necessary."
"Uh, well… I think this might be one of those 'necessary' situations."
"No, no. Lying just to spare someone's pride and feed them false hope—that's far more irresponsible.
There's nothing shameful about lacking talent. Recognizing the gap between oneself and others can significantly improve one's efficiency.
That way, you won't waste time chasing after clearly unattainable goals."
Harry found himself speechless.
Not only could he not argue back—he was almost convinced.
He makes too much sense… I can't even respond!
Still, as Ron's friend, he felt Sherlock's approach was a bit too ruthless.
Sherlock was too rational.
At this rate, he was going to end up with no friends at all!
Luckily, Ron's gloom didn't last long.
When he saw the feast waiting for them at dinner, he quickly put the whole thing behind him.
Food time!
The next month passed, and Sherlock remained as busy as ever.
Most of his time was still spent discussing magic with the professors of the subjects he found interesting.
As he always said—trying to understand and internalize an entirely new worldview and system was no easy task.
Even for a genius like Sherlock, it required sustained effort.
His previously empty time slots—originally meant for exploring the Forbidden Forest or sneaking around hidden rooms—were filled with other priorities.
The first of those was fulfilling his promise to McGonagall not to skip Defence Against the Dark Arts anymore.
Professor Quirrell's classes were mind-numbingly dull.
Calling it 'reading from the textbook' would be generous.
Even Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic and also read directly from the book, could still handle student questions calmly when they came up—though his hearing left much to be desired.
Each time a student raised a question, he'd go, "Gr-what? Grand…? Grant-who now?" until they gave up.
Quirrell, on the other hand, would avoid every question—mumbling about the weather or something equally vague.
If pressed further, his face would flush, his eyes twitch, and he'd act like he'd been traumatized.
It was hard to believe he was once a top student in Ravenclaw.
According to rumor, Quirrell only became like this after encountering a vampire and a witch in the Forbidden Forest.
But based on Sherlock's observations, it was clear that wasn't the whole story.
There was definitely another secret hidden in Quirrell's past.
At present, though, Sherlock wasn't interested in that mystery.
From what he'd seen, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, Hagrid, Filch…
Frankly, every staff member at Hogwarts had their own secrets.
Under such conditions, unless something was criminal, Sherlock had no desire to pry.
The second matter occupying his time was, of course—
Harry Potter.
His automatic information machine.
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