"Luna looks really pretty today."
Hermione murmured to Sherlock.
She said this because Luna wasn't wearing her radish earrings, her butterbeer-cork necklace, or her Spectrespecs today.
Everyone had grown so used to Luna's usual eccentric getups that seeing her dressed normally today created a striking contrast.
"Cho must have given her some pointers."
Before Sherlock could answer, Harry had already said it with total confidence.
In his view, a kind girl like Cho Chang would never let Luna embarrass herself on an occasion like this.
After all, Luna—invited by Hermione—had already drawn no small amount of jealousy. Lavender's earlier reaction alone made that clear.
Just being invited was enough to cause that. If she'd dressed as she usually did, she was sure to draw even more mockery.
Luna herself might not have minded, but Cho certainly wouldn't have wanted that for her.
Watching Harry walk toward Cho, the students milling around the entrance hall showed no surprise.
Everyone knew that since last term, the Wizarding World's Chosen One had been thoroughly conquered by Cho Chang. But seeing Lavender walking alongside Sherlock, they couldn't help but freeze.
Wasn't Miss Brown supposed to be dating Ron?
But once they saw Ron and Ginny trailing along behind, they relaxed again—clearly they'd worked out what was going on. A fair trade, that was all.
When they saw Hermione walk over to Luna, most of them fixed her with a look that mixed astonishment, envy, and resentment. The reason went without saying.
Hermione ignored the looks. Luna, naturally, cared even less.
As it happened, Harry hadn't been wrong.
It was precisely because Cho had spoken up and persuaded her that Luna had worn what she had today.
Once the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw contingents had joined up, and seeing that the time was about right, the group turned and set off.
Left behind were all those envious, jealous, resentful boys and girls.
"Come to think of it, I still don't know where the party is!" Cho spoke up first.
"Oh—sorry!"
Harry said quickly, "I forgot to tell you. It's in Professor Slughorn's office."
"No need to apologize, Harry," Cho said with a smile. "Though I did hear from someone that there's going to be a vampire there today!"
"A vampire?"
The whole group looked startled at that.
Harry was just about to ask, when Luna tilted her head and said:
"Cho, do you mean Pius Thicknesse?"
"What did you say?"
By now they'd climbed the marble staircase and left behind the stares and whispers from before.
But hearing that name, everyone turned to Luna in surprise.
Hermione couldn't help but ask: "Luna, you—do you mean the Minister for Magic?"
For a moment, she nearly thought she'd misheard.
But Luna's next words told her she hadn't misheard at all—she'd simply misjudged what Luna meant.
"Yes. He's a vampire."
Luna said this with complete conviction:
"When Thicknesse first took over from Cornelius Fudge, my father wrote a very long article about it, but someone at the Ministry wouldn't let him publish it. Obviously, they didn't want the truth to get out!"
The way she said it sounded exactly like Sherlock. But what she'd actually said left everyone speechless.
Lavender let out a soft laugh, then glanced over at Ron, who was standing with Ginny.
She didn't say anything, but the meaning came through clearly all the same:
See? What did I tell you.
Ron, of course, knew exactly what Lavender meant.
But of everyone present, apart from Lavender, they all knew that Luna took her father's odd notions and repeated them as plain fact—so nobody said anything.
Even though the idea that the Minister for Magic was a vampire was, frankly, absurd.
"Sherlock, what do you think?"
But Luna wasn't satisfied with that, and turned to ask Sherlock directly.
"An interesting hypothesis, but it doesn't fit the known facts."
Sherlock said.
"Why not?" Luna pressed.
"First: vampires fear sunlight, loathe garlic, and must feed on blood.
"Thicknesse takes part in all manner of daytime wizarding activities without trouble; his eating habits and behaviour are fully consistent with a human wizard's, with no vampiric weaknesses or tendencies at all.
"Second: the Ministry maintains a clear classification and regulatory framework for vampires and other sentient beings.
"If the Minister for Magic really were a vampire, it would violate the Ministry's own management rules and would cause enormous panic throughout wizarding society. Third: Pius Thicknesse was originally put forward for the post by Dumbledore.
"I don't believe Dumbledore personally dislikes vampires, but he would never have let one with such an obvious weakness become Minister for Magic—doing so would only increase the risk of the Ministry being infiltrated."
When Sherlock finished speaking, everyone fell silent.
How to put it—
Aside from Sherlock Holmes, probably no one else would have taken a question this obviously absurd and answered it so seriously.
By then, though, they'd already drawn close to Slughorn's office.
Laughter, music, and loud chatter drifted out to meet them.
Whether it was simply built that way, or magic had been used, or both—either way, Professor Slughorn's office was far larger than any ordinary teacher's room.
Emerald and silver, deep crimson and gold hangings draped the ceiling and walls, making the place look like the inside of a great tent.
The room was crowded and stuffy, lit a warm red by a golden lamp hanging from the centre of the ceiling.
Inside the lamp, real fairies fluttered and glittered, each one a bright point of light.
From some far corner came the sound of loud singing that seemed to be accompanied by a mandolin, and a haze of blue pipe-smoke hung over the heads of several old wizards deep in conversation. Some house-elves squeaked their way through the forest of legs, balancing heavy silver trays.
The trays hid their bodies entirely, so that they looked like little wandering tables.
"Interesting."
Sherlock said this the moment he took in the scene.
"Sherlock, what's interesting about it?"
Hermione, though she was somewhat struck by the sheer creativity of Slughorn's office herself, hadn't managed to follow Sherlock's train of thought.
"The colours."
"The colours?"
Before Hermione could think any further on that, Slughorn's booming voice rang out:
"Harry! Sherlock! My boys!"
Slughorn was wearing a tasselled velvet cap that matched his smoking jacket perfectly.
"Ah, Miss Weasley and Miss Granger have come along with you too—come in, come in, there are so many people I want you to meet!"
Slughorn greeted only Sherlock, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny—the four he considered members of the Slug Club. As for Ron, Luna, Cho, and Lavender, he simply ignored them.
Or rather, in Slughorn's eyes, those four were nothing more than accessories attached to the other four. But even among the four he did greet, there was still a clear order of priority.
Without waiting for a reply, he took hold of Harry and steered him into the crowd, gripping his arm so tightly it was as if he meant to Apparate him away on the spot.
Harry privately cursed his luck and quickly grabbed hold of Cho, pulling her along with him.
Seeing that Slughorn hadn't so much as noticed them, Lavender immediately slipped away from Sherlock's side, went over to Ron, and looped her arm through his.
Ginny let out a cold snort at the sight, decided not to bother with that pair of shameless flirts, and went over to take Luna's hand instead.
Hermione naturally slipped her arm through Sherlock's.
"Sherlock, the colours you mentioned before—did you mean those hangings?"
"A very sharp observation, Hermione."
Sherlock smiled and nodded.
Green and silver, gold and red—the exact house colours of Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Slughorn's choice to decorate with these two colours showed that, on some level, these were the two Houses he felt closest to.
Slytherin needed no explanation—as the House Slughorn himself had graduated from, it had naturally earned a good deal of his affection.
As for Gryffindor, that was, of course, because of Harry.
"To be precise, it's for Harry's mother," Sherlock said, having seen straight through what Hermione was thinking. "Though these days, saying it's for Harry works just as well."
"Harry's mum…"
"I only mentioned it in passing. Let's turn our attention back to the party."
Sherlock said, pointing ahead. "Look—a vampire!"
"Where, where?" Luna immediately began looking around, thrilled.
Hermione: "…"
Ginny: "..."
"Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple—a former student of mine, and the author of Blood Brothers: My Life Among the Vampires."
In the direction Sherlock had pointed, Slughorn was introducing Harry to two people.
"And of course, his friend, Sanguini."
Worple was a small, spectacled man who, once Slughorn had made the introduction, seized Harry's hand and shook it eagerly. His friend the vampire, Sanguini, was tall and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and an air of weary boredom.
Even so, a cluster of girls still stood near him, watching with a mix of curiosity and excitement.
"Harry Potter! What a pleasure it is to meet you!"
Worple said, squinting up at Harry's face through his shortsighted eyes.
"I was only just saying to Professor Slughorn the other day—where is that Harry Potter biography we're all waiting for?"
"Er…" Harry felt a flicker of embarrassment. "There isn't one."
"So modest, just as Horace said!"
Worple's manner changed abruptly, as though he'd suddenly launched into a business pitch:
"But I mean it—I would be delighted to write it!
"People are hungry to know more about you, my dear boy, hungry!
"Of course, I know your friend has written several very successful books about that great detective, Sherlock Holmes—perhaps you'd rather hand this project to her?"
"I'm not—"
Harry hurried to explain. But Worple seemed not to have heard him at all, and carried right on:
"Believe me, a proper biography is a different thing entirely from that sort of fictionalized account!
"Your friend has a gift for invention, but that's no guarantee she can write a good biography!
"It so happens that this is precisely where my experience lies.
"If you could agree to a few interviews with me—only four or five hours each time—we could have a finished book within a few months."
"I don't—"
Harry was still trying to explain.
"It won't be any trouble at all, I promise—just ask Sanguini, he'll tell you—Sanguini, don't wander off!"
Worple's expression suddenly turned severe.
The vampire had been edging toward the cluster of girls nearby, a hungry gleam in his eyes.
"Here, have a pasty."
Worple snatched one off a passing house-elf's tray and pressed it into Sanguini's hand, then turned his attention back to Harry. "My dear boy, you have no idea how much money you could make—"
"I'm really not interested," Harry said firmly, "and besides, the stories in my friend's books aren't fictional at all."
With that, Harry pulled Cho away, leaving Slughorn's former student and his vampire friend behind.
"So, how was chatting with a vampire?"
Sherlock, grinning, handed Harry a goblet of mead.
"Absolutely dreadful!"
Harry recounted the whole thing in a tone of pure complaint.
Cho just smiled and said, "Honestly, he reminded me of Professor Lockhart."
"That's exactly it," Harry said, nodding firmly. "Lockhart used to say almost the same things to me—hang on, where's Ron?"
"Over there," Ginny said crossly, pointing. "Should never have agreed to bring him."
Harry followed her gaze and immediately understood why.
He looked away again, a little embarrassed.
For most of what followed, the group formed their own little circle and talked freely amongst themselves.
It had to be said, Professor Slughorn certainly had an impressive network.
It wasn't only students, either—quite a few professors had come to the Christmas party as well.
Take, for instance—
"Harry Potter!"
Everyone but Sherlock jumped.
Harry spun around in surprise, only to discover someone had crept up behind him without his noticing.
A whiff of cooking sherry reached them, and they realized the newcomer was none other than the Divination professor, Sybill Trelawney.
Professor Trelawney looked at Harry, her face full of regret.
"My dear boy, why have you stopped coming to Divination? It's such a particularly important subject for someone like you!"
Harry rolled his eyes without much grace.
Important, my foot, he thought.
Only someone with a screw loose would keep going to a class just to hear about one hundred and eight different ways they might die.
Of course, she was still a professor, so he could hardly say that out loud. He settled for a cough instead.
"Professor, I really don't have any gift for it—"
"Ah, Sybill, we all think our own subject is the most important one!"
Just then, a booming voice cut in.
Professor Slughorn had appeared on Trelawney's other side.
His face was flushed red by now, and his tasselled cap sat slightly awry.
He had a goblet of mead in one hand and, in the other, held up an enormous pasty.
"But I don't think I've ever seen a talent like this in Potions before!"
You can read more than 40 chapters on:
patreon.com/MikeyMuse