The day after the incident with the mirror, Harry woke up with a vague intention of making Sherlock tell him what he had seen in the reflection. This idea was quickly shut inside a corner of his head when he entered the common room to find Sherlock in deep conversation with Percy Weasley. Perceiving the seriousness of the subject, Harry was about to give them some privacy when Sherlock pulled him by the arm and forced him to sit down.
"I was under the impression you two were discussing something serious," said Harry, not wanting the two to think he was avoiding them.
"We were," said Sherlock, not taking his eyes off Percy. "And that is exactly why I need you here. Percy, I assume Harry Potter has defeated one more dark lord than necessary in order to earn your trust."
"Of course," said Percy snidely, but conformed nonetheless. "I told you, Sherlock. There is nothing wrong with anything. I'm just busy studying―my O.W.L are coming, you understand."
"What I understand," said Sherlock slowly, putting his fingertips together, "is that Professor Snape told me you might need some help."
"Professor Snape?" Percy asked incredulously. Noticing how surprised he sounded and how much he failed to hide his disdain for the teacher, he calmed himself, then said, "Why am I not surprised that of all teachers in this castle, Snape is the one that you like to talk to the most?"
"He's a teacher at this school, regardless of what his reputation is. You won't try to refuse help when a teacher thinks you should listen to me, do you?"
Percy relapsed in his armchair, sighing heavily. The appeal to authority had worked. Harry had noticed, and Sherlock would later confirm to him, that Percy cared much more about people's rankings than about their actual selves. If a teacher had thought he needed help, then it didn't matter if that teacher was Snape.
"I'm not supposed to tell anyone," Percy said, looking down. "No one is supposed to know. That includes Professor Snape. But if he knows, and he thinks you need to know too, then... ." Percy hesitated.
"Percy, trust me. I won't snoop around, I just want to help," said Sherlock, so kindly Harry almost believed him. Then, with a glitter in his eyes, he emphasized his intentions, "With your peculiar problem."
The Weasley pulled out an unclean and wrinkled piece of parchment out of his pocket, handing it over to Sherlock, who immediately flipped it over to look for any unusual characteristics or markings, before directing his attention to its actual contents. Harry, who was sitting beside him, leaned over to read it.
Dear Mr. Weasley,
It pleases me to say that you qualify for the red-headed scholarship. An exceptional Gryffindor by the name of Ezekiah Hopkins, who took very much pride in his hair colour, made it so that his will provided equally exceptional students with equally scarlet hair ample opportunity to make connections with the ministry and receive galleons for their effort. This program must be kept secret from all others, staff or student, with the exception of the staff member assigned to guide you. This scholarship must remain secret to all, students and staff. Please, meet the staff member at midnight by the trophy room in order to receive further instruction and explanations for your numerous questions.
Yours sincerely,
Your future instructor,
Representative of The Red Headed League.
Sherlock finished reading first, but he kept staring at the paper until Harry had the chance to finish as well. The two exchanged a worried look, then, the sheer ridiculousness of it overtaking all their puzzlement, their worried look soon gave way to uncontrolled and unrestrained laughter.
"If you aren't going to take this seriously," said Percy dryly, "then I'm going to leave."
"My dear Percy, I have never liked you more than right now," said Sherlock earnestly. "Please, continue with your story. Did you meet with this...representative?"
Harry suppressed the urge to burst out in laughter once more by pretending to cough. Percy sank back into his armchair, let his forehead rest on his left hand and prepared to continue the story.
"I did. At first, I wasn't sure whether I should go or not as I had to do something else a bit later that night as a prefect and my duties take first priority to anything. But then I decided it was my duty to investigate this prank, if it was one. And if it wasn't, well," Percy stopped himself, shrugging uncomfortably. "If it wasn't one, then there was no reason I shouldn't take advantage of it. I'm proud of my hair and my abilities. Once I got there, I realized the scholarship was very much real.
"The instructor went on to clarify what my duties would be and why I qualified for the scholarship. The man who created the scholarship was proud of his red hair, and wanted to help wizards with hair and minds as bright as his. I would need to, every night, for thirty minutes, copy down a few books from his subject, pick up one galleon he would leave in the classroom waiting for me, then do the same the next night. To keep the secrecy of the scholarship, which was necessary as it was explicitly stated in the will of the Gryffindor who created it, I was told not to talk to this person in public regarding the scholarship. I fulfilled all my duties happily, gaining an extra galleon and knowing next year I would be introduced to members from the Ministry of Magic, which would be great for my career.
"But recently, I received a letter from my instructor informing me I would need to work overtime soon. This worries me because I am in charge of a very special duty right after I get done with the red-headed scholarship work, which I can't put off. My instructor told me, many times, that he had talked with the necessary people about my prefect work and that there was no need to worry, but the fact he told me I can't confirm that with the people that put me in charge is...unsettling."
"I see," said Sherlock at last, his eyes beaming with happiness. "This is very interesting and I can see why Professor Snape thought I could be of help. Rest assured, Percy. Please tell me once you get told to work overtime, and I will let you know whether things will be okay or not. Don't worry, I'm pretty sure of what's happening and it will not damage your career in any way. I don't suppose I could get you to just tell me the name of your instructor?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, I expected as much. It's not like there are any "red-headed" teachers in Hogwarts in any case. Ah well, it's what I expected to hear. Thank you for your time Percy."
Once Percy had left the room, there was nothing to stop Harry from asking about what Sherlock had seen in the mirror. Nothing except the feeling that the question either wouldn't be received kindly or wouldn't be received at all, considering how Sherlock seemed to have lost all connection to the world of living―a state that continued for a few more days, with him sometimes refusing to eat dinner, claiming the mind worked better in an empty stomach.
The day before Hermione came back, Sherlock had a sudden burst of energy, jumping out of the chair he spent most of the Christmas break in, a maniacal grin Harry had grown used to seeing indicating it was time for adventure. "Harry, grab your invisibility cloak. It's time."
Sherlock had used Harry's invisibility cloak a few times before, muttering something about needing to copy the list of ingredients for a complicated polyjuice potion(or something to that effect) and handing the list to the Weasley twins in the morning. He never told Harry about what he was doing, something Harry was very much grateful for, as he liked sleeping soundly at night. For him to actually invite Harry to come along this time, it meant the adventure that was soon to follow was either not dangerous or so dangerous he felt Harry couldn't miss it.
To Harry's surprise, the adventure consisted of going to Percy's room when nobody was in the dormitory.
"This was harder than it should have been," Sherlock muttered, unlocking the door with his wand. "But I had to confirm no one else was here and it would be suspicious if I asked―"
"What are we doing here?" asked Harry, somewhat angrily. "I really wouldn't mind if you started telling me what you are thinking."
"In a minute," he answered impatiently.
Their search of Percy's bed only wielded minimal results, or so Harry thought. For the longest time, it seemed like they wouldn't find anything useful, but Sherlock was so hellbent on finding something that it seemed as though reality changed itself to please him(a thought that seemed vaguely possible considering they were in Hogwarts) allowing him to find a letter Harry was sure wasn't there a second ago.
Dear Mr. Weasley,
Please use the flute attached to this letter in order to send away your fear in case you feel the sounds from beyond the door are getting the best of you. Due to security measures, I would appreciate if you did not speak to me in person about this letter. Thank you for your service to Hogwarts,
Yours Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Sherlock screamed so suddenly Harry had to jump back, taking off the invisibility cloak, to keep himself from falling. It was an odd sight to behold. Sherlock's eyes were wide open, like he had just seen a ghost and really wanted to see it again. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His breath was heavy and loud. His mouth moved at an impressive speed, but no sounds came out of it. It wasn't that he was trying to hide anything from Harry this time. His brain was simply working so fast his mouth couldn't keep up with it.
It was only through much effort that Harry managed to convince Sherlock to leave the dormitory and go back to the common room. Try as he might, he couldn't get him to say much that made sense that day. He could barely elicit a response from him. It was like his mind was somewhere else.
The next day, when Hermione arrived, Harry quickly explained everything that had happened in the hopes she would be able to get through Sherlock so they could understand what was going on with the school and with him. She betrayed his expectations slightly by showing she was more concerned than curious about the situation.
"It's not that I don't think it's important for us to know who wants the stone," she admitted, against her will. "But aren't you worried about Sherlock? From what you have told me, it seems like ever since he looked at that mirror he hasn't been himself. Is he alright? This guy who kidnapped you, whoever wants to steal the stone, the mirror...I wonder if it's getting to him."
Harry bit his lip, cursing himself for forgetting about that. He had been really worried about Sherlock's health, but somehow the euphoria of being so close to cracking the case had gotten the best of him and he completely forgot all about it. He felt disgusted at himself for forgetting about his friend, but at the same time, he couldn't quite blame himself for it.
"I know," said Hermione, as if reading his mind. "He ignores himself so often sometimes it's hard to remember that he is―well―human. But he is, whether he likes it or not, and whether he ignores it or not."
Once the term had started, it became even harder to pay attention to Sherlock, as Oliver Wood had begun a new, more rigorous training schedule. While Harry didn't particularly care about passing Slytherin in the house championship(which Gryffindor would if they won their next match) he did very much care about winning. Ever since his last match, he felt his desire for winning get stronger and stronger. He, much like Wood, wanted to win for the sake of winning. It had nothing to do with points. Somewhat ashamedly, he wondered if his parents would disapprove of this line of thinking.
The Weasley twins complained lightly enough of the new practice regime that Harry remembered that Sherlock had given them a list of ingredients for something. Whatever it was, it must have been interesting enough to keep them from being too unhappy at pretty much anything. Anything but the fact that Snape was going to be refereeing their next game, that is.
"Does he even know the rules to Quiddich?" asked George, throwing his arms high up in the air. "I mean, there's more than the basic rules. There are so many fouls, there's no way he knows them all."
"But he likely knows how to use the word "foul" in a vague enough way to keep us from winning," said Fred wisely.
After practice, Harry returned to the common room to find Sherlock and Hermione playing chess, looking both perfectly happy. Another reason why making sure Sherlock was fine was difficult was precisely that. He was extremely skillful at pretending not to feel anything.
"Tell me what you saw in the mirror," said Hermione, obviously annoyed at him.
"Of course," he responded, smirking. "If you can beat me, that is." Sherlock moved his bishop, widening his smirk. "Checkmate."
Sherlock turned his neck around to Harry slowly, still displaying a happy smile, clapped his hands together and said, "You did play a good game though, so I think I'm going to let you know why I don't think Snape is the culprit. The way things are, I think it's better if you know at least part of what I do."
Harry noticed that Sherlock made clear he wouldn't reveal everything he knew, but he was far too curious to raise an objection. Hermione must have felt the same, because she didn't say anything either, encouraging him to continue talking.
"There is no new information for me to tell you," he began. "You saw what I saw. So all I can do is share my conclusions. That the three-headed dog is guarding something goes without saying, and Harry already made the connection between it and what Hagrid took out of Gringotts before the term started. After some light interrogation, we found out that the item was related to a man named Nicolas Flamel. My brother was useful in telling me who he was, which saved me some research.
"Trolls are too dumb to enter the castle by themselves, which means someone tried to let one in as a distraction in order to steal the stone. Snape was clever enough to see through the ruse and come protect it. You remember how that went."
"Right," said Hermione, trembling slightly as she spoke. Harry wondered if she was recalling Sherlock's vivid description of his shattered bones.
"Not only that, but Snape, however terrible to students he might be, is an incredibly intelligent man. I'm sure if he was working for Voldemort and his plan included killing Harry, trying to do so where his long list of weaknesses would include any human being with a pair of functional eyes and a binocular seems fairly...dumb."
Harry remembered Sherlock making the same argument to Snape a few weeks before.
"Is that all?" said Harry. It occurred to him that taunting Sherlock was the best way of getting information out of him. "I thought you knew more than that."
"Me too," said Hermione, catching on.
"Of course I know more," said Sherlock. He obviously knew what they were doing, but he was still too prideful to let it go. "If Snape wanted to save Harry, he could just give the student who jinxed Harry's broom a detention to prevent him from having a chance to come to the game in the first place, since it was a perfect opportunity to kill him. Therefore, it follows that the person who jinxed Harry's broom was not a student."
"Are you suggesting a teacher did it?" cried Hermione, like she couldn't believe what he was saying.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You seemed fine with the idea that Snape had done it."
"Well, but that's Snape."
"You really shouldn't judge a person's morality by his personality," said Sherlock thoughtfully. "The only reason you don't like him is that he doesn't praise you when you answer his questions."
"That's not true!" she answered indignantly. "I don't like Snape because of the way he treats Harry. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how unfair he is to him. Not to mention how he takes off points from Gryffindor all the time for the most unfair reasons."
Harry nodded. Snape really did seem to hate him, even more so than he seemed to hate other human beings in general.
"His hatred for Harry is interesting," said Sherlock, putting his fingertips together. "Because his actions clash against each other. He hates him, but then saves his life? It doesn't make any sense. It's strange, it's interesting, it's wonderful."
"Stop that," said Hermione.
Sherlock looked at his hands instinctively, as if trying to find the action Hermione was disapproving of but utterly failing at doing so. Then, shrugging, he admitted his ignorance.
"Stop treating dangerous things as interesting. It's going to get you killed one day."
"If I stopped caring about things like that, then we wouldn't be friends."
Harry expected Hermione to object to being dangerous, but instead, she looked surprised and said in a low voice, "You think I'm interesting?"
"Yes," said Sherlock honestly.
Harry decided it was for the best not to try to understand that conversation, shook his head to show he had given up understanding it, and went back to the main topic.
"What else do you know about the stone and the guy trying to steal it?"
"Harry, aside from that, I don't know anything. I have theories, yes, but yours are just as good as mine. We know it must be a teacher because Snape is not an idiot, the question remains what teacher it is."
"What teacher is trying to steal the stone," said Hermione in a low voice.
"What teacher is trying to resurrect Voldemort," said Harry in an even lower voice.
He imagined Voldemort coming back to power, killing the parents he had seen in the mirror, cackling, a flash of green light hiding his face. Hagrid had told him all he knew about Voldemort, which wasn't much, but it was still enough to give him a vague idea of how dark those times were. He of all people should know. He lost his parents because of that man.
That night, Harry woke up, sweat covering his face. He suspected he would have many nightmares about this until it was over. The dormitory looked different. There was no way he could have known this, since it was too dark to see anything. But he felt it. He knew that there was something off about it. When his eyes got used to the dark, he glanced at Sherlock's bed and saw that it was empty.
Still half-asleep, but with a vague idea of what he needed to do, Harry drew his invisibility cloak and stumbled toward the common room. Unexpectedly, he didn't need to go very far to find Sherlock. In fact, he didn't even need to leave the tower at all. Sherlock was leaning against a wall, eyes closed and violin in hand, carelessly fiddling its strings, hitting chord after chord without any recognizable pattern. The melody, though completely chaotic, seemed to follow such precise playing that it seemed as though it had been―but it couldn't have been―rehearsed beforehand.
To further Harry's surprise, Hermione came walking down the stairs that led to the girls dormitory, wearing a bathrobe and a sad smile on her face. She sat against the wall, right beside Sherlock, without saying a word. Then, with a kind voice, "Have you gotten any sleep at all since looking at the mirror?"
Sherlock didn't respond, but he stopped playing the violin. This could either mean he was interested in talking to her or annoyed she had interrupted his violin playing.
"I tried to imagine what on earth could have scared you of all people that much," she said. Her tone was the same Harry would have imagined she would have used to talk about the future. "But I couldn't think of anything that would have scared you that much, especially not if that was the thing you desired the most. Then I thought about what I would have seen if I looked at the mirror." She hesitated for a second. "I would probably...have seen myself the same way I am now."
Sherlock looked up, interested.
"Before I came to Hogwarts, I never thought I would fit in anywhere," she said. Harry couldn't see her face from where he was standing, afraid that though invisible, they would notice his footsteps if he came closer, but he thought she must have blushed slightly as she said that. "I always liked studying, you know. No one was quite like me and my "unusually large teeth" like you said a few days ago."
Harry thought he heard Sherlock mutter "Sorry," but there was a fairly high chance he mistook a grumble for it.
"Then you and Harry came along. I think there isn't anything else I would like more than that." She stopped for a second. "That's what I would have seen, I think. It wouldn't have been easy to admit that to myself. It took me a lot of thinking to admit that I just didn't want to be alone. That's why I didn't sleep yet. What did you see, Sherlock?"
Sherlock didn't look her in the eye. He kept staring off at the distance, and Harry froze in place, afraid of the irrational thought that Sherlock could somehow see through invisibility cloaks.
"I see someone," he muttered. "I don't know who he is. I have never seen him before."
"Your father?"
"No," he said dryly. "He isn't much older than me. A few years at the most. That's what bothers me. Harry sees his parents, you see friendship, and I see... ." Sherlock trailed off, seeming repulsed at what he thought. "I don't really have a problem with not being normal, you know."
"I know," she answered, laughing.
"Even though I don't have a problem with being different, there's still a difference between just ignoring social norms and...and knowing that deep down, I really don't care about those norms." He stopped for a second. "To see that instead of my dead parents...it isn't right."
Hermione studied Sherlock, then, smiling, "There is no right or wrong answer to what you want the most. Maybe you just accepted your parents' death because you had a good family raising you, one that...didn't treat you badly. So you just wished for something else."
"If you ask me exactly what I saw, I don't think I could lie to you after you told me what you would have seen," he said, somewhat sarcastically. "That was a bit of a cruel move. Not even I can just say no to you after you went ahead and told me all of that."
"I know. That's why I won't ask you." Sherlock blinked. "I'm not curious about what you saw. Well, maybe a little," she admitted. "But most of all I want you not to...go crazy over what you saw in the mirror. Just tell me when you feel like it. Are we on the same page on that?"
"No," he answered immediately.
"Same book?"
He gave it a thought. "Maybe."
She jumped to her feet and walked back to her dormitory without saying another word. When she had disappeared from sight, Sherlock returned to playing with his violin, but this time Harry noticed the melody was just a bit happier than before.
The Quiddich match drew nearer, and Snape drew even nearer. It seemed like he was determined not to let Harry out of his sight, which, if Sherlock's theory was correct, meant he wanted to protect him. Not that you would be able to gather that from his usual behaviour. He was still ruthless and punished Harry for anything he did or was conceivably partially responsible for.
Many students seemed to regard his upcoming match with Hufflepuff to be the day of his funeral, but not Hermione and Sherlock. Even Harry was relatively calm about the match. Sherlock's logic was concise, even if it was hard to shake off the feeling that Snape simply loathed him.
"Don't worry, I talked with Snape during my detention yesterday," said Sherlock. "He told me he'll make sure you don't get hurt. Well, not with those words," he added. "But that was his general intention, even if he tried to keep it hidden."
"How many detentions do you even have?" asked Harry. "You make it sound like you have a detention with Snape every day."
"I do actually," he answered nonchalantly. "Every day, for the next two weeks. Not to worry, I learn a lot during those detentions. Snape is a good teacher."
"Even if he is a horrible person," grunted Harry.
"I don't think I want to know what you are learning there," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.
"You don't," confirmed Sherlock.
Oliver Wood's pep talk was inspirational. He talked about splitting the sky open, showing them what Gryffindor was all about, putting to use all their harsh training, passing Slytherin, and becoming legends. Most of the team, used to his pep talks, barely paid attention to it, but Harry was hanging on to every word he said, which made Wood even more excited about the game.
"Harry, with Snape refereeing we can't afford to have a long game. Think you can catch the Snitch quickly? Because if you can't, then you better start thinking you can!"
"How quickly?" asked Harry. There was no hint of nervousness in his voice. His blood was boiling with excitement, ready to go out there and catch the Snitch. Ever since the last game, he had completely forgotten all his fears related to Quiddich and losing. And winning.
"Twenty minutes?" asked Wood uncertainly, not used to having teammates as hungry for winning as him.
"I can do it in five," he answered confidently, surprising everyone but Wood. Even Harry couldn't believe what he was saying. The excitement was beginning to take over his ability to decide what to do.
"Did you hear that team?" screamed Wood. "Harry wants to win in five minutes. And so do I! So forget everything. We are going with an all out blitz. Even if we take a few goals in the beginning, it won't matter, because Harry will catch the Snitch before they can reach thirty points. Get it? Everyone, provide cover for Harry. Nothing else matters! All out blitz!"
"That's a risky strategy," said George, smirking.
"You better not disappoint us, Harry! Dumbledore came down to watch the game, make him proud!"
Harry began to regret his little act of bravado, but there was no turning back now. He had to win the game within five minutes.
Sherlock noticed Dumbledore's presence in the stands before nearly anyone else did, something he was quick to point out to Hermione.
"I don't know how you found him so fast," she admitted. "If only you used that attention span to study."
"I do, it's just that I only study what interests me."
They had been far less hostile to each other lately, though they still insulted each other out of habit.
"Holmes," said a cold, familiar voice from behind.
The two turned around to find Draco Malfoy standing smugly behind them. He seemed to have a lot of bottled up frustration ready to release on them.
"Jeffrey," said Sherlock, causing Draco to look at him in confusion. "Oh, I'm sorry. Hope? Morgan? Malfoy? Malfoy! My bad, but you can't expect me to remember the name of every scumbag that crosses my path."
Before Malfoy could reply, Hermione grabbed Sherlock by the arm and jumped up in excitement. "Sherlock! Look!"
The game had started, and Slytherin had scored. The entire Gryffindor team had ignored their positions and focused on facilitating Harry's search for the Snitch. This risky gamble seemed to have worked, because Harry had dived out of nowhere toward a golden flash in the middle of the air. There was barely any time to react, until Harry punched the air proudly, the golden Snitch in his hand.
The game was over, and forget five minutes, it had taken Harry just over a minute to catch the Snitch. Wood's blitz had worked. Harry caught glimpse of an angry Professor Snape spitting at the ground and walking off the grounds with a very nervous Professor Quirrel. Harry wanted to follow them, but he didn't. He felt too happy to think.
Flying high up in the air in response to a mountain of cheers from the stands, he did something that he knew Hermione would yell at him for later―he did a handstand on his broom while still on the air, right before he landed. This caused the crowd to erupt into more cheers. To his surprise, Professor Dumbledore came to congratulate him for his win.
"Well done Harry," he said, winking at him. "You are looking a lot like your father."
"Thank you―is that a compliment?"
"It's a fact," Dumbledore said kindly.
At that moment, he was pulled to the side by an invisible hand he knew belonged to Sherlock. Minutes later, he, Hermione and Sherlock were walking towards the school grounds to visit Hagrid, the two also congratulating him for his performance.
"That was brilliant!" said Sherlock. From him, it was a great compliment.
"That was amazing!" said Hermione. "But don't do that again," she added, referring to the handstand.
"Sorry," he said. "I just, I couldn't think straight. It all just sort of...seemed like a good idea at the time."
They laughed.
"I saw Snape and Quirrel leaving the school grounds together," he noted, remembering that fact.
Sherlock looked up instantly. "Forget what I said about your playing being brilliant. Now that was brilliant."
Neither of them asked him what he meant, but they both had an idea of what he was thinking. Was Quirrel the culprit?
"Let's walk faster," said Sherlock, grinning. "I can't wait until we talk to Hagrid."