NOTE:
This chapter has some non-consensual elements. It is nothing overtly awful, but if that's something you don't feel comfortable reading, you may want to avoid this chapter.
-o-o-
Autumn was slowly shifting into winter, changing the grounds of Hogwarts from rich earthy tones of red, yellow, and orange, into a desolate field of dying grass and browning trees. If anything, the disappearance of the bright colors, or even the beautiful summer greenery, was a reminder of how difficult the year had been for Sherlock Holmes.
The sixth-year boy was currently tucked under his favorite tree, his eyes scanning over the crisp pages of a muggle mystery novel. He had received the book as a present from Molly the previous Christmas, and even though he had finished it in one sitting last December, he found himself inexplicably redrawn to the book. Sure, the book wasn't as thrilling the second time around, especially now that he knew O'Shaughnessy had double-crossed Spade, but with a free Saturday afternoon, the words were a comfort to him.
Because in the past, Molly had always been there, willing to open his eyes to a new world—the muggle world—a taboo place that he had scantily explored sans one painful holiday to muggle America, one that ended with his mother sobbing on what the Americans called "the subway". While his pure-blood parents frequently regarded muggle culture with sheer curiosity rather than disgust, the Holmes family had not attempted to explore the world after their fateful trip to New York (or one instance of his father fiddling with what the muggles called "cough drops"—the poor man thought it was a coughing equivalent to the hiccoughing potion—he was none too pleased with the cherry hard candy).
And so, it became that Molly was his link to the unknown world. She would send him muggle novels, and muggle music, and even what the muggles called "films"—a delightfully long moving picture that told a story. But, with an imagination like Sherlock's, he much preferred the books and music, two outlets that allowed him to fill in the gaps himself. Unfortunately, given his tumultuous year thus far with the Ravenclaw girl, his enjoyment of the other world was restricted to past gifts from his friend.
Is she your friend?
He sighed and shut the book, leaning his head back against the cold bark of the tree. Today had been a rather lonely day. He finished Quidditch practice earlier in the day—the Gryffindor match was nearing close—and since that moment, he hadn't spoken a word to another person.
For some reason, and one that hadn't been made clear the curly-haired boy, John and Mary were in quite a nasty row. The previous evening, he had journeyed to the Gryffindor common room, eager to roam the castle after a new mystery had landed on his dinner plate. Someone had stolen a few illegal substances from Hagrid and based on the half-giant's frequent travels to Knockturn Alley, it was pertinent that the Ravenclaw student recover what was taken.
Yet, when Sherlock arrived at the portrait, waiting for John to let him inside (per his owl), he was left standing outside until thankfully Sally Donovan strolled by, letting him in with only an eye roll.
He was, however, not expecting the sight that met him in the burgundy-colored room. He had managed just a blink before dodging an incoming pillow.
"He told me what you said!" Mary screamed, throwing another pillow at John, who managed to avoid the plush ammo, "You bastard!"
John cursed and jogged to the other side of the room, thankful that Mary didn't have her wand. "What did I say?" He yelled back, his hands moving wildly, "Just bloody come out with it!"
She chucked another pillow at him and wiped at her damp cheeks. "I get it, okay? I know I don't come from some bloody perfect family like you do! Sure, you've got a muggle mum, but your father fought in the war! That's enough isn't it?" She screamed out, before tossing another pillow, "But I didn't realize my background would be such a fucking problem for you!"
"What are you talking about?" John began to move towards her, shaking his head vigorously, "I don't—"
Mary hiccupped and shoved at his chest. "Get away from me, John. Chat with Lestrade and Sholto if you need a reminder about the awful things you said."
She pushed past her boyfriend and marched to the door, her shoulders held high. Sherlock, who had been frozen by the entrance, met her gaze. He swallowed and opened his mouth.
"Mary—"
"Sherlock," She choked out, shaking her head, "Just don't."
As the blonde disappeared out the door, Sherlock took tentative steps towards John, who sat with his head in his hands. The curly-haired boy cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. When John looked up, he only met his best mate's gaze with contempt.
"You going to mock me? Tell me this is why you avoid relationships and all that nonsense?"
Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to respond but was quickly cut off by John.
"I'm not in the bloody mood, Sherlock! If you want to be an arrogant git, and tell the world how fucking wonderful you are, go to the kitchens! The house elves are the only ones who give a shite."
John stormed up the stairs, leaving Sherlock in the Gryffindor common room, his heart hammering in his chest. With a frown, he strolled out, wondering if he had managed to lose the only two friends he had left.
When he opened his eyes, meeting the grey skies above the castle, he sighed. He had figured out Hagrid's thief—some third-year Slytherin that was dared by a fourth-year—and recovered the missing vials all before noon. And the breakfast preceding the recovery had been spectacularly awful.
Mary had spent the meal huddled with Molly and Jessa Hartley, another Gryffindor sixth-year, sharing angry, hushed whispers with the girls. John shared breakfast on the other side of the hall, stuffing his face and arguing with Lestrade and Sholto. And Sherlock…
Well, he had gone to his normal seat, expecting to be joined by his three best friends. Like he had for the past five years. Instead, he was met with empty space. As a result, he was forced to listen to Anderson babble about their upcoming match, the entire time wondering why his chest suddenly felt so heavy.
With a sore back and a slightly dirty robe, he began his trek back into the castle, although stopping as Molly came into his field of vision. She was clutching her Ancient Runes book to her chest, a quill tucked behind her ear, her rug sack hanging off her back. They stopped moving simultaneously once their eyes met. He somehow managed not to stumble back, overwhelmed by the sincerity in her chocolate eyes.
"Hi, Sherlock," She began, her voice soft and soothing on his aching heart, "Good morning."
He cleared his throat and clutched the novel to his hip, slightly embarrassed by his reading. Molly immediately dropped her gaze to the worn book before meeting his eyes, her lips twitching into a soft smile. Sherlock coughed.
"Well, technically it's past morning so—"
Molly shook her head, slightly amused. "Is that your favorite?" She asked, ignoring his contradiction.
Sherlock swallowed and looked down at the novel. He bit his lip and shook his head. "No. I've just read all four of the other novels you gave me multiple times."
She blushed softly. "I see. But I'm glad you enjoyed The Maltese Falcon."
He cleared his throat. "It was still enjoyable the second time around."
The two stood in the breeze, watching each other expectantly, both now sporting pink-tinted cheeks and ears from the wind and their conversation. Sherlock was desperately willing his mouth to move and to say something else. He could talk about how lovely she looked in periwinkle, or how he was impressed with her recent O on their Charms exam or ask if she was looking forward to the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quidditch match.
Instead, he stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth disgustingly dry. Molly smiled softly and glanced down at her text book. She looked back to Sherlock and nibbled on her lip, suddenly shy.
"You care to study with me? Our Ancient Runes exam is on Wednesday." She asked, her voice jerking him out of his stupor.
And while his back was aching, his hands were cold, and he was rather hungry, his response was immediate.
"I'd love to."
-o-o-
They had returned to Sherlock's favorite tree, although this time the boy was far more comfortable after Molly transformed a handkerchief into a blanket for the pair to sit on. She emptied some parchment and another quill from her rug sack, along with a frilly tin of some sort. He watched on, listening to her humming, as she flipped the textbook to their current chapter. And then, to ease his curiosity, she opened the tin, exposing the delicious scent of lemon and powdered sugar to the brisk air.
Molly smiled and grabbed one. "My mum sent these. I send them an owl every week. They've gotten much better at learning how to send parcels," She explained, before biting into the soft, crescent-shaped dessert, "And mum makes the best lemon biscuits. Try one! I know you fancy lemon drops."
He was incapable of doing anything but nodding. He grabbed a biscuit and bit into the tart, sugary sweetness, his eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. Molly smiled and watched on.
"Good, aren't they?" She asked, wiping her sugar-coated hands on the edges of her robe.
Sherlock swallowed the remnants of the biscuit and nodded eagerly. "Yes. Are these what all muggle desserts taste like?" He asked, genuinely curious.
She laughed and pushed the tin closer to him. "If you're asking if our sweets are good, then the answer is yes! We've got loads of wonderful stuff. And while I love a good chocolate frog, you haven't lived until you've had a chocolate orange."
His eyebrow quirked. "Do muggles grow oranges made of chocolate?"
Her rich laugh warmed his nerves in a way that nothing else could. "Something like that, Sherlock."
The pair descended into a comfortable silence, both looking to Molly's text book, scribbling down a translation of the runes on the page. And even though Sherlock desperately wanted to continue this dream like afternoon, sitting close enough to Molly to smell her rose perfume and her strawberry shampoo and now her mum's delicious lemon cookies, he had a few questions.
"I thought James was your Ancient Runes study partner now," He asked, his voice cracking slightly as the words escaped his lips.
As expected, Molly stopped her writing and glanced over at Sherlock. She sighed. "He has quidditch practice." She began to play with her quill, her eyes studying her mostly bare parchment, "Besides, I reckon we need to chat."
Sherlock swallowed. "Yes. Chat. Molly, I'm sorry." He shifted on the ground and turned towards her. "I want to make something very clear. At the quidditch match last week, you implied that I was only your friend because I felt I needed one in Ravenclaw. And yes, as a first-year, I did seek out a friend in my own house." He took a quick breath and continued his rambling, "But you must understand that you're my friend because I want you to be. I enjoy spending time with you and I admire your intelligence and your humor."
He ran a hand through his curls and glanced down to his powder-covered trousers. "I'm so very sorry if I've upset you Molly. I let my own misgivings with Moriarty affect my friendship with you and that's not fair." He took a deep breath and glanced back at the girl, "If you fancy him, and he treats you well, then I…" He desperately held onto his look of indifference, "Well, I support your relationship."
Molly frowned and reached across the blanket, placing her hand on top of his. At the feeling of her soft skin, he glanced towards her. She gave him a comforting smile, in sync with the squeeze of her hand.
"I accept your apology Sherlock. I know that couldn't have been easy for you. But you need to remember how cruel your words can be." She moved beside the boy and set her head on his shoulder, her gaze locked on the suddenly blue skies, "Our friendship will survive. It's been through a lot," She began, her voice now tinged with amusement, "that duel with Sally, your near expulsion third-year, my crush on you, Mary and John's relationship…" She looked back to the boy and smiled, "We'll be just fine, Sherlock."
My crush on you.
He swallowed and looked at his shoulder, his heart hammering out of his chest. Her strawberry scented hair was nearly tickling his nostrils, and he quite frankly couldn't remember a time he was more at ease than with Molly Hooper's head on his shoulder.
Yet, as her words replayed in his head, he was forced to ask another follow-up question, this one surely to be unpleasant.
"What happened between Mary and John?" He asked, still studying Molly, "Neither of them have spoken to me since yesterday evening. Mary wouldn't let me talk to her, and John…" he sighed and shifted uncomfortably, "John was an arse."
At the mention of their two friends, Molly frowned. "Oh, well…" She sighed and sat up, causing Sherlock to immediately miss the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair, "James Sholto told Mary some truly awful things John said. And naturally, Mary didn't believe him." She sniffled, clearly upset by the actions of her friends, and looked towards Sherlock, "Until Greg verified the story and said he heard John say it too. Greg is one of their closest friends. He wouldn't lie."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What exactly did John say? Was he sloshed?"
Molly shook her head. "No. Apparently, he told Lestrade and Sholto all about taking Mary's virginity and then called her…" She sniffled and looked away, "He called her a lowbred cunt, one that would probably end up in Azkaban like her mother." She hugged herself and sniffled, "I rather not repeat the rest."
Sherlock shook his head and scoffed. "John would never say such a thing. You can't possibly believe that, can you?"
She frowned and looked down. "I trust James and Greg. Why would they lie about that sort of thing?" She sniffled and looked back to her text book, "Besides, Mary said John had been acting weird lately."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "John Watson would not slander a hair on Mary Morstan's head, let alone call her a lowbred cunt."
Molly touched his cheek and frowned. "How well do we really know people, Sherlock?"
Mycroft had given me a few warnings about you. Said you were hard to deal with, stubborn, not as intelligent as him…
Sherlock swallowed and studied Molly, Slughorn's words ringing through his head.
No. Not John.
He couldn't have.
Could he?
Molly sighed and grabbed her parchment. "Let's get back to studying, shall we?"
-o-o-
Monday morning, Sherlock found himself back in the potions classroom, listening to Slughorn's painful voice describe Amortentia, the infamous love potion. The old man was wearing a deep red robe, perhaps to correlate with the theme of the love for the morning session.
"If you look at the batch I've prepared, you can clearly see steam rising in spirals!" He sputtered out, waving his hands excitedly, "now, you'll know that your batch is successful if it shares the color of pearls. And, of course," He paused for dramatic effect, the crow's feet of his eyes wrinkling in delight, "You smell the things that you love most in the world!"
The girls watched in utmost fascination, along with Anderson, while the rest of the boys stubbornly listened to Slughorn's directions. A few moments passed before the students were instructed to begin their batch, still being forced to listen to Slughorn's warnings of the dangers of the potion.
Sherlock had added another spoonful of pearl dust, his eyes shifting around the room. Mary and John no longer shared a desk—Mary was now paired with Sally Donovan, and John was relegated to the odd desk, now the only student in the classroom without a tablemate, given their odd number of thirteen. Sherlock watched his best mate, his eyes evaluating every inch of his face. They hadn't spoken since Friday evening, and of all the things Sherlock was good at, approaching people after arguments was certainly not one of them.
From beside him, Molly added a dash of powdered moonstone, a pleasant hum escaping her lips. She glanced over to Sherlock and blew out a loose strand of hair away from her face.
"Are we sure we use only a single rose thorn? The consistency of mine looks wrong," She groaned, looking back to her text book to reread the recipe.
Sherlock grabbed his wand and began to mix his potion. "A thorn and a half. The thornier it is, the stronger the potion is."
Molly nodded and broke a thorn in half, before tossing hers in. She grabbed her wand and began to mix, before glancing back at Sherlock. "Mary and John haven't spoken since Friday. He keeps approaching her, but she refuses to even look at him."
Sherlock looked back at his best mate, and then to Mary. The blonde incidentally met his gaze and frowned, before focusing back on her cauldron. He sighed and set his wand down.
"I take it that this is more than a lovers' spat?"
Molly frowned and tucked the loose strand behind her ear. "This isn't a lovers' spat, Sherlock. I think they've broken up."
Her declaration had Sherlock blinking a few times, unable to digest her words.
John and Mary are broken up?
Surely that couldn't be right. Their relationship had become so ingrained in Sherlock's everyday life that he could hardly imagine a world where he'd have breakfast without seeing the two snog. And aside from his own selfish desires to see the status quo kept, he was genuinely concerned for both of his mates, knowing how important they were to one another.
John had never vocalized the desire, but Sherlock knew that the Gryffindor wanted to propose to Marry once they finished school. For his best mate, there was no one else he would ever want.
Sherlock had been scantily paying attention to his potions, instead studying John, when Slughorn's booming voice yelled out his name.
"Sherlock! Molly! Those look splendid!" He scurried over, clapping his hands excitedly, "Class, take a look at what these two have done! Do you see the spirals? Oh, it's terrific!"
He grinned and leaned over the table, taking a whiff from each cauldron. "Oh, yes, just spectacular. Now, go ahead, take a sniff!"
The old man gave Molly an enthusiastic smile. The entire class had trudged over, being forced to eye the first successful pair of students to brew a pleasant batch. Under the stares of her fellow sixth-years, including her feuding best friends, her boyfriend, and Sherlock, she let out an uneasy breath.
"I smell…" She leaned over the cauldron and inhaled the pearly-fumes, shutting her eyes in the process. Her cheeks tinted pink as she began to speak, her voice cracking, "I smell fresh parchment, and ocean water," she took another whiff of the aroma and cleared her throat, "and lemons, and…" She opened her eyes and swallowed, "a freshly mowed pitch."
Sherlock watched as her eyes met Moriarty's. The git gave her a smirk and winked, causing the girl to flush a deep red. Sherlock's lips almost twitched into a frown, but he was able to hold onto his practiced look of indifference. And while he had hoped he would get out of being watched by the class, Slughorn turned to him expectantly.
He groaned and leaned over the cauldron, letting the fumes invade his senses. The scents immediately mellowed his body and liquified his bones, the aroma making him feel like he was on top of the world.
He swallowed and forced himself to speak. "I smell violin resin, and old books, and fresh rain, and something…" He staggered back and looked away, suddenly feeling bashful, "A tad fruity. Vaguely floral."
Slughorn grinned and smacked his hands together, his shoulders shaking in delight as the bell rang. "Oh, splendid! What a wonderful class! Make sure to compliment Miss Hooper and Mr. Holmes on their wonderful achievements!"
As everyone began to grab their belongings, Sherlock stared at the cauldron, his stomach doing flips. He had prematurely receded into his mind palace, trying to classify the scents, when a feminine hand was pressed on his back. He immediately jerked forward and turned to meet the blue gaze of Irene Adler.
"Oh, Sherlock, such as a shame, isn't it?" She purred, her hand moving to his arm, "Molly practically told the whole class how much she loved Jim out there." She moved closer, her eyes twinkling in amusement, "I hope this wounds you."
He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Adler, you—"
His retort was interrupted as Molly and Moriarty strolled over, hand in hand. Molly looked between Sherlock and the Slytherin girl, her eyes darting between the placement of her manicured hand on his arm and Irene's smirking face.
Moriarty just laughed. "Oh, don't eat him alive, Irene! I reckon Holmes wants to stay focused for his match this weekend." James taunted, winking suggestively at the Ravenclaw boy, "Be careful, mate. Irene has quite the reputation."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Moriarty—"
He was quick to interject. "Let's grab lunch, Molly. I'm starving."
And then he was dragging Molly off, the Ravenclaw girl still staring at the pair, her brown eyes swimming with confusion. Sherlock cleared his throat and pushed Irene's hand away. He grabbed his bag and glared at the Slytherin girl.
"I suggest you stop whatever game you're playing, Irene. I understand you think I'm romantically interested in Molly and feel the need to taunt me because she's in a relationship with Moriarty." He fixed his robe and sent her a menacing look, "But I suggest you stop playing with fire. You won't like when you get burned."
She pursed her lips and smirked. "Are you flirting with me, Holmes?"
He shook his head and stormed out.
-o-o-
The next morning, Sherlock awoke to a Hogwarts owl perched on his bed side, clutching a parcel in its beak. He yawned and dug out some spare change, paying the bird before grabbing the gift. He rubbed his eyes and eagerly torn into the papers. As soon as his eyes landed on the gift, a muggle novel, his heart soared.
He turned the front page and found the square note from Molly, his cheeks now flaming red.
Sherlock,
Since you've read all five of your past Christmas gifts many times, here's an early gift to curb your appetite.
P.S. Poe's most famous poem is about a raven. Whenever I read a story by him, I think of you.
-Molly xxx
He stared at The Murders in the Rue Morgue, his insides practically melting. As he looked between the beautifully illustrated cover, and Molly's neat handwriting, he found himself unable to breath. He cleared his throat and quickly tucked away the book, eager for a chance to read the story later in the afternoon.
After quickly getting ready, he had made his way to the Great Hall, a new bounce in his step. He couldn't help but smile as he collapsed into his seat, even as Anderson approached, holding a parcel to his chest. He sat in front of Sherlock and stretched.
"This came for you right before you sat down! Some beautiful bird dropped it off." Anderson explained, sliding over the parcel with a yawn, "You owe me money. I had to pay it."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the gift, his eyes meeting a tin of twelve perfectly wrapped lemon drops. A small note was attached, the words neatly typed from what he only assumed was a ministry standard type writer. He cursed and forced himself to read the letter.
Dearest Brother,
I do hope your studies are going well. I look forward to hearing about your quidditch match this coming weekend. I am unsure if I will be able to attend. Nevertheless, I wish you the best of luck.
You'll certainly need it.
Your brother,
MH
Sherlock growled and crumbled the letter, immediately tossing it to the side. Who in Merlin's name did Mycroft think he was? He never failed to be an arrogant twit in his writing, and his pompous words, even if just transcribed by him, made Sherlock's appetite disappear.
He pushed the package away and rose to his feet. "Feel free to have these, Anderson. I'm not interested."
Anderson looked into the tin and grinned. "Really? Lemon drops are the best!"
"Yes, well, I rarely accept gifts from my brother."
His quidditch captain shrugged. "If you say so! I'll never say no to sweets."
Sherlock scowled and looked back into the tin, his stomach begging for the delicious dessert. He cursed and grabbed one, holding it tightly in his fist.
One won't hurt.
With his head held high, he stormed out of the room, intent on feeling the fresh air of the courtyard. He slipped the candy into his mouth and began to suck, suddenly feeling a warmth overcome his body.
Oh, yes. This is nice.
-o-o-
Mere moments passed. Sherlock had retreated to the wooden bridge, his head pressed against a hard beam, his eyes locked on the dying brown area surrounding the castle. He shut his eyes and took in a staggering breath, suddenly aware of every nerve in his body lighting on fire.
Just the thought of her soft brown hair, and big, inquisitive eyes, and small shape underneath his body had him shaking. Not only did he need to see her, but he had to have her.
And as if another bloke was going to stand in his way.
His eyes shot open, and he immediately stormed towards the castle, his long legs moving too slowly for his own liking.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.
He approached the doors to the Great Hall when he sensed her presence. But, a crowd of students and rather intense swearing momentarily distracted him. He glanced around the corridor until his eyes landed on a familiar face.
"What's going on?" He asked Molly, his eyes shifting between the crowd and brown-haired girl.
She held her books to her chest and frowned. "I'm not quite sure…"
"Do you know who's fighting?"
Sally Donovan stormed over, waving her arms frantically. "You won't bloody believe this! I thought it was Moran picking on another fourth year—it's bloody Anderson and Greg!"
Molly frowned and looked to the Gryffindor girl. "Phillip and Greg fighting? That doesn't seem right."
"Tensions are running high before the match, and with John and Mary not speaking, Greg may be getting desperate," Sally explained, her eyes locked on the seventh-year, the admiration clearly shining through.
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, until a glimpse of brown hair and red lips had his nerves on alert.
Oh, yes.
"Irene!" He shrieked, his legs now moving towards the stairwell.
The Slytherin girl stepped off the moving platform and smirked at Sherlock. "Yes, Holmes?"
Instead of speaking, he knew the one thing his mind, his heart, and his entire bloody body wanted. He grabbed the girl, his hands moving to her shoulder and to above her bum, and pulled her against his form. Not wasting a beat, he pressed an eager kiss to her lips.
The noise from the fight died down as he snogged Irene. He had moved her against the wall, enjoying the softness of her hair against his face, and her sharp scent invading his space. Clearly, he had somehow managed to drown out the noise of his idiot classmates by kissing the girl of his dreams.
Yes. This is true love. I'll have to tell mum.
Sherlock was already recounting in his head how he would propose when he was ripped away from the Slytherin girl's soft lips. His body was promptly shoved into the wall, and the attacker had managed to place an expertly timed kick into his bollocks.
He let out a harsh cry and forced his eyes open, stunned to meet the angry blue gaze of Mary Morstan. He groaned and hissed at the girl.
"Merlin's beard, Mary! Do you mind?" He cried out, now holding onto his crotch in pain.
Mary glanced between him and Irene, who stood smirking and dabbing at her signature red lipstick. She growled.
"I see Phillip and Greg being escorted away by McGonagall and then turn around to see you snogging a slag like Irene?" She hissed out, shoving at his chest, "You think this will make Molly jealous? You're a bloody moron!"
Before Sherlock could respond, Irene sauntered over and gave the girl a fierce look. "Morstan, your input was not requested. Sherlock and I are very much interested in each other, so I suggest you sod off. Unless you were hoping for a chance with him now that Watson is out of the picture?"
Mary growled. "Why you—"
Irene smirked. "Besides, I wouldn't call me a slag. Word on the street is, per Watson's potty mouth, you're the slag. Or…" She bit her lip and rubbed at Sherlock's chest, "What were his words? Oh, yes! A lowbred cunt."
The Gryffindor girl looked to Sherlock, unable to stop the trembling of her bottom lip. "Sherlock, how can you—"
Instead of letting her finish, he grinned at Irene. "Can we snog in a broom closet?"
Irene smirked at Mary and dragged Sherlock off, answering every one of his requests with a sultry smile. The Gryffindor watched them leave, tears streaming down her cheeks. And across the corridor, she wasn't the only girl shedding a tear.
-o-o-
Oh, had the past day and a half been splendid! Not only had his room been delightfully empty, after Anderson received some pretty harsh detention after his mysterious fight with Greg, but he had filled his hours with Irene. And Merlin, was she the most magnificent specimen he had ever seen. She had gorgeous, dark hair, and big, blue eyes, and those pouty red lips were to die for!
Unfortunately, their opportunities to snog had been few and far between with classes, but with dinner approaching, his luck had finally taken a turn for the better. He felt her hot breath around his ear as she pulled away, offering him a sultry smirk.
"Come on, Sherlock. Let's head inside." She purred, grabbing his hand with twinkling eyes.
Sherlock swallowed and nodded, letting himself be guided into the Great Hall. For some bizarre reason, the place immediately silenced, and most students abandoned their eating to watch the new couple enter the hall. But, Sherlock shrugged.
He normally got quite a bit of attention. And now that he was snogging the most gorgeous girl in all the wizarding world, why wouldn't people be staring?
He intuitively moved towards his favorite table, but Irene instead pulled him towards where the Slytherin's normally sat. Before Sherlock could open his mouth to object, she had guided him into his seat, and perfectly sprawled herself across his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smirked.
"Comfortable, Sherlock?" She purred, her lips now moving down his neck.
He swallowed and nodded, practically hypnotized by her voice. She laughed softly and began to fill their plates, whispering to him about how delicious his lips were.
No, Irene, your lips are the delicious ones.
Her words were cut off by the boisterous laughter and masculine whistles of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. The two approached the table, joined by Molly, who kept her head down. James plopped onto the bench and smirked at Sherlock and Irene.
"Wowza! Look at Holmes, on the dark side! He finally sees the perks of going green!" Moriarty choked out, desperate laughter escaping his lips. As Molly slid in beside him, her gaze steadily focused on the table, Moriarty wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
Moran slid in beside her, a lecherous grin across his lips. "Say, you shagged yet? I bet Irene is hot in the sack."
Before Sherlock could open his mouth, Irene narrowed her eyes. "Sebastian, use another couple to satisfy your weird, sexual fetishes." She pressed another kiss to Sherlock's jaw and smirked. "We haven't yet, but when we will, it will be…" Her gaze shifted ever so slightly towards Molly, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk, "Marvelous."
James laughed again and pulled Molly closer. "Say, Molls, don't these two make a great couple? My best friend with your best friend?"
Molly finally stopped studying the boiled potatoes and glanced over to the pair, her eyes shifting from Irene's tight hold on Sherlock, to his red stained lips and messy curls, to the overall goofy smile painted across his lips.
She offered her boyfriend a curt nod and instead focused on the roasted chicken. "I reckon so."
-o-o-
He surely had a pep in his step. Dinner with the Slytherins had been nowhere near as awful as he expected, especially when he had Irene's wonderful kisses to keep him company. He had just dropped off his beautiful Irene at the Slytherin dungeon and had practically skipped back to the Ravenclaw Tower when a familiar voice caught his attention.
"Hi, Molly." He offered, still grinning like a madman.
She swallowed and tugged at her robes, looking awfully shy in the moonlight. "So… You and Irene… You're…." She frowned and glanced at the floor before back at the boy, "Dating."
He nodded excitedly. "She's gorgeous, isn't she? Good at snogging too."
Molly just nodded and looked away. "Right. I… I thought something may have been going on between you two," she added, her voice just a whisper.
Sherlock sighed happily. "Oh, she's perfect. I've never been so happy. And it's refreshing given all the madness with John and Mary."
She hugged herself and met his gaze. "Yeah. I get it." She took a deep breath and turned to head up the stairs to the girl's bedrooms, "Goodnight, Sherlock."
He grinned and waved her off before moving towards his own room, whistling delightedly.
Oh, yes. Things had certainly taken a turn for the better.
-o-o-
The next morning, Sherlock was tying his tie when Anderson finally strolled into their bedroom, looking worse for wear. He was sporting a nasty looking black eye, and his arm had been bandaged up.
"I'll be fine for the game!" Anderson hurried out, clearly projecting his own concerns about his health on Sherlock's gaze, "I swear!"
The curly-haired boy quirked an eyebrow. "Right. And why exactly were you fighting Greg Lestrade in the first place?"
Anderson made a face and collapsed on his bed. "That's the question of the hour! I don't bloody know! I don't remember anything." He grumbled to himself and yawned, "But, I figured I got a bit too excited for the match and started talking up the team."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I see. Anyways, I'll be going. Irene is waiting for me."
"Irene? As in Irene Adler?"
He made a face. "Yes? That is my girlfriend."
Anderson grabbed his head and groaned. "Jeez, I must have really knocked myself out."
Sherlock rolled his eyes before leaving the Ravenclaw Tower, heading towards the Great Hall as fast as his desperate legs would allow him. A night's sleep was far too long to spend without Irene by his side, and all he wanted for breakfast with a nice snog with the beautiful brunette.
Upon spotting her in the Great Hall, he collapsed beside her and grinned. She immediately pressed a kiss to his lips and ran a hand down his chest.
"Sherlock, dear, I had the house elves prepare you some lemon drizzle cake. I know how much you fancy lemon," She explained, her fingers moving through his soft curls.
He gulped and nodded, immediately digging into the dessert. And as soon as the sugar hit his tongue, his body felt on high alert. Once the cake had been swallowed, he pulled the girl into his arms for another passionate snog.
As he continued his intense snog, he tried to ignore the feeling of being tapped on his shoulder. While he had managed for a bit, the intense prodding had become too aggravating. He pulled away and met Mary's less-than-thrilled face. She crossed her arms and studied the couple.
"Sherlock," she began, focusing only on the boy, "We need to talk."
He opened his mouth, willing to appease his friend (or former? He was a bit shaky on where he stood with most of his former mates but with Irene by his side, did it even really matter?) but Irene was quick to jump in.
"Mary, darling, I know you must be lonely without Watson's tongue shoved up that dirty snatch of yours, but Sherlock isn't interested." She purred out, her hands back to rubbing at the boy's chest.
The blonde dropped her gaze from Irene's hands to the singular piece of lemon cake on the table. She quirked an eyebrow and looked to Sherlock.
"Right. I'll find another bloke to shove his tongue up my snatch," She stepped away and looked back to Irene, "But only when you pull the wand out of your arse, Adler."
The blonde strolled off, her head held high. Sherlock shrugged and returned to eating his cake, happily humming as his girlfriend rubbed at his back. Moments later, Moriarty and Molly slid into the table, the former smirking, and the latter looking incredibly uncomfortable.
Irene smirked at the Ravenclaw girl and wrapped her arms around Sherlock. "Oh, Molly, it's so wonderful we're all friends now. We should all go on a date to Madame Puddifoot's, don't you think? Or the Three Broomsticks?"
Molly glanced at Sherlock, who happily ate his cake, before back to Irene. She frowned slightly before taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. "That would be nice."
"Splendid. Then we can have real girl talk," She leaned in, her eyes mischievous, "You know, talk about our expectations for the big night."
Molly swallowed. "The big night?"
Irene smirked. "You know, when I let Sherlock fuck me and you let James fuck you." She glanced over to Jim, who was busy filling his plate, "Unless you two have already shagged?"
The Ravenclaw squeaked and shook her head. "No—I—"
Irene just laughed. "Perfect. I have plans for Sherlock and me. I just know he must have a big cock—just look at him!"
And before Molly could squeak out a reply, or either boys could awake from their food stupor, McGonagall had taken to the podium to make some announcements about their upcoming exams.
-o-o-
Sherlock was having a lovely day. Classes had been a breeze. Lunch had been especially good. Snogging Irene was of course the highlight of his day. Even Quidditch practice and his evening corridor sweep with Sally Donovan had been more enjoyable than usual.
"You're going to lose, you know." The Gryffindor girl said, her words cutting through the previous silence of their rounds.
He snorted. "As if. I have no intention to lose to you lot."
Sally shook her head and kept walking. "You're underestimating us. I'm sure that's why Phillip and Greg got into that fight. Don't assume because one of our captains has a black eye, and the other is a moody shit, that we're going to lose!"
Sherlock stopped at the reference to John. He hadn't spoken to his best friend in nearly two weeks. He turned to Sally.
"John. How is John?"
She shrugged. "He always looks super focused. He's been staying out late. I dunno what's up with him."
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "And Mary?"
Sally groaned. "Thankfully she stopped jabbering with Jessa about those awful things John said. I haven't seen her much these past few days. She's been hanging out in the potions classroom."
Sherlock shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets, hoping he'd be able to stop by the dungeons for a quick snog with Irene before bed. Sally hurried after him, her legs no match for his long strides.
"And what's this with you and Adler? I thought you two hated each other!" She asked, desperately trying to hold in a laugh.
He sent her a dirty look. "Is something funny?"
"Yes! You in a relationship!" She laughed and kept walking, "I never imagined you with a girl. Except Molly of course. She's had it bad for so long." She whistled and turned on her heels, "But now that she's with Moriarty, and you have Adler, I guess that ship sailed."
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the toll of a clock. Sally groaned and stretched.
"Thank Merlin that's over. See you next week, freak." Sally scurried off towards the Gryffindor quarters, leaving Sherlock to roam the corridors.
He had been thinking about Irene, specifically her luscious, red lips, when a shadowy figure appeared from behind one of the walls. Sherlock stopped walking and glanced at the figure. He quirked an eyebrow.
"Mary?"
She cleared her throat and pulled her wand out. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. But this is for your own good."
And before he could respond, she had flicked her wand and muttered "Petrificus Totalus". He immediately collapsed to the ground, his limbs frozen to his sides, his eyes locked on her form. She silently apologized before bending over and grabbing his ankles.
Mary managed to drag him into a broom closet and propped him up on a chair. Unable to do anything but watch her, Sherlock studied the blonde girl. She looked rather exhausted—her robe was covered in bits of potions materials, and pieces of her blonde hair were standing up in every which direction.
She collapsed onto the ground and rubbed at her eyes, looking incredibly sad. And of all of his friends (assuming he still had any besides his lovely Irene), Mary was the one person who never looked sad. She was incredibly brave, exceedingly strong, and had the true heart of a Gryffindor.
Yet, he watched as tears descended along her cheeks, although the girl ignored the droplets and began to dig through her bag. She sniffled and pulled out a vial, clutching the small glass in her hands, her eyes moving towards Sherlock.
"It's been a horrid couple of weeks, Sherlock," She explained, her eyes locked on the vial between her fingers, "Before any of the mess here at Hogwarts, it had been awful at home." She let out a hiccup and continued, "My Aunt is dying, and my idiot cousin is being interrogated by the Ministry, and there isn't a single person in my family that isn't a bloody disaster."
She wiped her cheeks and fixed her robe. "And then to hear that my boyfriend, the boy I loved, the boy that I thought…" She shook her head and glanced down, "Never mind that. How could John say such things? Was I just a piece of arse for him? After all this time?"
Sherlock was screaming internally, desperate to tell her of course not, desperate to voice that there must be some misunderstanding, that John would never say such a thing. Alas, he was rendered immobile, still watching the blonde girl break down.
"The first few days he kept trying to talk to me. But I ignored him and now…" She shook her head and let out a terse breath, "Now I see him at practice and that's all. We don't even make eye contact."
She moved closer to Sherlock and touched his cheek, her lips turning into a frown. "I'm sorry if I snapped at you. I love you dearly, Sherlock. And at the moment, after losing John, I just…" She caressed his cheek and sniffled, "I just assumed you'd take his side. You were his friend first."
He again wanted to scream that he was both of their mates, that he cared about them equally, that he wanted them both happy. Instead, he just stared at her.
Mary sniffled and looked towards the vial. "But this isn't about me and John. This is about you and that Slytherin slag. After seeing you with Irene, I did some of my own detective work. And once you drink this vial, I'll know for certain if my theory is right."
Sherlock watched as she uncapped the vial and hovered over his body. She forced his jaw open and poured the contents inside, before silently whispering the counter course. She jumped back as Sherlock regained mobility, the boy immediately sitting up and choking on the potion she had poured down his throat.
He gasped as the burning sensation traveled down his throat and rested in his stomach. His mind, which had been blissfully foggy, suddenly cleared up. He blinked a few times and looked towards Mary, his eyes wide in surprise.
"What…" He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly hoarse, "What happened to me?"
Mary sighed and slid back to the floor, sitting beside him. She gave his arm a comforting pat. "A love potion. A bloody strong one, too."
Sherlock blinked a few times and touched his lips, feeling the cracked, overused surface below his fingertips. He cursed and rubbed at his eyes, unbelieving of the situation.
Could Sherlock Holmes, the cleverest boy in Hogwarts, really have been tricked into taking a love potion?
He swallowed and turned to Mary. "Even a strong one couldn't have lasted for almost a week."
She made a noise of agreement. "I thought the same. But I figured it out," She smiled softly and gave his hand another squeezed, "I learned from the best."
He couldn't help but smile back, even though he was anything but happy. "Well, I'm glad you have. What happened?"
Mary slid the empty vial into her pocket and sighed. "Well, I knew something was amiss when I saw Greg and Phillip fighting. Philip is the least confrontational bloke in the world, and Greg, as Head Boy, would never put himself in that situation. Everyone kept saying it was Quidditch related, but I knew that couldn't be the case."
She glanced over at Sherlock and continued. "At our usual spot, I found a box of lemon sweets." She looked to her nails, "With only three pieces missing. I didn't think anything of it until I saw you and Irene snogging outside the Great Hall."
Sherlock cursed and dropped his head to his hands. "The bloody lemon drops!"
Mary nodded. "You, Phillip and Greg must have each had one. And somehow, you managed to get to Irene, and the other two morons decked it out over her. As soon as they were taken to the medical wing, their treatment would have gotten rid of anything in their systems. So, naturally, they were over the infatuation and didn't remember anything from the fight by the time they were released."
He pulled at his curls and mumbled to himself. "I feel sick. I've been snogging Irene for days."
She frowned and squeezed his hand. "It didn't seem like you. I…" She sighed and shifted to face him, "At first, I did consider that it was legitimate. That maybe you were trying to make Molly jealous. But… The amount I saw you two snogging was not the behavior of the Sherlock I knew."
Mary dusted off her robe and rose to her feet. "Then I saw her feeding you and only you lemon cake and I figured she must have been replenishing your dosage."
Sherlock growled and stood up. "How could she have gotten into the lemon drops? They came from Guinevere with a note from Mycroft!"
She raised an eyebrow. "Did you see the delivery?"
"No. But Anderson said a beautiful bird delivered it. And the note was typed with a ministry type-writer."
Mary hummed and grabbed her bag. "Guinevere is not the only beautiful owl out there. And I'm sure it wouldn't be terribly difficult for Irene to get her hands on Ministry letterhead given what her parents do for a living."
Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. "I couldn't have been tricked. There's no way that I could have fallen for her games!"
The blonde opened the door and gave him a sad smile. "You can't win everything, Sherlock. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes you're outsmarted."
He sighed and followed her out of the closet. He was exhausted, dehydrated, and a tad pale. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, and deal with this mess in the morning. Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek and continued on, leaving Sherlock to figure out how he had fallen for the trickery of a certain Slytherin girl.
-o-o-
As it turns out, his nightmare was only beginning, if the following morning was any indication. Even though he had been exhausted the previous evening, he hadn't managed a wink of sleep. He had spent the evening figuring out his game plan—he would play along for another morning, deciding not to announce to the world her use of potions before he could seek revenge.
Sherlock Holmes would not be outwitted.
Yet, those plans slowly drifted away as he entered the Great Hall. Again, every eye was on him. He looked around with narrowed eyes and moved to take a step towards the Slytherin table, intent on meeting with Irene, ready to continue the charade. However, John Watson appeared in his line of sight, looking rather murderous.
Merlin's beard.
"You good for nothing sack of shite!" John screamed, charging towards Sherlock, "How could you bloody do it?"
Sherlock blinked and stared at John, his mouth falling open. "Do what? What—"
John growled and shoved him into the corridor, quickly removing his wand from his robe pocket. "You just had to do it, yeah? You get a taste for women and now you gotta shove your cock everywhere?"
The curly-haired boy coughed and studied his best mate, ignoring the students who had escaped the Great Hall to watch the encounter. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about John?"
"I know all about you and Mary!" John screamed, his eyes alight with fury, "I had three people, and bloody Peeves, tell me all about your fun evening in the broom closet on the sixth floor!"
Sherlock cursed and shook his head. "Watson, have you lost your bloody mind? You think Mary and I are shagging?"
John dug his wand into Sherlock's chest and narrowed his eyes. "I never would have guessed it before, but I also never would have guessed you'd start shagging Adler. Sometimes, people change."
Before Sherlock could respond, Mary had stormed over and screamed "Expelliarmus", sending John's wand into her hands. She pushed her ex-boyfriend away from Sherlock and met John's angry, blue gaze.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Watson!" She screamed, waving her wand in front of his face, "You don't speak to me for almost two weeks, but you can threaten Sherlock?"
John growled. "I have every right to if he's shagging—"
Mary shoved him. "No! You have no right! Sherlock and I aren't together. He's like my brother." She shoved him again and shook her head, "And no matter what, what I do and who I spend time with is none of your concern!"
John looked between the two of them and shook his head. He shoved his hands in his robes and held his chin up. "I'll see you lot at the match."
He grabbed his wand from Mary's hands and stormed off. Mary frowned and turned to Sherlock, who intently watched his best mate walk away. He shook his head.
"Something isn't adding up and I will figure it out." Sherlock announced, looking back to Mary, "I just need some time."
Mary frowned and hugged herself. "Nothing makes sense anymore."
He shook his head. "That certainly isn't true. We're still friends."
She smiled softly and nodded. "You're right. We are."
Sherlock kissed her cheek before storming back into the Great Hall. He approached the Slytherin table and met the sultry gaze of Irene Adler. She waved and patted the space beside her. He hurried over and stood behind her, acknowledging the others at the table—Moriarty, Moran, and Molly.
Merlin. Molly's seen me with Irene.
He swallowed and looked to Irene, who just smirked at him. "Hello, darling. What was Watson yelling at you about?"
Sherlock shrugged. "The match. He was trash talking."
Irene pouted. "Take a seat. I made some more cake for you."
He shook his head and offered a polite smile. "Given my studies and quidditch, I think this is an inopportune time to enter a relationship, Irene. I truly hope you understand."
She narrowed her eyes and eyed him curiously. "Sherlock—"
He leaned down and hovered next to her ear, blowing hot air along her neck. "Listen here, Adler. You may have achieved in momentarily cursing me, so congratulations. I'm not sure what type of war you want to engage in, but just know this: You won the battle," He blew into her ear and smirked as she shivered, "But you will lose the war."
Sherlock stood up straight and offered the rest of the table a sugary, sweet smile. "I'll see you lot later."
And like that, he was gallivanting out the Great Hall, a new case to solve.
-o-o-
By the weekend, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor quidditch match came around, and had proven to be just as tumultuous as expected. The Gryffindor team was in all sorts of tatters—John and Greg were barely speaking, Mary and John weren't speaking at all, and their new keeper was out with the flu.
Given the circumstances, Anderson had screamed about how easy the win would be for Ravenclaw, but Sherlock wasn't so sure. While he knew how Mary played, and had faith in his abilities, he also knew the girl was fearless.
And so the match started, Ravenclaw immediately scoring on Gryffindor's second-string keeper, and a distracted John having trouble making any goals at all. Sherlock had been looking around for the snitch, until his eyes landed on the stands.
His heart soared at the sight of Molly finally in a Ravenclaw jumper, albeit bundled up for the autumn cold. However, at the sight of her next to Moriarty, and as a result Moran and Adler, his stomach took a dive. Molly was intently watching the game, cheering with the rest of their house. Moriarty, however, was intimately whispering with Adler.
It was then that a conversation with the boy flashed through his mind.
I have a plan. It's bloody brilliant. I know you'll especially love it.
Suddenly, the memory of polyjuicing as Irene and speaking to Moriarty escaped the recesses of his mind palace and jumped around in his oversized brain.
It'll be a bit more hands-on than our first approach. It's exactly up your alley.
Sherlock growled and flew towards the stands, his mind on overdrive. Of course, Adler wouldn't be in this alone. Of course, the two Slytherin shits would be working together. And he was so bloody stupid not to have seen it!
He thought back to Moriarty's behavior at Slughorn's party.
The love potion.
He growled and continued his flight. He hadn't pieced together why using love potion on him was going to tear him down, but he knew those two snakes were behind it.
He was certain of it.
He managed to meet Molly's gaze, even while on the pitch. She offered him a supportive smile, one that had his stomach flipping and his heart beating roughly in his chest. He swallowed and continued towards the stands, ready to rip into Moriarty and Adler, ready to—
The roar of the crowd was deafening.
"Gryffindor wins! Sixth-year Mary Morstan has caught the snitch! I repeat, Gryffindor defeats Ravenclaw 160 to 70!"
Sherlock stopped his movements and turned back to the pitch, meeting Mary's gaze. She grinned and held up the snitch, her eyes sparkling with pride.
And for once, Sherlock was happy to lose.
Besides.
He had a war to win.
To be continued…
NOTE:
So, yes, any type of love potion is certainly non-consensual, hence my previous warning. Obviously Sherlock was not on board for his endless snogging of Irene, and thankfully they didn't sleep together. It was certainly an interesting chapter to write-I hope we all got through it okay!
We'll finally put some pieces together as we wrap this up. Poor Mary! Love her to death. And only two chapters to go!
Let me know your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed!