"Don't worry—isn't that what Professor Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix are for?"
Seeing the shadow that Sherlock's past cases had cast over his profile, Hermione leaned forward instinctively, trying to chase the gloom from between his brows.
She deliberately softened her tone, letting her voice come out light and gentle, like a breeze drifting over the Forbidden Forest:
"So—how has the Order been doing lately?"
She stopped halfway through the sentence, suddenly realizing she wasn't an official member of the Order and had no business prying into such things.
A faint flush rose to her cheeks, a flicker of embarrassment appeared on her face, and she hurried to add: "Oh—sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."
"It's all right."
Sherlock turned his head slowly, the gloom that had clouded his grey eyes a moment ago now gone, the corner of his mouth curving into a mild, gentle smile:
"I've already told Dumbledore that you're a probationary member of the Order—the moment you come of age, you'll be admitted in full."
Hermione's pupils contracted sharply, her eyes went wide, as though she'd just received the most precious gift imaginable.
Then, that surprise slowly melted into a tender smile.
Bright sparks of emotions glimmered in her eyes, and warmth crept into her voice as well: "Thank you, Sherlock."
Sherlock gave a soft laugh and shook his head slightly.
"For a witch who could competently cast N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration charms back in her fifth year—not letting her into the Order would be true foolishness!
Now then, let me get back to answering your question—the Order is currently running along in perfectly good order:
Our dear Professor Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks are still out on assignment and haven't returned yet;
Mundungus continues to gather leads through those particular channels of his;
Kingsley, Arthur, and Bones have stayed behind at the Ministry to help us keep a grip on information there;
Sirius has also been helping Bones reach out to various allies against Voldemort—"
"Bones?"
Hearing an unfamiliar name, Hermione couldn't help pausing, blinking in confusion.
"Yes, Amelia Bones."
Seeing the puzzled look on Hermione's face, Sherlock tapped his fingertips lightly against the tabletop.
"Head of the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A thoroughly upright and formidably capable witch.
Her brother, Edgar Bones, was also once a core member of the Order. He and his entire family were killed during the war against the last Dark Lord.
To help safeguard peace in the wizarding world—and, in a sense, to carry on her brother's wishes—Amelia joined the reformed Order. She was present, too, when Peter Pettigrew was interrogated."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully, then spoke up again to comfort him, her tone grew even gentler.
"Didn't Professor Dumbledore say, last time, that things are already looking far better than he'd expected?
You smashed the plot he was hatching against Harry, and the network he'd only just begun to assemble has been scattered.
Besides, he still has no idea we already know about the Horcruxes—let alone that we've already destroyed several of them. Sherlock, you mustn't put so much pressure on yourself."
"You're right, Hermione."
Listening to Hermione's gentle words of comfort, Sherlock slowly nodded.
"As for what comes next—let's leave that to the grown-ups."
At this, Hermione broke into a radiant smile at Sherlock, the light in her eyes as dazzling as the noonday sun.
Two weeks slipped by like a shooting star, and as the Easter holidays drew to a close, the long tables and windowsills in the common rooms of every House at Hogwarts were piled high with colourful pamphlets, flyers, and notices.
They were all introductions to various wizarding careers.
Besides that, a notice had also been pinned up prominently on the board, catching the eye:
[CAREER ADVICE]
During the first week of the summer term, all fifth-year students must meet with their Head of House to discuss career plans—consultation times for each student are listed in the table below
[Gryffindor Fifth-Year Career Consultation Schedule]
Thanks to his height, which had shot up over the past two years, and his sharp eyesight, Ron had squeezed his way to the very front of the crowd and could easily make out the schedule posted beneath the notice board. He pointed at the table and turned around to report.
"Sherlock, your slot is Monday at two in the afternoon.
Then Hermione, half past two.
Harry and I are back-to-back—three and half past three.
Hmm, Lavender and Parvati don't go until the next day…"
"So, each person gets half an hour?"
Hearing Ron's words, Harry tilted his head to think it over, a look of delight spread across his face: "That's not bad—this way I can miss most of Divination class."
"If you don't want to attend the lesson, I suppose I could have a longer chat with Professor McGonagall instead."
"Now that's a fine idea, Hermione."
"Speaking of which, does Professor Trelawney still enjoy predicting your death?"
"That's right—and lately, with Sherlock hardly ever showing up to Divination, she's grown more shameless about it than ever," Ron put in with a grin from the side.
"Hey, Won-Won, don't talk about Professor Trelawney like that!"
Lavender clung tightly to Ron's arm, pouting with a touch of displeasure.
"She's really quite gifted! Just last time, she predicted I'd be with the one I love forever!"
Ron shrugged, wisely declining to offer his opinion on the matter.
Seeing this, Harry asked curiously: "Ron, what do you want to do after you graduate?"
"I don't fancy being a Healer."
Ron picked up a pamphlet, with his free arm—the one Lavender wasn't clinging to—bearing the emblem of St. Mungo's Hospital.
The emblem showed a wand crossed with a bone, looking rather grim.
He scanned the text on the pamphlet with a frown, unable to stop himself from complaining.
"It says here that to take up this line of work, you need at least an 'E' in your N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Wonderful—N.E.W.T. s, not even O.W.L.s. That's a bit much, isn't it!"
"It's perfectly reasonable, since it's a job with enormous responsibility."
Hermione's parents were both doctors, so she felt strongly about this and explained in an earnest tone.
"Right, right—saving lives, healing the sick—responsibility indeed.
I know my limits, so I'll leave that one to whoever's actually cut out for it!"
Ron said, shrugging once more.
Ever since Lavender had started clinging to his arm, he'd developed a real fondness for that particular gesture.
Hermione's gaze drifted briefly across the front of Lavender's robes before she picked up a pamphlet in a garish clash of pink and orange, its harsh colour scheme making her frown slightly.
At the top of the pamphlet, ornate script spelled out a single line:
[Fancy a Career in Muggle Liaison?]
"You know, dealing with Muggles doesn't seem to need much in the way of qualifications—just an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies," Lavender said curiously, leaning over to glance at the pamphlet in Hermione's hand.
"I already dropped Muggle Studies," Hermione sighed, setting the pamphlet aside. "Besides, that's not a job I'd ever take."
Given that Hermione was a Muggle-born witch, it wasn't the least bit surprising that she'd feel that way.
"Hermione, listen to this!"
Just then, Harry, holding a booklet about the wizarding bank, read aloud.
"'Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure, and a great deal of dangerous treasure?
'Then consider a position at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. We are currently recruiting Curse-Breakers, with exciting opportunities to work abroad…' Though it says here you need to have studied Arithmancy—hey, Hermione, you could actually do this!"
"I'm not particularly fond of banking work either."
Hermione said flatly, then turned to Sherlock, who had stayed silent this whole time.
"Sherlock, what about you? Is there anything among these careers that interests you?"
Sherlock gave a soft laugh and shook his head: "The job I want isn't going to show up on any of these career pamphlets."
"Oh? Does that mean you've already decided what you want to do?"
The little lions nearby, hearing him say this, all turned to stare at the Lion King in surprise.
Sherlock nodded: "Yes—to be precise, it's a job I've already been doing all along. It's just that, for now, it's still only part-time."
Hermione was the first to catch on: "You mean... a consulting detective?"
"Correct."
Sherlock kept his smile and went on.
"I imagine I'm probably the only person on Earth in this particular line of work—which means that even come the twenty-first century, I'll never be out of a job."
"But—but you're a wizard!" Harry couldn't help blurting out.
"My dear Harry, do you truly believe the wizarding world has no need of detectives?"
"Sherlock, do you mean—"
"Just look at the Ministry's dismal record over these past years, my friend!
I'm not exaggerating in the slightest—if I'd only been born a few decades earlier, there's no possible way Sirius could have been wrongfully convicted!"
"..."
Hearing Sherlock say this, none of them had any objection to raise.
After all, twelve years on, Sherlock had still managed to clear Sirius's name.
Which meant, naturally, that at the actual moment of the crime twelve years ago, there'd have been no problem at all.
Just then, Sherlock suddenly asked, "My dear Harry, have you decided what you want to do in future?"
"Ah, well—"
Harry froze for a moment, his eyes flickering with a touch of evasiveness, before he finally said after some hesitation.
"I... I haven't decided yet. I've never really thought about what to do after graduating."
Sherlock seemed to grow rather excited. "If you wouldn't mind—why not become an Auror?"
"What?"
At Sherlock's words, the friends around them were all stunned, their attention snapping back to him at once, their eyes were full of disbelief.
Hermione blinked curiously and pressed him: "Why would you think that, Sherlock? Auror training is famously brutal."
"Because I need it."
Under everyone's astonished gaze, Sherlock stated this without the slightest hesitation, his tone as matter-of-fact as if it were simply the natural order of things.
"Er—to be honest, Sherlock, I'm not quite following you."
Harry looked at Sherlock, his gaze radiating a kind of pure, guileless bewilderment.
"It's very simple. Once you become an Auror, you'll have access to criminal cases and evidence across the wizarding world.
When that happens, all you need to do is hand every piece of evidence over to me, and I'll see to it that you're guided down the right path—so that you can bring the wizarding world's criminals to justice."
The friends all exchanged glances at once.
It sounded, on the surface, as though nothing were wrong with it. So why did it feel so strange?
"Yes!"
And yet, to their astonishment, Harry gave a firm, decisive nod.
He looked at Sherlock and said, word by word.
"I've decided. After I graduate, I'm going to become an Auror!"
"Harry, you—"
This time it was the little lions' turn to stare at the Saviour in astonishment.
"Because Sherlock needs me. Isn't that right?"
At that moment, the smile on Harry's face was even brighter than it had been the time he'd gone on that date with Cho Chang.
Once the Easter holidays ended, the weather at Hogwarts gradually grew warmer, and days with a light breeze came more and more often, the sunshine growing clearer and warmer by the day.
The lawns outside the castle turned a lush green, and new shoots sprouted along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Even so, the vast majority of fifth- and seventh-year students had no time to spare for admiring the beauty of spring.
Crushed under the weight of the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, they spent every day trapped in the library or their common rooms, revising, wearily shuffling in and out among the bookshelves, their eyes lined with red.
Amid this tense atmosphere, the appointed time for career consultations finally arrived.
Right on schedule, Sherlock knocked on the door of Professor McGonagall's office.
The office was as neat and orderly as ever, its shelves lined with thick books and files, a flourishing pot of catnip sitting on the windowsill.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, her signature square spectacles perched on her nose, marking a stack of essays.
Seeing Sherlock, she looked up, pushed her glasses back into place, and gestured for him to sit.
Sherlock took the seat across from her and said politely.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall."
"Good afternoon."
Professor McGonagall set down her quill and folded her hands together on the desk.
"Holmes—if it's you, I imagine you've already decided what career you intend to pursue?"
"Yes, Professor," Sherlock said with a nod. "I intend to become a consulting detective."
As expected, on hearing this unfamiliar job title, Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed slightly.
"A consulting detective? What is that? I've never once seen such a position listed in the Wizarding Directory of Careers."
Sherlock had, naturally, anticipated that Professor McGonagall would have this very question, and so he laid out the answer he'd already prepared, explaining in detail the duties of a consulting detective.
Whether the case belonged to the Muggle world or the wizarding world, so long as someone hired him, he would take it on, investigate, uncover the truth, and bring the guilty party to justice.
"There is no such profession in the wizarding world, however—"
Professor McGonagall gave Sherlock a long, searching look, her eyes carrying both a measure of scrutiny and a measure of admiration.
"I know you're a young man with a mind of your own, and I doubt you'll change it easily. Am I right?"
"Self-evidently so, Professor."
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