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shattered legacies,

Chapter Text

It was on the train where Sherlock first met John. It wasn't a meeting Sherlock could look back and be proud of, especially considering... they both just needed a friend.


John was alone with no one to tell him what to do, or where to sit, or if it would be considered rude to sleep on the train. John had expected all of that. He needed structure and discipline to wean him from his previous home's structure and workings, or the very dangerous lack there of.

John was one of the last kids to go through the gateway because Harry had woken up late, his dad refused to provide transportation after having already given the boy at least 100 quid for supplies, and John's mum put up with so much already; he really didn't want to be a bother to her. So, John rushed Harry out the door and was left to carry his trunks to the platform.

John didn't buy an owl. John's dad wasn't on to let him have a bird in the house, squawking it up in the middle of the bloody night. John's mum took a sweeter approach and told him to maybe focus on school and not so much on pets as this was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him. John certainly didn't want to disappoint his mum, so he agreed that he didn't need a pet to go with him to Hogwarts.

John had just made it to the train on time as there were hardly any children out of the Hogwarts Express. He put his trunks onto a trolley nearby and rushed to one of the doors. John kept his Ukelele and a few other things that could occupy him on the journey, on his persons just in case if he got bored or wanted to play something. He showed his ticket and was let in. kids of all ages already filled the cars and cabins, their voices muffled and filling the small rooms with laughter, stories and well-constructed conversation.

"Hello," A voice said behind John. He had a black robe on with hints of red and orange, John saw as he quickly turned around. "You're a first year, aren't you?" The boy asked. John nodded, gulping down a ball of anxiety as the older boy chuckled. He introduced himself warmly as Jacob, a perfect in Gryffindor.

"Alright, let's find you an empty cabin, then," He said. His voice was smooth and comforting, but also as if he could turn it into a commanding yell in only but a second. John didn't want that...! John was quiet as they walked down some cars' aisleways, peeking in to see if it were overcrowded or not. All of them so far were filled with kids who were somehow already acquainted with one another, making John anxiously assume he'd missed something before the beginning of the year.

They saw one near the front, which no one but a single boy sat in. John didn't understand why, but the boy urged that John continued with him. John fell in behind the older boy, who continued down the aisleway as if he were walking in a squad-line. John slowed to a stop and wandered slowly back to the car with only one boy sitting in it.

John opened the cabin door with a slide and walked inside. The boy opened his eyes and looked up from his hands, which were strategically steepled under his nose and chin. John tried to be quieter as he shut the door and walked further into the little room. John sat down, looking at the boy across from him. The boy unfolded himself from the seat, placing his feet to the floor quietly, neatly folding his hands over his lap, and looked John up and down as he carefully placed his Uke on the seat cover next to him.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrow quirking up in confusion and annoyance. John straightened his posture as he looked back at the boy.

"Um," John began,

"Well?" Sherlock snapped impatiently, "It's one thing for a Muggle-born to come waltzing into the Holmes' car, but it's an entirely different disrespect to waste my time with insolent gibberish," He said with a low growl in his voice. The boy's body language was claiming aggressiveness and his eyes were sharp and wild as if begging for someone to pick a verbal fight with him, but John was used to people shouting at him.

"I was going to say that everywhere else was full and I'm trying to make friends, but it seems like you're being a complete twat about it," John said with a huff of frustrated breath. Just as Sherlock smirked and folded his arms across his chest, "So, I guess I'll have to try harder," That seemed to surprise the boy as he stopped right before making another snide arse comment coated with venom, "My name's John Watson," John said with a warm smile, sticking out his hand,

"Sherlock, but this doesn't mean we're automatically friends," the boy said with a posh smirk as he reached out to contribute to the shake of hands.

"How did you know I'm a Muggle-born?" John asked, tilting his head as their hands released from one another. John moved back into his seat more to get a bit more comfortable. Sherlock scoffed again, folding his arms once more, crossing his leg with a quick swing of it,

"I knew because you insisted on coming to meet me," Sherlock gave casually. John's eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, "I'm a pure-breed, idiot," Sherlock said, "All of my family that was my family has always been in Slytherin and that's where I'm going to go when I get sorted, I know it...!" Sherlock smirked eagerly.

"Destiny, then?" John chuckled,

"More like pure logic, mud-blood," he said snapping his head up pridefully. John tilted his head, "My brother said 'Mud-blood' is another term for Muggle-borns," Sherlock explained. John nodded, and Sherlock continued on his prideful rant about how he belonged to Slytherin.

John didn't know any better, so he agreed. I mean, the proof was in the name, wasn't it? " What about you? Do you have any idea where you'll be sorted, or are you just as clueless as the rest of those insipid children out there?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged, sorry to disappoint, "what do you think I'd be?" He asked, leaning forward with a grin. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge that seemed to thrill him, by the look in his eyes. He hummed briefly as if thinking, still searching John for an answer.

"I think you'll be in..." Sherlock drew out, furrowing his eyebrows as if still unsure, "Gryffindor or Hufflepuff," he sat back with a smirk on his lips. John smiled as he leaned back, too. "My Galleons are on Hufflepuff, though," he assured, folding his arms.

John smiled as he narrowed his own eyes, "I have thirty Galleons, twelve Sickles, and seventeen Knuts left from Diagon Alley," John said, reaching and digging into his pocket to pull out his mum's old coin pouch, which was decorated with music notes, and snapped the top open. Sherlock's eyebrow arched.

"That's all you've got?" He asked, leaning forward to try peeking into the pouch. John frowned for a moment but reigned his expression in quickly.

"I'll get more, once mum gets paid," he chuckled. It was a lie. John's mum doesn't work because she relied on his dad, who only worked to get high and drunk. "Don't worry about it. What do you have on you?" Sherlock stood and John hadn't known how short the boy was until he did so. He stepped on to the seat and reached over the rack to grab and pull one of his bags.

"I have with me," Sherlock groaned as he hopped down with a little bag, similar to John's musical coin pouch, and looked down at it as he sat on the seat heavily. He pulled out a paper and unfolded it to read the numbers. "A lot more than you at the moment, however, I'd wager seventy-five Galleons and eighty Sickles that you'll go into Hufflepuff,"

"Wow!" John said, his eyebrows flying up in surprise, "that could feed me for a week!" John laughed, then furrowed his eyebrows, "I think," Sherlock let out yet another posh laugh.

"Idiot, you don't know that the room and board are compensated for?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head. John's ears burned in embarrassment.

They shook hands and the bet was set. They casually talked and John got bored on the ride there so he lied on the seat with his feet up on the wall, strumming a mindless tune on his Uke as he hummed his boredom, "yeah, yeah, yeah...!" John muttered and adjusted his fingers on the strings as he played.

They held staring contests, highest seat-jumper competition, and loudest humming sessions. None of them counted for anything because they were just bored.

A while later, there was a knock at the door and John's practise of rifts stopped for the door to open peacefully. It was a boy John hadn't seen before. "William, get your robe on; we'll be arriving soon," his voice was a little harsh as he leaned his upper body into the cabin. John wasn't as surprised as he saw the green outlines on his own robe.

Sherlock sighed as he sold reaching up to put his Galleons back. He pulled down a smaller trunk where he had his solid black robe. John stood and did the same, replacing his robe with the Uke he'd been using to alleviate boredom. John had noticed that Sherlock hummed the song that John played as they threw their robes on.

"Who are you?" The boy asked.

"I'm John Watson," John said, looking down at himself to see how he looked. John flopped himself back onto the seat, "I'm a first-year," John pulled his leg up with a grunt and pulled his wand from his sock. He smiled at Sherlock, who smiled back at him.

"Get out." The older boy said. John snapped his head up, his smile dropping quickly. "You're not welcome in this car, let alone this school, mud-blood," he sneered. John's eyes widened. He looked at Sherlock, who had the same reaction. "Go, out, now!" He shouted, startling John from his seat. He was grabbing his things and hurrying out of the cabin within seconds. He looked dejectedly as Sherlock as the door slammed shut. Sherlock was looking to the floor as muted yelling came from the boy who'd kicked John from the cabin.

Soon enough, the train slowed to a stop and John was wandering around in the aisleways until it did, looking into the windows to see if he could find one to fit into, but there wasn't any room for him. The doors were opened by upperclassmen. Johns remaining trunks were taken by Jacob, who he'd run into as he stepped off of the train.

"Hey, you okay?" The perfect asked, looking concerned at the paled first-year.

"Uh-uhm...ehr..." John's breath was quickening and his eyes darted around looking the crowd over as he remembered to keep his head down. John's head bobbed down, his eyes were watering and he didn't understand why. There was a lot of new noise surrounding, drowning him.

"Hey," Jacob's voice said calmly, "why don't we go someplace quiet for a few, eh?" He offered and John nodded.

They walked and Jacob told the other perfects where he was going so he wouldn't be discounted for. It was infinitely quieter away from the crowd and Jacob stopped and gave a gentle elbow to John's side, telling him to pay attention.

"Don't tell anyone I did this, but it's too good to resist," he said with a smile on his lips. John nodded. Jacob slipped his wand from his robe and wanted it into the air, saying some kind of incantation. Then, after a flash of light, there was a Bay stallion striding from the stars above. He only appeared for a moment, then dissipated into the sky again as if it had just been dust in the wind.

John watched in wonderment. His eyes went wide and his jaw went slack. Jacob laughed and John looked over at him. Jacob was a fairly attractive boy, taller considerably that John was with sharp green eyes and a face that even 'mommy dearest' could love. John's heart raced and his lips quirked up into an involuntary grin. He ducked his head down.

On the walk back, which really was pretty brief, Jacob asked, "so, are you parents wizards, or...?"

"No, I'm a Mud-blood," John said casually with. Shrug. Jacob stopped in his tracks.

"Hey, don't say that!" He said. John looked at him confusedly.

"Isn't that... Isn't that another way of saying Muggle-borns?" He asked.

"Um, well," Jacob said, struggling with the words to say what he wanted, "it's a bad way of saying it. Like, um... I-I don't want to say that it's racist, but it's kind of like that, you know?"

"Oh," John let out. Did Sherlock trick me, or did he not know? John thought. John and Jacob made it back just as the last of the first years had filled up the wooden rowboats.

"Hey, there, kiddo," Hagrid said, seeing John as he himself was about to sit in his own boat. He was huge. John looked up at him, "c'mon. We can share a boat," he said. His voice was low and rough, but it seemed as though his intentions were pure, which he was sure was true. John looked back to Jacob, who was already walking away.

The ride on the boat was fun. It was supposed to be tranquil and calming, but Hagrid gave him a few playful splashes of water, which lightened it up for John.

John thanked Hagrid once they arrived with the first-years with a smile. As they headed up the long case of stone stairs, some kids asked if Hagrid was nice or not. As the group entered, John looked over the group. He caught Sherlock trying to look at someone up front with John, but as soon as they saw each other, Sherlock ducked his head quickly. John shrugged it off and looked forward again as an older woman walked up to the group of young students.

She gave them the talk and led them into the Great Hall, where all of the older kids sat with their black outfits. The other professors and other staff of the school were up front. They stood in the front, looking at a wooden stool and an old hat made of a thick, brown material.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Mrs McGonagall asked as she held the rolled up paper in her hands. John smirked and rose his hand high. She seemed surprised at this act of bravery and asked bored his name.

"John Watson, ma'am," he said, stepping from the group of scared kids. He was ready to win those seventy-five Galleons, twelve Sickles. She motioned for him to sit on the stool. He walked up and Mrs McGonagall took the hat up to carefully place it on his head when he sat. It began moving, squirming.

You're brave, aren't you? Muggle boy, going to save his mum from a life of horror, eh? John nodded, looking determined, hmmm, you're plenty loyal. Considering, you grew to the Holmes boy quickly. His eyes scanned across the crowd calmly until they landed on Sherlock. He smiled softly as the boy let out a distant scoff as if to say that he was mad for volunteering. The hat hummed for a moment, contemplating where to put John, then,


The kids in Gryffindor stood and applauded loudly as John jumped off the stool with a smug smirk directed at Sherlock as if to say, You were wrong; pay up,

No one else volunteered as John had, so McGonagall just read off the list of names to the group of many. "Ben Cooper," she called. A blonde boy shyly set himself from the herd and sat on the stool. He was a Gryffindor.

There were many new Gryffindors this year, but not as much as there were Hufflepuffs. In the midst of all the sorting, McGonagall called for, "William Sherlock Holmes," and Sherlock's curly head walked pridefully down to the stool. He gave a knowing smirk to John, and the Slytherin table, then to McGonagall. She lowered the hat to his curls.

It took a long time for the sorting hat to come up with a decision, so long that John began to wonder what would happen if a kid had lice, then wore the hat. It'd be a bloody epidemic! John snickered briefly at the thought and tuned back into the ceremony only to hear,


The room fell silent. That wasn't supposed to happen. There was a slam on the table.

"Like hell!" Shouted the boy who hurried John from the cabin. He looked absolutely livid. John looked back at Sherlock. He looked scared, confused, mindless. The Slytherin around the yelling teen pulled him down as scattered, reluctant clapping from the Ravenclaw table. Mrs McGonagall lifted the hat from Sherlock's head. He slowly stood, his head down, and began walking to the table he now belonged to.

"You're no brother of mine!!" The teen from the table shouted, still struggling against his mates. "You'd better hope to God I don't bloody see you in the halls, William!" He threatened with a sharp tongue.

"That is enough!" Mr Dumbledore called from his seat, where he rose from. Everyone stopped and looked at him. "He's just a boy, your family, Mycroft," he said, "I cannot sit idly by as you threaten him like that. And, for what, being a Ravenclaw?" He asked. "I'm going to have to remove your title as Perfect of Slytherin, Mycroft Holmes," the Slytherin table gasped and groaned as he also took ten points from Slytherin.

"Way to go, twat!" The kids from his table said, some of the closer ones giving a smack to his arm. They forced him back down, but he still glared at the boy from across the vast room.

After Dumbledore gave an apology for the rocky start to a new year at Hogwarts, he gave his entrance ceremony speech, then allowed the supper to begin.

John ate pretty quickly and stood up. A lot of the upperclassmen that sat around Sherlock had left already to prepare the common room for the first-years, which was what also happened with most Gryffindor upperclassmen, too. John kicked his leg over the bench next to Sherlock. He hadn't eaten at all.

"Hey," John said softly, placing a gentle hand onto his shoulder. Sherlock looked over at John with a weak, forced smile. "It's okay, you know, to be a little different," John reassured with a smile as his eyebrow lifted some.

"That's easy for you to say," Sherlock said with a bitter chuckle, "Congratulations, by the way," he said, digging into his pocket to pull out his bag of Galleons, "You can count your winnings; I won't mind if you took more," Sherlock plopped the sack on the table in front of John, who looked up at Sherlock.

John only took thirty Galleons, ten Sickles. He slid the bag back to Sherlock, who took a sideways glance.
"You were wagered seventy-five, John," Sherlock said, "I don't deserve any of it," He shoved the bag to John, who pushed it back gently.

"I think you deserve a lot more," John tried sweetly.

"Well, you don't matter, John!" Sherlock snapped, his face red with frustration and his nostrils flared. John stilled. His eyes widened and he didn't really know how to react. His urge was to say something petty, like 'Now, I know why nobody likes you,' but John knew he'd regret that. He knew that Sherlock would act hostile to him. Not that he wasn't already, John's brain screamed, begging him to react in some way because it needed, craved the twisted satisfaction that the idea of revenge brought.

Who was Sherlock to say something he already knew anyway? Who did he think he was to make John believe he'd be different than the rest of them? "Yep," John muttered through tightened lips, tapping the table. He grunted lightly as he stood and rejoined his table.

They soon we're dispersed to find their houses. John spent little time socializing. He went to bed early, just lying there as he repeated the words in his mind.

You don't matter,
You don't matter,
You don't matter,

"I don't...matter,"

Chapter Text

Though Sherlock felt like shit by the time he'd gone to bed, he felt worse when he walked down to the common room. There was another first year, who was arguing with what seemed to be arguing with a third-year in front of a telly that Sherlock didn't remember being there last night.

"Bro, I swear, I was trying to revive you!" The first-year said, putting his arms up defensively.

"Mate, no, you bloody weren't! You were walking towards he bloody jukebox!" The older boy shouted angrily.

"Can we just switch to Modern Warfare; I don't like Zombies," The first-year asked, picking up the case to a different game.

"Modern Warfare bloody sucks," the senior of the two mocked bitterly. Sherlock just wanted to go to class...!

"For God's sake...!" Sherlock mumbled, bringing his hand to his face to catch his sigh of utter annoyance. The two students looked at him.

"Oi, Holmes, which do you think is better? Call of Duty or Modern Warfare?" The third-year asked, pointing at the boy with curly hair, who already wasn't happy to have to wear the uniform and colours of Ravenclaw, but he was absolutely was not on for a bloody debate on Muggle games, at seven in the morning!!

Sherlock said nothing. He only but glared at his house-mates and pushed past them with a disappointed sigh. He closed the door with a spiteful slam.

"Oi, be careful, Holmes!" Shouted the eagle doorknock. He scowled up at it with an angered sneer.

"Shouldn't you be more focused on the two about to have their own bloody modern Warfare in there?" Sherlock asked rhetorically, then stormed from the Ravenclaw tower.

Someone called his name as he was walking in the dungeons, lingering in front of the Slytherin house entrance, longing to be where he thought to belong. Sherlock turned to look back and saw Jim Moriarty, a Slytherin first-year, like what he was supposed to be. The two had known each other since they were kids as Sherlock's mum used to teach them both as Jim's mum was only an ordinary witch, but Sherlock's mum had an uncanny intelligence, which just so happened to carry through the generations.

"Hey, Sherl," Jim said and they bumped their fists together like they used to. Jim took a step back with a light smile. "Wow, I have to say, blue kind of suits you, mate," he said with a wink. Sherlock let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "It does; brings out your eyes," Jim chuckled, scratching the back of his head. Sherlock smiled back.

"So, what's it like in there??" Sherlock asked, desperate to hear what the common room looked like compared to the stories that Mycroft had told him when he was younger. Mycroft... "Do you really think he hates me?" Sherlock asked, adjusting his books in his arms slightly to get a better hold.

"I'd just keep your distance for now, if I were you, Sherl," Jim said, tightening his lips. "There are some recently nasty rumours about what he'd do if given the chance," Jim looked around and saw that the halls were mainly emptied. "I've got to get to Flying class; I'll send an owl tonight," Jim called, beginning towards the opposite direction to where Sherlock was headed.

He sighed as he walked into potions class with the professor, who just so happened to be the head of Slytherin house, where he was supposed to go...!

"Holmes," Snape droned in a low voice, "let's see if you're even smart enough to be in Ravenclaw," he said menacingly, looking over him, though he didn't show he was still very raw over what happened. Sherlock sat down in the rows and opened his book, dipping his quill in the ink bottle, preparing himself for whatever was to come.

There was a tap on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock twisted himself around to see John sitting there with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to face front. The lesson began.

Snape stood in front of the class with his hands steepled almost like how Sherlock does it. Though Snape doesn't place them under his chin as Sherlock had been doing most of his life, he still highly respected the gestures and similarities the two possessed. It only meant that Sherlock was bound to be a great wizard and that he belonged in Slytherin...! They were to brew a 'Cure for Boils,' Sherlock wrote in his notebook. He already knew the basics of how to make it, but he was hoping that John would stop tapping his God-forsaken fingers so that he could catch the rest of the lesson.

Sherlock snapped his head around and growled lowly with an intense scowl on his face. John's eyes widened and Sherlock glanced down at John's hand, then back up at his face, then at his bottle of ink in dangerous warning. He turned back to face front to be looking directly at the deep grimace of one Severus Snape.

"Holmes, may I ask what your infatuation with the Gryffindor behind you might be?" Snape asked, not bothering to close the space between them to make it a private matter.

"Sir, I, uh..." Sherlock began, genuinely anxious, "h-his tapping, sir; it's utterly infuriating," Sherlock managed, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to John, who looked up at Snape with nearly innocent eyes.

"S-sorry, it's a tick, is all," John tried to justify, but Snape knitted his eyebrows together in a deep furrow,

"A what, Watson?" He asked loudly. The whole room centred their attention on the boys with the quarrel, "are you a clock, Watson?"

"N-no, sir. That's not what I meant," John said, his head lowering in lack of self-confidence. "It's a nervous tick," John's neck and left shoulder twitched and his breath hitched. "I didn't mean to disrupt, sir,"

"Two points from both houses; don't let it happen again. Holmes, you should learn to focus better if you're going to make it in Ravenclaw," Snape said and slowly continued with the flow of his lesson. Sherlock gritted his teeth and continued to take notes.

The class was told to gather behind and take notes as Snape quickly made his own brew of Cure for Boils. "It's a must know for any teenage wizard," he droned. They were sent back to their tables to crush up snake fangs in mortar and pestle so they could prepare to brew their own potions.

As Sherlock prepared his potion, he heard John humming from his station next to him. It didn't really bother Sherlock, surprisingly. An owl soon flew and landed on the window sill as Sherlock began stirring the potion after dropping in a few horned slugs,

"Holmes, you've been summoned to the Hospital wing," Snape said as he waved the note which was sent. Sherlock gathered his things and stood. John grabbed Sherlock's arm to stop him momentarily.

"Meet me in the courtyard later?" John suggested, looking up at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but relented anyway,

"Maybe at lunch," he sighed with a groan and left the classroom.

Sherlock turned the corner of the house to see his mum, Ophelia Holmes, standing with his younger, twin siblings, Sherrinford and Eurus, who were only a year behind Sherlock.

"Look at you," She said, handing the papers off to Madam Pomfrey, "when we got the news of your house, your father and I were furious," she said, walking to him slowly, leaving the two younger kids to their own, "we still are," she said, letting her face show a very brief expression of lividness,

"I didn't want to be in Ravenclaw, mummy," Sherlock tried, "the stupid sorting hat must be broken or something,"

"Don't lie to me, William." She said, sneering at him, "I always knew you were different than the rest of them," she said. Sherlock's eyes widened and his head began shaking slowly as if brokenly saying, no,

"What are you here for, mummy?" He asked, looking around briefly for Mycroft.

Ophelia stepped back with a smile. Madam Pomfrey handed the packet of paper back to her. "She wanted your records,"

"You could've sent an owl," Sherlock pointed out.

"Don't question me, William," Sherlock winced a bit as the clock tower boomed its bell and rang it through the entire castle. Potions class had officially ended. "Well? Get out of here, William," she scoffed and grabbed on to her children's shoulders. "Don't come home for Christmas holiday, William," and she was gone.

Sherlock dragged his feet to charms class with professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw, who saw Sherlock enter and smiled from atop a tall stack of books.

"Mr Holmes, I'm glad to see that you've not held a grudge," he joked in his monotone voice. Sherlock gave an obviously sarcastic smile and found a seat to plop into heftily. He sighed. Had my own mother just disowned me...? He thought as the bell chimed loudly again, signifying the beginning of the class. The door burst open and the classroom looked at the door the best they could to find John standing there, breathing heavily with dishevelled hair and darkened smoke marks on his face, robe, and hands.

"So sorry, sir," John panted quickly as he hurried into the room, "an unexpected explosion happened in positions and I helped clean things up," John sat down on the opposite side of the room, facing Sherlock. Flitwick frowned.

"Excuses are the nails, Mr Watson," he said as a warning. Sherlock silently scoffed from his seat. He felt something in his chest that was almost akin to pride. He knew that saying,

The class went well. Sherlock paid attention and was praised for his efforts and it felt good to him. He quite fancied compliments. Sherlock decided that he liked the class, more specifically the professor.

Then, he had a free period, so he went to the library to find other more about the sorting hat and the qualities of the different houses. He'd ended up checking the book out and heading to the common room to change from his robes. Sherlock didn't favour them, Slytherin colours or not. They were hot and got in the way, therefore, inefficient. Sherlock headed to the Great Hall to grab his lunch, then he upheld his word to meet with John in the Courtyard.

Kids played Gobstones and used the levitation charm on one another, laughing and talking amongst themselves. John entered his line of sight and Sherlock stood to greet him.

"Hey," John said, sitting down. Sherlock sat, too. He seemed to have cleaned up, too. Now, his face and hands were only red from the burns he must've sustained from the explosion. His hands were wrapped up, but Sherlock got a glance at his wrists. They were bruised, but Sherlock had a sickening feeling in his gut that it wasn't from the explosion.

"Hello, John," Sherlock said, "was there something you wanted to talk about?" He asked.

"Yes, there was. You may not think of it as important, but it's important for me. So, all I ask is for you to listen and genuinely consider what I have to say, please," John said, turning himself to face the curly-haired boy. Sherlock nodded. This was a completely different attitude than how John was yesterday. He must be serious about what he wanted to say. John nodded as well.

"Look, I get it. I totally understand what you're going through. To live your whole life thinking, believing that you're normal, wanting to just be like everyone else, then having it all shattered," John began, his voice shaking slightly, "it's terrifying," he chuckled nervously, glancing up to Sherlock very briefly.

Sherlock did as he said he was, he listened. John talked and he stayed quiet. John had a lot to say and he looked scared to say a lot of it as if someone would shout at and discipline him for saying it,

"And, I know that all you want to do is shut people out and try to fix it, fix yourself, but I feel like what needs to be said right now is that you're absolutely not alone. A lot of people are going through or have gone through similar situations. And, it's okay," John said softly. Sherlock looked down. "I don't want to make this speech about me, but hell, when I got my letter, it was an absolute uproar at home, more than it usually is," John chuckled nervously.

"Everyone matters, Sherlock," he said, "even you, even me, even your brother, Mycroft. Even if he doesn't deserve to, he does and that's just a fact,"

"Had what I said to you really had an effect on you, John?" Sherlock asked John stopped for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm used to it, so I didn't think it would hurt as much coming from you," John nearly whispered as if totally ashamed of his lesson than perfect upbringing, "but, I think it was because I was used to it that I didn't expect it to come from such a comfortable atmosphere that it surprised and affected me so much,"

"Oh... Well, I apologise for what I said, John. I was in a low place, I still am, and I guess I wasn't really ready for condolences and comfort yet,"

They had surprisingly made amends quickly, having a new understanding of one another. It was nice, Sherlock thought admittedly, this feels... Nice, Sherlock felt free to let a small smile form on his lips.

"I suppose, we could become friends," Sherlock said, snapping himself from his daze. Then, he remembered the book he'd gotten. He pulled it from behind him. "I got this from the library." He said.

"Trying to figure out why you were placed in Ravenclaw?" John asked, tilting his head to get a better look at the pages. "Woah, that's a lot of reading...!" John said with a chuckle. Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to scan his eyes over the words on the pages. He turned the page and ran his finger down, then swiped over to the other side of the book, then flipped it again.

"Huh, I didn't know that," Sherlock muttered, but before he could explain his findings to John, a marble hit the back of his head. "Ah, ow!" Sherlock groaned as he swung his hand up to rub at the pained spot.

They both looked back to find a Slytherin girl laughing at them. John stood up,

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" He asked, sounding angered.

"Uh, playing Gobstones properly." She said with an attitude. John gritted his teeth. "What are you gonna do, hit me? I'm the greatest witch in Hogwarts; I could knock you on your arse in ten seconds flat!" She said as a warning.

"You're no better a witch than I am a wizard," John said she looked absolutely offended and she strutted around the fountain to stand poshly in front of John. "You're probably just an arrogant first-year, who can't seem to get a grip on reality," John said, clenching his fists.

"Excuse me?" She said, laying an indignant hand to her chest in feigned surprise, "I have you know that I am a pure-breed Slytherin with endless potential, unlike you two, Mud-blood and reject," she laughed. John growled in his throat. His hands shook and his face almost matched his robe's secondary colours in frustration.

"Excuse me," Snape's voice interjected into the heated, venom- laced conversation, "what's the meaning of this loud nonsense?" He asked harshly.

"This Gryffindor threatened me, sir," the girl said, completely dropping her aggressive facial expression, to quickly replace it with one of a scared and helpless personality.

"What- I-uh, that's not true!" John objected angrily. Sherlock stood quickly, closing his book quickly.

"Your student threw a marble at me in an aggressive, ill-mannered attempt to get under my skin, sir. John was just trying to defend me, is all," Sherlock said, reaching over the bench the two boys sat on to pick up said marble and show it to the professor. "You're supposed to be supervising us. How would this have happened, Professor?"

"Don't try to play with me, Holmes. You know who I am, It never works!" Snape sharply warned,

"Excuses are the nails, sir," Sherlock sneered and stormed off it the halls without staying to hear that Snape had taken fifteen points from Ravenclaw, but only five from his own house, despite the source of the entire problem being an arrogant first-year,

"Let me in," Sherlock growled at the doorknock, who squawked,

"Which came first, the Phoenix or the flame?"

"What an insipid question to ask me," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, "an endless circle has no beginning, surely," he groaned. The door slowly opened and Sherlock entered angrily, stomping up the stairs to the dormitories.

He barged into the first-years' dorm and plopped onto his bed, harshly drawing the blue and grey curtains around so he could have some kind of privacy. He'd read his book until it was time for supper.

Sherlock had heard many different people entering and leaving the room and running up and down the stairs. Sherlock sighed, lying down for a while.

"I still don't get it!" He groaned.

Sherlock wasn't going to. He wasn't going to go to dinner, but something in him decided he would. He got out of bed and made his way down to the Great Hall where most students already were. Sherlock sat down at his table and picked at his food.

"Hey, Sherl," Jim's voice sounded from behind Sherlock and he turned to bump their fists together with a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw John, who was about to go and greet the eccentric boy, too, falter in his plan and just sit, looking at the two, who looked to get along so well.

"Hey, Jim," Sherlock said, offering him to sit.

"So, guess what I have for you?" Jim asked excitedly. Sherlock tilted his head.

"It's not Christmas yet; it's hardly Halloween," Sherlock lowly objected with a chuckle, but still closed his eyes when Jim told him to. He heard Jim giggle as he placed the thing on the table. Jim told him to open his eyes and Sherlock saw a custom made Slytherin scarf with his name on it in grey. Sherlock's eyes widened and something in his chest tightened and turned.

"I bought it in Diagon Alley before we came here; I was going to give it to you last night, in the dorms, but..." Jim trailed off, tightening his lips as he sucked his teeth. Sherlock opened his arms towards Jim and leaned in for a brief, borderline awkward hug. Sherlock quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck and comedically posed. Jim snickered,

"You look fabulous, Sherl," he said, laying a theatrical hand on his chest as he tilted his head up. They laughed. Jim's eyes brightened. "Hey, a bunch of us are gonna sneak out to the Forbidden Forest tonight," he leaned in to whisper, "You wanna come with?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows at the offer.

"Isn't that, like.... Forbidden?" He asked with an unsure chuckle.

"Yeah, but who cares? That's the fun in it!" Jim said, perking up to laugh. Sherlock still seemed unconvinced. For whatever reason, he looked back at John, who was now talking to the girl he sat next to in charms class. Sherlock looked back at Jim,

"Is it exclusively Slytherin?" Sherlock asked, feeling a bit nervous at the thought of being in the middle of a group of Slytherin when he himself was a Ravenclaw, like it or not,

"Mm, no. There'll be older kids from all houses coming. Every year, the older kids go and summon their patronuses as a kind of morale boost for the younger of the houses." Jim explained with an excited smile.

Sherlock thought about it, humming, then came to the conclusion, "yeah, I'll most likely be there; when do they meet, do you know?" Sherlock asked. Once Sherlock got the meeting time, Jim was on his way, saying how much he looked forward to seeing Sherlock there. Sherlock bid him goodbye and continued to pick at his food, actually eating a bite or two, feeling good about tonight.

Yeah, his family might have disowned him, but Sherlock knew Jim would always be there for him, thick and thin, like he always had. Sherlock smiled to himself and after dinner, he caught John in the hallways to invite him.

"A bunch of the older students give a morale boost to us younger by casting their patronuses into the night sky," He explained. John's eyes brightened and a smile spread on his lips.

"Yeah, I'll see what my perfect says," John said with a nod. Before he could walk away, John was topped by Sherlock's hand on his arm.

"John, I don't want to get into trouble, so please don't mention me by name," Sherlock requested. John smiled and agreed,

"No problem, mate. I've got you," he chuckled.

They ended up walking together. Their houses were right next to one another, so John walked Sherlock to the entrance to Ravenclaw common room.

"Nice scarf, by the way," John said smiling. Sherlock smiled back widely, genuinely.

"Ta, see you tonight," Sherlock said,

"We'll see," John chuckled. They waved at each other as John began walking to his common room.

Sherlock entered his common room and unwrapped his scarf from his neck. He wasn't sure exactly why, but it felt wrong to wear it in Ravenclaw.

Chapter Text

John sat in his common room and looked into the fireplace as he strummed on his Ukelele, humming to a tune he knew. The door opened and as if on cue, Jacob entered, laughing with his mates after doing a round of hall patrols.

John quickly stood and rounded the chair to approach the perfect.

"Hey, John," Jacob said with a charming smile, "how was your first day of classes?" He asked.

"It was good, except for the explosion in potions class," John chuckled. Jacob's eyes widened in worry.

"What happened? Are you okay?" He asked, placing his hands on John's shoulders to look at his face. He brought his hand up to feel the light burns. "Did you see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Snape told me not to," John muttered as his cheeks were being pushed together, forcibly pursing his lips. "Some Ravenclaw forgot to add the nettle," John said with a shrug. Jacob chuckled hopelessly, hanging his head as he let go of John.

"As long as you're okay," he said.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," John said. Jacob looked up with wonder, "later, though," John suggested. Jacob nodded and John sat down in the red armchair again. He began playing his Uke again.

It was nearly midnight when Jacob wandered down the stairs to the common room, where John sat still strumming tiredly at the strings of his small instrument.

"What was so secretive that you couldn't tell me with others around?" Jacob asked, chuckling as if not believing it would be a big deal. John sat up and turned to face Jacob.

"A friend of mine," John said, "told me there was an event tonight, very secretive; he was hush-hush about it,"

"Yeah?" Jacob asked, sitting on the arm of the chair. "What kind of event?" John seemed unsure of telling Jacob about it.

"Well," John started, feeling as if Jacob could prove the event to be true or false, "he said that the older kids of Hogwarts go out into the Forbidden Forest at half-past midnight and cast their patronuses into the sky as a kind of morale boost," John explained, "and he said that people from all houses usually go, but I didn't see anyone from Gryffindor leave yet. I'm starting to worry," John said, glancing into the fire with a worried expression as if to say that Sherlock might get burned one way or another tonight.

"Did your friend already leave?" Jacob asked. John looked up at him,

"Probably," John muttered. Jacob sighed. "John, I know you probably don't want the friend to get into trouble, but he's most likely in danger if he's in the Forbidden Forest." He said only making John's worry grow, "what is his name?"

"His name's Sherlock Holmes," John said, looking down as if ashamed that he'd done what Sherlock asked him specifically not to do. Jacob's eyes widened.

"Did a Slytherin invite him to this event?" He asked, placing a nervous hand onto John's shoulder. John quietly nodded,

"I think so; he was a first-year," John said, glancing his eyes up to Jacob, who quickly checked the time and cursed under his breath. He jumped up,

"Do you have your wand on you?" Jacob asked, jogging up the stairs to the fifth-year dormitory. He came back down tossing his jacket to John, who held up his wand. "Come on," he whispered, "we've got to get there before it starts,"

They opened the door to the common room and stepped out. John quietly cast the illumination charm so they could see better as they stealthily made their way to the staircases.

They'd somehow made it to the castle grounds, where they were careful not to wake the Whomping Willow. They stepped lightly past Hagrid's hut, however, Fang stood, smelling the air near them. Jacob stopped John and covered the end of John's wand with his hand to temporarily shut out the light. Nonetheless, Fang decided not to be on their side as he began barking and growling at them. Jacob began quickly pushing at John's back as they ran. By the time the two had made it into the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid was out of his hut, asking Fang what was wrong.

"Shit!" Jacob panted from where he hid from the hut's sight. John was panting beside him, his lungs burning with the chill of the air. Jacob looked at John and they began running again. They stayed close and followed a strict path. There was yelling and laughing coming from a while ahead. John knew they were close. Jacob told him to extinguish the wand and John hadn't known how exactly to do that.

"Say, Nox," Jacob instructed. John repeated and the light from his wand tip was snuffed out. They walked the rest of the way in darkness and quiet.

"Flippendo!" Was aggressively changed by multiple people and the sound of grunts and shouts of pain was hardly drowned out by the harsh chants. Then, half of the chanting voices switched to a different phrase, "Slugulus Eructo!" And the sounds of pain were then mixed with one of wretching, horrible wretching. Jacob looked between two trees to we a large group of Slytherins cast the spells on a single Ravenclaw. The influenced first-years were physically damaging him with punches and kicks. Some were switching rapidly between Lumos and Nox and it made John sick to his stomach when he saw, peeking out behind Jacob.

The distant alarm of Fang barking became increasingly closer and harsher as if he'd smelled the others, too. John's horrified eyes stuck to the sight of what they were doing to Sherlock, that poor boy!!

"My God," John groaned, lifting a quick hand to his mouth to suppress what might come up if he didn't stop looking soon. He quickly was pulled away by Jacob, who pointed behind them as if to remind him of the dog chasing their scent. John shook his head, I don't want to get caught out here,

"Oi!" Hagrid shouted in his gruff and low voice. There were whispers and a few last, scattered chants as the grass and dirt crunched beneath the retreating perpetrators' feet. Most of them were laughing, while some first-years were worrying about what would happen if they get caught. Hagrid flashed his lantern at the quick group of kids behind the trees as he stopped in front of the two Gryffindor boys. John quickly turned and threw up, making Jacob sigh as if relenting to whatever punishment was coming their way.

The grunts and wretching continued violently behind them. John was the first one to the scene, dropping his wand and everything, sliding on his knees to meet the suffering, convulsing pre-teen with shaking hands as he basically coughed up slugs. John illuminated his wand's end and pried one of Sherlock's eyes open,

"What are you doing, John?" Jacob asked, running behind John, who extinguished the wand and looked at the convulsions and nodded,

"Altered pupillary behaviour is commonly present during and following epileptic seizures, Jacob," John hushed.he moved quickly to the other side of the boy.

"You're saying he's having a seizure?" Jacob seemed afraid and very scared. He was probably thinking of what would happen to the boy. John glanced up and nodded.

"He's burning up, the seizures are trying to sweat out the fever," John examined as he tried to move the boy's head to the side to make it easier for him to get the slugs out. "His nose is probably broken," John said, then shakily ran his hands down the boy's chest and sides, "three broken ribs, and his collarbone, too," John checked his pulse quickly.

"Dangerously fast," John looked up to Hagrid and Jacob with a very worried expression.

"We should get him into the castle," Hagrid said gruffly. John nodded and took off Jacob's jacket.

"What are you doing?" Jacob asked as John laid his jacket to the ground, smoothing it out flatly to the dirt.

"It's too dangerous to try and pick him up because we have no idea what the state of his neck is right now," John explained, tugging the shoulders of his shirt to slowly pull him onto the jacket. Sherlock wretched up another two slugs. "If we move him the wrong way, it might damage him more so; I only turned his head so he didn't choke on the thick slime of the slugs' discharge,"

"How do you know all of this?" Hagrid asked, confused by all of the knowledge the boy was sputtering out as he practically switched into a young doctor. John looked up as he hooked his hands under the jacket, giving it a test tug.

"My father is a drug addict, my sister's an alcoholic, my mum gets beat on a daily basis, and we have absolutely no health insurance; I kind of have to take a first aid class every couple of months," he said darkly almost in a growl as he looked down at the boy, "but all that matters right now is pulling him back into the castle and getting help," John looked behind him as he turned and pulled. It was cold out that night and it was a long path. Especially when you're pulling someone else's convulsing weight instead of running away from a big ass dog.

John's back ached severely as he began pulling the boy through the path they took to get to the scene. Every now and then, he'd look down at Sherlock to whisper and try to coax him through what he was going through. John couldn't even possibly imagine!

John pulled Sherlock onto the soft grass behind Hagrid's hut. John slowly let the boy down and dook breaths as he paced in circles with his hands above his head to reflow the oxygen. His face and hands were suffering from wind burn and his nose had been running for about an hour. Not to mention his muscles screamed out of exhaustion and overworking strain.

"Hey, Hagrid; could you get a blanket that you hardly use?" John asked as he huffed out a groan.

"I'll get the softest one," He assured with a quick nod, glancing down at Sherlock as the convulsions started up once more. Jacob slowly walked up to John, looking down at the boy, who wretched up slugs. John bent down to throw them away from the jacket.

"Sorry about your jacket, Jacob," John apologised. The perfect shrugged quickly,

"Don't be, John; your quick thinking is probably why he's still alive right now," Jacob reassured, lacing a firm hand on John's shoulder. He faltered for something else to say, "I'm sorry about your past, John," he said with a light sigh. "but, then again, it's what made you the brave, smart boy you are now, however shitty that may sound," Jacob complimented with a chuckle,

"Hey, shitty's my bread and butter, mate," John's ears went red with bashfulness as he quipped comedically. He ducked his head.

"Seriously, though, John," he chuckled, "I have no idea what I would have done if you didn't step up like that," He said, giving John's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're a hero, John," John's eyes widened and he moved back from Jacob,

"N-no, I'm not a hero; please don't say that," John said. Hagrid's door opened harshly and John tossed three more slugs from the jacket. John had Hagrid lay out the blanket and he transferred Sherlock to that.

"That way, when we put him down, it won't hurt his head as much," John said with a grunt as he continued to drag the boy's body. Hagrid lay the Jacket over Sherlock to try and warm him up, but he had already been sweating for an hour through his sporadic convulsions. They heard someone humming as they walked out of the side of the castle,

"Hey," She shouted, "What are you two doing out here?" Madam Hooch asked. She jogged out to meet them but stopped as soon as she saw the luggage they carried as he shook violently even still. She looked up at them and quickly drew her wand, only for Hagrid to stand in front of them.

"We're bringing him into the Hospital wing, Madam," He said, waving his hand to tell John to pull, "You can follow and help us... W-what was it again, John,"

"Keep him from choking on the slugs...!" John grunted as he dragged the boy into the entrance of the castle.

"I'm sending an owl to Dumbledore, immediately!" She shouted, running back into the castle and off into a side corridor. They couldn't stop or wait. Sherlock's state was becoming worse and worse by the hour and John really didn't want to think about how much time they had before something irreversible happened. So, John strained himself physically to make the trip shorter in time.

Thankfully, because the Hospital wing was on the first floor, they didn't have to figure out how to pull Sherlock up a flight of moving stairs. John was actually very bloody thankful!

Jacob and Hagrid jogged in front of John to hold the doors open so that John could quickly move into the room. They all began calling for Madam Pomfrey as John softly set Sherlock down. She came out of her office in a rushed hurry and stopped in her tracks as she saw the victim on the floor seizing up with tears in his eyes. He threw up another slug. She gasped.

"Please help, Madam," John begged, pulling her closer, "he has multiple broken ribs, fractures in the clavicle, and has been having sporadic seizures since we've found him two hours ago," He explained, "You have to clear his airways, Madam!" He pleaded with the witch.

"What's the state of his neck, boy?" She asked, quickly dropping to her knees,

"Inconclusive," John shakily said. She nodded, then took his pulse, "It was one hundred and six when we found him, one thirty-two an hour later, then it dropped to eighty-five outside of Hagrid's hut," He gave. She told Jacob to grab the clipboard from her desk and hand it to John. John filled out what he noticed and left it blank where he didn't understand or didn't check.

"We have to move him to a bed, okay?" Pomfrey asked. John nodded nervously and watched nervously as Hagrid pulled him onto a gurney that was lifted and placed onto a bed. She thanked them, John especially, and told them they could leave. "Try to get some sleep, John?" She suggested, but John completely doubted it! His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through him like a hole in a dam.

All three were pushed from the hospital wing's patient room. "Hey," Jacob said softly, "let's get you back, yeah?" He asked, gently guiding a mindless John back to the towers so they could try to get some time to sleep.

John practically collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep not too long after, but his dreams left his mind more than restless as it showed him images of what would've, could've happened if John hadn't gotten there when he had.

"N-Noo! John screamed, sitting up quickly. He was in a cold sweat and some of the other first-years that were going through their morning routines looked at him, startled and very confused. John quickly swung his legs out of a bed he'd not yet gotten used to and ran down the stairs to the common room. He was headed for the door when another perfect pulled the running boy back in a circle.

"Ah-!" He said, tutting John quietly, "Jacob asked me to escort you to your classes, nowhere otherwise," He said. John let out a growl and tried to escape, clawing at the air for the door, but the other perfect held JOhn by the waist and chest to keep him back until he tired himself out. e picked JOhn up and turned him around, "Go up there and get a shower," He said. It took John a moment, but he relented climbing the steps slowly with a loud groan.

John started the shower and stepped under the water. He mainly enjoyed the heat, scrubbing his face, hoping to maybe wipe the sight of Sherlock being attacked like that out of his memory. John ended up sobbing, his face in his hands, leaning against the wall in front of him.

John heard the door open and he quickly scrubbed his face again, sniffling as he shut the water off and grabbed a towel to cover himself with. He went back into the dorm and got dressed quickly. As he descended the stairs calmly, he saw that the perfect was still there. John opened his satchel and took out his timetable.

"I hope you like transfiguration for first-years with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs," John said. The perfect stood, unfolding his arms and straightening himself out,

"I'm missing Defense against the Dark Arts for Transfiguration for firs-years? Cool," He quipped with a chuckle,

"I just need to pop in somewhere first," John said, reaching for the door. The perfect, held the door shut with his foot, his arms crossed again,

"What part of 'nowhere else' do you not understand, John?" He asked, gruffly from behind John.

"What part of 'need' do you not understand, Gregory?" John replied harshly. He waited a moment, then quickly and heavily drove his head back into the forehead of the perfect. As the sixth-year stumbled back, a string of obscenities spilling from his throat in a growl, John quickly opened the door, "Sorry for the split lip, mate!" he shouted, then slammed it shut behind him.

John made it halfway down the hall before the door was opened and Greg was making his angered way up the spiral staircase. John briefly twisted himself around to look at the livid student as he made for the stairs. John was on the base of the stairs.

He looked behind him, then leaned over the railings. He saw that the level below him was lined up perfectly, so he threw his bag down and climbed over said railing, then turned himself around and jumped. As he landed, the shifting of the staircase below his unsteady feet had him off balance. John fell, grabbing his bag strap as he tumbled down the turning staircase. Kids from the safer side of the stairs looked, surprised that a student was daring and brave enough to be case hopping. John looked up at Greg, who was staring down in disbelief at John. He stood and went down to the safe platform, then hopped down two more levels to the first floor with a roll as he landed.

John grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and ran as fast as he could to the hospital wing. John burst through the doors, his lungs heaving wildly as he'd been running since the staircases. Jacob turned, surprised to see John in the room.

"Where's Greg?" He asked, approaching the boy, who was reasonably out of breath. John swallowed loudly and held up a finger,

"I think he stopped following me when I jumped off the stairs," He panted. Jacob's eyes widened considerably.

"What?! John, are you absolutely mad!?" He shouted. "John, I respect you, especially for what you did for Sherlock last night, but this is-" he started, but John pushed past him,

"Speaking of, how is he?" John asked, smiling slightly with unrealistic anticipation of him being awake and sitting up, but as John pushed open the curtain, he saw that the boy was asleep. John tightened his lips. He supposed seizures did take a lot of energy out of a person. He'd need all the rest he could get. John sat down next to him and looked at his pale face. He was still sweating, meaning he probably still had a fever. John placed his hand on Sherlock's arm and watched the boy breathe. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips were slightly parted. John couldn't imagine the amount of pain he must've been in,

"I managed to control his convulsions and his vitals," Madam Pomfrey said as she saw John in the chair. "He's been asking for you in his sleep, you know?" She said with a smile. John felt his ears heat up.

"John!" Someone else burst through the door. It was Greg with dried blood connecting his nostrils to his upper lip. He looked livid, but Madam Pomfrey insisted he got the blood cleaned from his face before shouting near her patient.

Greg glared at John until he saw who he was sitting next to. "Isn't that that Holmes kid who talked shit on professor Snape to his face?" He asked. John nodded, putting his bag on the ground. John opened it and pulled out his Ukelele. He'd begun tuning it by ear and strumming lightly to test as Jacob questioned the nonchalance of John's response.

"He did what?" Jacob asked.

"He basically called Snape irresponsible because a Slytherin first-year threw her Gobstones at us in the courtyard during lunch," John said, strumming a harmonious chord, "and it was Snape's supervision shift,"

"Oh, my God," Jacob snickered, "N-no, that was very ill-mannered of him," he tried to act like a perfect, but was having a difficult time with it,

"Don't worry," John smiled up at Jacob, "Snape took ten more points off Ravenclaw than he had to his own house, so at least we know he's fair," John said sarcastically as he strummed a quick line of chords.

By dinner, John was expected to have left the patient room, but he was still there, playing little tunes and humming to them. Greg came in after dinner and said Jacob collected classwork for him from the classes he'd missed.

"We've also brought your dinner to the common room, mate," he said. John knew it was an incentive for him to leave for the night and John was finishing up a tune on his Uke when someone else entered the room. John stood, his music halting to see professor Flitwick. John smiled.

"How is he?" Flitwick asked,

"His vitals are under control again, his seizures stopped earlier this morning, and he stopped throwing up slugs not too long after we brought him in, sir," John said as Flitwick climbed onto the chair to the left of Sherlock,


"You don't want to know, sir," John said, looking down.

"Please, Mr Watson, he's one of my students; I need to know what happened to him," Flitwick said, looking over at John, who sighed and sat down.

"I think it was a hazing," John began,

Chapter Text

Sherlock's stomach ached! What had he eaten yesterday? He furrowed his eyebrows and groaned. He heard someone softly hush him in a low lull. He felt the prick of a syringe tip in his arm and his eyes snapped open. "Ow!" He shouted, ripping his arm from the person jabbing him with a bloody needle! He slowly sat up and opened his eyes to see a foggy view of Madam Pomfrey, who seemed surprised that he was awake.

"Oh!" She chirped loudly. Sherlock harshly hushed her and all of a sudden, everything in his sight became clear, too clear. He closed his eyes and covered his ears. But, it was no use. He could still hear everything clearly. "Honey, open your eyes," She cooed. Sherlock trusted her, but when he did, he got a light in the face.

"Agh-! God damn it!" Sherlock hissed, flinching away from the woman and her insipid light.

"Do you know where you are?" She asked. Sherlock nodded,

"I'm in the hospital wing at Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry," He answered, rolling his eyes, but even that felt like too much.

"Do you know who you are, dear?" She asked.

"Of course, I bloody well know who I am, woman! Have you gone absolutely daft!? I'm Sherlock Holmes, first-year Ravenclaw!" He shouted, making his own ears ring. He winced at his own voice. She stepped back and looked at him. She walked into her office and sent an owl to someone. Sherlock sat there. He pulled himself up to the head of the bed and noticed the different kinds of gifts people sent him. He looked up to find balloons, too. He flipped his over over his legs and looked down at them, then back up at the other wall. He seemed dazed for moments. Then, the door opened and,

"John," Sherlock said with a smile on his lips. He looked plenty more charming than before. Sherlock had the urge to run into the boy's arms. What a strange urge that was. John just stood and looked,

"Sherlock," he breathed, then quickly walked across the room to collapse at Sherlock's bedside, basically sobbing into his lap. Sherlock felt panicked, for more than one reason, though he decided to settle for awkwardly patting John's shoulder blades. "Thank God you're okay!" John sobbed.

"Eh," Sherlock wavered, "more or less, I'd say," Sherlock said, resting his hand in John's golden blonde hair. John looked up at him, confusion was written on his face. "Madam Pomfrey, may you roll me over a wheelchair, please?" He called to her nonchalantly. She did as he requested and Sherlock was struggling to set himself into it. Pomfrey helped as John sat there, looking stunned.

"C'mon, John, let us go," Sherlock said, rolling himself near the door. "John, can you open the door for me?" Sherlock asked. John stood and had a brief talk to Madam Pomfrey, who advised John to let him have his way for now. John walked up behind Sherlock's chair and hooked something to the handles. Pomfrey opened the door and let them exit with a smile.

"What do you remember?" John asked, pushing Sherlock's wheelchair down the hallway,

"I remember being able to walk after I left the library yesterday," Sherlock said, gritting his teeth, "One of those stupid students must've shoved me down the bloody staircase!" Sherlock growled. John stopped, parked the chair, and walked out in front of the chair with his hands on his hips. Sherlock can't remember ever thinking this was cute before, but he sure as hell does, now!

"That's all you remember?!" He asked, sounding at a loss. Sherlock tilted his head,

"Yes, of course, that's all I bloody remember, John," he chuckled, unsure why John was shouting.

"We're late for potions," John groaned as he went back behind Sherlock's chair and began pushing him again. Sherlock leaned his head back and hummed whilst watching John's facial expression change from that of annoyance and frustration to a smile,

"You don't have to push me, you know?" Sherlock said, letting his eyes close a long moment. He opened them up to see that they'd arrived at a staircase. John parked the chair and unhooked those things from the handles. John brought them in front of Sherlock to reveal that they were braces, leg braces. Magical ones, he wagered. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John strapped them to Sherlock's legs and showed Sherlock how to strap them. John stood and leaned over Sherlock to grab something else. "Wrist supporting crutches?"

John nodded, "Pomfrey doesn't want your entire recovery to depend on magic, and neither do I," Sherlock put his hands through the holes, which were open on the backs, and pushed himself up. He could feel his legs, they were just too weak to support his weight and move, for now. John helped Sherlock clamber down the stairs, only losing his balance once. Thankfully, John was in front of him, there to catch him if he had fallen, which he had. Sherlock chuckled nervously.

Once they'd made it to the base of the steps, Sherlock was pooped. He'd never thought it would take so much energy to do something as simple as going down a single flight of stairs. Sherlock had quickly developed a newfound appreciation for the disabled,

John had brought down the chair with some minor trouble. Sherlock wished he could help John, but unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. Sherlock's arms were growing tired and weak, like noodles, wobbling as he used them to support his entire weight for the first time ever, and they weren't used to being used, either.

John had unfolded the chair with a grunt and Sherlock plopped sown in the seat of it, feeling his relief instantly. They'd only had to go down the hall before Sherlock had to stand up again, straining his already overworked muscles even more. He whined in tired discomfort as John took a while to fold the chair back up before opening the door.

"Ah, how very nice of you to rejoin us, Watson," Snape droned with a harsh tongue, but cut himself off as he saw and heard Sherlock struggling in with his crutches. "Quite the enthusiastic learner, aren't we, Holmes?" Snape said bemusedly as he watched as Sherlock basically gave up and sat in the back. John stopped halfway down and went back there to sit with him. Sherlock scoffed,

"I'm just feeling so flattered that you'd let me interrupt your lesson," He said with a sarcastic look of admiration. The kids in the class couldn't get over the fact that it was actually him, "What're you lot looking at?" He hissed annoyedly, glancing over to see John chuckling, hiding his wide grin with his hand.

"It's good to have you back, mate," he muttered, causing an unsuspecting warm smile to slip to his own face. He sighed, starting to relax a bit again,

"Good to be back" And, so the lesson went on. Snape slipped back into his severe case of solipsism. Sherlock didn't have a notebook, but he could just copy John's notes later, if he'd let him, that was.

After class, Snape told Sherlock to stay but didn't take kindly to John keeping his presence near. "Don't you have a charms class to be heading to, Watson?" Snape snapped, trying to aggressively excuse the student. John smiled tiredly, unamused and very sarcastic,

"If you want to open, push, close, carry, open, push, close, carry, a wheelchair all the way up to charms class, please be my guest," He sassed, his eyes narrowing at the professor, who was bound to take points from his house, but John couldn't be arsed to care at this moment because, "otherwise I stay with him," He said in almost a possessive growl. And to think, this boy was only a first-year!

Snape quickly dropped what he wanted to tell Sherlock, making them both very suspicious of the teacher. John opened the chair and helped Sherlock sit. As soon as they were out of the room, Sherlock laughed, "I'm glad he didn't agree to that," Sherlock chuckled, "'cause I have to pee," John laughed.

"He probably wouldn't detour to the restroom, either, he'd probably wait smugly until you pissed yourself!" John laughed, leaning over the back of the chair to rest his head on Sherlock's for a moment. This is what John must've missed, Sherlock thought as they detoured to the restrooms, laughing and giggling because the damn door wasn't wide enough for the chair to fit.

They snickered as John quite literally had to wrap his arms around Sherlock's chest and hold him up as he used the urinal, then the same as he washed his hands. They weren't at the age where it was considered awkward yet. It was all just funny,

"Oh, my God!" John laughed as they approached the charms classroom, "You've never sword-fought with your brothers!?" He asked in disbelief. Sherlock laughed,

"With actual swords? Yes, It was bloody terrifying!" They chuckled some more as John helped him out of the chair and quickly folded it, "But, with our willies? Hell no!" They snickered once more, John carrying the chair with his right arm and keeping his left open in case Sherlock needed help.

"Good morning professor Flitwick," John entered first, as they'd agreed on their way to the restrooms, to surprise him with Sherlock's awesome presence, as he himself put it as John laughed.

"Have you visited Sherlock today?" Flitwick asked. John smiled,

"I have, and he's still a smartarse...!" John quickly said. Sherlock let out a sarcastically offended gasp as he did his best to support all of his weight on his right crutch as he lifted the left to swing it at John, lightly hitting it against his leg. John grunted, then laughed. He helped Sherlock enter the room and sit in his usual seat. Professor Flitwick's face lit up with excitement.

"Mr Holmes, I'm glad to see you're okay," he said with a genuine smile. Sherlock wavered again and looked down to his legs.

"Well, more or less," He said with a chuckle.

"Yes, but that's only minor compared to what happened to you," he said with a nod. Sherlock tilted his head. Flitwick looked at John, who shook his hand horizontally under his chin, telling the professor not to delve too much into detail. The goblin-man cleared his throat and moved on to greet other students as Sherlock glared briefly at John, who must've been an admittedly good actor as he hardly reacted.

After class, John had a break in the day, but Sherlock had flying-class, which he couldn't do anyway, so they both headed to the Gryffindor common room.

"Isn't Gryffindor common room, I don't know, for Gryffindors?" Sherlock asked with a chortle. John scoffed.

"We're allowed to bring friends," he said. John pushed Sherlock inside and parked him near the fire. Sherlock let himself fall asleep. He didn't even feel when John and a few other first-years carried him up to the dorms and plopped him into John's bed.

Sherlock stirred as he felt the other side of the bed dip to someone else's weight. "It's just me," John said. He sounded soft and considerate. "It's alright," He reassured quietly. Sherlock quietly groaned, his eyebrows furrowing.

"What time is it?" He asked.

He hadn't bothered to open his eyes. There was a shift, then John said with a hum, "21.30," Sherlock groaned again. He moved his arm to try and uncover himself as he said something about getting back to his house, however, as soon as his nerves sent the message of movement form his brain, Sherlock's arm practically shot with pain.

"God! My arms...!" He lowly cried, burying his face into the pillow. John didn't laugh.

"I've already sent an owl to Flitwick and your perfects; you won't be reprimanded tomorrow," He said, sliding himself under the covers next to Sherlock. He turned so he could face the boy, "Get some more sleep, Sherlock. You'll need all the strength you can get because these first few weeks are going to be hell," He said with a smile that didn't match his words. John rolled over, turned off the light next to his bed and went to sleep.

And, boy, was John RIGHT! The next couple of days were the worst. He arms, therefore he, collapsed on the staircases twice. Every morning, as soon as John would get to the Ravenclaw house, was painful stretching of his arms and legs. His limbs were already sore, but then they'd go to the hospital wing and do physical therapy, which was even more strenuous, to say the least.

However, John, unfortunately, couldn't roll him and help him around the castle all day every day as they occasionally had some classes apart, unbelievably enough. Professor Sprout has been getting agitated with the frequency of John's latenesses to Herbology.

"H-hi," Sherlock heard as he was snapped back to reality from his seat at the very end of the Great Hall's long table for the Ravenclaw students. The boy the voice accompanied was clad in yellow, "Sherlock, right?" He asked. Sherlock, looking the boy up and down, answered with a terse nod, making the boy smile.

His name was Victor and he was a second year, assigned to get Sherlock to and from all classes from then on. Sherlock looked over at the Gryffindor table, where John sat laughing with others as they shared loud anecdotes of their previous lives. Sherlock looked back at Victor and nodded, "Fine,"

"Great! We're gonna be best friends...!" He said sweetly. Sherlock shyly smiled up at Victor. They then ate together. And, after, Victor upheld his promise, helping Sherlock through the castle back to his house. John was waiting and as soon as he saw Sherlock, the blonde boy smiled.

"Hey," John said, chuckling, as he approached the two boys. Sherlock smiled. He leaned forward to give the boy a fist-bump, which was greatly appreciated by John's facial expression. John looked up at Victor. "I'm John,"

"Victor," they shook hands and it felt kind of awkward; Sherlock didn't know why, but it just was...! "I'm Sherlock's new... caretaker for the time being," Victor said. John looked at Sherlock, then back up at Victor. Nevertheless, he couldn't refuse it, so he just smiled and nodded, giving his good nights to both of the boys as he ran to catch up with another Gryffindor, who shouted his name as if they were best friends. They raced down the stairs to their house with laughter filling the hall.

The following week wasn't as bad as it seemed it would be. Victor was actually acceptable company for Sherlock. He was smart and funny, patient and kind. Something only very few people has been towards Sherlock. It felt like Sherlock could trust Victor.

"If you had to be a muggle, what would you want to be, like job-wise, you know?" Victor asked as they sat at the long table. Sherlock hummed, laying the book he was reading flat on the table as he thought.

"I heard about pirates; they seem fun." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "I mean, they get to do whatever they wanted; they were practically above the law," He looked over to Victor, who'd only just begun to laugh. "What?" Sherlock chuckled.

"N-nothing...!" Victor shook his head, trying to catch his breath, "I can see it, now!" Victor said, standing up to demonstrate, "You on the edge of a ship with you wand drawn like a sword, yelling 'ARGH!' on the top of your lungs," Victor doubled back into his chair with laughter as Sherlock began laughing as well. Other kids were looking at them as lunch was usually a time for casual studying, but Sherlock couldn't be arsed to care, really.

"Alright, then," Sherlock managed as they calmed from their fit, "what would you pick, then?" he asked. Victor wiped a tear of joy from his eye.

"I don't know, I guess I'd like to be an actor...!" He shrugged with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a lack of confidence.

"If you wanted to be an actor," Sherlock said, placing a hand on Victor's hand, "then, by God, my pirate arse will make you an actor...!" They laughed some more until they were shushed, where Sherlock uncharacteristically mocked the irritated kid, making Victor laugh more.

One day, Victor was so busy, though, that he couldn't have lunch with Sherlock. He only helped the boy to the Great Hall and promised to be back by the end of lunch. Sherlock nodded, suddenly feeling anxious about entering the Great Hall. Sherlock wheeled himself to his usual spot at the end, where he ate and studied.

"Sherlock," A voice said. There was some snickering behind the voice as Sherlock looked up. It was Moriarty. Sherlock laid his book down to the table and closed it with a smile.

"Jim, long time, mate," Sherlock said with a chuckle, holding up a fist for Jim to bump his own with. Jim only but looked at it as the others behind him did so, too. They were confused, which made Sherlock confused. He slowly lowered the fist with furrowed brows as the boys behind Jim began laughing.

"Where's your, uh, bodyguard, eh?" Jim asked, clearing his throat as he looked around, craning his neck to search for spots of yellow heading their direction.

"Oh, he's busy right now, but he'll be back at the end f lunch to push me to physical therapy," Sherlock said with a simple shrug. Sherlock thought it was a little suspicious that Jim flinched at the next activity scheduled for Sherlock, but he quickly recovered, glancing to his sides.

"And, your boyfriend?" Jim asked, his voice a bit shaky, "Where's he at, then?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. Boyfriend? Sherlock didn't have a boyfriend...

"What'd you mean?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows as Jim described John. Sherlock didn't even look around to serch for the blonde boy. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, and John surely hadn't made his presence known to the boy. "I don't know...!" Sherlock said, causing the three boys to snigger and bounce in excitement, confusing Sherlock.

"Okay, then," Jim looked around swiftly before pulling his wand to cast, "Silencio," with practised swings to his hand, sending its effects on Sherlock, who only silently grunted, slightly panicked. Jim went behind Sherlock and pulled on the handles of the chair, excusing Sherlock from the table for him. Jim leaned over, "I'm so sorry, Shezzer," he whispered, "Please, pretend to look as impartial as usual,"

"Where were we going to put him again...?" Sherlock heard from one of the other boys, a fat one with buzzed hair and a dumb laugh...! "Ah, I remember, now; C'mon, Jim, to the lake we go...!" The boys laughed as Jim hissed at them to shut up. Sherlock's eyes widened and his face paled up considerably.

He was going to be killed...!

Chapter Text

John hadn't seen Sherlock since he began hanging out with Victor, which made no sense. They were in some classes together, so why did he not come over and say hi? John was upset by that. He remembered sitting at lunch one day and hearing the two of them laughing. By the time John had turned to see what they were talking about, Sherlock was laughing again and the two got shushed by another Ravenclaw. John didn't go to lunches anymore after that.

John did his best to focus on his school work as his mum had told him to do at the end of summer, but it was really difficult. With Christmas coming up, John wasn't even sure if he was going home for that. All of the other first-year Gryffindors were. Their parents miss them too much for them to be left in a dusty old castle during the holidays. God knows there'll be drafts in the house, god forbid giving them colds...! John chuckled bitterly as he thought of that whilst walking from Charms class to Transfiguration with Hufflepuffs.

"That Ravenclaw kid has been hanging out with Victor Trevor a lot, hasn't he?" One first-year asked in a gossip circle. A lot of them suspect that Sherlock and Victor may have held hands at one point. John didn't mind Why would he? I mean, he and Sherlock never held hands, so it didn't matter, right?

"Yeah, it's kind of odd; A perfect in Hufflepuff told me that Victor let the kid into their house...!" another girl hissed with a giggle.

"Oh, my God; what a freak...!" They lowly laughed, making John angry. John couldn't focus on transfiguration and accidentally turned a bird into a spoon instead of a quill. Professor McGonagall scowled at him from the front of the classroom because it wasn't the first time he'd messed up recently. After class, Professor McGonagall asked John to stay for a bit.

"Is there a specific reason that you are performing less than usual recently, John?" She asked, her voice shook with frustration and old age. John was usually a very good transfigurer, but if his mind was off in space, it was difficult.

"I'm sorry, Professor," John said, looking down in self-disappointment, "I take responsibility and I'll do my best to focus more," he assured, looking up at the woman with promise twinkling in his eyes.

"Very well," She said, seemingly satisfied with John's apology, "however, I'm assigning you a tutor," she said. John looked up at her, unsure of how to react. His frontal association area hadn't yet fully processed how to feel when Professor McGonagall called a name and the door gently opened. A blonde Ravenclaw girl stood there, looking at the ground with a timid feel to her.

"This is Mary Morstan. She's a very gifted first-year transfigurer, and she'll make sure you pass this next exam, is that clear, John?" She asked. John immediately nodded.

"We have flying class together, right?" Mary asked, glancing up at John, pulling her hair behind her ear. John nodded. He remembered, he saw her wipe out on a broom and get up like it was nothing.

"I, uh, I-I was just gonna go there, so..." John cleared his throat as she lifted her head, waiting for the rest of John's sentence to come out, "would you want to walk with me...?" John smiled. It took a little bit, but she nodded shyly and John chuckled breathily, grabbing his books and rushing to exit the room next to her.

She opened up to John about not belonging here. John opened up about how he related to that. They quickly became close acquaintances and they, even sooner it seemed, arrived at the training grounds.

Madam Hooch had them maintain their brooms and John was caught trying to steal glances to Mary, her eyes landing on his for a brief moment, then quickly looking away. They got their brooms all lined up and they stood to the left to practise summoning them. John would've thought that everyone would've gotten it by now, but there was a number of kids who still go whacked in the face by their brooms, which John thought was incredibly funny.

John straddled his broom because he was tired of waiting. He widened his stance and jumped, which did nothing, but when he landed, his feet stuttered forward, pushing the broom to start.

John's broom must've drunk Monster or something because it zoomed. He could briefly hear Madam Hooch shouting for John to get down, but how could he? His head was bobbling and he could briefly make out the sounds of kids' laughter from the ground. He was getting little blackouts because his head was shaking, crushing his occipital lobe to the back of his skull as the broom whipped him every-which-way. John eventually trusted the broom was low enough to let go, which was definitely misplaced judgement, to say the least.

John hit the ground and he blacked out again. During his one minute black-out, while Madam Hooch was still trying to make her way to him, John's vision returned to a moment when he was above everything. He noticed three boys pushing something.

Before John's body could register, he was saying Sherlock's name. Then, it must've clicked in his mind because he scrambled to his feet and shouted "Up!" to a random broom near him. John swung his leg over the stick as he ran. He could hear Madam Hooch behind him threaten to give him detention, but John couldn't be arsed to care. His body knew something was wrong and he was going to help! John's broom still jerked itself as it sped, nearly flinging John off multiple times and he had no idea where he was going, but he let his body do the steering and let go with his mind. Eventually, John's broom smoothed its ride out and just flew.

He saw the three boys on the shore to the lake, flipping a wheelchair over into the water. John had no idea how to stop the broom without it having another conniption, so he sharply yanked the stick to the left, making the broom drift like a car in an action movie. The back of the broom knocked two of the three on their arses by the time the broom had done a 360 and still wasn't going to stop. He saw Jim's face and decided to run him into the water with him.

John hit the water and it hit his head like a brick. His brain was pounding and every part of John's body was screaming. John kicked his legs to get above the surface. When he was, his lungs ached with air and he was coughing up some water. John was about to start swimming to the shore, but he saw the wheelchair on its side and noticed that Sherlock hadn't resurfaced yet.

"Shit," John cursed as he took in the biggest breath he could. John went down again and opened his eyes to try to see where his friend could be. It took John a bit because his eyes had to readjust. John went back up to breathe, but as soon as he got a gasp in, his lungs were filling with water as he felt someone pushing him down fervently. John gasped, coughed, and choked. Gripping onto the boy's hands, he tried to scratch at the boy to get him to let go.

Suddenly the boy did let go. He was grumbling something about a girl and rocks. John went up to breathe quickly as he saw Mary with a handful of rocks, throwing them at the boy. She noticed John looking at her. "Go, John!" She shouted as she continued to throw rocks at the big second-year. John nodded, coughing still, and went back down.

He saw Sherlock floating motionless to the bottom of the lake. The sight made his stomach flip anxiously. John quickly swam to Sherlock, pulling on his arms to get him to the surface.

John's hair was matted to his forehead and over his eyes as he desperately paddled himself to the shore. As soon as John could reach the sandy bottom of the lake, he was running to the dried beach. John laid Sherlock flat on his back and checked his breathing and heart rate,

"He's dying," John muttered in disbelief and quickly patted around the ground for something sharp. He cut Sherlock's shirt with a broken shell piece and announced that he was going to start compressions. As John began pressing sharply to Sherlock's left side, he prayed that he could save him. He had to save him. "22/1,000, 23/1,000..." He counted, then felt a crack from beneath his palms. His rib just broke,

"Fantastic!" He chuckled gratefully. John moved over some and tilted Sherlock's head back. He pulled the boy's chin down and pinched his nose. John leaned down to connect their mouths to force air into his lungs twice, then he went back to compressions. "1/1,000, 2/1,000, 3/1,000..." He counted under his breath again. John heard some people gather around and murmur as he worked. He did the breaths again, and compressions. And, breaths, and compressions...

"Dammit...!" John cursed as he pressed with all of his weight. He was getting tired, but he can't give up on Sherlock! He can't! He'd just done some breaths again muttering that Sherlock had to make it when he felt a hand on his shoulder,

"Watson," Madam Hooch said, trying to pull John from Sherlock, but John struggled against her, still doing the compressions to the best of his ability.

Then, Sherlock coughed water up into John's face. The colour beginning to return to his face as John laughed and sobbed at the same time. Applause erupted and kids let out the breaths held in their throats as John rolled Sherlock into the recovery position and pat on his back. Sherlock began sobbing loudly and John did his best to hush and comfort him. He was in a lot of pain, John figured, leaning his forehead to Sherlock's side as he sobbed, relieved that his friend was alive. Sherlock was trying to grasp onto something, anything...! John grabbed Sherlock's searching hand and held it tightly, still trying to calm himself down from the thought of possibly losing one of his best friends.

The next thing John knew, he, Sherlock and the other boys was brought to Madam Pomfrey to warm up and settle the shock. Madam Pomfrey once again praised John for his abilities in first aid. John stayed humble and modest by nodding, looking to the ground.

By the time John and the boys had been cleared, it was getting dark and it was probably time for dinner. John didn't want to leave Sherlock. Neither did Jim, which angered John a hell of a lot. John stood in between Jim and Sherlock's bed in a protective stance, making Jim scoff briefly.

"C'mon, mate. I just want to make sure he's okay," Jim said, not really trying to put up a fight. But, John be damned if he was going to let him of all people near Sherlock. Not after all he'd done to the poor boy. John snarled,

"Oh, was he okay when you pushed him into the lake, then?" John asked, noticing Jim's wince, "Or, when you lured him out, lied to him, to the forbidden forest with your friends, and attacked him? Tell me, Jim, was he okay after that!? Was he fucking okay when you hazed him!?" Jim was giving John a look of warning.

"Look, he's an old friend, okay? It was a misunderstanding and he knows it," Jim said, trying to push by John, but John wouldn't budge so easily. His adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins, making him push Jim back harder than necessary. Jim narrowed his eyes.

"So, you knew he had epilepsy, then?" John asked, again noticing Jim's reaction.

"I said move," Jim snarled, pulling his wand from the sleeve of his newly dried robe. John only held up his fists with a look of warning. Jim scoffed, "What'll you do, Mud-blood, hit me?"

"Sherlock could've died today, and you want to fight me? How friendly of you, Jim?" John scoffed, catching Jim off guard with a punch to the left side of his face. Jim grunted, dropping his wand. John punched him again and again. He took the front of Jim's robe and stomped on his wand, snapping it. John yanked Jim in to growl, "Get anywhere near Sherlock ever again, inside of Hogwarts or out, and this will be your bloody body, Jim," John pushed Jim backwards, letting him fall to his arse. John let out a growl of danger as Jim reached for his wand shakily, looking up to John with a terrified look in his eyes. "Off you pop, then," John shooed, fluttering his hand angrily.

"I'm telling Dumbledore!" Jim cried, running to the door,

"I beg of you," John said, spitting in Jim's direction. John felt a small tugging on the side of his shirt. He looked over to see Sherlock's eyes, half-lidded. He looked exhausted as his hand dropped again. Sherlock looked beyond John, towards the door. John turned back, expecting Jim to stand next to Dumbledore. Instead, there stood Mary, who looked at John's newly bruised fist. "Mary,"

"Hey," She said shyly, "that was awesome, w-what you did back there, you know," She said, glancing to the floor. "They all thought you went mad back there," she softly chuckled, glancing up at John, who smiled at her, too.

"But, you threw the rocks," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. Mary laughed lightly and it mad the blood rush to John's face. "Oh, uh, I-I was released already," John said, stuttering for his robes, which he hated to wear, so he just folded them over his forearm, "we could go to dinner together, s-uh, study transfiguration?" John asked. Mary chuckled and nodded. She looked at Sherlock and waved politely. He only but glared at her briefly before groaning, sitting up. John looked back and waved to him, which he immediately returned.

As John and Mary walked, she sighed, "I don't think he likes me very much," she admitted lightly. John chuckled,

"That's just how he is sometimes," He assured as looked down to their feet. They were walking pretty close... John looked up to see that they were already at the Great Hall. John silently sucked his teeth at the minor disappointment.

As John walked with Mary to their seats, kids from their flying class, and even those who weren't, gave John high-fives and handshakes. It felt weird getting all of the attention. Mary saved him. Why weren't people recognising that?

As they ate, they studied transfiguration. The wand movements were confusing to John. He was used to the stereotypical waving when it came to wands, but this was real magic, not play pretend witches-and-wizards -- cops-and-robbers. During dinner, however, an owl dropped a few things in front of John, surprising him. One of them was from his mum. When did she learn how to send owls? John thought with a chuckle. One was, surprisingly enough, from Mrs &Mr Holmes, which kind of scared him. One of them was from Professor and headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, which tied with the Holmes' for which one he should worry for the most...

John opened the letter from Dumbledore first, swallowing as he glanced up at the advisor table, where the staff sat in a line in the front of the magical castle. He looked back at it when Dumbledore nodded to him.

'Dear young Gryffindor, John H Watson Jr,
I have been informed of your medicinal triumphs here at Hogwarts, having saved the life of your friend, young Ravenclaw, William SS Holmes, twice, now. I award your house 150 points for your speedy and split-second instincts to help others. However, I also was informed that you snapped young Slytherin, James Moriarty's, wand and threatened him after giving him a few punches. I expect you two to meet me in the West Towers, my office, first thing after dinner to explain each of your sides and discuss a fair punishment. You may or may not get detention. I look forward to meeting with you both and learning about what has been going on.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,'

John looked back to the Slytherin table to see that Jim was reading his letter, then back up at the staff of the castle. Mary noticed his tenseness.

"Good news is Gryffindor earned 150 house points," John said, "bad news is that Professor Dumbledore doesn't like to be left in the dark and Jim Moriarty's a snitch," Mary's eyes lit up, then dulled with confusion.

"H-how can he be a snitch? Was he transfigured?" She hissed in a whisper. John furrowed his eyebrows.

"W-what? No," John said, "He told on me for snapping his wand and threatening him," John hissed.

"Did you, though?" Mary asked, twisting her body to glance at the Slytherin table with John.

"Of course, I did," he said, looking back to the letters He slipped the letter from Dumbledore back into its envelope. Mary looked back, "but he's the one who hazed Sherlock, so how could I not?" He asked, tensing his fists on the table. Mary placed her hand on John's, making John jump a bit.

"Just tell the truth, okay?" Mary said. John tightened his lips and nodded, letting out a thick huff of air as Mary also nodded, only but glancing back to the Slytherin table to see Jim glaring in their direction.

After most of the kids had filtered through the doors and kids with detention lingered needlessly, John decided to start heading to Dumbledore's office. He collected the letters and envelopes and walked with Mary to the West Towers. As he said goodbye to Mary, John saw Sherlock on his crutches, standing next to Victor, talking to him. John decided to say his hellos.

"Hey," John greeted with a smile. Almost immediately, Victor wrapped his arms around John's shoulders. Sherlock chuckled some.

"Oh, my God! John, thank God! Thank you! I don't know what I would've done if something actually happened!" Victor cried out with a relieved chuckle.

"Something did happen, Victor," John groaned, shrugging the Hufflepuff off of him, "Just because you weren't there, doesn't mean it didn't happen," He said kind of harshly, making Sherlock look at him weirdly. John gestured to his letters, "Uh, your parents sent me a letter,"

"Probably to curse you for feeling superior enough to have the audacity to save me," Sherlock chuckled bitterly after impersonating his mum's apparently shrill voice. John chuckled, too, shrugging as he was still too scared to find out. "Hey, uh, I n-never got to say..." Sherlock began but looked behind John as an elderly throat cleared itself. John sighed nervously and turned to see Dumbledore standing there. John pressed his hands together beneath his chin in a prying position as he turned back briefly to tighten his lips in anxiety. John then looked back at Dumbledore, who nodded his head towards his office.

Chapter Text

He was in the forest, being led by a boy with slicked black hair and green compliments to his robe. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet as they reached an opening in the woodlands. They heard a wolf's howling as the other students gathered, feigning happiness and excitement. Sherlock remembered asking Jim where the other houses were, but he just couldn't hear it. Jim's mouth moved but it was only muffled. Everything was muffled, even the silence. The older students grouped up and the younger ones stayed nearest to Sherlock. Sherlock felt anticipation, then dread and pain and he saw flashing lights.

From the back of his mind, Sherlock knew he wasn't experiencing this moment. He was in the lake, moving his weakened legs, trying to resurface himself and it was starting to work until two other people tore into the water, kicking and grabbing. Sherlock tried to yell for help, but the silencing spell was still in effect. Instead, Sherlock only wasted his breath. dammit, he thought.

Sherlock was left on the ground, seeing from a third person perspective as his body shook violently in seizures. John suddenly slid on his knees and begun to examine him. Sherlock's vision cut again, but he opened his eyes and saw John's face again. He was cold and sweating. Sherlock saw the sky move. Was he being dragged?

Suddenly, Sherlock felt cold autumn air hit his face, but he couldn't move. He could hear someone heaving breaths and muttering to himself. John,

John pulled Sherlock into the hospital wing and worried as Hagrid transferred him to a bed. Sherlock remembered John there, strumming that day. He was humming the tune to the song he'd played on the train that day. That wasn't even a week ago.

Sherlock felt cold and alone. He knew that John was somewhere, but he couldn't see him. He couldn't feel him anymore, either. He was just lying there, in a cold and empty place. It scared him. He was afraid to open his eyes. Sherlock feared that if he looked, he wouldn't go back. He did, nonetheless. It was white and it hurt his eyes a first.

"Fantastic!" He suddenly heard and he looked around for the person he knew the voice belonged to. John, John, John!? Sherlock was desperate for John to be there with him, anyone, in fact. He couldn't be alone, he just couldn't! He wouldn't survive alone. Sherlock then heard people clapping and cheering and he shouted for John, but it only came out as cries and sobs as he shivered. Sherlock curled up on the ground and woke up in the hospital wing. He had blankets bundled on him and he heard people talking and someone fell.

John, Sherlock thought as he let his hand grab onto the bottom of a shirt's hem. He saw John and how worried he looked. Sherlock wanted to correct John, that he had died, but a Ravenclaw came in and looked at John. John went with the girl, almost forgetting to even wave to Sherlock.

Victor burst through the doors, his face contorted with sickening worry as he ran up to Sherlock and hugged him tightly. Sherlock did his best to push the boy off, "Vic-, My... M-my ribs...!" Victor and up and Sherlock groaned, seeing that Victor was crying. "No need to get upset," he tried to reassure the boy, but it wasn't helping.

"No, Sherlock!" He shouted, "I was supposed to be there for you, look after you, keep you safe, and I was a horrible friend for leaving you like that! I shouldn't have put my school work in front of you,"

"Wait, no-," Sherlock tried,

"I'm sorry, Sherlock! Can you forgive me!?" Victor cried, hugging onto Sherlock once more. A minute has passed and Sherlock just began laughing. Victor pulled back again, confused.

"First, I'm not more important than school, you idiot!" Sherlock laughed, contorting his face in slight pain at the end. "Second, I'm fine, Victor," Sherlock forced his aching legs to move as he moved them over the edge of the bed. Victor grabbed Sherlock's crutches and handed them to Sherlock, helping him up only to be rejected by the boy, who wanted to do it himself. Needed to do it himself. "If we hurry, we can make it to dinner," Sherlock said, sighing at the thought of a relaxing meal to fill his stomach. Victor smiled and nodded.

At Dinner, Sherlock got a letter from Professor Dumbledore. He read it and sighed, looking at the Slytherin table. Victor looked concerned. "If the evidence is sufficiently supplied, we'll have to be taken it to Wizengamot and I'll have to testify as a victim of hazing," Sherlock said with a grunt, briefly looking at the Advisory table. "Everybody involved that night will be subpoenaed," He looked back at Victor, tensed.

"Don't worry, Sherlock," Victor said with a smile warmer than anything Sherlock'd seen in a while as he placed his hand on Sherlock's, "I'll help you through this if you'd like. Y'know, support? Go, team!" Victor chuckled with Sherlock.

"I'd like that," Sherlock said with a smile. He looked down at their hands awkwardly and Victor quickly withdrew it, laughing nervously. They spent the rest of dinner talking about less sensitive subjects, joking about, and just being friendly in general.

As Sherlock made his way to Ravenclaw, Victor did his best to discretely support Sherlock when they went up some stairs, making Sherlock chuckle. He thought it was funny the way Victor cared for him so openly. Sherlock caught a glimpse of the Ravenclaw girl from before. She flashed a smile at him and timidly waved, but Sherlock pretended not to see her.

"Hey," John said. Sherlock felt something nipping at his mind, begging to be remembered. He tried to dig it out as Victor and John talked. "Your parents sent me a letter; kind of scared to open it...!" He chuckled, making Sherlock chuckle.

"Probably to curse you for saving their useless son," Sherlock laughed. Once the ice broke in the group, Sherlock looked at John and remembered, "Hey, uh, I never really got to say..." He began but saw Dumbledore in the background slowly shaking his head. Sherlock trailed off as the old professor cleared his throat. That was strange,

"W-well, uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?" Victor said as Sherlock's daze was finally broken from Jim Moriarty walking into the office of the headmaster. Sherlock shook his head and swallowed. He looked at Victor with tightened lips and nodded. Quickly, Victor looked faint, then stepped in, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's torso.

"U-uh, I'm not going to fall, Victor," Sherlock reassured nervously. Victor tightened his hold on Sherlock until her realised: "Oh, you're hugging me," He felt Victor's shoulders shake as he heard a muffled giggle from the boy's face, which was wedged in between Sherlock's neck and shoulder. Sherlock hesitantly let his weight shift to his right arm as he brought his left up to pat Victor's back.

After a few moments, Victor pulled back and smirked widely at his friend. "Good night, Sherlock," Victor said as he took in a large breath.

Sherlock entered the Ravenclaw common room feeling confused. Why was Victor acting all strange and huggy at Sherlock? I mean, yeah. He's a Hufflepuff and that's what they're supposed to do, right? But, Victor hasn't really been like that at the beginning of their friendship, so... Was he just now considering Sherlock as a friend? Well, Sherlock wouldn't mind that, but learning that having a Hufflepuff friend meant that he was going to get hugged, maybe he wasn't meant to be a Slytherin after all...? But, Sherlock liked Victor and he didn't want that to be the determining factor of friendship. Surely, that wouldn't be okay for either of them.

"Hey, Sherlock," He heard from over at the couches. Sherlock turned his head to find Mary sitting there. She had books open and was apparently studying. "Um, can I ask you something?"

"If it's about my social life, I'm not interested in gossip," Sherlock said coldly, beginning to turn away from the blonde. She only released an, oh, before shaking her head lightly.

"Eh, n-no, uh, it's actually... could you help me? I heard you were great with potions class and I just..." She exhaled sharply in a distressed sigh, "I have no idea what Snape goes on about," That made Sherlock scoff.

"You're not supposed to; that's what he relies on," He said, making his way to the couches. He sat down across from her and looked at her notes. "Well, no wonder you look like an idiot," He said, looking critically at the sprawled books with her writing on the pages. She leaned in, "because you are," She leaned back with a scoff as she quickly furrowed her eyebrows. "Don't speak," Sherlock commanded, holding a finger up, "first, you're way behind on notes,"

"What? I'm right on par with them," Mary quickly argued, looking down at the books. Sherlock looked up at her with annoyance hinted in his scowl.

"For any other class you'd be on par with lecture notes and study sessions, however, Professor Snape is far more high maintenance than just on par, Mary, you should know," He calmly scolded.

Mary hummed as she flipped through her own note pages half-heartedly. "But, this is all that he covered in class,"

"You have textbooks; look ahead," Sherlock sharply quipped, "Second, your notes are rubbish," He flatly said, sighing as he himself flipped through the notes. He silently told Mary to wait with a hand to the air and magically summoned his own bag, filled with books and notes. Sherlock opened the bag and dug his arms through in search of his own Potions books. Once he found them, Sherlock pulled them up and laid them onto the coffee table in between the two.

"Wow," Mary said in amazement. She glanced up to see Sherlock nod proudly, "These are your notes?" She asked. Sherlock opened the book and spread out the papers. She scoffed with ironic amusement. "Your notes look like rubbish," She chuckled, picking up one of the note papers, which was filled with writing, all kinds of words in Sherlock's neat handwriting, but when packed and compressed into the margins of the book's pages, it looked like a mess.

"Oh, on the contrary, Mary," Sherlock said smugly with a smart smirk to his lips. He leaned forward and pointed to the definitions and descriptions. "I know what this means because I personalised it," Mary nodded, almost in a daze, but then stopped and furrowed her eyebrows. She looked from the writing to Sherlock, then back to the writing again with a sceptical look.

"You know what John's inner-eye-colour is, then?" She asked with a smirk. Sherlock faltered for a moment, feeling... embarrassed? He quickly snatched the paper back from the girl, who chuckled in response. Sherlock's face grew hot. He felt the need to make up some lame excuse.

"Shut up," he settled with instead. "There, I helped you; are we done, here?" Sherlock asked, annoyed suddenly by her snarky presence. Mary chuckled even still. But, then, she got quiet and looked at Sherlock with sincerity in her eyes.

"John really cares for you, Sherlock," She said, somehow making things worse and better, at the same time! Sherlock forced a scoff as he collected his things back into his bag not quick enough...!

"He tell you that?" Sherlock quipped with a sharp chuckle, only but glancing up to see that Mary was doing the same.

"He didn't need to. It shows," She casually said. Sherlock's movements fell still for a moment, somehow shocked at that revelation, that everyone knew? Sherlock opened his mouth, about to say something, but Mary stood, cutting Sherlock's thoughts short by saying her good night with a smile. She left Sherlock there to think about it. Sherlock leaned back against the couch cushions. He looked around to see that the other Ravenclaws had the same idea and were heading up to their dorms as well. Sherlock sighed, feeling exhausted.

Sherlock woke up in a cold sweat, springing up from the bed. His curls were matted to his head in the perspiration dripping from him like a shower. Sherlock pushed them from his eyes to no avail as they only swung heavily back down with gravity. He couldn't even remember what his dream was about, but it must've been bad if he woke up like that. Sherlock looked outside to see that the sun hadn't even risen yet. He sighed heavily and slowly eased himself from his bed.

Sherlock used his crutches to hobble into the bathroom. He bathed himself in private as he'd done all this time out of embarrassment for his physical state. Fully dressed, Sherlock began taming his hair and washing his face, when the other boys began filtering into the bathroom to take their own showers.

Sherlock decided to walk with his books and timetable to the front of the Ravenclaw tower, where Mary talked to a first-year Hufflepuff girl. They laughed and Sherlock sat slowly, sliding himself down to the cold floor, against the wall as he laid his crutches next to him and went through his rucksack to retrieve his book for Herbology, which he had after breakfast, to get refreshed from last week's class.

"Good morning, Sherlock," Mary said above him. Sherlock didn't even look up. He only showed her to the left and pointed to the Hufflepuff and silently beckoned her forward.

"Holmes," the girl with a brown ponytail said, doing her best not to look at him, whilst he looked, examined, her.

"Hooper," Sherlock replied, slowly looking back to his book, "you don't have to be up here until noon," he said sharply, trying to figure out why she wasn't still in the dungeons where her house is. "Mary's already going to walk down to breakfast with John. I've got Victor, personally, so..."

At that accusation, Mary's face flushed and panic flashed over her face, "how'd you know that I was planning to walk down with John?"

"One, your hair. It's way too upkept for a rough flying-class, unprepared potions, demonstrative charms," Mary looked down at her feet, frustrated and embarrassed, "you, you're planning to expect it to come in handy in the morning," Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Is that... make-up? At eleven or twelve years old? Hmmm, maybe you shouldn't sweat so profusely, or don't clog your pores with perfume and toxic lotion to try and lure John in," he shrugged, looking down to his book, "or don't bother trying," he finished with, raising his eyebrows. There were a few long moments before the two responded, but it wasn't less surprising. Mary let out a low whimper, gasping in a choked up breath of air before repeating.

"Mary," Molly Hopper said softly, walking to her. Sherlock looked back up and his eyes widened when he saw that Mary was crying. Her hands quickly balled up, wiping her stinging tears from just below her eyes. Sherlock opened her mouth, but Molly looked, glared down at him, "I think you've said enough, freak," Sherlock wasn't sure what to say about that. He hadn't really known Molly that well, he had Astronomy and Herbology with her, but that was all. Sherlock just shut his mouth, wordlessly. Molly guided Mary away from the boy, whispering encouragement to her as if she was a victim of a major crime.

They entered the Great Hall and Sherlock had been invited to sit with Victor at his table, but Sherlock didn't want to, so he ate alone.

It did Sherlock no help that John met him outside the Great Hall. In fact, he waited on the side for Sherlock. Oh, God, Sherlock thought, rolling his eyes as John began, "Sherlock, I think we need to talk," Sherlock was guided to a wall, away from the crowd. "Why're you saying that stuff to Mary?" He asked, placing his hands on his hips, "you told her she was ugly," he added.

"I never said that. I'm just saying that if she wants fewer pimples, she's got to go at it a natural way," Sherlock tried to explain, but John still looked uninterested in his excuses,

"Why did y-? How did I come up in conversation?" John pinched the bridge of his nose,

"Well..." Sherlock thought, "I guess I just really didn't want them to be around me," Sherlock shrugged. John shook his head angrily.

"You made Mary cry because you wanted them to leave you be?" Sherlock nodded, making John groan in exasperation.

"Why is it such a big deal, though? I mean, she's going to be okay," Sherlock said, furrowing his brows. "I mean, you act like she's been hurt or something," he murmured, looking down. Guilt could've done it, but John sighed, glancing to the ground.

"I-I mean, yeah. She'll be okay in like, an hour, so..." John flashed a smile up at Sherlock, who offered to study with him later.

It felt good to talk to John closely again. Sherlock was still pretty tired from this morning and by lunch, the sleeplessness was casually catching up with him. "Transfiguration is like a piece of cake to me," Sherlock chuckled quietly in the library seat next to his frustrated friend, who voiced his opinion and irritation about the class.

"Really? I can't steady my hands when I cast the spells," John said, sighing.

"Well, how're you holding your wand, then?" Sherlock asked, arching a brown. John showed him the motions he used and Sherlock clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Great, how would you do it, then?" John asked sarcastically annoyed. Sherlock grabbed John's hand, which was shaking. He steadied it in a calm position. He guided John's hands to the stack of books, which caused him to stand behind John as he slowly brought his voice low,

Whispering, "Revelio," as he made one decisive wave. John repeated. A glow shone from John's wand and transformed the top book, revealing what it really was, which was a small bag. It was Sherlock's money bag. He grabbed it back from the desk and shoved it in his pockets.

They laughed for a bit and they studied there until it was time for dinner. They sat together until Victor had to interrupt, getting between the two. Victor sat closer to Sherlock than usual, which was weird. Definitely strange, but Sherlock didn't object. Should he have?

After dinner, Victor offered to walk Sherlock back. "No, thanks, Victor," Sherlock politely declined, lightly shaking his head with a chuckle, "John's got me," Sherlock turned to look at the Gryffindor boy, who smiled wide as if that was a greeting. Sherlock felt something bubble in his stomach for some reason. Victor didn't fight, so that was good.

Walking, Sherlock took the stairs to the west lower floor instead of the west towers, where both of their houses were.

"Uh, Sherlock," John said, confused, "Where are you going?" John slowed to a stop at the base of the stairs, which had begun to shift. Sherlock looked back as he heard John's bag thump. John had taken the leap, Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight, jumping from the still stone at the bottom, connecting the cases to their grounds, to the steps Sherlock stood on. John quickly gripped at the thick railing, letting his young muscles strain to help him steadily stand.

"I'm running an errand," Sherlock quickly turned away, so John couldn't see the huge smile involuntarily spread cross his lips. John picked up his bag and slugged it over his shoulder with a huff.

"Then, I'm going, too," said John climbing to the same step Sherlock waited on. They stood side-by-side, John holding onto the railing, only occasionally glancing over at Sherlock.

After a few moments of silence, when the stairs reached the correct hallway, Sherlock muttered, "That was really cool, what you did -- J-jumping, I mean," then began down the hallway. Sherlock really hoped that John couldn't see his face reddening. How embarrassing...!

Chapter Text

John followed Sherlock to the Library. "Stay to the side, don't intervene unless things go sideways," Sherlock muttered as he opened the door.

"What kind of errand goes sideways?" John asked with a cautious smirk. Sherlock let a light smirk fall to his mouth, too,

"Did I say errand?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, "I meant shopping for information," Sherlock gave a light wink and pointed to the aisle between two bookshelves before he, himself headed to a table with a lone Ravenclaw. John walked down to the other end to peak out that side. John slickly moved to the other two bookshelves to get closer, acting as if he was looking for something, but listening in nonetheless.

"Better than a pillow, eh, Harry?" Sherlock lowly hissed as he quietly snuck up behind the fourth-year Ravenclaw, who jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Sherlock pulled out a chair next to the older boy. Sherlock sat down and gazed at who the boy was staring at and sighed, sounding content, "Does his voice really sound as smooth and soft as the girls say?" Sherlock looked over at Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry furrowed his brows in feigned confusion.

"What are you-?" He began, seeming tenser and tenser by the moments. Sherlock hummed, contemplatively, letting his eyes fall all over the boy, his face, his clothes, his limp... Interesting, Sherlock glanced up to John, who now had a book opened, but had his eyes trained on the two of them intensely.

"How would you know, though? Never mind, I think I'll just ask that third-year he keeps checking out, Jossy," Sherlock said dismissively, waving his hand off a bit. He saw how Harry reacted He was trying his best to not say anything, and that's exactly what Sherlock needed to know. Sherlock leaned in. John looked around and found a group of Slytherins near Pince's check-out desk. They were snickering and quietly joking about amongst one another. All except one, who had his eyes burning on the two, probably for a while. He had short black hair that was swiped to one side in little spikes, barely noticeable. His eyes, however, were the glassiest of greens John had ever seen. The Slytherin's jaw clenched and John took in a sharp inhale.

Sherlock met John's eyes for a slick moment before John turned to the side of the bookcase aisle. Sherlock followed him and quickly caught on, making the briefest of eye contacts. Sherlock scoffed quirking his eyebrows. "I need information from your dream boy over there," he lowly hissed, letting his arm wrap gently around the back of Harry's shoulders. He was so close to Harry's ear, that he could tell what product he put in his hair last night, "Grab my hand, take the paper slip," he instructed. Slowly Harry let his hand reach up to wrap around Sherlock's, completing the handoff. Harry let his head fall slightly.

"You may think you two go unnoticed," Sherlock said, shuffling himself closer to the boy, his hand still lying comfortably across the older Ravenclaw's shoulder, "but I notice everything," Sherlock gently dragged out. Finally leaning back, Sherlock smiled, letting his head turn ever so slightly to meet the eyes of John Reese, incredibly handsome for wanting to stay unseen in life. Sherlock stood with a grunt, pushing in his chair, leaning against it for a moment or two longer, grabbing the one crutch he used for tonight. Sherlock gave Harry's back a few pats, "Laters," He drug out again, more cheerful and loud for both Johns to hear, then limped to the door, where he picked up his other crutch by the door and leave.

"Sherlock," John whispered. What could John do to make sure he wasn't suspicious? John grabbed a random book from the shelves and walked up to the check-out desk. Pince took a look at the cover and gave a sceptical glance up at John.

"You want to learn the history of postmodern existentialist fiction writers?" She doubted. John nodded, seeming over enthusiastic. He drummed his hand to the side of his leg in anxiety. Pince rose an eyebrow but chose not to further question nerve-wracked boy, who just wanted to get out of there...! John hurried from the library, giving but an unsure glance behind him to the group of Slytherin students, still rowdying up their spot.

"Did you see how he reacted when I mentioned Jossy?" Sherlock asked, leaning against a wall outside of Ravenclaw tower. He was smiling as he twisted his hands as if they were screwing something in, on either side of his face.

"Who's that, a member of his family?" John asked, making Sherlock stop out of surprise. His smile fell and he grunted, turning frustratedly away from John, who was left confused and a little annoyed. John tried to call after him but decided against barging into the Ravenclaw common room, just to ask who Jossy was. Instead, John went back to his own common room, where chaos ensued.

"Greg, can I get down, now!?" Shouted a kid, who was surprisingly on top of a tall bookcase. Their body was adjusted awkwardly so that at first, John wasn't sure where the questioning scream came from.

"No, mate! Not until you promise not to throw Sam's cat out the window!" Greg's annoyed voice came to follow as the frustrated teen descended from the steps. John walked up to him, but Greg looked behind him and shouted at another pair of first and second-years, who wrestling really close to the fireplace.

"Billy, stop taking my trombone mouthpiece!" A third-year girl groaned angrily at a boy with wild hair, freckles, and a playful smile that had dropped when she snatched the mouthpiece from him. "This isn't a funnel to use for your bloody potions, mate!" She said with a warning in her voice as she got very close to him.

"Aw, but mum's still refusing to buy one and send it to me from one of the shoppes, Cart...!" Billy whined. Cart might have been happy with the response because she'd begun to turn around, but Billy just had to add, "You might wanna clean it, yeah? Has a bit of sleeping draught," She turned, whipped around and before John could tell, he was tossing his bag to the ground and getting in the middle of it, pushing Cart off of Billy, getting a few scratches from her nails in on his arm before they finally realised that a first-year had intervened. John's hands pushed Cart off of the sofa and she decided she'd take John down with her.

"John, what the hell?" Greg shouted, running over to part him and Cart.

"B-b-but, wait, no, I-" John stuttered and panicked as Greg quickly lifted him up. Surely, he wasn't going to send John to join the first boy?

"Well, it seems we have a fresh tomcat," Billy purred a laugh as he transfigured himself into a tuxedo cat, jumping off of the sofa the altercation had been set on, John's eyes following him with subtle shock still resonating in him. John was still confused, but he looked up at Greg,

"Greg, I was just stopping the fight," John said, finally able to get out a single sentence. Greg's nose furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but Cart interjected.

"Greg," she sighed, dropping her folded arms, as she started towards the two, "He's telling the truth. It was my fault; I lost my cool with Billy and he was trying to separate us,"

"You need to stop this childish feud if you want to keep your spot on the team, Jossy...!" Greg scolded, making Jossy look down at her feet, suddenly falling quiet. John's eyes widened as Greg walked away to deal with the kids daring one another to snort a crushed chocolate chip cookie.

"Y-you're Jossy?" John quietly gasped, and suddenly he felt stupid. The girl turned around, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. Still, she gave a smile.

"You are?" She asked, offering the smile once more,

"I'm John Watson,"

"Right," she let out, shaking John's hand briefly, then folding her arms across her chest, "you saved that kid over in Ravenclaw, yeah?" Jossy's eyebrows raised, "I heard you took quite the joyride on a broom that day. Heard you fell from quite some height, there, first-year," She mused, seeming almost impressed as she nodded to John with a smirk.

"Amasing, what the brain can put together under gravity's pressures," John nodded, making Jossy chuckle with him She looked down, then back up at John.

She hummed as if thinking for a moment, giving her lower lip a little nibble, "You have talent, John," She complimented, "One thing's for sure: You are definitely not a Ravenclaw!" She laughed, "The hat did good, placing you here," she smiled.

"Ah, friends in high places, Jossy, I suppose," John gave with a chuckle, pointing over to the wall.

"That Ravenclaw you saved; He's the same one that was in a coma for a week, right?" She asked. John's conversational smile seemed to fade for a moment before returning after looking about the common room,

"Ah, yes, but, headmaster Dumbledore advised me not to speak publically about that as we could be taken to Wizengamot sometime in the spring," John chuckled awkwardly and sucked his teeth, "Sorry," he shrugged.

Jossy nodded in understanding, "Alright," then, she seemed to realise something, "you may want to tell your buddy that,"

"I-I beg your pardon?" John chuckled, confused, shaking his head,

"You may want to tell him, that if you guys aren't allowed to talk about it, then my friends aren't, either," Jossy said with a warning in her voice.

"Woah -- w-what?" John questioned, backing up from Jossy's interrogating expression.

"Look, I like you, John; you're a good kid, but your friend is sniffing around where he shouldn't," Jossy defended with her hands, which waved with discretion.

"I don't know exactly what Sherlock told them, okay? I was on the other side of the library," John assured, opening his bag to take out a book he'd gotten from the shelf he was lurking from. He showed her the spine of the book to give the shelf and section he'd gotten it from. He opened up the book and took out the card in the back to ensure that it had just been checked out today. "See? Two weeks before then is today," John said, closing the book up. Jossy nodded, seemingly impressed again.

"All I'm saying is, it's a dangerous game you two are working for and approaching John Reese's best friend like that," Jossy sighed, then asked for a quill and paper. She propped it up on a wall nearby, folded it up, and told him to make the meeting a little bit more discrete than today with Harry. John nodded and swallowed cautiously. "And hey, I'll talk to the others about making you a beater...!" She smiled, giving John's shoulder a pat. John nodded, not knowing what a beater even was. John made his way up to the dorms, which was louder because most of the perfects were worried about what the hell was going on downstairs.

John sat down at his bed and unfolded the paper that Jossy had written on. John quickly took out a parchment and regular click-pen. John wrote the name, house, and year down. He quickly flipped it over and wrote the note of him finding Jossy, who was on a team of some sort and how he'd been, admittedly, daft. John also stressed the importance of being more careful when he goes to meet this kid. He'd mentioned all of the warnings that Jossy gave. John will hand it off to Sherlock tomorrow morning during History of Magic class.

Last night, after meeting with Dumbledore and Jim -- ugh! John went back to his house way later than he thought. The dorms were silent, which was a grand feat. He lied in bed with his blanket over his head so the Lumos charm wouldn't wake the others. John decided to look at Holmes' letter before his mum's. He figured he wouldn't react nearly as bad if the seemingly strict parent of Sherlock had announced an unfortunate event than if it were his own.

To: The Gryffindor boy from the Daily Prophet,

What gave you the right to assume my weakest link needed help from you, muggle-born!? I don't care if you'd saved his life, it's still unacceptable...! However, I suppose it would be nice to have someone watch over our little Shezza when he's at school, so you're not entirely useless. Anyway, William refuses to allow the boy back for holiday, and I can only assume that your family is too poor to accommodate you for the winter, so I expect you to keep him safe, somewhat entertained, and out of trouble, which seems to be Scott, nowadays.

Mrs Holmes,

John was confused, to say the least, and maybe a little bit insulted, but John wasn't quite sure yet as he shook himself of the questionable feeling and opened up the letter from his mum. It was sent on printed paper. John excitedly smelled it and luckily, the envelope preserved the freshly-printed smell the paper provided. John sighed contently as he unfolded the letter from its brochure-like template.

As John read, his smile dropped quickly. They were taking him from Hogwarts?! It wasn't even Christmas yet. John felt his body often with anxiety and he really hoped it wasn't actually going to happen. Just because his mum was worried, doesn't mean she should subject him to even more worrisome conditions at home...! What about his classes, his grades? What Did she know that they were going to be indicted to Wizengamot in the spring? Did she even consult Dumbledore on this matter, and if so, he allowed it?! What about Sherlock!?

It was too late to write a reply and they'd probably be on their way in the morning, arriving in two days. John felt... Well, he didn't really know how to feel, it was still such a shock to him. His mum told him to focus on his school work, so why was she so quick to change her mind like this...?

John pulled out that same letter and reread it in the normal light the next night when the students had settled once again. He considered telling Sherlock. He should tell Sherlock because they're friends and all, but for some reason, John still had that thought. Those words he repeated in his mind, what Sherlock said to him that first day just festered at his mind and stuck, even though Sherlock said he hadn't meant it. He didn't matter, and that's what m-mattered...?

John woke up to the rushing catastrophe that was the Gryffindors in the morning, but this morning was different because John didn't make it to History of Magic class.

"John, you had an owl in an hour ago!" Jacob called as soon as John was making his way down the stairs to the common room. "B-but, uh... they insisted, so... ehr," John arrived at the base of the staircase and as he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes, he heard a familiar laugh snort from deep, near the door.

"You look utterly ridiculous, boy!" The voice was deep and rough and it made John flinch and his face paled out of shock and fear. He wasn't ready to leave, but all the same, his small family still stood in the common room of Gryffindor. "This is what you're wearing every day?!" He snorted out a laugh again, looking over at Harry and John's mum.

Harry was glaring at John as if he'd just kicked a puppy and John knew why: He'd left them to deal with dad all this time. John's mum gently wrapped her arms around John's shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. "Usually we go home for holidays, not mid integration," John muttered as he didn't respond to the embrace, shouting the state of trust right there. "Uh, I have to go to breakfast," he said, gingerly pulling himself away from his mum, "Sorry," he tightened his lips.

"John, upon recent events which had been brought to my attention, I want you to come home," she said lightly as her face turned serious. This is it, John thought, if I have a chance, if any, to really stand up for myself, it had to be now...!

"John," the boy's clouded eyes focused behind his mum where his dad cleared his throat and scowled at him. John looked at his mum. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father slowly shook his head, crossing his arms, showing his impatience. John swallowed, glanced to Harry, who was still burning John with her scornful stare. He sighed and looked down as he nodded, feeling a wave of immense sadness hit him like a bus. He went back upstairs to pack his things.

"Hey," Jacob said from the doorway, "do you really want to go?" the perfect turned his eyebrows up and asked with the softest, most careful voice John'd heard today. John sighed and slowly shook his head.

"I've got no choice, though, Jacob," John said quietly, helplessly as he turned his head to wipe a tear from his cheek, "if I don't go, he'll... h-he might," John's voice choked and a whine escaped instead. Jacob let a gentle gasp in before he quickly made his way to John, letting the younger boy lean into him for a sob. Jacob only let his hand run up and down John's back, shushing John's choked out cries in a soothing manner.

John's face was red and irritated and he struggled with carrying his trunk down the steps. Jacob reminded John of the levitation spell. John seemed unsure at first, seeing as his family is all muggle. John shrugged and slipped his wand from his robe sleeve. "Wingardium Leviosa," John aimed the wand at the trunk, which happened to comply with John's incantation as it lifted from the ground and John as if walking it like a dog on a lead, brought it to the common room and seemed ready to leave.

John took the note for Sherlock from his pocket and ran it over to the Ravenclaw house. "Which came first: The Phoenix or the flame?" The knock riddled. John just tucked the note in the light cleft behind the knock's head.

"That's for Sherlock Holmes; it's urgent," John nodded before leaving in a hurry.

The drive back was awkwardly silent. He only but began to read up on a charms textbook he'd checked out from the library. Mumbling the incantations to practise without his wand, John's father glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Won't be needing that, son," he said with a scoff, "you're going to school in London," John looked up,

"I don't belong in a London school...!" John protested, but his father only but gave him a testing look, that made John shut up quickly. He'd hesitantly closed up his book and looked out the window, extremely bored.

After an unbearable drive back to London, then sitting through, "bloody traffic!" John was reintroduced to London, muggle life, making him feel very depressed. John saw a folded paper on the counter, next to the most recently emptied bottles, and he picked it up to see the title, 'The Daily Prophet,' John fervently opened it up to read it. John's father snatched it from his hands.

"They send one of these damn things every bloody morning...!" He shouted, aggravated that the time he took to go out and get the post, which wasn't even a minute, had been doubled, having to go back out at a different time each day to take this one from the lawn and shoo away the owl who delivers it.

"Wait, no-!" John said, grabbing it back from him in a courageous act. John looked at the front page. It was him performing CPR on Sherlock on the beach, but how?! John's eyes narrowed as he continued to read the paper and his dad was growing more and more impatient by the active second. As if the thought of John even touching that newspaper was a sign of betrayal, John's dad had given his face a slap. John was caught off guard by the act of aggression, but unfortunately for him, he'd reacted with a punch himself, which started a physical fight. Punches and slaps were thrown and finally, John's dad pushed him by his neck to the wall next to the counter, where John grasped for anything. He ended up crashing a plate over the much larger man's head, making him let go for a moment. John scrambled for his escape.

"Oooh, so tough, you are, with your bloody robe...!" The man mocked. John sighed as he heard his dad stop banging on the door to his bedroom. He slid down the door, where he curled up and sobbed.

John had muggle school tomorrow morning, meaning no wands, no potions, no flying class... No Mary, no Sherlock... John went to bed that night but hadn't slept a blink.

John tiredly got dressed uncomfortably, having gotten used to the rowdiness of Gryffindor children had him wishing he had a justified headache in lieu of the one he'd allowed in for no reason. John had actually considered casting the slug jinx on himself to get out of today, but he secretly knew that his mum would force him to the hospital, despite them being out of insurance. Then, they'd ask about the bruises,

John brought his charms book with him today as he needed to feel like he belonged somehow. The walk to the school was uneventful at best. Though... "John? John Watson...!" A voice called from behind him. John lifted his head as he slowed to a stop, looking around, wishing he'd had his wand with him. A boy he knew from his previous school hurried over to him. "Hey, Mike Stamford," the boy gave John a quick hug. It turned out they were headed to the same place, so they walked together.

"So, you been sick lately?" Mike asked as John closed the charms book and now carried it under his arm.

"Uh, n-no, I actually got into a school in Scotland," John said tentatively, "It's for... the g-gifted," His face contorted on one side as if adjusting to the clouded sun.

"Scotland, eh?" Mike let out a tense laugh. John nodded nervously. Mike turned his head sideways and chortled. "What, you got in for being charming?" He laughed with Mike and told him it was student published, making Mike's eyebrows raise, "Wow, that's... real, okay," He chuckled. John was introduced to Mike's younger sister, Sarah, whose school was near theirs so they just walked together. Once they split off, John looked at Mike,

"You could try to be nice to her, you know," he said, making Mike laugh.

"How can I, when she acts like a freak all the bloody time," the comment made John wince a bit.

"I'm sure she's fine, just feels lonely...?" John shrugged.

"What about you; you don't seem fine, John," Mike suggested, looking at the marks on the unbeknownst Gryffindor's neck and face. John looked down,

"You shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answers to," he glanced to the boy in glasses, who looked at him softly, yet with a hint of sternness to it.

School was boring and John just wanted to go back to Hogwarts. Somehow the news of John being 'gifted,' had quickly made its way to the bullies of the school. John couldn't even use the restroom without being harassed. His home life was growing increasingly worse and still no word from Sherlock...!

One day the next week, John got home and found that his trunk was missing. It had all of his magical paraphernalia. He'd practically ransacked the house to find nothing in resemblance to his trunk. John had begun to fear the worst as his dad came home looking uncharacteristically satisfied with something.

Needless to say that the next day, John had more marks from yet another fight he'd picked with his dad. And, he'd been further rejected from any social group at his school.

Days slowly and agonisingly slipped into weeks and John was going absolutely mad in London... No, just with muggles! It was awful!

"Hey, Scot!" One of the bullies called from down the hall. John sighed, rolling his eyes. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the hallway and turned, closing his charms book, which was the only thing, save for his wand, left from Hogwarts.

"What do you want, Dimmock?"

"I was just wondering," Dimmock said with a smirk, "that gifted school teach you how to fight, Scot?" Scot being one of the stupidest ways of incorrectly placing a racial slur against John.

"C'mon, Dimmock, I'm not even Scottish...!" John whined.

"Just answer the bloody question," the boy insisted, pushing at John, who cautiously secured his book to his chest with both arms. Dimmock laughed stupidly. John contorted his face with anger and thought about using one of those jinxes right then and there. No, John breathed, calming himself. He opened his eyes,

"There are a number of things my school has taught me; None of which anyone the likes of you'd understand, though," John snapped back. Dimmock's smile dropped quickly. John had been gripped up and pressed against the wall of lockers before John could think.

"What? Are you saying that I'm stupid or something!?" the bully shouted, making John chuckle.

"No, I'm just saying that there are powerful things that you'll never be capable of, muggle!" John announced with a mouthful of spit violently forced out of John with the intention of causing offence, giving Dimmock's head a ram with his own, knocking him back a few paces. John quickly lifted the thick book of defence above his head and smashed it down onto the boy's head, which was, objectively of course, probably not the best course of action, seeing as the boy's father was currently the Principal of that shitty school. John got suspended and beaten when he'd gotten home.

It was a dreadful few days of that before he was forced to go back. "I hate it, here!" John shouted to the guidance counsellor. "Nobody understands!! I don't belong here!" He yelled frustratedly.

"John, I get it," She offered a calm, gentle smile, "everyone feels like they don't belong in a new environment,"

"This isn't new!!" John yelled, growing more and more frustrated by the very second, "And, it sure as hell isn't preferred!" John abruptly stood up and stormed out of the office. He needed to destroy something and quick!

With all of the pent up anger and conflictions, John was exhausted when he got home and only ended up destroying half of his room before passing out on his bed.

When he woke up, Mike was at the door asking if they could hang out. John quickly cast the repairing spell and everything was essentially back to the way it was by the time Mike was let into his room by he mum.

"Hey, did you see the news?" He asked, sounding nervously excited. John shook his head as he hadn't gotten the chance to check the telly yet today. Nonetheless, Mike showed John his mobile and they watched some breaking news segment where some houses in central London had been destroyed by a violent dark entity. John's face paled. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew it wasn't something that the muggle public should see...! John had no magical recourses, so he couldn't exactly look up what this date force really was, but he had a feeling that it wasn't a good thing.

After Mike left, John thought for a while. Grabbing his coat and leaving the house, John was off to Diagon Alley, hoping that he could get some amount of information with the little Galleons. Arriving to the alleyway, John received several strange looks from passing witches and wizards. John walked into a Magical creatures shoppe and was utterly amazed by the vast array of creatures that he's never known about.

The clerk greeted John, asking him if he should be in school right now. "Ah, you see," John said with a smirk," my muggle parents decided that Hogwarts was too dangerous, so they brought me back here where houses and neighbourhoods are being destroyed by something,"

John had left the shoppe with three different magical creatures books in hopes to find out what this destructive force really was. Before John went home, he stopped to grab some cheap pastries for himself at a small bakery run by two witches, who seemed very close.

Upon arriving home, John quickly made for his room and practically locked himself in, reading and eating until he fell asleep, wrappers and crumbs on his bedspread as John's face cutely slept over top.

Something happened that night. Something bad had happened to John and after that, he'd become increasingly more conscious over himself. He wore jackets and long pants even in the house, especially in the house, he only showered after school hours but before the kids in rugby and football came in for theirs. He'd rearranged his entire daily schedule because of his father and he hated it because he'd realized that in doing that, he was letting his dad win.

Soon enough, but not soon enough, in John's opinion, Christmas holiday had begun and John was stuck at home... great! As John rest his head on the sill of the fogged up window, he couldn't help but once more, thinking about what Sherlock was doing. Was he going home for winter, or was his father still being a prick? John chuckled at the thought of Sherlock smiling proudly in Ravenclaw attire, whilst the other members cloak themselves in miserableness for the cheerful holiday. John's dad shouted for John to get his paper. John sighed, rolling his eyes, making his way to the door. John opened the front door, looking to the snow-covered ground, but heard a soft crunch and looked up.

Chapter Text

Sherlock woke up the next morning, ready to start the day off on the right foot. He'd go to breakfast, see if John had realised how stupid his question was, hang out with him, do some more questioning, and gather all the information they needed. However, things didn't really go as planned. Sherlock headed down to breakfast and was giddy with excitement as he thought of going to class with John, but John must've slept in because he wasn't in the Great Hall when Sherlock arrived fresh from his morning physical therapy session. Madam Pomfrey had declared Sherlock's legs were strong enough for only one crutch to be used, which was definite progress. Sherlock couldn't wait to tell John, who'd surely be proud of him for working so hard toward rehabilitation.

Sherlock headed to History of Magic class, hoping to see John there, but didn't. Sherlock felt his heart tighten with worry. It was okay, though; he was okay, right? Sherlock proceeded to Astronomy, where the Hufflepuffs were still whispering about how Sherlock had unintentionally made Mary cry a few days back. It made him angry to know that people made him out to be a bad guy, even though he's only but a loner, who doesn't value other people stealing his friends...! Maybe he was jealous, but he sincerely doubted it,

Transfiguration with Slytherins was the difficult part of it as Sherlock hadn't made any friends in his house and he was considered innocently infamous among all Slytherins across Hogwarts. Of course, after class, Sherlock asked McGonagall if she'd seen John today and if he was okay. Surprisingly, she hadn't and asked if there was any reason he was asking, in which Sherlock had dismissed as if there was one, Sherlock didn't want John to get into trouble. So, instead, Sherlock just left the room, limping his way to his common room.

Sherlock turned a corner somewhere along the way and he felt a pair of hands grip the back of his robe and pull him. Sherlock was thrown against the wall, where he lost his breath, falling with gravity to the cold, stone floor. That Slytherin boy from the library the other night; he was Harry's tail and he did not look happy as he crouched down to intimidate Sherlock,

"You even think about doing what you did last night," his voice was still surprisingly smooth for him giving a threat to Sherlock, who only just got his breath back,

"John...!" Sherlock tried, going unheard by both boys,

"And, I might just finish the job that..." And, there it was. John Reese had begun listing the names of the boys, and girls, that participated in the hazing that night. Finally, Sherlock was getting somewhere...! John stood up and fixed his already perfect hair, somehow, "If you're truly as good as you claimed, you don't need a physical list. Besides, the paper is evidence, no matter how you destroy it," and, with a final kick to the stomach, John Reese was ever-so-casually making his way down the corridor, whistling some kind of tune to himself, then switching to a hum instead.

Once Sherlock had collected himself and stored the many names into his brain, which had increased its recent 'document space,' since the... event.

Sherlock hobbled back to Ravenclaw, hoping to see John at least at lunch. The boy didn't show any signs of illness yesterday. As Sherlock stood at the door to Ravenclaw house, he saw a white rectangle. It was an envelope. "It's for you, the blonde said so this morning," The doorknock announced. Sherlock inspected the envelope and picked it from behind the raven's head. He opened it and began to unfold the paper.

"Why couldn't he just take it to me in breakfast?" Sherlock glanced up to the knock as he began to read the message.

"He left," Sherlock stopped and snapped his head up to the knock. His eyes were wide and his face had paled,

"W-what do you mean, 'he left'?" Sherlock asked, his voice nothing more than a choked whisper, but he didn't exactly let the knock tell him as he turned and quickly limped to the base of the Gryffindor staircase. Sherlock reached the bottom and banged on the door. He was frantic. As soon as someone cracked the door open to answer, Sherlock burst in, defying all verbal attempts to kick him out.

"Hey, you can't just-" A boy shouted as Sherlock started up the stairs to their boys' dormitories. Sherlock barged into the room and looked to find that all of the beds had a trunk or cage underneath, except one. Sherlock felt his heart tighten and his eyes water. He was gone. John wasn't here anymore. Sherlock's leg gave out and he fell against the door post. He felt his stomach lurch and he didn't know what to do, now.

He ended up getting escorted back to his house by an angry third-year. He didn't go to dinner or any of his evening classes. He wasn't planning on going the following day, either. He only hid himself in his trunk.

A few days into his depressive streak, a perfect barged into his trunk and pulled him out by his robe. "Get the hell out of there!" He shouted as he shoved Sherlock into a wall. He shut the trunk and kicked it back under the bed. "I don't give a shit what you're feeling, Holmes; no one does!" Shouted the perfect. "No one gives a shit about other people, so why should you!?" He hummed in question. "Why the hell are you letting emotions get the best of you, dammit!? Try to appreciate what you do have for a change, yeah?" Sherlock felt terrible for a number of reasons, but having just been yanked out of a relatively warm, dark spot into a cold, early December morning was not helping.

"Now, take a shower, for god's sake!" The perfect yelled. Sherlock looked down, then lightly nodded. As he went to walk towards the washroom, the older boy stopped him with a hand, "Then, I want you to show up to your fucking classes -- all of them, do you understand?" He asked harshly. Sherlock did as he was told. The shower felt nice and he felt clean and fresh and somewhat energised. Sherlock changed into a fresh set of clothes, not bothering with his robe. He loathed them, anyway.

The time said it was early enough for breakfast, so he decided to go. He sat down at the end of the table, where he would usually sit, but he tried to limit himself from eating like a pig as it would probably kill him. Sherlock pulled out a book and started to read when Victor sat next to him.

"Hey," came the timid greeting. Sherlock responded with a hum, without looking up from his book. "I heard what happened; I'm sorry to hear it and I'm here for you if you need me," Victor placed a gentle hand over Sherlock's, which got his attention. Sherlock looked up at the Hufflepuff with softened eyes. He twisted his wrist around and squeezed Victor's hand and they sat in somewhat comfortable silence.

Potions was first, which Victor walked Sherlock too. They hugged at the door. Strong yet gentle, that's how he'd describe it. Snape scoffed at the reappearance of Sherlock in his class, the class went fast and it was very boring.

Flitwick was very excited to see Sherlock back to Charms class. The class proceeded as usual. Everything seemed boring without John's presence, annoying or not. He hated to admit it, but he felt like he became almost dependant on John to determine his mood.

Sherlock skipped lunch to go to flying class with Mary, who also seemed to miss John. He'd have to catch up to his class if he didn't want to take it again next year instead of some elective.

As time progressed, Madam Pomfrey took Sherlock off his other crutch, which was difficult. She was glad to see that Sherlock was recovering so nicely. Every other day, Sherlock would go to physical therapy and Victor would walk him to breakfast where they'd sit together and talk.

Victor and Sherlock walked closely in the hallways to Victor's first class. Sherlock felt Victor's hand wrap around his own. Sherlock didn't really think anything of it until the girls who passed started to giggle and the boys, they glared. Sherlock felt embarrassed. Was this a trick, Sherlock thought, slowing to a stop near a corner, Was Victor pulling a prank on me?

"What's wrong?" Victor asked, turning to look at the Ravenclaw boy, who looked down bashfully. Victor stepped closer.

"Is this a joke?" He asked quietly, glancing up to Victor, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He chuckled slightly, letting a breath of question out. Victor placed a hand under Sherlock's chin and gently lifted it up.

"Hey, what do you mean?" He asked.

"This, Victor," Sherlock lifted their intertwined hands, "why are you doing this?" Their hands dropped.

"Why am I holding your hand?" Victor asked, making Sherlock feel flustered.

"Yes!?" Sherlock looked plenty anxious, distraught as if he had no idea what this kind of contact even was, which was true.

"Because I like you," Victor admitted, making Sherlock go quiet, "and, I like being around you, so... Why not?"

It took a moment for Sherlock to process that information. "Why were people laughing at me, then?"

"They weren't laughing at you, they were laughing at us," Victor chuckled. "They don't understand," Sherlock shyly nodded after a moment of quietness. Victor smiled, making Sherlock do the same, subconsciously. "Let's get to class, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sherlock shied away from Victor, who went to class, leaving Sherlock to Dark Arts class. Sherlock couldn't help but think about how much fun John and he would have if they were in the same class. Then, he thought about how much he missed John. Why do I miss him?

A few days before the Christmas holiday and Sherlock was wondering what John would be doing for festivities. Sherlock would be staying at Hogwarts, mostly alone. Most of the Ravenclaw students were heading to their homes, but they weren't defying a hundred --or so-- year genetic legacy, so Sherlock had that rooting against him. Mycroft was going home, leaving hii brother to suffer i silence for mor thhan one reason.

But, currently, Sherlock's biggest concern was the lunch-date with Victor. Was it even a date? Would Victor want another after this? What would Sherlock do? What if he makes a fool of himself? All urging questions as he was bearing the end of his Transfiguration class.

Sherlock met up with Victor at the entrance to the courtyard. Victor hugged him and took his hands as they went through the door at the end of the steps. There was a spot cleared out where it seemed Victor made a pillow fort with blankets, sheets, and comforters. Victor pulled back a blanket as f drawing a certain and Sherlock and he entered. The space had been enchanted with the muffliato spell and atmospheric charm, making the blanketed area warmer than outside was.

"Here, take off your robe," Victor said. Sherlock did as he was advised, letting his black and blue robe fall to the floor. Sherlock sat on a pillow and Victor joined across on the opposite pillow. Sherlock's back arched in a stretch. "So, how was Transfigurations?" Victor asked, seemingly casual about the question. Sherlock blushed,

"I-I can't even remember what we learned... It may have been just a review," Sherlock stuttered, looking down.

"Is something the matter?" Victor asked, sounding concerned, he leaned in,

"I don't know w-what to do," Sherlock timidly chuckled, feeling very bashful, "I mean, this is... A date, right?" He looked up, his face wouldn't stop flushing...!

Victor's eyes widened. Then, his own face flushed, "D-did you want this to be a date?" Victor turned away, but Sherlock could still see the smile forming on his lips. Sherlock nodded shyly, making Victor swallow. The Hufflepuff boy looked at Sherlock and nodded, "A-alright, then," determinedly, "then, this is a date,"

They ate sandwiches in the little tented area and talked. Victor taught Sherlock how to play Gobstones and he remembered the time John stood up for him.

"Is it bad that I miss John so much?" Sherlock asked as they left the tent and Victor used the cleaning spell to fold the blankets and pile them next to the door. Victor shrugged,

"Not really; he's one of the first friends you've made here at Hogwarts, so it's only expected for you to miss him," he said turning back and grabbing Sherlock's hand to re-enter the school, "I don't see why, though; he was always kind of a prick,"

When the holiday started, Sherlock was convinced that he'd be fine. It was better for him to be alone, anyway. He could actually get some studying done. Sherlock overheard Harry and John Reese talking in the back of the library on the first day of the holiday. He decided to approach them.

"What are you guys talking about?" Sherlock asked, timidly walking to the table.

"It doesn't concern you, first-year," Reese said smoothly. Sherlock pulled a chair our nonetheless, making them sigh and look at one another.

"It does concern me if it's in Central London," Sherlock nodded.

"There's been a massive destructive force that's been dangerously interfering with the Muggle world, killing people, destroying buildings, that sort of thing," Harry explained, making Reese sigh,

"I didn't know they still existed," Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. The two boys looked at Sherlock, obviously confused, glancing back at each other for a moment. "There were-are these creatures called Obscuruses," Sherlock began, "They're a dark entity that stirs in young Mud-bloods who are trying to avoid persecution. Too young to attend Hogwarts and sheltered by family, they build up this dark entity with their power until something triggers it, then they let it go. Most Obscurials don't even know it," Sherlock elaborated, leaning in for the boys to hear. "The last one recorded was in the '60s," Sherlock leaned back with a shrug, "And, the kids themselves don't tend to last long; the longest living Obscurial survived until they were 25 in 1946, only because The Nazi's were using him for his power, of course," he gave. Reese's eyebrow bounced up in almost astonishment.

"And, the vague description reminded you of that entire encyclopedia, did it?" Reese joked, clearly not believing Sherlock's facts.

"Yes, and even if all of this were true, Holmes, how have we not been able to find it?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger.

"My family is the ministry," Sherlock's smirk was about as shit-eating as his tone as he sang, "Laters," and walked out of the Library.

Sherlock spent a day debating on whether or not he should go and check on John. He didn't have permission to sneak off campus, but then again, it's not sneaking if you have permission, nor is it exciting. That settled it. Since Sherlock had nothing better to do, he would go, tomorrow, to central London. He really hoped Mrs Hudson still had that block of flats.

Sherlock couldn't find the time for a night of proper sleep as he stayed up in the dorms, planning on what he'd do, what he'd say...! He'd obviously be angry, yes. "You left me here?!" No, that sounded a bit selfish, "You didn't tell me..!" Yes, better. That'll do. Once the guilt trip was over, Sherlock would pretend that he'd come mainly for the Obscurus, Yes! He alone wasn't enough to make Johnn stay, but if Sherlock had shown him a proper Holmes adventure, maybe, then he'd reconsider. He'd see that every day could be like that again. Perfect! This was going to bring John back to Hogwarts, for sure!

The next morning, Sherlock felt giddy with excitement. He woke up extra early and snuck himself to the common room with a few hundred Galleons and a bag of Flew powder. Sherlock climbed into the unlit hearth of the common room and called to his destination, "221b Baker Street!" Sherlock threw the powder down and erupted into a flame of blue.

"Sunny side up, or scrambled, darling?" A man's voice asked. Sherlock faintly heard the sizzling of a pan frying something and the smell of eggs cooking in the air filled his nose as he fell into the fireplace, rolling from under the mantle, soot stuck to him like nearby danger. A woman's scream erupted as Sherlock coughed. The boy struggled to his feet,

"Mrs Hudson!" He called, banging on the floor of the flat. The man entered the room, bewildered and alert as he brought the woman behind him by her arm in a protective stance. When Sherlock finally stood, he coughed some more and brushed off his jumper and trousers of the soot and dust to no avail and was met with the end of a knife. The boy cocked an eyebrow at the man and laughed. "Cunfundus," He muttered with a blow of air for dramatic effect, which magically pushed the man not too far away from Sherlock, who ruffled his hair and headed out with an indecent pep to his step. "Popping out, don't wait up," He waved goodbye and shut the door behind him.

"Mrs Hudson," he once again called as he raced down the steps. His legs, the damn noodles, gave out once or twice, making Sherlock a little extra thankful for the railings he used to complain and wail about. "Mrs Hudson!" He shouted again, turning and ignoring the dow connected to the wall in lieu for the one at the very end of the hall, which opened to reveal an old woman, reddish hair done up with flowers today, "Oh, I like," Sherlock cooed in a fashionista's attitude as the landlady smiled at the sight of the boy.

"Oh, Sherlock, what have I told you about flew powder, dear?" She chuckled as she hugged Sherlock lightly.

"Never mind that, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock pulled back with a smile, "I'll need a room for the weekend; I can pay," He said, pulling out the heavied coin bag. Mrs Hudson placed a hand on the boy's to stop him from his offer.

"No need, dear," She said with a smile, "I'm just glad to see you," She hugged Sherlock again.

Sherlock left, off to find a phone box. Once he found one, Sherlock sat inside, looking through the book. "Watson," He whispered and let the pages flap amongst themselves, sorting out the different names, numbers, and addresses. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and skimmed along with the thin page that lay still in the book. "John H. Watson Sr?" Sherlock tore that page out and exited the booth.

As he was looking for the address, however, Sherlock accidentally bumped shoulders with a group of boys his age. Sherlock turned quickly and apologised.

"Oi, what's your problem, mate?" The toughest looking one puffed his chest out, "take your fucking face outta that paper of yours and maybe look up for a chance, eh?"

"Look, I-I said I'm sorry, Ok--?!" Sherlock was shoved into the snow before he could finish. The boys laughed as Sherlock grunted. He tried to stand again, but his legs kept giving up.

"Hey!" The boys silenced as a familiar voice shouted. Suddenly, a trash bin flew at one of the boys, the main one. The boys scuffled away and the boy who'd saved Sherlock was breathing heavily.

"John," Sherlock breathed. John bent down to pick up the empty bin and looked at Sherlock. He offered a hand to Sherlock, who accepted it. John pulled Sherlock to his feet, standing close to catch the boy if his legs gave again. Sherlock let his eyebrows furrow. "Y-your face,"

"No crutches, I see," John chuckled, changing the topic as he stepped back, putting obvious distance between them as he looked down, hiding the visible bruising.

"Not that you care," Sherlock said, letting go of John's hand. The blonde boy looked up, confused and hurt, "I mean, y-you just... left!" Sherlock furrowed the bridge of his nose in slight anger. John's eyebrows furrowed. "You didn't even tell me,"

John's face of confusion changed to sadness, "Y-yes, I know," he said, glancing down, "I know and I'm sorry," Sherlock turned his face away. He didn't know why, but he felt the rise of tears bubbling up in his chest, "I should've told you, but I-I... I couldn't," John looked down, "I couldn't find the words. I'm sorry, Sherlock,"

Sherlock looked at John again, who looked through his short blonde locks to lock eyes with Sherlock. "Boy, what's taking so long?!" A voice thundered from across the street. John sighed as the loud man's shouting continued. "Hey, get back over here, John!" The man sounded panicked. John closed his eyes tightly, sighing again,

"C-coming, dad!" John called without looking at him. He looked at Sherlock who was now an inch or so taller than John when he was hunched over like this. His eyes were apologetic and sad, "Nice to see you again, Sherl," he nearly whispered before turning. Of course, John didn't get very far as Sherlock grabbed the boy's arm at the elbow to stop him,

"Wait," he said, pleading. John briefly looked back, "I need your help," Sherlock let his eyebrows turn up with emotion before John's dad decided to break it up himself. Bounding down their muddied dead lawn, to the end of the street, John looked over at the angry man, then back at Sherlock.

John was breathing heavy as he made up his mind with a slight nod, pushing, urging Sherlock to move quickly as they ran down the ice-riddled sidewalk. John's dad sprinted after them, pushing through the scarce amount of people, regrouping after the boys pushed to get away. Whilst running, Sherlock yanked on John's jumper to pull the boy into an alleyway cloaked in darkness, were John leaned against the wall, with Sherlock chest-to-chest with him, his lungs screaming for air as he gasped and coughed. Yet, when his father's shouting voice was heard passing said alley and Sherlock hid John's noticeably blonde hair with his own, by basically burying his face in John's shoulder, John held his breath and releasing it in a high-pitched laugh when he knew his dad was far from them. John's hands gripped Sherlock's uniform jumper as he laughed, too, leaning back to shake his head.

"That... was ridiculous...!" John gasped.

"You ran into the forbidden forest to save me," Sherlock quipped, trying to catch his own breath, which was difficult, seeing as John let out another batch of giggles at that comment,

"That wasn't just me," John swallowed. It took a moment for them to realise that they were in a peculiar spot to be in for teenage boys. Sherlock cleared his throat, taking a step back. He hadn't even realised how much room they actually had as the moment of laughter had been Sherlock's visual priority. What is this... w-weakness?!