Hello readers! A couple notes before you start reading the chapter.

First, there is a scene in this chapter in which some sentences are taken word for word from 'Order of the Phoenix'. It was a really boring scene to write, because it was basically just rewriting a scene from the original book, but hopefully as the story veers farther away from cannon, there'll be less scenes like that.

Also, I've been having trouble reaching my beta, so I finally just decided to post this without her input, which probably means this chapter won't be up to it's usual standard, and you might find some spelling and grammar errors. I went over the chapter myself, but I probably didn't catch them all. If you find any mistakes please point them out, so I can correct them. Constructive criticism in general is welcome as well.

And finally, I've posted a new one-shot, so feel free to go to my profile, read it, and leave a comment.

And on with the chapter!

Tom was bored. He sighed, and threw 'Secrets of the Vilest and Darkest Magics' on the floor, huffing in frustration. The title had seemed promising at first: even if it didn't hold the information he was looking for, it was sure to have some nasty but oh-so-interesting spells and rituals.

The book was a dud, though. Not only did it have no information on how to move Horcruxes from one vessel to another, it was written by an idiot author who thought that the 'Bat Bogey Hex' was considered a vile and dark magic. The most harmful spell in the book was 'Obliviate'.

Tom picked the book up and turned it over to check for the name of the idiot who had written it. Gilderoy Lockhart. Hm….didn't sound familiar.

Tom sighed despondently. As Sherlock Holmes had kindly pointed out in their meeting a few weeks ago, he went through uncontrollable periods of insanity, which he could really not afford to have.

The plan was to reabsorb all but one of his Horcruxes. Many calculations and much research into the more obscure magic had left him with one conclusion. The reason he still suffered from insanity occasionally despite the changes he had made to the Horcrux ritual that were supposed to negate that side-effect was that it would only work for one Horcrux. Tearing the soul more than once destabilized his soul so much that his safeguard against insanity was rendered unreliable.

The solution was to reabsorb all but one Horcrux, though that was a big security risk. If that one Horcrux was destroyed, Tom would be mortal once more. Because of that, it was very important that the Horcrux never be discovered.

He was foolish, the first time around, placing his soul into object that held significance to him, anyone who knew him well enough would eventually be able to guess what they were. This time, he would make his Horcrux something impossible to ever find. Like a grain of sand. He could place that grain of sand on the beach, and no one would ever be able to find the Horcrux, not in a million years. The chances of it ever being destroyed so miniscule that it was ridiculous to worry about it.

Now, the only question that remained was how to do it? Tom refused to reabsorb any of his Horcruxes until he knew that his last Horcrux was as safe as it could be.

Unfortunately, he could find no books with any information about transferring Horcruxes from one vessel to another.

He had one last place he planned to look for answers in, but if he didn't manage to find them there, he'd have to figure it out for himself.

His gaze drifted again to the small shelf by his bed. It had a couple of muggle novels on it and some good books on the Dark Arts, but he had already read them all. Some of them even twice. His gaze drifted to the piece of parchment perched innocently at the edge of the nightstand, the closest to the bed. He wouldn't even have to sit up from his slouched position to reach it.

Tom refused to consider the fact that he had moved the rolls of parchment that depicted his conversations with Harry and Sherlock, and their conversations with each other from his office to his bedroom.

True, his bedroom was a more personal setting, but that didn't mean that the communications between him and the pair would be any more personal, he just had the parchment there for the sake of convenience.

Tom tried to ignore the twist in his chest when he thought of the pair. Goddamit! How embarrassing was it that the most powerful Dark Lord in the world, one who's name most people feared to speak, was jealous of two teenagers?

As much as he tried to ignore the feeling though, he was. There was a downside to being one of if not the most feared person in the world, and that was the loneliness.

It didn't bother him much usually, he was used to being lonely, he had never had a true friend in his life, but once in a while he's catch a glimpse of what he was missing and envision a different life for himself: one where he would enter the room and be received with a smile instead of with fear.

The jealousy was especially acute in Harry and Sherlock's instance, because they treated him like he was a normal person, even a friend, highlighting the relationship he would never have.

Still, despite the embarrassing and unpleasant emotion the thought of Harry and Sherlock's friendship brought up in him, here he was, checking the parchment for the third time today to see if there was anything written on it.

Finally there was something there.

Harry? Harry, it's Sherlock. What's taking you so damn long? You promised to write the second you got the chance!

Tom waited for an answer from Harry, but none was forthcoming. After a couple of minutes with no response, Tom reluctantly returned to his book, only to throw it down in frustration again a few minutes later.

There was only one way this Gilderoy Lockhart had managed to slay a werewolf, and that was boring it to death, prattling on about his favorite hair gel.

Thankfully, his eye caught movement, and he smiled as black lines started forming on the parchment, and Harry finally answered Sherlock.

Shit, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting, Sherlock. After dinner Dumbledore called me to his office to talk, and that took a really long time. But you'll never guess what he wanted to talk to me about!

What did that slimy bastard want?

Sherlock! Don't talk about him like that. He may have made some mistakes, but he's a good man

.

Harry, he had people watching you all summer to 'protect' you, yet he didn't seem to know you'd been locked into your room with almost no food and water for four days straight. Either he lied, which makes him a cruel bastard, or he really didn't know which makes him extremely idiotic not to mention criminally negligent. Same goes for the people who worked for him- the ones that spied on you. You should try to find out who they are.

How will I find that out? I have nothing to go on!

Oh, I wouldn't say that. For one thing

No, no, no, forget it. I know that you can figure it out if you want to, and you can explain to me later. We're getting off track. I was about to tell you what he wanted to tell me.

Oh?

He told me about the prophecy. The one we already heard this summer.

That's mildly interesting at best. What's so surprising about the fact that he decided to reveal that prophecy to you? It would just encourage you in your fight against Voldemort, thus serving his purpose. Did he say why he didn't tell you before now? That would give us some insight into his way of thinking.

He said I was too young to be burdened with such a weight. He said he wanted me to be able to enjoy my childhood while I still could.

Oh, dear god. Either the man is terminally stupid or he's a manipulating and lying bastard. If I gave you a list right here of all the things he could have done to make sure you had a happy childhood but never did, I'd take up this whole parchment. Did you tell him to shut his face?

No, I nodded in understanding and listened to what he had to say.

You were probably right in doing that, don't let him get suspicious of you.

Is it really that impossible that he's just a nice old man whose only mistake is believing that an aunt and uncle will take good care of there nephew? Maybe he really meant it, Sherlock!

That argument has absolutely no legs and you know it! This summer you were right alongside me- angry at Dumbledore and wisely cautious of his motives. What could have happened to change your mind? Option one: he put some kind of mind-altering curse on you. Possible, but unlikely.

What probably happened is just you succumbing to peer pressure. All the hours I spent trying to teach you some common sense, all my work, comes crashing down after a few hours with some idiotic kids who think Dumbledore is the best thing since chocolate.

Tom snorted.

It's not that! It's just, being back in school reminded me of Cedric Diggory. Maybe you remember me telling you about him? The innocent 17-year-old kid who got murdered just because he happened to be in the way? He was murdered on Voldemort's orders!

Ahhh, emotions. I knew the tricky things would trip you up eventually. Guilt, right? That's the one you're experiencing now? You feel guilty for siding with the person who killed your parents. Your guilt is made worse by the fact that not only did you side with him, you also after meeting him that you genuinely liked him, that makes you feel like you've betrayed your parent's memories. A stupid feeling, considering they are dead and no longer know or care what you do.

Tell me this- how guilty would you feel for murdering Tom? Not Voldemort, Tom. The man who happily made a truce with you, ate a half of your granola bar and honesty didn't intend to do any of the awful things his alter-ego did in uncontrolled moments of insanity? Because Dumbledore and his people expect you to kill him, and don't tell me that wouldn't make you feel guilty!

Tom waited curiously to read the answer, snickering slightly at the thought of how they would react if they knew he was eavesdropping on their conversation. There was a small part of him that may or may not have been quite touched by Sherlock's defense, but he firmly ignored it.

Reading Harry's response widened his grin.

You miserable bastard! I know for a fact that the situation is much more complicated and convoluted and much less black and white than the highly skewed version of reality you gave me right now, but somehow I still find myself convinced by your argument. You're lucky you're my best friend you manipulative sod, and that you're so smart I'll always end up listening to you in the end.

It wasn't like I was going to back out of our agreement in any case, I just needed you to help me remember why I made it in the first place. I couldn't back out even if I wanted to, the unbreakable vow, remember? Don't answer that- Of course you remember, you're you.

You knew I wouldn't back out of the deal- that I couldn't, so all of this was just to make me feel better, wasn't it?

Of course it was. You know, you might want to be careful about what you say to me here in the future, Tom can read what we're writing here.

Tom nearly fell off his bed. How could Sherlock possibly know? It's true that there was a spell for detecting how many objects the Protean charm was cast on, and had Sherlock used it he would have seen that the particular charm on his parchment connected it to two more, but Sherlock was a muggle! He didn't even know that spell, and even if he did he could never use it!

It was probably just speculation on his part; Tom would not do anything to confirm Sherlock's suspicions. He squashed down his first impulse which was to write down a message asking Sherlock how he could have possibly known- that would do no good.

Instead, he waited to see what would happen next. Harry's reaction didn't take long to come.

What? What do you mean he can read everything we're writing? How do you know? And why the hell didn't you say so earlier?

It slipped my mind…. As for how I knew, it was obvious, look at the bottom of your piece of parchment. Where Tom wrote 'Don't forget you owe me', it's smudged.

So?

So that means there was another piece of parchment that was put on top of it. Right after he wrote the sentence he must have stacked the parchments, smudging the writing.

I still don't know where you're going with this….

Now look at the back of your parchment- there's black smudges there, like someone put a parchment with wet ink under it, causing your parchment to smudge it. Which basically means that my parchment was under yours when he stacked them, so what was the parchment that was on top of yours and smudged your writing? He obviously put the Protean Charm on three pieces of parchment, and kept the third one to himself as a means to spy on you.

You got all that from a couple of smudges?

Well, that and the fact that I was expecting him to do something like that. You're still a potential security risk, he'd be a fool if he didn't try to spy on you.

Sonofabitch!

Don't be a drama queen, Harry, relax.

Well, there went his cover. Tom sighed and put his enchanted parchment away for the time being. He'd deal with the situation of Sherlock and Harry later.

As he turned out the lights in his room, he threw one last glare at the handsome man on the utterly useless Lockhart book. Tomorrow, he'd set out to the once last place in which he might still be able to find answers to his horcrux problem.

Harry rubbed his temples tiredly, and tried desperately to will his awful headache away, cursing school, Mondays, and most of all- Dolores Umbridge.

The day had started out normally- it was a miserable day, but routine enough as far as first days back went. Binns bored them all into a stupor within the first ten minutes of class, Snape was vindictive and unfair, and a seemed a bit perturbed that Harry was too used to this treatment to care anymore and Trelawney made a tragic prediction to which Harry responded by yawning.

It was Professor Umbridge's class, though, that had finally managed to make him lose his cool and earn himself detentions every evening for the next week.

He had entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom along with Ron and Hermione to find Professor Umbridge sitting at her desk wearing the fluffy pink cardigan he had seen the night before. He quickly took a seat at the very back of the classroom, as far away from the Professor as he could get, Ron and Hermione following his lead.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said, when finally the whole class had arrived.

A few people mumbled "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

Harry felt his face heating, but obediently answered "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge" with the rest of the class, feeling ridiculously like a five-year-old.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge with saccharine sweetness "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please." This order was, of course, followed by an exchange of gloomy looks between the students. Everyone knew that practical lessons were much more fun than the theoretical ones were.

As the class scrambled to put away their wands and take out their writing equipment, Professor Umbridge bent down to her own bag and extracted an unusually short wand. She tapped the blackboard, and as words began to appear on it (Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles), she began to speak:

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry‐approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'.

.Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.
. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.
. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

Oh dear. Harry could practically feel his eyelids get heavier and heavier just reading the course aims. This did not bode well for his OWL grade in Defense.

He consoled himself with the thought that there was also a practical part to the Defense Owl. They'd need to have a practical lesson at some point, and those, at least, were never boring.

With that slightly cheerful thought in mind, Harry opened his new Defense book and started to read the first chapter. A paragraph in, and Harry resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to maintain his concentration long enough to read the whole chapter.

Relaxing back into his seat, Harry let his eyes wander, only to sit up in surprise at the sight of Hermione, at her desk, book closed, and hand raised in the air. Considering Harry had never seen Hermione disobey a teacher's order, especially if it involved reading a book, Harry found this very curious. And quite a bit more interesting than Wilbert Slinkhard's dull book.

He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, in a voice sweeter than honey. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, a slight strain of annoyance now detectable in her voice.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little giggle. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.‐?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him.

Harry gritted his teeth, the woman was being deliberately obtuse and condescending. Should he interfere in the argument?

Harry thought he could guess what this argument was really about- Umbridge was on Fudge's side, and was trying to stress the point that Voldemort was not back by pretending to not realize why the students would need to defend themselves.

When discussing strategy back in Malfoy Manor, Tom had said that though it was better for him if as few people as possible knew about his return, Harry should be honest about what had really happened after the third task, as suddenly denying the Dark Lord's return would just arouse Dumbledore's suspicions.

On the other hand, though, Harry had gotten the sense that Umbridge was very loyal to Fudge, and therefore wanted to hear nothing about Voldemort being back. If he started talking about how important learning Defense was because of Voldemort's return, he would just be stoking her ire. Was it really wise to pick a fight?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione raise her hand again. The look on her face was one of pure determination, and Harry knew it well. It was the same expression she wore when talking about house-elves: a dogged determination to right the injustice she saw in front of her.

Harry sighed, and raised his hand too, in loyalty to his friend.

Umbridge's smirk turned ugly as she turned to face Harry. "Yes, dear? Do you have a question?"

Harry gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his tone level and polite. "Isn't the whole point of learning Defense Against the Dark Arts to be able to defend yourself against the dark arts in the real world?"

Umbridge's voice took on a condescending tone "There in nothing, I repeat nothing to defend yourself from in the real world. The spells you learn in this class are used by the precious few in our society who become Aurors. The rest of you have no need to worry about these things in your everyday life."

Her eyes took on a challenging gleam, and Harry recognized this for what it was: a trap. She wanted him to speak up against her. She wanted Harry to give her an excuse to punish him so she could show everyone what happened to those who spoke against the ministry and spread undesirable stories. It was a trap, and he knew it, and he was still going to walk right into it. Because despite the fact that he had finally learned to value his life and self-preservation, he couldn't ignore injustice when it was staring him straight in the face.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was meant to help prepare students for all the bad things out there. It's purpose was to allow these children, his friends, who had never really experienced any real evil, to be able to walk the wizarding world with confidence, free of fear, with the knowledge that they were able to protect themselves. This teacher didn't care about that, though, she was misusing her power as a teacher to gain political leverage or whatever else it was she hoped to achieve by preventing students from learning to defend themselves, and Harry couldn't stand it.

So Harry took a big breath and spoke his mind. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are there for a reason, and being able to defend yourself is a right every student should have. Not to mention Voldemort! Did the ministry even make any inquiries about whether or not I was speaking the truth last summer, or did you just straight away assume that I must be lying because it was more convenient? Because if you're denying us the right to learn to defend ourselves just because you're scared of facing the truth, that's…. well…. It's just plain despicable is what it is!"

It wasn't the most articulate speech ever made, but it was certainly enough to turn Umbridge's face red with rage.

"Detention Potter! Every evening this week at seven, starting tonight! Now get out of my sight!" Her face was twisted with rage and hatred, but there was an odd sense of smugness and triumph when she announced his detention.

Harry sent her his most venomous look before grabbing his books and leaving the class.

Five minutes later, back in the common room, he cursed himself softly for letting his emotions get the better of him. He lay in the cushy chair in front of the fire, moping, till Ron and Hermione came back from the lesson.

The hug Hermione gave him upon returning, though, cheered him up slightly, and he was smiling as he headed upstairs to see if he had a message from Sherlock.

Tom wiped the sweat off his face, and unbuttoned another button in his shirt. He had removed his robes long ago, after they had had a hole the size of a dinner plate seared through them during his fight with the army of fire-breathing tarantulas. Merlin knows how the crazy old man had managed to breed those. Now he was only wearing a pair of dark pants, and a half-opened button down shirt that was quickly becoming stained by his sweat.

Tom was currently in the building that contained the biggest and most extensive library of magical books in the whole world. It contained the rarest of books, including those that had been banned for years because of the dark magic described in them. If there was anywhere Tom was to find an answer to his horcrux problem, this was it.

Unfortunately, the man who had created the library, a compulsive-obsessive hermit who's only love in life was books, had died some 80 years ago. In his will, he wrote that he refused to pass his precious library on to anyone else, in the fear that they might not treat his books right, and so, was protecting his library with so many protective enchantments that no wizard would ever be able to break through them and gain access to his library.

Obviously Tom was no ordinary wizard, but even he found himself challenged to the very extent of his wits during his struggle the last couple of hours to get through all the enchantments.

He had been forced to remember dark and obscure magics that had long since been forgotten by most of the world, he had been forced to shed his blood numerous times in order to complete rituals that would nullify the powerful wards the bloody wizard had put at every turn, and he had just had to fight about two dozen fire-breathing giant tarantulas that should by all rights have been long dead after 80 years stuck under that bloody trapdoor.

Tom completed the last incantation to the long and complicated spell that would undo the severe locking charm on the next door he faced.

Finally, the door made a clicking noise as it unlocked, and Tom cautiously pushed the door open, wand at the ready for the next thing that was surely poised to attack him the second he entered the room.

To his surprise, the room seemed empty. He edged into it slowly, wand at the ready, and slowly advanced to a table in the center of the room.

To his surprise, there was a piece of parchment lying there, looking innocent. Tom leaned over it carefully to read what it said.

Greetings!

To you, dear person, who has made it this far.

This letter may have come as a surprise to you, since I know I have left the impression in my will that I do not wish anyone to ever enter this library again. That was a lie on my part. What good would my lovely books be if they sat around gathering dust til the end of time? Books were meant to be read.

I didn't want just anyone to read my books though. I didn't want this library to fall into the hands of someone who would only find value in my books by selling them, or worse, for it to fall into the hands of the government!

So I designed a series of tests and obstacles, meant to deter anyone who was unworthy of my library. You have had to use many ancient and obscure spells during your quest here, spells you could only have known if you had traveled to the ends of the earth in search of such knowledge. Only a person who loves reading and knowledge as much as I do, would know such spells. In such a way, I have insured that only someone of whom I approve would inherit my library after my death.

You have only one more test you must pass in order to gain access to my library. Quite an easy test too. Up until now, you have been tested on your knowledge of magic. This last test is a test of your knowledge of muggle literature. You see, I can't stand the thought that my library will fall into the hands of some bigoted pureblood who would throw away half of my books simply because they are muggle. All my first editions that I have worked on collecting for years and years!

So, I will ask you one very simple question. If you are even vaguely familiar with muggle literature, the question will pose no challenge to you. The door to the library is password-activated, so utter the answer to this question out loud, and the door will open.

I warn you, if you utter the wrong answer, you won't like the consequences- I happen to be muggle-born, and I loathe close-minded, elitist purebloods.

The password is the name of Juliet's lover in the famous Shakespearian play. Anyone with even an ounce of respect towards muggle literature should know the answer.

Good luck!

Oh dear.

He didn't know the answer to that one.

He didn't want to turn back.

He really really didn't want to turn back after all this effort.

Well, there was a solution- he had the piece of parchment that was connected to Sherlock and Harry's parchments in a shrunken bag that he had hung around his waist. Originally, he had brought it so that if his quest to break into the library took longer than expected, he could give Harry instructions to pass on to his followers. It seemed, though, that it wasn't Harry, but rather Sherlock that he would be contacting.

Sherlock entered his room in a huff, and dumped the huge and heavy box he was carrying on his bed. He had spent the past hour and a half collecting different poisonous mushrooms from Mrs. Two-Doors-Down's huge greenhouse. Now was time for the fun part- the experiments.

Suddenly, his ever-observant eye caught a movement from across the room. A closer look revealed that it was black ink which was snaking across the page that was magically connected to Harry's and Tom's.

Sherlock? Are you there? It's Tom. I need your help ASAP. In the famous Shakespearian play, what was the name of Juliet's lover?

Oh dear, trivia? If he ever had known he must have long since deleted it. Still, it seemed important to Tom, so he made his way over to the computer downstairs, and typed in 'Shakespeare, Juliet'.

Clicking on the first option (Wikipedia) and scrolled down to 'Synopsis'. Ah! There it was: "Count Paris talks to Capulet about marrying his daughter". Hurrying upstairs he scribbled the answer to Tom, along with an enquiry about why he needed the information, and was about to return to his poisons when he saw familiarly messy handwriting appear on the paper.

Sherlock, you knob, I've never read Shakespeare in my life, and even I know that Juliet's lover was Romeo, they're the most famous couple in the world! Of course, you not knowing such basic things is already old news, what I'm more interested in is why Tom needs to know. Are you participating in a pub quiz? Tom?

There was a long pause, and Sherlock almost thought that Tom had gone away when the handwriting returned. Shaky, this time, and much less elegant.

I need your help. The answer to the question I asked you was the password to a room I was trying to get into. Saying the wrong password must have activated some sort of trap, because the walls started closing in on me. I was nearly crushed into a pulp, but managed to erect a shield that keeps out all physical objects within a certain radius, but I'm stuck in a ridiculously small hole with no food or water.

The answer from Harry was instantaneous.

What can I do?

You need to come break me out, my position is too vulnerable for me to trust my Death Eaters with this. The walls around me seem to be resistant to any blasting spells, but I know of a ritual that can turn them into dust. Unfortunately, I don't have room in here to conduct the ritual properly. You need to come and do it for me. Most of the magic will be way over your head, but I'll talk you through it.

The place I'm at is a rather large house that's on the outskirts of a town called Guilford, and it's rather isolated, so you don't need to worry about appearing through magical transport. The address is 713, Loneman's Lane. Contact me when you get there and I'll give you further instruction. Thanks, Harry, I owe you!

Well, to hell with that! Harry was skipping school to gallivant off in the muggle world and he wouldn't be a part of it? No way! Finally, Sherlock was involved in something interesting! He ran downstairs, grabbed the car keys off the counter, and stopping only to take a brief glance at the map in the glove compartment, sped off.

End of chapter 9. I hope that the conversation in the first scene wasn't too confusing when it came to who was saying what. If I get enough reviews telling me it was, I'll make each side of the conversation a different font or something so that it'll be more clear, but I found the different fonts distracting, so I'll only do it if most people were confused.

Review please, and have a nice day!