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Chapter 4

In the staff-room, Professor McGonagall drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair while she waited. Phillip Williams had called an emergency teacher's meeting, but the man himself was yet to appear. One by one the other Professors arrived, all looking as confused as she was. At last the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor walked in, and they were all present.

"Phillip?" said McGonagall sharply, as she noted the man's pale face. "What's the matter?"

"I had the boggart lesson with some third years today," he said.

The others were immediately concerned. Williams had seen many things while teaching students about boggarts, but nothing so serious to warrant an emergency teacher's meeting.

"You know the boy Sherlock Holmes?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Well his boggart was a man who looked just like him, obviously his father, but then..." his voice caught in his throat. "He tried to cast the cruciatus curse on Sherlock."

The others were stunned into silence.

"What does this mean?" asked Pomona Sprout

"I'm not sure, but if that was something in his memory, it - it..."

"It would explain a lot," put in James Moriarty. "In his first year, he almost had a nervous breakdown just from seeing his father's name on the war memorial."

"Poor mite was trembling all over," said Marie Hudson. "I had to give him a calming draft."

"What about his brother?" asked Minerva. "Mycroft Holmes is head boy, what's their relationship like?"

"Strained, at best," said James flatly. "Sherlock goes out of his way to annoy Mycroft, there's certainly no brotherly love between those two."

XXX

The weeks passed, and Sherlock knew that he was withdrawing into himself. Schoolwork was more boring than ever, and even his experiments did not interest him. He spent hours at a time alone in his dormitory, playing on John's father's violin.

John…

Sherlock felt guilty for avoiding him, but although John was his friend, he knew that John would be just like the others. To see his friend's eyes filled with pity… Sherlock wouldn't be able to take it. He knew it was cowardly, but he hid himself away, both physically and mentally. John was happier without him, anyway. He had Sarah, he didn't need Sherlock.

Sherlock had been wandering around the edge of the forest when he found the skull. A heap of earth was being worn away, and a skeleton was being revealed. It was obviously a remnant from the battle of Hogwarts, a body that had never been found. Sherlock could tell by the clothes that it wasn't a death eater, so he took the skull, and buried the rest of the body deeply with more earth.

Now he had a new friend. The skull would listen patiently to everything Sherlock said. It was effective when he needed to bounce thoughts and ideas around, and it never asked stupid questions.

So Sherlock took his skull for company, and told himself that he was fine. Better than fine.

So he ignored John as much as was possible.

He soon realised that lying to himself was impossible.

XXX

John worried about Sherlock incessantly.

It had been weeks, months since Sherlock had become all defensive and closed up, and John missed him. He missed Sherlock charging around, insulting everybody's intelligence, and generally being a nuisance. Since the lesson with the boggart, Sherlock's personality seemed to have done a severe U-turn, and he ignored John completely. Eventually, John had stopped trying to help, reasoning that he would talk when he wanted to.

As the term went on, he found he had other things to think about. He had chosen two extra subjects for his third year, which meant there was an increased pressure on his workload. To add to that further, the Quidditch season was approaching, and their team was trying to prepare for their match against Ravenclaw. They didn't hold out too much hope, the Hufflepuffs had been the Quidditch underdogs for over a century, but in a way that made it more fun. The Hufflepuff team weren't expected to be spectacular, so they could spend more time enjoying the sport rather than doing any intensive training.

John also experienced his first Hogsmeade weekend, and spent a nice few hours exploring the village with Sarah, although he was relieved that she didn't like the look of Madame Puddifoot's, he really didn't like pink.

He couldn't help noticing that Sherlock didn't go.

Before John could wonder where the time had gone to, he found himself in the Hufflepuff changing rooms pulling on his Quidditch robes.

"Alright!" called Davies, the captain. "Let's go!"

They strode onto the pitch, John swinging his beater's bat eagerly, he couldn't wait to be in the air. He waved to the yellow portion of the roaring crowd, and noted a dark-haired Slytherin in their midst, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He smiled, inexplicably glad that he was still here. He wouldn't lose complete faith in his friend just yet.

The teams lined up on the pitch, and smiled at each other amicably as the captains shook hands. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and they were off.

It was clear from the start that something was different. Ravenclaw managed to pull ahead, but it didn't seem as easy for them as it should have been. John paused for a moment to survey the game, and realised that this year Hufflepuff had put together a much better team than they gave themselves credit for. Their chasers could score, their keeper could save, and with Davies darting everywhere searching for the snitch, John just had to make sure he did his job properly. John darted back into the game with increased fervour, knocking bludgers left and right.

Suddenly the excitement of the game increased tenfold. Davies had spotted the snitch, and was closing in, his arm outstretched. The Ravenclaw seeker was trying to catch up, but she was on the other side of the pitch. John tore his gaze away just in time to spot a bludger soaring towards him. He got ready to swing at it…

Something hit him hard from behind, on his left shoulder blade. He cried out in pain, and his bat slipped from his right hand, as he attempted to cling onto his broom. The bludger that had been coming towards him crashed into the same shoulder, as something else hit his head, throwing him off his broom. He lost consciousness as in mid-air, the noise of the crowd ringing in his ears.

XXX

Sherlock forced his way onto the pitch, but was prevented from reaching John by Professor Slughorn, whose enormous stomach proved to be a very efficient barrier. However, the potions master was a reasonable man, and escorted Sherlock up to the castle a little distance behind the stretcher that was carrying John. When they reached the hospital wing, he conjured up a chair in the corridor.

So Sherlock sat, and he waited.