A/N: I can't believe the response I'm getting for this. Thank you so much, all of you! I was kind of expecting to have to wait at least a week to get a single review, but clearly I was wrong. (Sometimes being wrong is the best feeling in the world...) So now I've suddenly got people waiting for a next chapter! It's exciting in a somewhat nerve-wrecking sort of way, but I'm so soaking up the attention. Cheers!

Also, one reviewer said the last chapter gave them the idea that Sherlock was an orphan. This was not my intention. This Sherlock has a highly extraordinary and, well, rich family consisting of his genius parents and brother, who he can go home to and ignore during the holidays. They just happen to all be muggles. I've edited the chapter slightly (one half sentence) and I hope it's clearer now.

Like I said in the summary: "Should be canon-compliant." What we read in the books will not change, nor will what we saw in the episodes. As such, Sherlock will not be there to slap sense into Harry when he most needs it and change the HP-universe to be a better place using only cold logical analysis. Sorry!

Disclaimer: Affirmative.

Massive spoilers for PoA.

And finally: on to the story!

2.

Harry sat alone in the now bare Defence classroom, already missing the presence of the first decent teacher he'd had for that subject so far, and worrying about his godfather, still on the run from the dementors, but hopefully now a safe distance away from the country. Out of nowhere, a clear voice pierced the heavy air.

"Granger has had a Time Turner all year," it sounded. "You used it to free Black, who happens to be innocent, after the real murderer escaped. Just for once the rumour-mill is right and Lupin really is a werewolf. He is also an old friend of your parents', as are Black and the man who framed him, Peter Pettigrew, and you hate that Black had to flee because he's your godfather and, despite his many years in Azkaban, would probably be a better guardian for you than your relatives. Am I wrong?"

Harry stiffened and slowly turned. The previously empty classroom now held a familiar looking dark haired Slytherin. Harry tried to recall where he'd seen the boy before, but came up empty. Thankfully, he could not sense any of the hostility he usually associated with the House of the Snake.

"I'm not, am I?" the boy grinned. "I got everything right, again. And you," he levelled Harry an accusing glare, "don't remember me."

Harry blinked. "Uhm..."

"Please," the boy huffed, "you're an awful liar anyway, so don't even try to bother. Though I suppose it's been a while, so I think I can forgive you for forgetting me. Last year? Astronomy Tower? Anything?" Harry searched his memories of the past year. "Oh, please. Nothing?"

Slowly the event started trickling back into Harry's memory. "Yeah... About a month after the Duelling Club. Everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin, and suddenly you showed up and reminded me I still had my friends!" The boy sulked.

"You can rest assured that that was unintentional," he grumbled, then shook his head. "The legal system in the wizarding world is truly awful, isn't it?" Harry couldn't help but agree, but was surprised by what he heard next. "Any idiot could have see Black was not the murderer. I've seen pictures of the aftermath of the explosion..."

"How?" Harry asked. He was sure none had been in the papers, which had only shown Sirius laughing, mad with grief.

"I refuse to answer your question on grounds of self-incrimination," the boy answered with a light smirk, prompting Harry to believe he had most likely broken into the wizarding police department, whatever that may be, and stolen the files. He knew for a fact that if he ever were to find himself in a situation that demanded such skills, the Slytherin would be for whatever reason unavailable, as was the story of Harry's life.

"Anyway, I've seen the pictures, and the explosion would not have killed Pettigrew. Even if it had, it would not have torn his finger clean off, let alone vaporised the rest of him." Harry shuddered at the mental image, but the Slytherin seemed unaffected. "None of the muggles present reported any violence taking place other than the explosion, magical or otherwise, and as such, Pettigrew must have survived. The question that remains is: how did he get away unnoticed?"

Harry debated briefly with himself whether or not to tell the truth, only to realise that no one would believe a thirteen-year old saying that the explanation was illegal animagi, unfortunately, and he wasn't going to give anything on Sirius anyway.

"Pettigrew is a rat animagus, he..." But the younger boy wouldn't let him finish his explanation.

"Ah, of course. A mass-murderer was Weasley's pet rat. Ingenious," he muttered. Harry wanted to protest, (and how had the boy known about Scabbers?) but he thought he was picking up a pattern here: the other boy wasn't taking Wormtail's side, or even calling him intelligent, he was saying it presented a good puzzle, if you could ignore the enormous amount of human suffering. Which he evidently could.

"But this is personal for you, isn't it?" The boy suddenly realised. "This means something more to you than twelve dead muggles over a decade ago." Harry, once again, wanted to protest, this time to say twelve people's death, no matter how long ago, still meant an awful lot to a great many people, but again he kept quiet. Because the second-year was right, it was more personal to him than that. At that moment, the Slytherin seemed to figure it out.

"Pettigrew not only framed your godfather, he's the one who betrayed your parents in the first place. That's what happened, and that's why you hate him: you could've had a home, and he has taken it away from you three times already. He betrayed your parents, framed your godfather, and escaped again yesterday night, probably because of professor Lupin's unfortunately timed transformation into a werewolf. Black is an animagus too," Harry flinched at the other's discovery, "and kept the werewolf away from you, but something happened to get him captured and you, Weasley and Granger into the hospital wing. The dementors. You must've lost consciousness, there must have been a lot of them. When you woke up in the hospital wing, you used Granger's Time Turner to go back, save Black, and I'm assuming the hippogrif Malfoy's been making such a fuss about as well? He's been unbearable since he found out it had escaped." Harry snorted, the mental image quite amusing. Then he just nodded. The other boy had been correct on every count, and actually covered pretty much every major event the past night. Harry was very impressed.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath. "You said you had it all figured out before?" The younger boy nodded proudly. "So why didn't you tell anyone?" Harry spoke angrily. "I know the Ministry was going to be useless, but why not go to one of the teachers?" Before the other could answer, though, Harry caught himself. "Except Snape hates Sirius, Lupin wouldn't have wanted to listen, McGonagall always dismisses her students' worries about things that are not supposed to be their concern, and Dumbledore can be unapproachable." He sighed. "Did you even try, or did you already know you needn't bother?"

The younger boy's face betrayed nothing, which could have been a hint as to how upset he was in itself. "As soon as I was completely certain of my findings, I did, in fact, approach the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I got an automated reply, and two weeks later nothing had changed in the hunt for Sirius Black. This repeated itself three times, until I received a warning not to bother the professionals with my 'fanmail' again, proving once and for all that my letters were never read. I then decided to go to a teacher. Professor Snape did, indeed, kick me out the moment I broached the subject. It never occurred to me to speak to Lupin; I obviously knew he had a secret, but was convinced it was merely his lycanthropy, not a past friendship with an alleged mass-murderer. Professor McGonagall sent me away with orders not to worry, or speak to my Head of House if I had to, because the situation was perfectly under control. That was three days ago. Since then I had not found an opportunity to speak to the Headmaster until it became a pointless endeavour as he now already knows."

Harry nodded, more to himself than to the other boy. That sounded about right, considering Harry's own trouble finding help in his previous years. His first stood out especially. McGonagall hadn't listened to him, Ron and Hermione at all when they had told her someone wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and that was without voicing their suspicion that Snape was the thief. The Slytherin had never stood a chance.

"But," Harry was startled out of his thoughts by the younger boy's business-like tone. "Time Turners, given to a thirteen-year old. I don't care if Granger is more mature and responsible than most of our teachers, it's still a fundamentally stupid thing to do. How do I get one?"

Harry smirked. "Oh, just take every single course offered, and probably also be an overall model student, which, for some reason, I don't think you would be very good at." A pointed look followed that statement. "Also, I think that question right there proves just fine that you are not fit to get one." The boy opened his mouth to retort, but Harry suddenly remembered something else. "Wait, before I forget to ask, again..."

"Yes? And please don't waste my time, Potter."

"You're the one who started talking, y'know, and by the way, that, right there," Harry replied. "What's your name?"

The surprised silence lasted for all of half a second, but it was definitely there. As was the boy's quietly muttered answer. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, then smirked. "I suppose society dictates I now politely ask your name as well?" He raised his eyebrows challengingly, and Harry grinned back.

"Yes, I suppose it does, doesn't it?" he said idly. "Rather pointless in this case, of course, but it would be nice to meet someone who doesn't recognise me on sight for once."

Sherlock snorted. "I thought you remembered, we've had this conversation before. You're not going to go all whiny on me, you understand? I was hoping for entertainment, not angst-filled dribble from a prepubescent boy. No, for God's sake, don't, you know it's true. You were like this last year as well and I don't need to hear it again."

Harry felt he should probably be feeling highly offended at that moment, but he really couldn't be bothered. "You do realise a Time Turner would automatically doom you to a life of constant repetition of the very worst kind, don't you? Like a soap that keeps only showing re-runs."

Sherlock scrunched up his face in disgust, clearly getting where Harry was coming from. "That's entirely different, though!" he defended himself. "I would get to see a situation from different angles, and not have to pay attention to the same thing twice, because reality has so many different layers. And I imagine using it to attend multiple classes at once could be considered an advantage," he finished grudgingly.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Or you could pull untraceable pranks."

"Oh, don't be dull, Potter." The boy in question glared. "If someone who the Hogwarts staff are aware has access to a a Time Turner were to 'pull untraceable pranks' they would immediately be the prime suspect. It would be a good way to frame such a person, though. Simply pull an untraceable prank." Sherlock sounded far too thoughtful at that last part, Harry thought, and he got the uncomfortable feeling the younger boy was perfectly capable of doing just that.

Quickly trying to distract Sherlock from his apparent train of thought, he asked: "So, if not for pranks or attending classes, what would you want to use a Time Turner for?"

The look he received in reply was like an unholy mix between the Weasley Twins anticipating a good prank, and Hermione Granger on a crusade. It may also have contained a hint of disparaging amusement at Harry's very obvious change of subject. However, Sherlock's desire to talk soon won out.

"Oh, my dear Harry," he said, eyes shining. "Experiments! Can you imagine, full time access to a time travel device! The things I could discover... Of course, there'll be restrictions, and I will have to assume they are there as a fair result of trial and error, but just think! I could measure magical, physical and chemical reactions to one object meeting itself at a different point in its own timeline, I could find out how effective it is to send oneself notes from the future, I could test how many times one can duplicate oneself with one Time Turner, I could study the nature of time! Time, Harry! Oh, the possibilities are inexhaustible. How bad would it be, taking every course? I'm certain I can think up some valid arguments to change my choice of electives even now. Would it be worth it?"

Harry had to smile at the other's almost child-like enthusiasm. He hadn't missed the fact that Sherlock had switched from calling him 'Potter' to 'Harry' when talking about something he was passionate about, and he couldn't help but be impressed by the Slytherin's intelligence. Somehow, over the course of the last half-minute, some of Harry's scepticism had faded and he had somehow grown attached to Sherlock. Not that he'd ever tell the boy that, of course.

"Well," he said, still smiling, "from your enthusiasm just now I'd say almost no price would be too high." Sherlock's face suddenly blanked out completely, showing no life whatsoever. It seemed to Harry almost as if he was ashamed of his outburst, and he realised it would be very hard to get most people interested in Sherlock's favourite subjects. He'd probably often been put down for his intelligence. Harry recalled something similar happening to him, though at a much smaller scale, as the Dursleys had always made sure he was too afraid to get better grades at school than Dudley. Unsure of how to reassure the other boy, or if he even wanted to be reassured, Harry decided to start listing.

"Right, well, I've got Divination and Care for Magical Creatures. Divination is awful, the teacher predicts at least one student's death each year, but it's an easy pass, probably even more so with your observational skills. Care for Magical Creatures can be a bit dangerous, but if you actually listen to what the teacher says it's not too bad. I know Hagrid doesn't appear to be very... intellectual," Sherlock snorted, clearly remembering the big man who had led him to the boats when he'd arrived for his first year, "but when it's about animals he really knows what he's talking about.

"Then there's Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies. Hermione says she loves Arithmancy, it's a lot like using maths for practical magic, apparently. Ancient Runes seems to be the magical equivalent of Latin or Ancient Greek in the muggle world, except, again, that it's useful for magic. Hermione has complained a bit about Muggle Studies, though. She says she knows more about muggles than their teacher. Of course, she is muggleborn herself, but the point still stands.

"Just, Sherlock..." Harry hesitated, then soldiered on. "See, Hermione wore herself out this year trying to get perfect marks for everything, and that just really didn't work. But if you only want the Time Turner, just, please don't do more than you must to not be kicked out of a class. If you're going for it, of course." Harry finished. Sherlock nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said, sounding almost surprised at this decision. "Yes, I think I will. Thank you... Harry. You have been most informative." Harry frowned.

"What, you mean no one told you any of that before?" he questioned. "None of the older students in your house? None of the prefects? Snape? I understand you can't ask your family, if they're muggles, but, well, I would've thought..."

Yes, well, they would've thought that the Freak can figure things out on his own just fine," Sherlock interrupted bitterly. "They're right, of course," he quickly added, unaffected mask, because it was definitely a mask, right back in place, "but a more direct source of information is often appreciated."

Harry frowned, remembering his earlier conclusion that the Slytherin was not very well loved in his own House or year. Freak, Sherlock said he was called, and it reminded Harry unpleasantly of his life with the Dursleys. 'They're right, of course'. When was the last time Sherlock had felt comfortable relying on anyone else? And just how had that person become Harry, anyway?

His thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock himself. "What surprises me," he said, "is that you don't seem too bothered with me getting such a powerful and potentially dangerous artefact. How exactly does that work?"

"Well, I've been known to be a stereotypical Gryffindor in literally every aspect of my personality, and as such am incapable of rational thought or appropriate caution." Harry deadpanned. "What's your excuse?"

Sherlock laughed. Actually laughed. "Oh, since I'm a thirteen-year old outcast, I, of course, secretly desperately seek the approval of authority figures in my life." Yeah right. "Or maybe I've just seen you break the rules one time too many, yourself. Actually, the reason I'm talking to you might be that you are not a stereotypical Gryffindor. For one, you are marginally less stupid." Harry let that comment pass with a mild glare.

"Gryffindors also tend to be prejudiced and dreadfully full of themselves, while you are clearly neither. And no, I don't mean blood status," he said when Harry tried to protest the 'prejudiced' part. "You're the only Gryffindor I've met so far who is actually willing to look past the colour of my tie. Most Gryffindors rarely look past the first impression." And would've cursed me for my rudeness and feared my intelligence from the moment they met me, he didn't say, but Harry could read it in his silvery eyes.

"Have you ever figured out why my aunt and uncle hate me so much?" Sherlock shook his head. "It's because I'm magical. That's all there is to it. Actually, it isn't, it's because I'm different, and I don't fit in their perfectly mundane lives, mostly because I'm magical. They are honestly as bad as the Malfoys, just on the muggle side of things; prejudiced against wizards instead of muggles. Being put down for being different all your life apparently does a great job of teaching you how to be tolerant." Sherlock's eyes had widened with the explanation, and Harry imagined the word obvious shot through the younger boy's mind. Then Sherlock frowned.

For a moment Harry thought he was going to get a consolation. An 'I'm so sorry that happened to you.' He wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, but it was what people always said. But Sherlock didn't do meaningless formalities. And he didn't seem to do sentiment, either. Still, at the moment he looked so... sympathetic, for want of a better word. For a moment, he genuinely seemed to care. When his mouth opened, Harry was curious what would come out.

"Inform the authorities," he said, in a tone of voice that could best be described as Well duh. "Your relatives would lose custody of you, no doubt. I've said before that any wizarding family would fall over itself for a chance to take you in. Take the Weasleys, you could stay there. You could even ask Granger if you can stay with her over the summer holidays. There is no need to even go back to an abusive household at all."

Practical advice. Of course, a perfectly logical reaction. Some might consider his bluntness cold, but was it really? It was more likely to actually do anything than a meaningless 'I'm sorry'. Sherlock seemed to deliberately distance himself, so the fact that he tried to help at all must mean a lot on its own. Or maybe Harry was just completely misreading the situation, but he didn't think so. He was sure Sherlock felt as much as anyone else, but merely expressed it differently, causing people to think he didn't feel normally. Add a boarding school full of teenagers to the mix, and suddenly pretending he didn't feel at all might indeed seem like the only way out. Inform the authorities. Harry sighed.

"Can't prove anything now. I've got an actual bedroom, I can't hide all my schoolbooks just so Social Services can come snoop around, and the whole neighbourhood will testify that I'm a criminal anyway. And the Ministry of Magic can't actually interfere with muggle households, even if it has magical children. Hermione looked it up."

Sherlock stared at him, then said very slowly: "You are Harry Potter. The Ministry will interfere whether they are allowed to or not. And whether you want them to or not. Use that." Harry shook his head.

"No! I refuse to rely on my fame like that, and I will not have an unfair advantage because my parents were murdered. I don't want to call in favours from people who owe me nothing just because I'm famous, it would make the worst kind of rumours going around here true! No Sherlock, it's not happening."

Sherlock glared at him for a bit, clearly disagreeing with Harry's standpoint, but then seemed to let it go. "Idiot." Well, mostly. A somewhat awkward silence followed.

After maybe a minute, during which neither could really think of anything more to say, Sherlock cleared his throat. "Very well, then. I ought to go speak professor Snape, now, to see if I can add the extra electives to my curriculum. I'll just say I've been bored these past two years and need more stimulation, which has the advantage of being accurate as well as innocent and a compelling argument; no one likes me when I'm bored." Harry tried to imagine that brain with nothing to do and shuddered, suddenly glad he and Sherlock did not share a common room. "Good day, Harry."

"Yeah. Bye Sherlock, good luck!" The younger boy nodded, and turned to leave. Only to immediately turn back and face Harry again. "By the way, I don't think I had said this yet, but I promise I won't breathe a word about Sirius Black to anyone of whom I am not positive that they already know. Goodbye."

He turned again and stalked off. "Thanks!" Harry called after him. He was not expecting a reply, and none came. Harry scratched his scalp. Somehow, with all that he'd learned that day, the boy from the Astronomy Tower was even more of a mystery now than he had been after the first time they'd met.

More chapters to come, R&R, and please do nitpick my writing!