It only took five seconds for Hermione to regain her composure and turn to Harry at a loss of words, awaiting an explanation he wasn't sure if he could give her. He had seen the same things she had. There was nothing he could say that she hadn't already thought. Then he remembered what Sherlock had said when they first met.

"We all saw it. You just didn't observe it," Sherlock had said back then.

Harry didn't know how observing differed from seeing. But as soon as he remembered Sherlock's words, his mind jumped straight to a question he had wondered about for quite some time now. What did Sherlock Holmes like to do? Then, a moment later, he came to a theory he thought had a decent chance of being correct.

"The troll or the three-headed dog," Harry muttered, shaking slightly.

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, knowing full well what Harry was talking about but still holding on to the hope she was wrong.

"He went after either the troll or the three-headed dog. There's nothing else that could make him smile like that," said Harry, somewhat shocked at his own words. "That's what he likes to do. He likes adventures. I need to go after him before he gets himself killed."

"Harry! We should tell a teacher, we shouldn't—"

"It could be too late!" Harry snapped at her. "I can't just sit here and hope teachers solve this when Sherlock could be being killed by a monster!"

"What if you get expelled?"

Harry didn't answer. He felt guilty for leaving Hermione behind, who looked very torn between going with him and staying behind, but he didn't have time to wait for her to decide what to do. Just like Sherlock had done moments before, he disappeared within the crowd of Hufflepuffs and quickly slipped away from the group. He was now in an empty corridor, alone.

The next step was to determine whether he was going after the three-headed dog or the troll. It was a fifty-percent chance regardless of which choice he picked. With that in mind, Harry decided to look for the troll hoping he would be less lethal than the gigantic three-headed dog, though he wasn't sure what a troll actually was, aside from the vague Muggle descriptions he was used to.

He didn't have any idea where the troll could be, but it wasn't too long before he found a clue. It was the worst stench Harry had ever smelled in his entire life. As the smell passed through his nostrils, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to throw up. For some reason he couldn't quite explain to himself, he knew the stench belonged to the troll.

Just as he was getting used to smelling it, he heard it. As much as five seconds may have passed between each step, but the transition from a step to the next was seamless as each one made a loud, resounding thump that lasted well over a second each. Then, after smelling and hearing it, Harry saw it.

It was tall, it was monstrous, it was scary, and it was still standing. It never occurred to Harry that perhaps the monster had killed Sherlock and moved on. It never occurred to him that maybe Sherlock never intended to fight the monster. Harry just thought that if Sherlock had crossed paths with the troll, then the beast would no longer be standing. It was then he realized he had made a mistake. Sherlock had gone to the three-headed dog, not the troll.

And then the troll turned around.

"Stay away," Harry heard himself say.

But it didn't seem like the the troll intended to obey, maybe because it couldn't understand what Harry was saying, maybe because it enjoyed violence. It didn't seem like it couldn't understand Harry because of languages differences; it simply seemed too stupid to even understand the concept of communication, which made him and his large wooden club all the more dangerous.

"Stay away," Harry repeated, though he knew it to be useless.
The troll walked away from the girl's bathroom, which he had almost entered, and turned around to face Harry in the hallway. He swung his wooden bat lethargically, but with an amount of power that would have let Harry paralysed with fear if his instincts gained from living with Dudley for so long hadn't kicked in and made him dive to the left to dodge the strike.

"Ouch!"

Harry felt a sharp pain in his left ankle. Perhaps he had twisted it, it was hard to tell. What he could tell for sure was that he wouldn't be able to escape the wooden club one more time, not with that speed. The troll seemed to be growing impatient, for in a sudden burst of energy, he rampaged towards Harry.

Without thinking, or perhaps thinking so fast his brain wasn't even aware of its own process, Harry pointed his wand at the creature, and cried out:

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

It wasn't a perfect spell, but he managed to at least pull the troll's club away from his hand, a fact the creature didn't notice immediately for he continued to swing his arm numerous times after it, unable to comprehend why the empty air he swung didn't produce the same effect as a club. Harry glanced at the club, and this time with more confidence, cried out his spell once more.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

This time, the spell was effective enough to raise the club above the troll's head. At the same time, the troll seemed to realize he was no longer in possession of the club, but his reaction had been different than Harry expected. It lethargically marched toward the club, as if attempting to retrieve it. Harry moved the club away from him, and the troll kept following him.

With a faint idea beginning to take shape inside his head, Harry began to walk toward the moving staircases, the troll following him and the floating club much like a rat following a piece of cheese hanging above him. This careful game lasted over four minutes, until they reached the stairs. Then, without hesitating, as though he had planned to do so all along—and perhaps he had—Harry made the club float toward the stairs, just as they began to move.
What followed was something Harry had only seen once, when Dudley was watching a cartoon and Harry happened to catch sight of it from the kitchen.

The troll took a step forward to catch the club. Then, just as he grabbed his club, he glanced back at Harry, then at where the floor should be, and fell straight to the ground like a rock.

At once, Harry was overcome with a sudden feeling he couldn't quite explain. He stood up slowly, then he looked down at the fallen troll.

"I've won," he whispered to himself, barely able to believe what he had done.

Harry was overcome with a sort of nervous laughter, as if trying to distance himself from what had just happened, half terrified of looking down to see the bloody mess the falling troll had created, and half euphoric at having defeated something like that. But he couldn't savour the victory for much longer, for at that moment Professor McGonagall, together with Professor Quirrell, appeared in the corridor both looking equally astounded, with Quirrell perhaps having a slight edge because McGonagall's surprise quickly gave way to anger when she glanced down at what Harry presumed was a dead troll.

"What demon possessed you to fight a troll Potter?" McGonagall's voice was filled with nothing less than pure fury. "The last thing we need is for—"

"Sherlock ran away from the group when he found out about the troll," said Harry. He felt tired. It could be that he felt it was better to tell the truth, or that perhaps now that the adrenaline wore off, he just didn't want to argue much if he could avoid. "I had to come after him! I couldn't just let him get himself killed!"

"And what was stopping you from getting yourself killed Potter?" McGonagall's voice remained just as angry, but Harry noticed her facial muscles relax ever so slightly. "You should have warned a teacher or a prefect instead of just rushing headstrong into the castle when you knew a troll was around!"

"I'm sorry," said Harry quietly. "But when I saw him run away just like that, I just got the feeling that he wouldn't come back if I didn't... ." Harry's reticence spoke better than he could have. He didn't want to put it into words. Sherlock was his first friend. The moment he saw him running away, he couldn't help but feel what he had been wondering in the corner of his mind since he came to Hogwarts. That he, much like this new life, would just slip away in the blink of an eye.

"Yes," said McGonagall, anger gone from her voice. Harry looked up, and was surprised to see her displaying a desolated expression. "About Mr. Holmes... ." she hesitated.

Harry's stomach sank.

"What happened to him?"

"Professor Snape took him to the hospital wing," she said delicately. "There is no doubt he'll be fine, however... ." McGonagall struggled with her words.

"Did he get hurt by the three-headed dog?" asked Harry before he could think about the meaning of his words.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, her sadness turning back to her usual sharpness. "How did you know he was—how did you even know about the dog, Potter?"

"Did he get hurt?" he repeated his question.

"Yes," she nodded. "I don't have the faintest idea of why he was in the forbidden corridor, but Mr. Holmes saw the opened door and protected Professor Snape from the dog—"

"He protected Snape?"

"Professor Snape," said McGonagall. "Yes. He's earned a few points from Gryffindor for that, rest assured…though he will also likely earn a detention for it. He is likely still unconscious, but Madame Pomfrey must have finished the treatment by now. If you wish to visit him, you may do so, but don't take too long."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, jumping at the opportunity to check up on his friend.

"I'll accompany you to the hospital wing—"

"I can walk there myself," said Harry, fueled by a bravado he couldn't quite explain. The feeling still hadn't quite left his body.

"Very well Potter."

"Thank you again Professor." Then, suddenly remembering something, he added: "Professor, may I first go to the Gryffindor tower to get Hermione to come with me?"

"Why would you do that, Potter?" McGonagall asked, not hiding the surprise in her voice.

"Hermione is our friend, " he said. It was true too. Especially now. "She must be worried since Sherlock—well since we both just ran off," said Harry, coming to the uncomfortable realization he had been as reckless as Sherlock.

"You may do so," she agreed, with no small amount of suspicion in her voice. "I'll see to it that Madame Pomfrey is informed that you are allowed one special visit."

Just as Harry was about to leave, McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I'll see to your detention later," she said coldly.

Harry wanted to complain about that decision, but he didn't. Instead, he just limped back to the Gryffindor tower too tired to think about what had just happened, which was too bad, because as soon as he came through the portrait, he was bombarded with questions.

"Why weren't you inside?"

"Did you see the troll?"

"You fought the troll?"

"Hey, everyone! Harry Potter took out the troll by himself!"

From that moment on, the whispers that followed him since his first day of school would become much louder. They would mention how he wasn't simply someone who got lucky against Voldemort, but rather someone born to take out the forces of darkness. The exaggeration of his actions would later bother him, but at that moment, he ignored it and simply fought his way through the crowd to find Hermione sitting in a corner, reading a book.

"You are reading a book," said Harry. He was stating the fact out loud to convince himself of what he was seeing. "You were reading a book while I was fighting a troll?"

"It helps me stay calm," she answered quietly. It was all she would say.

Harry didn't press that point. She seemed like she was on the verge of tears. The book did not look like it helped her enough.

"Come with me, Sherlock is in the hospital wing."

Hermione quickly rose to her feet and exited through the portrait together with Harry. During their short trip, she bombarded him with questions about what had happened, occasionally interjecting with something along the lines of "You could have died!" until they arrived at the hospital wing.

They didn't go in immediately, because Dumbledore's imposing voice could be heard through the door. Hermione insisted to wait until they had finished talking to enter the hospital wing, refusing to interrupt their conversation. Harry didn't object because the conversation interested him, and he knew it would interest Sherlock once he woke up.

"It's going to be impossible to keep the three-headed dog a secret after this. We'll need to take more precautions to ensure students don't go into the forbidden corridor," said Dumbledore. "Professor McGonagall, would you be as kind as to request the prefects to attend an urgent meeting with me? I'm sure Mycroft Holmes and Percy Weasley will be of great assistance to solve this issue, though Mycroft might take some persuasion to take part in any kind of activity. Ah Harry, come in."

Harry froze. He didn't have time to look at Hermione to gauge her reaction, because the door swung open at that very moment revealing a very kindly looking Dumbledore and a stern looking McGonagall.

"Harry, it is a pleasure to see you," said Dumbledore. "And it's a pleasure to see you as well, Ms. Granger."

"Likewise sir," Hermione was quick to say.

"It's a pleasure sir," said Harry after receiving a slight kick to his leg. He wasn't sure if he should expect to be yelled at for eavesdropping.

Dumbledore nodded towards a bed in the corner and smiled at them. Harry and Hermione nodded back in understanding and walked up to it. When they opened the curtains around the bed, the first thing they looked at wasn't Sherlock. It was Professor Snape who they couldn't take their eyes away from, partially because his penetrating stare made it feel like they could get killed if they dared to look away.

"Ouch!" said Harry, touching his scar for the second time since he had arrived at Hogwarts.

Snape did not divert his stare from Harry. The only comfort in this was that Quirrel had seemingly noticed the situation, as he too was staring at Harry from the corner of the room.

"Harry, are you okay?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, I'm—"

Without saying a word, Snape left them behind and joined Dumbledore in conversation, far enough from them so they couldn't hear what they were saying. Harry closed the curtains behind him, and looked at Sherlock.
He didn't look healthy. His face was covered in bruises, a particularly nasty cut on his right cheek still bright red, while the cheeks themselves seemed even thinner than usual, as if he hadn't eaten for days. The white, pale tone splattered across his face indicated the reason behind all of this: he had lost a lot of blood. He would recover quickly, McGonagall had promised that. But that didn't make the sight any less unsettling.

Harry glanced at Hermione. She had brought her hands to her mouth. It looked as though she had done that to keep herself from saying something, though Harry had no idea what it could be. When she did speak, Harry suspected it wasn't quite what she was stopping herself from saying.
"I should have gone with you," she whispered, so quietly Harry almost didn't hear her. "If I had gone with you, then we could have split up and each gone after him, one of us would have found him before—"

"Don't blame yourself," Harry said firmly. "It's my fault. If I had been right about where he went, then I—"

"Would have gotten in my way," Sherlock muttered.

"You are awake! " Harry cried.

"I have been awake for quite some time now Harry. You would do me a great favour to close the window—perfect, thank you. It is quite cold for October. As I was saying, it's a good thing you didn't find me. You would have misspent your precious time, my dear Harry. I believe killing a troll was a much better idea."

Hermione couldn't take it any longer. Harry suspected she had been trying to hold herself back since they had stopped fighting, but the circumstances had pushed her over the limit. She put on a rather angry face and stared at Sherlock so intently and so closely that their noses were almost touching. Harry thought that if he were in his position, he would want to try to push himself away from her. But Sherlock seemed almost bored.

"You owe me an explanation," she said. "About everything!"

"I don't have any explanations." He shrugged. "All I can offer you are theories—"

"About why you went after the three headed dog!"

"Ah, well, that. You see, Hermione, Dumbledore is hiding something under the trapdoor. That much we know for sure. We also know that whatever he's hiding used to be inside Gringotts. I'm sure this makes it clear to the two of you why I needed to go to the dog the moment I heard about the troll, don't you agree?"

The blank stares in both Harry and Hermione's face indicated that it wasn't nearly as obvious as Sherlock implied, but they both agreed that it was however, very obvious that Sherlock wouldn't volunteer information.

"If you don't want to tell us about what you think, that's fine," said Harry, raising his hand to stop Hermione from objecting. "But let us know what you saw."

"Not what I observed?" asked Sherlock, smiling.

"Not what you observed." said Harry, smiling back. Hermione seemed confused at their conversation. Harry made a mental note to explain it to her later, though he wasn't quite sure he understood the concept himself.

"When I got to the forbidden corridor, I saw the door was half-opened and the dog was roaring. I didn't see anyone in the hallway, but I did hear a few footsteps as if someone was running away from it. Once I walked inside the room, I saw Snape running from the three-headed dog. The dog was going to get him, perhaps hurt his leg. But then I did some quick thinking and decided to save him—"

"Thinking?" repeated Hermione. "You had to think to save him? He's a teacher!"

"Forgive me Hermione," said Sherlock, sounding rather annoyed. "I'll keep a person's profession in mind next time I have to decide whether it's worth having a gigantic dog's paws penetrate my chest, break two ribs and throw me against a stone wall causing me to nearly have a lung perforated."

Hermione paled slightly at the description of his injury. Harry himself was a little disconcerted, and he tried not to focus on Sherlock's numerous bandages. It was hard not to be a little shaken when you heard a boy calmly describing his painful, life threatening injuries.

"In any case, things went just as planned. I got injured and saved Snape."
Harry blinked. "Getting injured was part of your plan?"

"I'd rather have caught the person trying to steal the stone," Sherlock shrugged. "But I had planned getting injured if I couldn't do that, yes. Snape being there was also a happy coincidence."

Hermione stared at him blankly, as if trying to make sure he hadn't gotten hit in the head too hard by the dog. "Why would you want to be hurt?"

"That, I'm not telling," said Sherlock, finding some amusement in the situation.

"Tell me Harry, did you by any chance hear Dumbledore mention anything about placing prefects near the forbidden corridor to stop people from entering?"

Harry looked at Hermione, who was equally in shock as he was, before answering.

"How did you know?"

To Harry's surprise, Sherlock laughed.

"Ah Harry! If I just went ahead and told you, there would be no fun in it, would there? No Harry, I would really appreciate if you just waited for a bit. I'll tell both of you about my reasoning for everything once we are not, but not one second before. All you need to know is that the game is afoot and I have officially become a player of it, even if you two are the only ones aware of it. I have made my first move. But enough of that for now! Harry, you would earn my eternal gratitude if you would please open the window again. I rather miss the cold wind now."
-

And so, Holmes makes his first move! It's time to see how the plot changes because of his actions.

##On Harry, Hermione & Sherlock's development##

Figured I might address this. One thing I included with Sherlock is that he explains things to a larger degree than he does in the Doyle stories, because I like to believe he used to not mind explaining the obvious to his friends as a kid until he had to do it so many times he eventually got bored with it.

Another thing is that this chapter began to show the hopefully gradual change Harry will have, as Sherlock is bound to influence him slightly.

I'm not trying to make Harry and Hermione come off as too emotional, but Harry had abusive stepparents and Hermione is a little socially awkward. Ron is what kept the group stable during the first few years when they were still very young children. He was the normal boy that taught Harry what being normal felt like. Without Ron and his easygoing nature, I felt that Harry and Hermione might be just a tiny bit more emotional since they have no normal friend to balance them out—on the contrary, they have Sherlock Holmes, who is definitely not normal.

Jesus, I need to stop with the long author notes. I'm so sorry. Thanks for all the reviews, they are all much appreciated.