A/N: Fanfiction inspired by Mycroftismight's (mycroftismight . tumblr . com) art of wizarding painting!John and Sherlock. Ah, yes, the story was not beta read, so... If I let any mistake pass by, please tell me. (:

Hanging on a wall

I

The year was 1991 and a new bunch of first years was now rushing through the second floor's corridor in that first night of the school year. Everyone was busy looking around, fascinated with the moving stairs, the shining suit of armors standing side by side and, above everything, the paintings that moved and talked amongst themselves and with those who were looking at them... But only a few of the students noticed a slightly small and round painting that hung between the bigger frames on the wall. The two wizards depicted in it didn't seem to mind the fact the children didn't pay any attention to them: one of them, a blonde and short man, was busy smiling at the kids while the other one, a tall man with dark, curly hair and blue eyes, simply watched as they passed in front of their frame, with his head supported by his hands.

"Boring," the taller man said, loud enough for everyone to hear it... Or at least it would be heard if only all those children weren't making so much noise.

"Please, Sherlock," the other wizard whispered just when a little girl stopped in front of them for a few seconds, looking at them with her huge brown eyes and smiling, showig her a little bit too big front teeth, before going back to the group of students. Now she was, in their eyes, only a bunch of bushy brown hair running in the group's direction.

"Muggle-born." The blonde stretched his neck, trying to give her a better look. "Only a Muggle-born would look around with such a fascinated expression."

"Hum, what about him?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes to see a a thin boy with messy dark hair that was walking next to a red haired boy which seemed to be talking all the time.

"Muggle-born, obviously. He has the same fascinated look on his face."

"Are you sure?" asked the other one, smiling.

"Positive."

II

"By Merlin's beard, how much I wish I weren't a painting," mumbled Sherlock. His voice was coming out muffled due to the fact his hands were covering his face. "I would have already solved this whole mess a long time ago!"

"Sherlock, I think it's better for us to go back to our frame," said the blond man, looking at a group of anatomists who seemed to be bothered by the fact they were invading their anatomy laboratory.

"No, John, we'll go on." The taller one took his hands away from his face and holding his friend's wrist, pulling him along. "I bet the answer to all of this is right under their noses but they're ignoring it. It's always like that."

John sighed, not offering any resistance as the other leaded him across from frame to frame. Since Mr. Filch's cat was petrified, Sherlock insisted in trying to solve the mystery of who – or what – had done that with the animal… And, well, no one took an idea out of Sherlock Holmes' mind..

"Did you consider the idea of asking something to any other painting?"

"There are no paintings in the corridor where it happened, John," said Holmes. "But I taked with the other ones who are near to the place…"

"And what did they say?"

"That they didn't see any student walking around there at the time it happened." Sherlock suddenly stopped walking and looked around. "Let's go back and walk around the other side."

"Isn't it easier to go straight ahead?"

"The next portrait is Salazar Slytherin's," mumbled Holmes. "He hates it when someone enters his frame and I really don't want to listen to him complaining for the rest of the evening."

John nodded, followeing his friend and asking himself when did the other learn about Slytherin's pet peeve. Well, whenever it happened, he wished he had the opportunity to watch… It must have been interesting to see Sherlock and Salazar arguing over a frame.

"Do you believe in what they're talking around Hogwarts? About the said Heir? I mean, it's kind of an old tale to scare first years, isn't it?"

"We live in a wizarding world, John. I wouldn't be surprised if I discovered that the Chamber of Secrets' story was true… Actually, it would be kinda boring, wouldn't it? Way too obvious."

III

John opened his eyes slowly, looking at the empty corrider in front of him. Hogwarts at night could be fascinating and scary at the same time. There was no candle lightened and that made the whole place become hidden in the middle of darkness, which was illuminated only by the moonlight that streamed in throught the windows, and the absolut silence was almost uncomfortable now that al the paintings were asleep.

"Sherlock?"

"Hum?"

"What are you doing awake?" the blonde asked, getting away from the other and rubbing his eyes.

"Don't speak so loud or you'll wake the others."

"Oh, yes," whispered John. "What are you doing?"

"Observing."

"What are you observing? There s nothing to be seen in the middle of the night."

The taller man glanced at him and a enigmatic smile appearing on his lips, right before he looked at the dark corridor once again.

"There's always something to be observed, John."

"Really? So what were you observing this time?"

"Something really interesting," said Holmes, leaning against his friend and closing his eyes. "But it's already gone. Good night, John."

It didn't take long before both wizards were waken up by the uproar of students walking around the corridors, teachers running from place to place and scared paintings talking about how not even they were in safety in those days.

"What happened?" asked John to a little man in a suit of armor that had just invaded the frame on the opposite wall.

"An evil and violent bastard had the nerve to attack one of our fair ladies!" said the man, wielding his unpolished sword and running to the next frame. "You won't pass unnoticed by Sir Cadogan next time, you dog!"

"If they passed by once, they'll do it again with no doubt," whispered Sherlock, looking at a group of students that was now walking past their corridor.

"Excuse me!" called Watson, attracting the attention of a small girl with blond hair and whose big blue eyes sticked to them with attention. "Could you, please, tell us what happened?"

"Someone attacked the portrait that keeps the entrance to the Gryffindor tower, the Fat Lady," said the girl, her voice sounding dreamy. "They asked us to go to the Great Hall, for us to sleep there."

"And who attacked her?"

"She says it was Sirius Black," the witch answered, shrugging.

"Sirius Black…? Oh, well, thank you very much for informing us," said John, smiling at the girl who smiled back at him before going back to the group of students from which she had come. "Sirius Black! In Hogwarts! How did he manage to get in here?"

"Oh, John, there are many passageways…"

"And all of them are being kept by dementors, Sherlock! It's impossible!" The shorter man sighed, furrowing his brows, action that made him look even more worried. "If it's really him, the teachers will have to make their wards even stronger until they find him…"

"Come on, John." Holmes laughed, shaking his head and making his dark curls falling onto his face. "Sirius Black has already fled from the castle."

"Well, he may be still in here, hiding…"

"No, John, he left."

"You can't be sure of that, Sherlock… oh, no. No! Don't tell me that you saw him!" Watson turned to look at his friend who was know watching the other paintings with a bored expression on his face. "You saw him! And didn't say anything! You didn't warn anyone! Are you mad, Sherlock? A murderer invaded Hogwarts, you saw him and didn't do anything, you let him have a nice midnight stroll around the castle! He could have harmed someone! A child…!"

"Please, John, be reasonable…"

"No, Sherlock, you are the one who has to be reasonable here." The blond man puffed and folded his arms over his chest, looking away from the other. "It was unwise, silly, selfish…!"

"Alright, I got it, what I did was wrong," groaned the dark haired wizard. "Now, can I go back to sleep?"

"Aren't you feeling even a little bit bad after what you've done? I mean, you just let a dangerous criminal walk into Hogwarts and approach the students…!"

"John," said Sherlock, staring at the other for a long time. "I didn't put anyone in danger, believe me, therefore I'm not feeling guilty for what I did, alright?"

And, saying that, Holmes turned around and closed his eyes. Watson opened his mouth several times to say something, but decided it would be better to stay in silence and, just like the other had done, go back to sleep.

IV

"You can't be bored!"

"Yes, I can. Actually, I am really bored right now."

"The Triwizard Tournament is taking place in here, we have foreigners all around the castle, high standard employees from the Ministry, journalists, photographers… Everyone here at Hogwars! This makes anyone excited."

"I'm not anyone, John," whispered Sherlock, supporting his chin on his hand. "Look over there."

The shorter man turned his face to look at a small group of Slytherins who were standing in a circle near them. The three young wizards seemed to pay attention to something one of them – a thin, pale boy with neatly combed blond hair – was showing to the rest.

"What are they doing?"

"Plotting."

When the group finally scattered away and the blond boy started to walk to the stairs, passing just in front of them, John stretched his neck so he could see that there was something small and green in the teenager's hands.

"What's that?"

"An insect, from what I could see," said Sherlock. "A beetle."

"He was talking to a beetle." Watson laughed. "Well, each madman with their own kink."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Of course, I saw it and heard his voice…"

"No, I mean: are you sure he was talking to a beetle?"

"Yes, with what else could he be talking to? With you and I?"

"Oh, John, I don't know, anything can happen inside this castlle."

Watson narrowed his eye and stared at the other for some time, before sighing and shaking his head. From what he knew about Sherlock, it was possible that his friend was already creating the craziest theories about what the blond boy was doing, with what – or whom – he was talking to, and why… It was even possible that Holmes would tell him that the poor beetle was, actually, some kind of lethal weapon.

V

Sherlock tossed his head back and yawned before looking at the empty corridor and, then, at the sleeping John Watson that was leaning against his shoulder. He hated days like this, days in which the whole castle was in silence… The OWLs were going on in the Great Hall and that made everyone become way too silent for his liking. All the fifth year students were doing the exam while the rest of the witches and wizards from other years stayed in silence, in their common rooms, not to bother their colleagues. That resulted in an enormous boredom.

As he fighted to stay awake – it was as if John tiredness was contagious -, he saw three students with Gryffindor's uniform walk by them in hurry. One of them was a tall, red haired boy, the other was a bushy haired girl… oh, her front teeth were now on the normal size, and the last one was a short boy with dark messy hair. The same student from five years ago, his great mistake. He had fallen into John's trap and ended up doing his deduction without taking a better look into the boy's face, declaring him to be a Muggle-born… If only he had taken a good look at his face, he would see the famous scar on his forehead. Anyway, he watched as the three teenagers walked through the corridor, whispering things amongst themselves and looking worried – specially the boy with the scar, who was way too pale.

As soon as the trio disapeared at the end of the corridor, Sherlock looked at John once again. Oh, how he wished he wasn't a painting in that moment so he could run after those students and see what they were up to… He was sure that night would be really interesting for them.

VI

"John! John!"

John Watson woke up, widened eyes looking around while his sight tried to stay focused. Before he could ask what had happened, gleam of bright light illuminated the corridor and he jumped, startled, as he saw a enormous man fighting a younger wizard – but that was still too old to be a student – with long, red hair.

"What happened!"

"Death Eaters!" said Sherlock, excitement present in each word he pronouced. "They invaded Hogwarts, John!"

"And you're happy with that?"

"Of course not, but…"

"By Merlin's sake, if you'll say 'but at least it's not boring', you better stay in silence," the shorter wizard groaned. "How? How did they get in?"

"I'm trying to discover it at this exact moment, John." Sherlock joined the tip of his long, pale fingers and brought them to linger over his lips while still looking at the duel that was happening in front of them. "I bet it was Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Is there any other Malfoy at Hogwarts? No. It was him, John, I know it! Remember I told you, still in the middle of the school year, that he was taking paying too many visits to the Come and Go Room?" asked Holmes, smiling.

"Yes, but what does it have to do with the fact that there are Death Eaters inside Hogwarts?" the blond man asked exactly when the red haired man was disarmed by his oponent, who quickly jumped over him. "My God, what…? Is he biting him? Sherlock, what is he doing?"

"He's a werewolf."

"What? But it isn't full moon!"

"Fenrir Greyback, John, you must have already heard of him." Watson nodded, finally remembering that he had already heard that name before. "Anyway, remember when we used to go to the Come and Go Room? When we used to ask for a place where we could hide stuff?"

"When you asked for a place to hide the ingredients you stole from Slughorn's cabinet? Yes, I do remember it."

"Remember there was a Vanishing Cabinet in there?"

"A what?"

"For Merlin's sake, John, are you blind?" Sherlock sighed. "A Vanishing Cabinet. I wouldn't be surprised if I discovered Malfoy found its pair."

"And this means…?"

"This means that he had a way to bring a batch of Death Eaters straight into Hogwarts, John," the taller man whispered before paying attention to the duel once more. Now a young woman with short, light brown hair entered the fight and managed to take Greyback from the top of the other man with various spells.

This time, after looking at that young wizard on the floor, hurt and bleeding, it was John who wished he weren't a painting.

VII

"Give me harry potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded... You have one hour."

"Making horcruxes messed his head up," whispered Sherlock Holmes as soon as Voldemort cold and strong voice faded from the corridors, making the castle stay in a deadly silence once again.

"What did you say?"

"Horcruxes. Pieces of his soul hidden objects, that's what he did, Voldemort," explained Holmes. "It's the only explanation for him to still be alive after everything that happened to him."

"You're telling me… the man split his soul and hid it into objects?" asked John, seeming to be disturbed.

"Exactly. It's really powerful dark magic… And quite horrible too. I ask myself if Moriarty ever tried it."

"I sincerely hope he didn't." The blonde scratched the top of his head and licked his lips, before looking around. "How horrible is it? This magic, I mean."

"Really horrible. The creation process is really… Peculiar."

"Peculiar?"

"Monstruous. It includes killing someone in order to splits the person's soul… And other worse things."

"Worse than killing?"

"Ah, John, killing is the easiest part of the process," whispered Holmes, not noticing the worried look he received from his friend. "But, as I said, Voldemort had his brain affected by spliting his sould, I bet it."

"Why do you say so?"

"Oh, you must remember Tom Riddle, right?"

"The boy with whom Mycroft seemed to have an eternal quarrel with even though they never met? Yes, I do remember him," said Watson, restraining himself from laughing as he remembered Sherlock telling him about how his older brother was extremely envious of a certain Thomas Marvolo Riddle who had studied at Hogwarts back in the 1930s and had managed to get inumerous awards for good grades and a special award for services to the school. Of course, later, everyone discovered that this golden student was actually Lord Voldemort himself, but John believed that, even after this discovery, Mycroft Holmes was still frustrated with the fact the Dark Lord had managed to get more awards than him during his time at Hogwarts.

"Tom Riddle was, according to what others say, a genius. I mean, of course, he managed to build a whole army of Death Eaters and everything else… But, yes, he was inteligent, persuasive and powerful." Watson furrowed his brows. It was odd to see Sherlock speaking so well about someone. "But now… He's ignoring the most obvious things! He's calling his own death."

Watson remained in silence, not paying attention to what the other was saying now. A group of children that seemed to be from the first year walked past them, all of them with a scared look on their faces and a few were even crying. John felt his own heart – if a painting had a heart – clenching inside his chest.

"There'll be a war, Sherlock," whispered the blond man.

"This is obvious. Potter won't give himself to the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters will invade the castle and the hell will break loose."

"I wish I could help in anything."

Holmes didn't say anything, he simply nodded. To be a painting on the wall was extremely frustrating, he always said that, and Sherlock knew that John – the good John Watson who had always wanted to be a healer - felt horrible for not being able to help, for not being able to go down to the Great Hall and fight, for not being able to help the injured ones when it was needed.

"Well, let's hope Voldemort's lost inteligence shows itself to be a great loss for him tonight." The talled wizard smiled. "This way it'll be easier for the others to defeat him."

"You could insult him until he lost his will to live." John laughed quietly. "You're good at it, destroying other's self-esteem."

"And Voldemort already has a low self-esteem…"

"Come on, Sherlock, he is the Dark Lord."

"He's an orphan boy whose mother died giving him birth and lived who his whole childhood inside a Muggle orphanage during the Great Depression, the World War II and the Great Wizarding War against Grindelwald. He killed his father because he couldn't bear to think the man abandoned him and his mother. Not to mention he's a half-blood." Holmes shrugged and smiled down at his friend. "He's just a boy trying to prove himself."

"Really, Sherlock." John laughed and shook his head. "I would love to see you face to face with him, saying all these stuff to Voldemort."

"Who knows, he may pass by our corridor tonight."

"That would be interesting."

"Very interesting, John, so very interesting."