"Molly was walking quickly out of potions class as fast as she could, the smell of amortentia still on her mind. Sherlock was shouting after her, and she moved quicker, her face a deep red. She'd smelled his violin rosin, and him in general, from the potion and he'd seen her observations sheet. Before he said anything with that amused smug look, she bolted out of the room in a panic." - buffyslaysedward
"Molly!" She heard Sherlock shout after her, but she didn't stop running. She was aware that she was in the corridors while she was supposed to be in class and could get detention, but she couldn't turn back now. She moved swiftly along the familiar tracks, luckily not meeting anyone on the way. Tears were pouring down her face and she slowed down, when silent sobs shook her body and she couldn't continue running anymore.
She had stopped on the fourth floor and made her way to an abandoned broomcloset she used sometimes if she needed to be alone. And right now it was definitely the time for that. Molly opened the door and pressed herself in there. The lonely box in the corner became her chair, as she fell down on it, trying to wipe the never-ending tears with the sleeve of her black robe.
After what seemed like hours, the girl finally stopped crying. Her eyes were puffy and red and she desperately needed a handkerchief to wipe her nose. She searched her pockets for one, but instead her fingers touched a piece of parchment and she pulled it out.
After recognizing the words, she took her wand and set it on fire.
"Why did you have to see it?" she whispered, watching the last bits of her observation notes burn to ash.
Sherlock Holmes had been her partner and deskmate in almost all classes since their first year in Hogwarts. Usually students sat with their housemates, but since nobody wanted to sit with them both, they were put together by Professor Slughorn in their first lesson together.
Molly was terribly awkward at making friends and she had no acquaintances in the new school, because she was a muggleborn, so she had nothing against sitting with the dark-haired Ravenclaw. Soon she found out why no one had wanted to sit with him, when he humiliated her in front of the whole class by telling loudly to everyone in hearing radius about her most intimate problem.
Sherlock was cold towards Molly for the rest of the year, although not openly insulting her anymore, because he had understood how fragile the young girl was. They learned to work together in peace and Molly started to like him more every day.
First it had been a simple crush that she tried to shake off, unsuccessfully. Sherlock, understanding what influence he had over the small Hufflepuff, used that to his advantage, ordering her around for potions ingredients. Molly had been more than willing to oblige, even though she knew that he was only using her for personal gain.
Their relationship had warmed up during their second year at Hogwarts.
Molly had been wondering the corridors of the castle during her free lesson, when she heard a quiet moan of pain in a hidden alcove. She rushed to aide and discovered Sherlock with a gash in his forehead, lying on the cold stone floor, almost unconscious from the bloodloss. Molly pressed her robe against the seemingly never ending bloodflow and using her wand (casting a quiet but determined Mobilicorpus) to lift the boy up.
She carefully took him to the hospital wing, where Madam Hudson took over and stopped the bleeding with a spell. It turned out that Sherlock had been a victim of bullying for some time. The motherly healer told Molly that he had frequently visited her because of some minor injuries, always having an explanation up the sleeve ("We had a lesson about Devil's Snare in Herbology. Grabbed me around the neck.", "Peeves dropped a cauldron on my head.", "I tripped when I came down the stairs."). She hadn't believed him, but she couldn't do anything when Sherlock himself didn't admit it.
Molly had stayed by his bedside until he woke up. He looked surprised when he saw her and Madam Hudson explained him what had happened, while Sherlock stared at Molly with a curious look in his eyes. In the end Sherlock had told the headmaster about the persons who had done harm to him and they were punished accordingly.
After Sherlock had been released from the hospital wing, he searched Molly, found her coming out of the Great Hall and kissed her on the cheek.
"Thank you, Molly Hooper."
From that moment on their relationship had warmed, you could even say they became friends. And Molly's crush evolved into something deeper.
Then the next year there was a new boy amongst the third year students. He had been with his ill sister for the previous two years, so he couldn't attend school, but now his sister Harry was well and he could come. The boy was placed in the Gryffindor house. The boy's name? John Watson.
He and Sherlock started hanging out together (they had met in their Defence Against The Dark Arts class). First Molly had been jealous, but that feeling soon evaporated when John had overdramatically jelled "I'm not gay!" in the entrance hall.
Soon after John started dating Sherlock's housemate Mary, who Molly thought was a witty and a lovely girl, a perfect match for John. But she was no closer of getting over Sherlock. Her failed attempts to flirt had ended in complete disasters. She had tried calling him out when they were in Hogsmeade, but he had no interest in spending time in a pub, dashing off to Zonko's to buy things for him to experiment on. Exploding quills are much more fun than butter beer, in his opinion.
So it was that the lovelorn Molly Hooper stayed forever pining after the one boy who just wasn't interested. They had known each other for six years now, the four of them (Sherlock, John, Molly and Mary) had formed some sort of a group, who hanged out, studied in the library and got into trouble together. Molly was happy where she was, but her heart yearned for more.
Molly had fallen asleep in the broomcloset, while hiding away from the rest of the world. But when she finally woke up after what seemed like an eternity, it wasn't the wooden box of magical cleaning supplies underneath her, but the familiar soft sheets of her bed in the Hufflepuff girls' dormitory.
"How on E-?"
"Oh my gods, Molly!" Molly's classmate Meena had just entered the bedroom, when she had risen from the white warm nest that had cocooned around her.
"How did I get here?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to remember when she had come back to the Hufflepuff house rooms. Recalling nothing of sorts, her eyes rounded in confusion.
Meena sat on the bed next to the messy-haired girl and started explaining: "You just ran out of the class and nobody knew what was going on! And then Holmes ran after you (you both have detentions by the way). And what the weirdest was that he couldn't find you!"
"Sherlock?" Why would he run after me, she thought to herself.
"Yes!" Meena exclaimed loudly. "Isn't he like supposed to be a 'know-it-all'?"
Molly shook her head, not in denial, but to clear her head from disturbing thoughts. This is so embarrassing.
Meena continued her energetic description. "Anyway... When the class ended, we saw him go to Watson and Morstan, so they started looking for you together. They even asked me to check here, but you hadn't come and I told them you were probably hiding in one of your secret places."
Molly hid her face in her blanket. Thanks, Meena. Now everyone knows I'm a creep.
"How did I get here?" she asked, voice muffled by the blanket.
"Well that's the cool part! After I told him, he just ran away (He's crazy, I tell you!). And when he came back, he was carrying you in his arms! Let me tell you that was the cutest thing I have ever seen!" She squeed. "Like a prince from a fairytale. Us girls would have taken you in here (We could have managed!), but he wouldn't let you go. He knew our password and got in the girls' rooms. Unbelievable!" Meena breathed heavily from the fast talking.
Molly lifted her face from the blanket, eyes wide as saucers. "He what?"
"That's what I asked myself too! He like disabled the spell or something! And how did he know the password? Did you tell him, Molly? Did you tell him the password to our commonroom?" The dark-skinned girl's face was judgmental.
"No!"
"Oh then, he must have heard someone say it. Anyway. You need to have a serious talk with him."
If Molly hadn't been so dried out from all the crying before, new tears would have found their way in her eyes. The embarrassment, the shame. I can't look him in the face ever again. But Molly knew that she needed to talk to him. And she couldn't postpone it, for the sake of her own mental health.
"I know," her voice was like a whisper.
"I mean this guy has obviously a serious crush on you."
All the wires in her head disconnected and she stared at Meena like an idiot. What?! Is she mocking me? She collected herself and her voice turned cold. "I can assure you, he doesn't."
Meena rolled her eyes in reply. "Why else would he be sitting in our commonroom, hexing everybody who dares to approach him? Seriously. It's clear as day he loves you."
Molly's voice was like mouse's squeak. "He's here?" She desperately tried to comb her messy hair with her fingers.
"For about an hour now. You better get down there fast before someone finally has enough and calls for Professor Stamford. I wouldn't be surprised if someone already has."
Not wanting any more trouble for herself nor Sherlock, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed and quickly smoothed down the wrinkles in her robe. Proceeding to dash out of the sixth-year-girls' bedroom's door, she ran down the stairs and into the honey yellow commonroom of the Hufflepuff house, where the first thing she noticed was the dark mop of curls of the tall Ravenclaw boy, who struck out in the crowd of Hufflepuffs like a sore thumb.
Almost like fanfares had announced Molly's arrival, everyone in the room turned their heads towards her. The classes had already ended, so the house was full of curious students, who had wanted to see what a Ravenclaw is doing in their commonroom.
Molly saw a seventh year boy try to stop his nose from bleeding, a fifth year girl try to stop her eyebrows from growing and another senior holding a bucket in his lap. She heard some whispering echo in the silent (except the ghastly noises coming from the boy with the bucket and the soft cries of the girl desperately waving her wand to her face) room and her face turned beetroot red. He really hexed people?
Sherlock, who had dominated a chair in front of one of the fireplaces, rose up and for a moment everything stopped. He was looking seriously at Molly and the girl just couldn't turn her face away. Her cheeks were flaming and there was a nervous tremble in her right hand. Even with the distance Molly could still see the little golden specks in his blue-green eyes that were sparkling even more in the warm light from the fireplaces.
Sherlock's lips were pressed tightly together in a pouting manner and in his hand was his long black wand, which burst almost microscopical tiny red sparks, a loud sign of his irritation.
Someone coughed awkwardly to release the tension in the quiet room and Molly dropped her embarrassed gaze on the floor. Meena, who had come down with her and was now standing next to her, nudged Molly forward with her elbow, so she stepped closer to the menacing boy.
Sherlock's only reply was to turn around, walk to the entrance and slip outside to the corridor, leaving the door open behind him as an invitation to follow. Molly stood still in fright for a couple of seconds before some Hufflepuffs encouragingly said: "Well go on then! This is your chance!"
Taking a deep breath, as if trying to breathe in some courage and strength, Molly bolted out of the commonroom to follow the boy she was in love with. Sherlock was standing a couple of steps away from the entrance and when he saw the girl come out, he turned his back again and started walking not in the direction of the Entrance Hall, but the other way, deeper into the basement.
For some time the only thing you could hear was the fast paced footsteps of Sherlock and the quiet padding of Molly, who followed him where he led the way. They went down the long corridor, past an ugly tapestry picturing a pixie tickling a sleeping chimaera, up a small spiral staircase and in a small room. Molly's anxiety grew with every step until she almost exploded, but she refused to open her mouth first. She was determined not to embarrass herself even more and do more damage to their friendship. But Sherlock didn't speak either.
The room where he lead them was lighted only by the setting sun that peeked in from a tiny window. In there was only a table, covered with stuff that undeniably belonged to Sherlock Holmes: a cauldron, different herbs, animal body parts in jars, potions ingredients and so on.
Sherlock was now facing Molly, the cold and serious look from before was gone, replaced by hurt and confusion. To Molly Sherlock had never looked so vulnerable before.
Before she could lose her moment of courage, she started speaking. But it seemed that Sherlock had the same idea.
"Sherlock, I..."
"Molly, I..."
The both spoke at the same time and immediately shut up, when they understood that the other was talking, too. Molly looked to the floor, blushing.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry," she finished, her voice breaking, before any more interruptions and before she just couldn't speak anymore.
Molly closed her eyes, because she was frightened of Sherlock's reaction. But instead of shouting she felt his large warm hands wrap around her body when he enclosed her in a hug.
"You shouldn't make me worried about you like that. It was foolish, Molly," Sherlock whispered hoarsely above her head, pressing his chin slightly into her hair.
Before Molly could come out of her shock of being held by the boy and being able to respond by hugging back, he had already let go and stepped away. The air felt cold around her without him and she had already decided that she would give the world for him to hug her like that again.
Sherlock looked a little flushed as a slight shade of pink covered his cheeks.
"And I'm sorry too. For not realizing sooner. I didn't understand the depths of your feelings and I misused your trust. I've known you for five years, one month and three days, but it's like I still don't know you at all," He took a breath, "I know how you like your tea, but I don't know why it is like that. I know that when you're happy, you put on a little make-up your mother gave you, but I don't know why you do it. When it snows for the first time, you go outside and close your eyes, but I really don't know why. In one word, Molly, I don't know you. You're a mystery to me. An enigma."
Sherlock smiled bitterly to himself, his low voice attaining only a barely hearable tremble. "And I never dared to ask. I always thought that if I did more, said more, you would hate me. Today..." He pressed his eyes closed for a second, like he was remembering something hurtful, "...I didn't understand... And I thought you left. It hurt. I don't know why, but it hurt so much."
"Sherlock," Molly whispered, still unable to respond normally. She was so touched by what he had said. Does he really care?
"I've spent the last two hours trying to think what to say to you. So what I'm about to say is not an improvisation or made up in the heat of the moment." He stepped closer.
"You know what I think about love. I've made that very clear over the years. To me love is like Amortentia - a poison to the mind. It makes people do foolish things. So many crimes are motivated by love. A pathetic excuse to ask for redemption. I. Do. Not. Love." He punctuated each word, but his expression wasn't cold. It looked like he had given up.
"Yet... I cannot find a better word. A word that is pure and not violated by hatred. Something that echoes the connection between two persons and not a chemical reaction between two suitable reproductive partners to take better care of their offsprings." Sherlock hesitated.
"But Molly when you ran out of the classroom, I couldn't find you because I couldn't think straight... You are always in my mind. Believe me, I've tried to get you out. It hasn't worked. Even when you put your hair behind your ear, my mind goes blank. But when you ran away from me it was like a deep empty void. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner. I... I just wanted to apologize for causing you so much distress. I really do care about you, Molly. More than I'm willing to admit."
Before Sherlock could speak on, Molly interrupted him by yanking him down by his robe and pressing her mouth to his. Now or never.
After a moment of shock Sherlock relaxed and kissed her back. Their soft lips molded together and Molly's hands found their way into his dark curls and Sherlock's strong fingers wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. Their bodies were pressed together when they finished the kiss with a gasp of breath. Sherlock supported his forehead on Molly's, trying to calm his breathing.
"You talk too much," she said quietly, looking into his dazzling darkened eyes.
"Sometimes words are needed."
She pressed her face into his chest. "Yes, they are."