.
SUMMARY:
The most famous Second Year of Hogwarts interact with people in all four houses.
—oOo—
"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" the stoic Professor Minerva McGonagall screams in a panic, running over at the surprised Sherlock who is now looking at her innocently.
"Just an accident, professor," he replies calmly which doesn't seem to make things better.
Sighing to collect herself, she asks him whilst checking him over, "Who did this to you, Mr Holmes?"
"No one in particular, professor." Giving him a narrowed disbelieving and concerned look, he quickly adds, "I'm fine, professor, really. I was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time. This isn't my blood."
She pales at the last word. "Then whose blood is it?"
"Er—" Sherlock shifts uncomfortably—"from an unfortunate who had miscalculated an action."
Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes suspiciously this time. This is why Sherlock often reminds himself to be wary of the Gryffindor Head of House. She's too smart for his own good.
"I'm not the one who caused this blood either, professor. Don't worry. I'm not a murderer," Sherlock says—making everyone nearby sceptical even with the statement.
"I see... Tell me, Mr Holmes, what exactly were you referring to when you said that you were at the wrong place at the wrong time?" She raises a brow at the last parts with emphasis.
Sherlock licks his lips nervously—much to John's amusement—at that, trying not to scream at how screwed he is going to be.
"Well," he laughs at an attempt to play it cool, "funny you should mention that, professor. You see—"
"He was at the Forbidden Forest, professor," the Gryffindor prefect who had replaced John informs her.
Professor McGonagall's lips form a thin line. "Of course, he is," she says with a sigh, looking at Sherlock who is standing innocently with blood all over his body. "And on the very first day," she says, much more composed but also much more icily angry. "Mr Holmes, I cannot believe you are exhibiting this sort of behaviour. I expected much from you but your—"
"My family does not determine who I can and cannot be, professor. I am not my mother, and I am not my father... and I am most definitely not Mycroft. No, just no. Merlin, no," he says the last part with a laugh—as if it is the most ridiculous thing he has thought of.
Reassured that she had not offended the boy and he was merely warning her not to talk about them, she shakes her head. "Hurry and clean yourself up, Mr Holmes. After that, you will come to my office immediately and we will go to the Hospital Wing. We'll let Madame Pomfrey have a look at you."
Sherlock snaps up at that. "But professor—"
"No buts, Mr Holmes! Look at you! Who knows what kind of bacteria had entered your skin from the foreign blood. You need to get clean before you get infected by something we don't know."
"Professor, I can assure you: the centaur was perfectly healthy and—"
"A CENTAUR?!" the professor bellows and Sherlock grimaces at his slip-up whilst everyone winces—no matter how strong you are, you do not want to get into Professor McGonagall's bad side. "Never, in my entire years have I encountered—I'll be in contact with your parents and know that fifty points will be deducted from your chosen house today."
"But... but professor, I'm a Gryffindor today," Sherlock says quietly, looking at everyone else.
Fred and George Weasley share a look at each other, surprised at the different kind of nervousness emitting from Sherlock.
Unfortunately, the professor seems to be too crossed to him to have noticed the change in atmosphere in the room. "I don't care if you're a Gryffindor today, Mr Holmes! You will also be serving detention with me for the next month every night until before curfew. Now go and wash this blood off of you this instant! Weasleys, come with me to my office."
As they walk to her office, Fred and George both unconsciously look at the uneasy Sherlock who seems to be shifting uncomfortably where he is standing, and looking around—almost in a panic.
Moving closer to Fred, George whispers, "What do you think that's all about?"
"I think I heard Bill and Charlie talking about him once..." Fred replies as they both look forwards as to not be caught staring at Sherlock by Sherlock himself. "You know that story where five students attacked that kid here at Hogwarts?"
"Yeah, it was all pretty hush-hush," George says.
"I think Bill and Charlie knew who it was..."
"...and it was Sherlock," George says.
Fred looks at George with uncertainty. "Could be... I don't know. They never really said his name."
George replies, "Seems like it though." Fred nods in answer.
The two look back at Sherlock who had run immediately as the three of them are nearing the office, away from all the Gryffindors.
When he sees that Professor McGonagall is almost completely gone from the Common Room, Sherlock immediately runs to his private dormitory before anyone catches him alone and he doesn't care if John is in the room.
John cannot defend him from everyone. Besides, what would happen to John's reputation if he keeps defending him? He'd be smashed into pieces, and worse, he'd be the next target... and obviously, Sherlock will not allow that to happen.
Cleaning up and slightly engrossed with how the blood slowly comes off of his body and down to the drain, he quickly fixes himself up.
At first, he was going to take a long time cleaning up since he may argue that the professor did not give him a specific amount of time on how quickly he should be but he decided not to anger her further. You do not want to mess with Professor McGonagall.
Peering through the door, he checks to see if there are students around the area and he is disheartened to know that none of them had moved since he left the room to clean up.
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door with his head raised high and steps out of the room.
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock flinches violently at the arm around his shoulder but sighs in relief at the sight of Charlie—who is the owner of the arm around his shoulders—and John standing on his other side. He sighs when he sees the strained smiles on their faces and instantly knows why they are concerned about him.
Looking around to observe everyone else without the threat hanging on his shoulder, he realises that no one seems to be looking at him in the eye, not in shame but they seem to be restraining themselves and are not too happy—probably the doing of John and Charlie if they seem to be glaring at those who dare glare at Sherlock—the kind of glare Sherlock is used to.
The glare that promises a world of pain.
With a sigh, he lets the two escort him to the office while they all pretend that they do not know that they are merely escorting Sherlock to the office without being attacked.
"I screwed up," Sherlock whispers when they reach the door to the Head of House.
"Sherlock—" John starts but is cut off when Sherlock yanks open the door and enters without waiting to be called, having been called here enough times to be told by the professor not to bother to knock since he would be expected anyways when he is in trouble.
As the door slams to their face, John and Charlie face each other.
"He can't stay in Gryffindor," Charlie says. "I'm surprised you turned over being a prefect. We could stop others from harming him."
"I have to protect him. Look what happened today. Who knows what other things he could stumble across in the Forbidden Forest. When his mind is set on something, there's no stopping him." John sighs. "Doesn't care for his own well-being."
"He's a lonely kid, isn't he?" Charlie asks and John nods morosely. "I'm glad he has you, then."
"Still not enough though, is it? He has only me."
"To him, you're worth thousands of them," Charlie says.
John grimaces. "That's too high-standard for me... I'm not that important."
Charlie places a hand on his shoulder. "You don't know that... and you're bloody important, John Watson. If you weren't, you wouldn't be one of my chasers now, would you?"
John chuckles. "Thanks, mate."
"No problem." He looks around. "We gotta watch over the little bugger. Make sure none of the lions hurt him."
John sighs. "So much for house unity... Well, I guess there is some house unity concerning Sherlock."
"Really?" Charlie asks.
"Yeah, they all think he's a freak," he spits the last word angrily and Charlie flinches at the power of rage behind John's voice, "but he's just a kid who's different. Seriously... This is the Wizarding World. I mean, from the diverse amount of magical creatures, I would have thought different is normal."
"Guess not, I suppose," Charlie says. "It's why Sherlock's more special."
John laughs. "Try telling him that."
Charlie laughs as well. "Yeah, probably not a good idea. He'll tell me I'm being ridiculous. What an idiot."
—oOo—
After yet another talk with McGonagall and why he should not be going to the Forbidden Forest, the professor seems to be too preoccupied with her new stalk of paperwork to notice that after dismissing her student, the said student is lingering by the door to crack it open to check if there are people in the common room.
Sighing at the amount of people, he walks in as nonchalantly as possible—which means he looks as bored as he wants others to think.
"Sherlock." He jumps up at Charlie Weasley beside him. "Hey, look, John was called in a meeting by Madame Pomfrey..."
"Yes?" he asks as they both walk towards his private room.
"I'm here to warn you: you shouldn't be in the Gryffindor Common Room right now."
Sherlock stops walking and blinks. "Why?"
"Sherlock, they'll tear you to pieces without using magic. You know that."
Sighing and beginning to walk once more, he replies, "As much as I appreciate your warning, Weasley, I can handle myself and—"
"—And John will kill everyone who tries to lay a finger on you. Do you want him expelled, too?" Silence. "Look, Sherlock. I'm worried about you and I don't want to see you get hurt."
"You don't?"
Charlie tries not to take that comment at heart and continues, "No, Sherlock, I want you safe—both you and John. As a prefect and your friend, I'm telling you: for the sake of you and John, you have to stay away from the Gryffindors."
"But—"
"Please, Sherlock... for me and John."
A pause. Sherlock gives out a heavy breath. "Fine."
"Thank you."
They finally reach the door to his room and Sherlock shifts uncomfortably and says, "I'll just go get my bag, then."
Charlie nods, grateful that Sherlock is taking his advice. "Alright, I'll wait."
"I'm not an invalid. I can—"
"I want to wait."
Sherlock narrows his eyes at Charlie but nods, shrugging. "Fine. Fine. Suit yourself."
With a sigh, Sherlock enters his room and quickly grabs a huge brown leather book with golden straps which belongs to Merli—Lemnir—that he borrowed for advance spells. He sighs, knowing that he has more to learn and that this would help ease him with the use of nonverbal wandless spells. Merlin—woops—Lemnir did say that Ancient Magic has usually been used with hands unlike Modern Magic which is usually used with wands. Having said that, Ancient Magic is much more difficult to master because it is more powerful and much wilder than wand-based magic.
Sherlock has to admit, though, that even he can't use magic through his eyes, unlike M—Lemnir whose eyes turn gold when casting a spell without even raising a single limb. God, no wonder he is the most powerful wizard of all time.
After shoving the giant book in his bag, he grabs the Marauder's Map and the replica he has been doing (but failing). He, of course, made an exact replica through the Gemino Curse [1] but he'd feel better if he had completely replicated the actual map from scratch.
Noting that he doesn't really need anything else since tomorrow is Saturday anyway, he opens the door to see Charlie smiling at him encouragingly, making Sherlock even grumpier than usual.
"Charlie!" someone says behind them.
They both turn around to see another red-haired boy with a scowl on his face.
"What is it, Perce?" Charlie asks.
Sherlock nods in confirmation.
Percy Ignatius Weasley. For a thirteen-year old, he is already tall and his thin physique only emphasises his height. The vivid red hair and his many freckles make him an obvious Weasley but unlike his older brothers and his twin brothers, he is wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that only emphasises his difference with his action-based brothers. From the books in his left arm and the fact that the fingers in his right hand are wedged between the pages in the middle of the The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3 shows that he is a book of studious nature... The swot of the family.
"Your brothers—" he nods pointedly at Fred and George who are both whistling innocently and leaning on the wall—"just did this." He raises his hand to show that it has completely transformed into a wolf's paw.
Sherlock instantly walks towards him to inspect the paw with claws. "Fascinating," he whispers. "This is advance magic for a bunch of eleven-year olds."
Charlie places a hand on Sherlock's head, making Sherlock scowl like the other boy. "You've done more advance magic at that age, Sherlock."
"But they are not me," he replies. Sherlock looks at the other boy whom he deduces is a Third Year already. "How did they do this to you?"
The boy looks at him intently before shaking his head as if he's just coming out of his head. "Sorry, what? Why are you—?" He starts to step back from the Second Year. "You're Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, now tell me: how did they apply this to you?"
"Charlie, what are you doing with him?" the boy asks.
"Percy, stop being a prat. He's just a kid, you know... so are you."
"He killed a Centaur," Percy whispers.
"No, he witnessed the murder of a Centaur," Charlie corrects. Before Sherlock cuts in to tell him that it wasn't a murder and it actually was a dignified battle between two Centaurs, Charlie places a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"But—" Percy tries.
"Don't believe everything you hear, Percy."
"Where are you going, then?" he questions, observing the fact that Sherlock has a giant rucksack and the fact that they are right beside the Gryffindor Common Room.
"I'm escorting Sherlock to the Ravenclaws."
"Why?"
"Because Sherlock wants to be a Ravenclaw today."
"Well, you don't have to go with him!" Percy says.
"Yeah, Charlie," Fred cuts in, "he probably wants to go around the Forbidden Forest again, eh, Sherlock?"
"Not really on my list right now, no," Sherlock replies grumpily—just wanting to be alone for now.
Fred and George share a brief look at that.
"You alright, Sherlock?" George asks.
"I'm fine," Sherlock replies, rolling his eyes and looking up at Charlie for a moment before passing the stare at all four of them. "If you don't mind, Weasleys, I shall be heading to my Common Room of the Day."
"Aren't you a Gryffindor today?" Fred asks.
"A few minutes ago, I was," Sherlock replies, going through the door and ignoring the irritated exclaim of the Lady in the Portrait for waking her up.
Sherlock takes out his Ravenclaw scarf from the pocket of his robes and wraps it around his neck.
"Wait! Sherlock, wait!" says Charlie, running up to the Second Year. "You can't just go out without supervision."
"Why not?" Sherlock asks. "Afraid I'll go back to the Forbidden Forest?"
"No, because if you were caught by Filch without a prefect or a professor with you, you'd get detention or whatever Filch has his mind on at the moment."
Sherlock laughs. "Yes, he wouldn't be too happy with me since I've been stealing his oil lamps."
"That was you?" Charlie asks.
Sherlock smirks. "Can't do that prank this year, though. It gets awfully boring."
"Hogwarts will be seeing a lot of pranks from now on, I suppose."
"Yes, your brothers are born pranksters now, aren't they? With me around, three pranksters walking through the halls of Hogwarts would make anyone look behind their shoulders every minute."
Charlie chuckles at that. They walk silently and slowly, as if they were walking through the park. Charlie, personally, does not like this slow-pace walking and is actually more used to being quick on his feat since he is a very action-based person but since he is walking with a Second Year who has smaller legs than he is, and that said kid seems to be enjoying a slow walk in the silent school.
To Charlie, though, it feels oddly uncomfortable to be in the silent corridors of the school since it is usually crowded with other students and professors, even. To have it completely silent and empty is...eerie... but glancing at the other boy, he seems to be at ease with it.
"Sherlock?" he asks. He receives a hum in reply. "You don't seem bothered by it."
"By what?"
"Seeing a Centaur get beheaded in front of you."
For a slight moment, Sherlock freezes in his steps but fortunately, Charlie seems to have missed it. "It was a surreal moment."
Charlie narrows his eyes at the child. "Nothing's surreal to you... which I find oddly..." his voice trails off.
"Wary of?" Sherlock fills in.
"Well, you're a child... A beheading shouldn't be something you... you know."
"No, I don't know."
"It's not a pleasant sight."
"No, quite bloody and gory, in fact."
Charlie swears under his breath. "Merlin."
Sherlock smirks. "Merlin wouldn't be happy if you're cursing and using his name."
Clearly thinking he was joking, Charlie continues on. "Sherlock, if this... event ever bothers you... you know you can talk to me, right?"
Sherlock sighs, as if he's going to humour the Seventh Year. "Yes, okay, Charlie, I will talk to you if this event ever bothers me."
"Sherlock," he says, placing a hand on the said student's shoulder to stop them from walking, "I'm serious," he tells the boy dead in the eyes.
Sherlock nods. "I know."
—oOo—
However, just as the door to the Ravenclaw Common Room closes behind him, he is met with most of the Ravenclaws staring at him with different amounts of looks. There is recognition of respect, awe, disgust, and fear from his fellow students and he is not surprised.
Just as the Ravenclaw Prefect approaches him warily, he raises a hand to stop her from continuing and says, "You don't think it's good for me to stay here."
She sighs. "Sorry, Sherlock. The First Years are—er..."
"Afraid of me," he continues for her.
She looks down on her feet with a sigh. "Y—yeah..."
"I'll be with the Hufflepuffs, then."
"We're really sorry, Sherlock."
Sherlock sighs in answer, opening the door once more, he jumps in the middle of the spiral staircase and casts, "Arresto Momentum" on himself before he hits the ground and so his velocity slows down so he wouldn't completely fall flat on the ground.
Removing his Ravenclaw scarf, he takes out his Hufflepuff scarf and wraps it around his neck despite yellow not being a colour he would normally wear.
With a sigh, he grabs the Marauder's Map from his rucksack to check if there are any nearby professors or Filch wandering around near his location so he would be able to go to the Hufflepuffs.
—oOo—
Sherlock sighs.
"We're really sorry, Sherlock, but—"
"Yes, yes, I know. First years are the priority. We wouldn't want them uncomfortable. Yes, I know," he says irritably.
A nearby Hufflepuff girl asks, "You've heard of this before, haven't you?"
"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asks, looking at the girl who is most likely a First Year. [2]
"You were kicked out of—er, I mean—you were told to—er..."
"You are wondering if I was told to move to another common room by the other houses," Sherlock says for her.
"Erm, yeah..." she replies rather awkwardly, looking down at her hands and wringing her wrists once before clasping them together.
"It doesn't matter. I'll be off to the Slytherins."
"Are you mad?" a familiar voice says behind him. Sherlock turns to see the familiar face of Mike Stamford. "Sleeping in the dorm with the Slytherins? They'll tear you to pieces!"
Nearby First Years frown at this since... shouldn't Sherlock Holmes be the supposed Next Merlin. If he is as great as everyone knew him to be, how could the Slytherins easily overcome him?
"Well, I don't really fancy sleeping in one of the professor's offices now, do I?" Sherlock says. "Spending the night in Professor Snape's office has been difficult enough on its own."
"You spent the night in Snape's office?" Mike asks.
"Well, I was going through his ingredients when he locked his office to go back to his private chambers. He has some highly advance security-based spell work. I asked him what technique he used and I got myself detention." Sherlock chuckles before sighing, removing his Hufflepuff scarf and replacing it with his Slytherin one. "Well, la'ers."
He crawls through the passageway to the door, ignoring the calls behind him, and sighs when he is out once more. With a dejected sigh, he walks towards the dungeon and heads to the Slytherin Common Room.
"Look who just came in, everyone! It's Sherlock the New Merlin Holmes!" a student who is two or three years older than Sherlock announces icily just as he walks through the doors of the Common Room.
Going to the Slytherin Common Room as a last resort may be the worst decision yet, but then again, sleeping in the school kitchen may not be pleasant either. Thankfully, the First Years don't seem to be scared of him and are actually both in awe and disgust at the sight of him. Sherlock shakes his head and slowly goes towards the only door that leads to his private room with his head held high.
Before he reaches it, however, someone pulls him by the back of his collar and slams him to the wall.
The older student, whose identity Sherlock still doesn't know but familiar in facial features, gets in close to his face, tightening his hold on Sherlock's collar and choking him as he pushes his fist at Sherlock's throat.
"Let go of me," Sherlock asks calmly, only wanting to go to his room as quickly as possible.
"Why should I?" he asks in a sadistic manner.
"Slytherin loyalty," Sherlock chokes but convincingly sounds as if he is having trouble breathing.
"Look, Holmes, Snape may have told us to keep Slytherin loyalty in mind but that will never apply to you."
"I am every bit as Slytherin as you are," the twelve-year old tells him.
"Look around, Holmes!" the older student yells at his face. "You are nothing like us! Don't be an idiot! You don't belong anywhere and everyone knows it."
"I was sorted in all four houses. I belong everywhere," Sherlock quips.
A punch in the face hits him hard and in surprise, but he also gasps in relief at finally being able to breathe as he falls down on the ground at the impact. Gasps, other than Sherlock's, echo throughout the room but they quickly quieten when whoever-this-is turns around to glare at them. He turns around to look at Sherlock once more.
"You keep an eye open, Holmes. No one likes you here."
Sherlock tries to remove the blood on his lips as he replies, "It's a terrible idea to threat me so openly when there are many witnesses to condemn y—"
Another hit on the same side of his face.
"Keep quiet."
"I won't d—"
Another hit.
"Will you stop—"
Slap.
"Why? Does it hurt?" the older student taunts.
"No, my face simply feels uneven which—"
A hand wraps around Sherlock's throat and throws him to the ground and lands on his other side. A hit on the other side of his face.
"Is that better?" the older student asks.
"Well—"
Another hit.
And again.
And again.
Is that his foot?
And again.
And again.
And ag—
"Stop it, Glenn!" [3] a girl who is most likely the same age as Sherlock's new friend pulls on Glenn's arm.
"He got my sister expelled, Crizen!" [4]
Oh, he's related to one of THOSE people, Sherlock thinks, looking at Glenn intently, finally seeing the resemblance in facial features. Why this Glenn person didn't attack him last school year is a mystery.
Sherlock narrows his eye. Oh, nope. Ahhh, yes. This Glenn heavily relies on his older sister and he got depressed for the rest of the year. The Great Hall incident most probably discouraged him from going near him. Seeing his sister over the summer break most definitely reminded him of their separation and Sherlock's involvement of that predicament.
Before Sherlock says all of this out loud, the girl replies once more, "That doesn't mean you should go along hitting him out of nowhere."
Is she defending me? Sherlock tilts his head at the girl in question.
"Are you on this freak's side?" Glenn asks rather dangerously.
"Of course, not, but I don't think violence is the answer either. There are plenty of ways to make him feel like shit without hitting him in the face for it," Crizen states.
Ahhh, expecting someone other than John and Charlie would defend me is almost laughable, he thinks.
"What are you laughing about, freak?!" Glenn practically yells in his face, lifting him by the collar and slamming him on the wall once more.
Sherlock blinks with dark spots forming in front of his vision. His head falls slowly but he wills himself to stay awake for his dignity.
"Glenn!" Crizen screeches as well as other students.
"I don't know, Criz. I think it feels good to use your hands sometimes. Might be a bit Gryffindor of me but Merlin do I love seeing him wince from being hit by me."
"He could get you expelled, too."
"I'd like to see him try. He has no proof."
"Everyone's in the common room, you dolt."
A pause.
"He isn't worth destroying, Crizen. I'll just hit him hard enough to satisfy me."
"Not in front of the First Years, you moron," she whispers angrily.
"Fine."
Sherlock feels his legs fall underneath him and his head hits the ground hard but not hard enough to render him unconscious... unfortunately. Although, the ringing sound in his ear is awfully familiar from countless of beatings.
"Hey, Holmes? Holmes?" he hears. "Someone bring him to the Gryffindors. We can't open his private room."
"We'll go."
He feels himself be hauled upright by two people and he helps whoever-it-is-with-him walk him out. He distinctly hears the other two talk to each other the whole time whilst he struggles to stay conscious and listen in on the conversation.
"Why are we even helping him, Seb?"
"You know what he's capable of, Luce. He could be useful someday."
"Shhh, Holmes could hear you."
"At this state? Look at him. He's out of it. I reckon he was already beaten up before going to the Common Room."
"I don't like this freak."
"Who does?"
Knowing he is focused enough, Sherlock briefly glances at the two boys dragging him. Ahhh, two boys in his year—Sebastian Wilkes and Lucian Bole. Of course, neutrals who want to gain connections. They could be useful to Sherlock as much as he could be useful to them.
"H'ffl'p'ff," he whispers.
"Holmes?" Sebastian asks.
"He said Hufflepuff," Lucian repeats.
"Hufflepuff Common Room?" Sebastian asks and Sherlock nods once, not finding his voice. "Where the hell is that?" Sebastian asks Lucian and the latter shrugs in answer.
"K'tch'n," Sherlock slurs.
"Oh! Oh yeah, I know where that is," Lucian says and they change directions immediately.
As they walk, Sebastian asks why Lucian knows where the Hufflepuff Common Room is with Lucian replying about a snogging session with a Hufflepuff on the second month of their first year. Yes, they were the same age.
After a while, they reach the kitchen and go to the nook on the right side of the kitchen corridor. Sebastian and Lucian stare at the stack of barrels.
"It's a dead end," Sebastian says.
"No, the common room is hidden behind this somewhere. I forgot how they enter it because I was kinda dazed from all the snogging."
"Hey, Holmes, do you know what the password is?" Sebastian asks.
Sherlock's head bounces up and down in a sort of daze, his eyes fluttering as he battles himself to stay awake. "T'nks," he whispers. "Call T'nks... Sh's... Sh's n'ce..."
"Merlin, what now?" Lucian asks. "Should we leave the freak here?"
"We could knock?" Sebastian suggests.
Thankfully, their prayers are answered when two Seventh Year students hand-in-hand crawl out of one of the barrels and see the three Second Years.
"Oh Merlin," one of the two says.
"Holmes says to call Tonks or something," Sebastian informs them immediately.
"I'll go get her," she says, quickly entering the common room once more.
"I suppose I'll bring him in, then," the other girl says, taking Sherlock from the other two after thanking them. Awkwardly, she carries him—clearly unused with bloodied injured children (can you blame her?)—bringing him inside, noting how light the boy is.
The laughter dies down as soon as Sherlock was brought in and the fear from the First Years earlier dissipates at the sight of the New Merlin. Older students quickly swoop in to help Sherlock lie down on the couch. A male prefect runs to get Professor Sprout.
"No!" Sherlock yells with his hand stretched out to reach the running prefect and he hears some of the First Years hold their breath. "No pr'f'ss'rs," Sherlock says weakly, blinking away the dizziness with his hand falling beside him. The First Years sigh in relief.
"We have to call her, Holmes. She should know you got in a fight," the other prefect beside him says.
"W'sn't f'ght'ng," Sherlock replies defeatedly, sighing as he lets himself lie down on the couch without restraint—much to everyone's relief.
"Sherlock!" he hears two familiar voices cry out.
"Wotch'r, M'ke, T'nks," he says, raising a hand in greeting.
"Holy sh—what happened?" Mike asks.
"Two Slytherin boys brought him here and Holmes was wearing his Slytherin scarf," the girl who called Tonks says.
Sherlock looks up to see his bloodied Slytherin scarf which one of the Slytherins must have removed from his neck when he was struggling to breathe. It's good to know that some were still willing to help.
"Oh, so he was with the Slytherins when this happened," Tonks says darkly.
"I knew it!" Mike exclaims. "I knew this would happen! Didn't I say that this was a bad idea?!"
"Probably fought with them," a First Year suggests.
"Merlin! What happened here?!" the voice that could only be Professor Pomona Sprout's says. "Go get my supplies! Quickly!" she says to one of the prefects.
"Holmes got into a fight with some Slytherins, professor," someone says.
"On the first day, Holmes? I didn't expect you to—"
"I w'sn't f'ght'ng," Sherlock gasps weakly and almost desperately, hauling himself upright and wincing, making everyone else almost scream at him to go back down.
"What happened, then, dear?" she asks softly and sympathetically, kneeling in front of him with Tonks and Mike just beside her.
Sherlock looks away. Thankfully, his cheeks are bleeding enough to hide the reddening of his cheeks.
"He was beaten up," Tonks whispers angrily.
Sherlock's jaw clenches and before anyone says anything, he quickly snaps, "Yes, 'bviously. Good t' kn'w you lot 're sm'rt'r th'n you seem. I—" Sherlock winces at the pain on his body.
"Give him space! Quickly!" Professor Sprout yells as she slowly helps Sherlock lie down and starts checking on his wounds.
"Ch'ck my w'nd," Sherlock whispers.
"What?" Professor Sprout says.
"Wand," he says, shoving it towards Tonks who takes it and casts Priori Incantatem. The spell shows that the last spells Sherlock had casted were Finite Incantatem [5] and Accio [6].
"Kn'ckles," he says, showing them his knuckles as well.
"Yeah, he couldn't have been in a fight if his knuckles don't have any bruise in them from hitting someone else," Mike says. Sherlock nods.
"See? No d'tention f'r me," Sherlock says smiling before gasping and breathing heavily.
"This won't work. Bring him to Madame Pomfrey, immediately."
"NO!" Sherlock yells in a panic, making the Common Room shake for half a second as well as the students and professor occupying it. "No. I c'n h'ndle m'self."
A pause.
"Sherlock," Tonks starts warily, "we have to. You were beaten up."
"N't the f'rst time," Sherlock replies offhandedly. From the pain, he doesn't notice the silence nor the exchange of looks from each Hufflepuffs. "J'st leave m' 'lone."
"We can't leave you alone like this, Sherlock," Mike says.
"F'ne," Sherlock says, annoyed, standing up in pain and going to his room on his own.
"Merlin's beard," Professor Sprout exclaims.
Sherlock sniggers since he knows Merlin, in fact, doesn't usually have a beard and is actually in his twenties. The small distraction was enough for his legs to have minds of their own and make him fall. Tonks catches him as well as a nearby First Year Hufflepuff holding a small book.
"Bring him to the Hospital Wing. No buts, Holmes," he hears Professor Sprout say.
He doesn't seem to have a choice since his body won't work anyway.
"What's your name, kid?" Tonks asks the boy on Sherlock's other side.
"Cedric Diggory."
"Ahhh, Amos Diggory's son?"
"Yes... so you're the Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, 'nd I get beat'n up so 'm n't all powerf'l 'nd scary. You're safe fr'm big bad Sherl'ck. Hoor'y."
"I don't think you're a dark lord in the making, Holmes."
"Oh? 'nd why not?" Sherlock asks as Mike takes his place in carrying Sherlock.
"You didn't fight back. You can probably kill them with a finger but you didn't," Cedric says, looking at Sherlock straight in the eyes.
"A very Hufflepuff trait, Sherlock," Mike adds.
Sherlock hums. "Maybe I j'st d'n't think th'y're w'rth the eff'rt," he argues.
Tonks looks at Sherlock's face up and down. "Yes, they do."
Sherlock raises a brow at her. "You don't seem the killing type."
"I am if they hurt my friends."
"Your fr'ends 're lucky, then," Sherlock says sighing, his eyes fluttering as his body shuts down slightly.
Mike quickly scoops up the light student whose eyes blink up once more.
Tonks looks at him seriously. "You earned my friendship and loyalty, Sherlock. You got to remember that."
"And I'm offering mine," Cedric says behind them as they walk out of the Common Room.
Sherlock stays silent the rest of the way.
—oOo—
[1] The Gemino Curse is a spell used to duplicate an object, creating an exact replica of the target entity.
[2] Important character ( ͡°‿ʖ ͡°)
[3] Name of my bully in Year Five.
[4] One of those people who would rather ignore me. She hated me but she hated violence more.
[5] The same spell used in the Great Hall incident.
[6] Pre-Hogwarts. Just after he was given a wand... and the reason the Holmeses and Merlin (Lemnir) recommended to use a fake wand whilst using wandless magic instead.
