Perhaps I should point out that I'm a bit slow on this one. Chamber of Secrets is probably my least favourite Harry Potter book. So sorry it's taken me a while, but I'll try to get faster!
Guest: Hehe, updated :D
Someone Who Wants a Fez: I quite like Rose - I disliked the moping a bit, but I am a bit of a Drose fan! They are just cute and I could do an entire 4000 word essay on why they are a good pairing! And I am not too much of a Doctor River fan. And point taken! (Hadn't thought about the last name before this, so thanks!) And PS SPOILERS! And PPS MORE SPOILERS!
Starkid191: I'm glad you enjoyed it! And I'm glad you're out of hospital!
MyNameIsSara: Thanks!
Guest: Thanks! I really like playing around with aspects of the Doctor, just in case you haven't noticed! And I always thought that if the Doctor didn't have the weight of being an outcast in the original series and being a legacy in the new one, he'd be brilliant! And I just kinda wanted to expand on that. And I was also feeling a tad bit rushed with them, but at the same time I didn't want to draw it out - I struggled to find the good balance. And I hope you enjoy this chapter!
The group were sitting together at the dining table when the mail came in via owls. Everyone was surprised when Ron got a funny red envelope.
"Open it, Ron," Neville said nervously, eyeing the envelope as if it was about to explode. "It's a howler. It'll be worse if you wait. My gran sent me one, once."
There was a moment of silence as Ron shakily opened the letter.
The howling voice of Molly Weasley soon filled the great hall. Sherlock couldn't help but feel glad that it wasn't his mother yelling at him in front of all these people, scolding him about stealing a car. Then again, maybe it would be nice to hear his mother's voice for once.
He shook his head at that thought - his mother never had anything good to say. Only his faults. Six years old and reading through muggle calculus books and all she could say was how disappointed in him she was for bothering to look at muggle stuff. No, his mother never had anything positive to say, no matter what he did.
The new time tables were handed out. Herbology was first, which they weren't too fussed about. Breakfast ended and they grabbed their bags, heading down to the greenhouses where a slightly disgruntled Professor Sprout was being followed by a flamboyantly dressed Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Greenhouse three today, kids."
Lockhart gave them all a charming smile. "I've been helping Professor Sprout doctor a whomping willow! I've met a few of these in my travel."
His eyes scanned the group and once again landed on Harry. "Professor Sprout, would you mind if I borrowed Harry for a minute?"
The look on her face suggested she was willing to do anything to get away from Lockhart.
"Of course. Just don't bring him back too late."
Sherlock, John and Ron all gave him a sort of comforting smile.
"Good luck, mate," Ron told him seriously.
"Oh, come on. It's not like he's walking to get killed," Hermione cried shrilly.
"I believe that death would be the preferable option," Sherlock replied seriously.
They had made their way to greenhouse 3 and had been there for a couple of minutes when Harry finally reappeared.
"What'd he want?" Ron asked.
"He thought that me flying the car was for more fame."
Everyone but Hermione snorted.
"Now then, class, today we are going to be re-plotting Mandrakes. Can anyone tell me anything about Mandrakes?"
Of course, Hermione's hand was the first in the air. "They can revive petrified people. However, the sound of their cry is fatal."
"Correct, as always Miss Granger. Ten points. Now, since these Mandrakes are only babies their cry will only knock you out for several hours. However, since I doubt any of you want to miss your first day back, you should make sure to always wear your earmuffs. Now, I ask you split into groups of four!"
There was an immediate split in their group - Harry, Ron and Hermione were together, while Sherlock and John were in a different group. A Hufflepuff boy soon joined Harry, Ron and Hermione, while two others join John and Sherlock. Sherlock gave them both a once over and opened his mouth, but John elbowed him in the ribs.
"Ouch. What was that for?"
"You were about to be rude."
"I was not about to be rude. I was about to state my deductions."
"So, basically, you were about to show off."
The two Hufflepuffs were watching, amused, as the two argued. Most people had heard stories of Sherlock Holmes and what he'd done, but it was hard associating a boy who blew up a whole street with this same kid arguing with his friend. Finally, their banter stopped.
"Sorry. I'm John. John Smith."
"Holmes, John. You're John Holmes."
"Really?"
"Unless you want to stay Smith."
John paused for a moment, considering. John Smith. Generic name. Generic person. Nobody. John Holmes, however. John Holmes, a part one of the smartest and most influential families in the history of magic. Brother of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. John Holmes. He liked the sound of it.
"John Holmes it is. And that's my... brother? Adoptive brother, Sherlock."
"Nice to meet you," the girl said with a smile. "I'm Hannah, Hannah Abbot. And that's my friend Ernie Macmillan."
They nodded at each other with a smile, but that was all they got to do before they were instructed to put on their ear muffs. Soon they were repotting Mandrakes, little ugly, baby like plants. They were hard to handle - they didn't want to leave their old pots, but they didn't want to move into their new pots.
On a whim, John scolded one of them in the language he'd come to identify as his own. It instantly piped down and stopped struggling. Experimentally, John moved his ear muff from one ear and listened.
The plants all had screwed up faces, but their wailing wasn't just wailing. It was an almost perfect harmony between all of them, calling out to each other and complaining and calling. John grinned, stopping what he was doing and completely taking off his ear muffs to listen better. The structured chaos of noise was amazing.
A second later his ear muffs were forced back on by Sherlock, who was giving him a look. Abnormal behaviour.
John got the message and nodded. The Herbology lesson finished, and they all packed up their stuff.
"Why did you take off your ear muffs?"
John smiled. "I wanted to hear them. They were beautiful."
Transfiguration and Charms went the same as usual - Hermione, John and Sherlock had all done the tasks required while everyone else struggled. The day went past quickly, until after lunch.
"Defense against the dark arts with that git," Ron complained. Hermione made an offended sound, but didn't comment back. They all headed to the classroom and entered, feeling the chill of being watched. John looked around at all the paintings off Lockhart.
"Not at all narcissistic," Sherlock commented as they headed to a spot halfway down the classroom. They sat down with the rest of the class and waited for their teacher to appear.
"Hello, and welcome to your first defense against the dark arts, taught by me! Gilderoy Lockhart! Winner of Witch Weekly's most handsome smile award. But I didn't get rid of that Banshee just by smiling at her!"
Very few people laughed. There was very little enthusiasm from the boys, although quite a few girls perked up.
"Now, I am going to start you off with a little quiz."
He handed out a bunch of questions, 53 of them. Three pages. Every single one of them about himself.
"Is he serious?" Ron asked, wrinkling his nose up at the paper.
"I think he is," Harry said, looking at Lockhart.
"How pointless."
There was a pause, before Ron realised something.
"Hermione, what are you doing?"
"The quiz, of course."
There was a second's silence, before all four of them snorted with laughter.
Lockhart collected the quizzes, looking through them all with slight disappointment.
"You'd think none of you had ever opened one of my books. Especially you, Mr. Holmes. You didn't get a single question right, and I'd heard such extraordinary things about your memory."
Sherlock looked at him with his usual seriousness, and John could already tell what he was going to say.
"I only store important items in my mind palace. Frivolous gossip has no room."
Lockhart looked a bit put by his comment, quickly scanning the rest of the test papers. "I see your friend, Miss Granger, has no such problem. In fact, she got full marks. Ten points!"
Hermione blushed.
"Now, moving on!" Lockhart proclaimed, smiling to show every single one of his perfect teeth. "My job is to teach you about the most dangerous dark creatures you can encounter."
He moved towards what is quite obviously a cage, covered by a thin cloth. Despite themselves, most of the class leant forwards to get a closer look. There was a pause.
"Now, I ask you not to scream."
He whipped off the veil to reveal a cage of pixies. Seamus Finnegan couldn't help it - he gave a snort of laughter.
"Laugh all you want now, Mr. Finnegan. But let's see how you fare against them!"
He opened the cage door, and mayhem erupted.
Pixies flew everywhere, ripping into textbooks and throwing things twice their size. Ink bottles and bags were soon strewn around the room. Lockhart pulled out his wand and yelled an incantation.
Nothing happened.
There was quite a look on panic on his face. John hissed as a pixie tugged at his hair.
"Stop that," he barked, in a language that wasn't Gallifrey. It took him a second to register the fact that it was the pixie's own language.
"Why?" the thing squeaked back.
"You're being rude. You and all your friends should all go back to your cage now."
The thing laughed. "You can't order me around!"
"I can curse you through this life and the next. I speak your language - don't think I can't."
The thing let go of his hair, cautiously, before letting out trills to it's friends. Soon they were all back in their cage. John pulled out his wand and waved it around the classroom, whispering 'reparo' as he went. Soon the room was back to it's normal state.
It took him a good two minutes to realise that the entire class was staring at him.
"What language was that?" Dean asked, looking at him with a combination of fear and awe.
"Pixie."
There was an odd silence, all eyes fixed on the odd boy. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm good at languages."
Another chapter done. Fun fact - Lockhart is the name of a man who is a rather well known psychologist who studied, wait for it, memory. And we all know the only thing Lockhart's good at. It may be a coincidence, but with J.K I doubt it. If it is, it is still a brilliant one.
