Sherlock didn't know whether to feel surprised or resigned when he woke up the next morning, still trapped in John's embrace. Sherlock hummed softly to himself, closing his eyes and relishing in the warmth. Perhaps "trapped" was too harsh a word…he thought to himself. Ron snored softly, his head lolled to the side on Sherlock's pillow, his cheek pressed against the top of Sherlock's hair. Sherlock's arms were stuck underneath of John's torso, so it's not like he could move anyway, he reasoned as he started to drift back asleep.
"Are you two cuddling?" asked an incredulous voice. Sherlock's brain sluggishly dragged the boy's name to the forefront of his mind. Dean, he thought. Sherlock didn't bother opening his eyes to respond.
"Obviously," Sherlock said, his voice half sigh. He felt John move beneath him, starting to wake up. There was a noise of disturbed curiosity from Dean, when somebody threw a pillow at the tall, dark boy. Dean cried out in indignation, and Sherlock opened his eyes in time to see Dean scoop up the offending pillow to throw it back to Neville.
"Leave them alone," said the pudgy boy with equal amounts of meek trembling and angry righteousness. "They're best friends they are. And Hermione told me they've been separated for a long time. I think if I had a friend like that, I wouldn't want to be very far from them, either!" Neville's face was flushed red, and his eyes were averted towards the floor, but his stance was determined as he picked his pillow back up and placed it on his bed.
Ron, who was now fully away, gave Longbottom a grateful smile, and Harry gave him a slow nod. Seamus only shrugged, coming out of the bathroom with Colin. "Me favorite uncle's married to a man," he said simply. "Don't bother me none, so long as neither of you turn out to be peeking Tom's."
Sherlock scoffed. "Even if we were, we wouldn't waste our time with the likes of you." He sneered. To his surprise, Seamus only laughed. Neville blushed harder, muttering something under his breath as he picked up his area, folding his pajamas neatly and placing them into his trunk. Ron gave Sherlock one final squeeze, then slid out of bed to get ready. Sherlock soon followed reluctantly to groom himself.
At breakfast, Gremione descended upon them. "Rumor is you two spent the night cuddling," she teased, nudging Ron with her elbow. "Making it official?"
"Yes, Gremione," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Ron and I are officially sick of insipid people making tiresome observations. We weren't cuddling, John was restraining me. I wanted to explore, and he wanted me to sleep. So he sat on me."
"I did not!" came Ron's denial.
"All night?" asked Gremione.
"All night," confirmed Sherlock.
"I did not!" Ron cried. Neville, who'd sat down next to Gremione, giggled a bit. "Though this little lion was quick in defending us when Dean started teasing Sherlock this morning. Fierce, this one." Neville beamed at him as he scooped some fruit onto his plate.
"It was nothing," he said shyly. "I just don't like seeing my friend's get picked on. You two weren't doing anything wrong. And, as far as I know, there's no rule against it for two boys…or two girls for that matter." Neville said thoughtfully.
"Bit of an oversight," said Gremione with a suggestive quirk of the eyebrow at Ron and Harry. "But I don't recall a rule like that, either. And if there is, you can always claim ignorance and you'd be let off easily."
"Are you boyfriends, then?" asked Seamus suddenly as he sat next to Ron on the opposite side of Sherlock. John started to choke on his oatmeal. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"No," said Sherlock. "We're best friends. There is a minor difference."
"Minor?"
"We're not as gross."
Lavender Brown started giggling, some ways down the table, and tried to cover it up by taking a sip of pumpkin juice.
"Yeah," said Dean sitting next to Neville. "Boys are yucky." Neville rolled his eyes, then Dean's expression turned serious. "Sorry about…you know…I just thought it was kinda weird at first…I didn't realize…" Dean awkwardly trailed off. "So…yeah…friends?" he asked, flinching a bit at the ridiculousness of the statement. Sherlock rolled his eyes as John immediately agreed. Parvati and Colin joined Lavender, and all nine Gryffindor first years lapsed into childish conversation as they ate.
"So you're the actual Harry Potter?" asked Colin Creevy, who's come in late last night. Apparently, he'd been caught wandering around taking pictures of everything by Professor McGonagall. "I've read all about you. My family's all muggle, and so when I was found out to be a wizard, Mum and Dad went crazy buying all sorts of wizard stuff; mainly books but nick-knacks, too. About half of what we bought, though, mentioned you at some point. Can we take a picture together? You, me and your friend? Mum'll never believe that I actually share a dorm with you.
Sherlock was tempted to say 'no', but something stayed the insult at his lips. There was something uncomfortably familiar about Mr. Creevy. "Sure" said Sherlock, plastering on one of his more charming smiles. "So long as I can have a copy. I don't have any of John and I, together." Colin beamed.
"Of course," he agreed immediately as John gave Sherlock a confused look. "I can take one of just the two of you. And these two older boys, Fred and Geoff I think, said they knew how to make the pictures move like the paintings on the walls. I'll get it to you after it develops!" Colin raised the old fashioned camera, which hung about his neck on a strap, to his eyes. John sent Colin a look that Sherlock couldn't decipher (which was odd in and of itself), and then placed a possessive arm tight around his shoulders. John gave a smug grin when Sherlock placed his own arm around John's waist. Sherlock grinned. John was jealous? Of Creevy? There was some sort of joke in there, Sherlock thought. The universe was making a funny, he just didn't have the whole joke yet. He'd figure it out though.
The camera flashed, and then Colin passed it to Gremione, who was offering to take the picture for them. Colin got on Sherlock's free side and, without invitation, put an arm through Sherlock's. Sherlock turned towards him and smiled. The familiarity was nagging at his brain, but Sherlock didn't know where he'd seen Colin before. He wanted to keep him close, to see if he could figure it out. But then he also found the strange, hyper, friendly boy to be somewhat endearing. Yet, on the other hand, his instincts were revolting against the idea of adding Colin to his little cluster of (dare he say) friends. After all, Colin seemed to be perfectly ordinary.
The camera flashed again. "Oy, I want to try the camera!" said Dean. Ron rolled his eyes. "I know, I take a picture, selfie style, of the lot of us!"
"Great idea!" said Colin as the Sherlock, Ron and Neville all asked "What?"
"Just gather up in a clump," Gremione ordered, probably trying to sound authoritative but ending up sounding bossy. They didn't notice the teachers all watching them in amusement as they took picture after picture of their group, Colin looking extremely happy with it all.
"Mum was afraid I wouldn't make any friends, you see, being raised in the muggle world," Colin said. "Thought I'd be really different form everyone, coz my step-dad's just a milkman, and she's a librarian. Nothing exciting about my family at all. And then WHAMO! I'm a wizard!" Lavender patted him consolingly on the back.
"What's it like, being raised muggle?" she asked. "I'm a pureblood, so I've never even seen a Muggle village. Father always said they're very primitive compared to us. Is that true, Colin?"
Colin hesitated. Seamus and Dean both snorted in laughter as Gremione looked mildly offended. "Actually," he said slowly, obviously not wanted to offend anybody. And the tone was so familiar that Sherlock was about to go mad from not knowing. "Most muggles would like the same of wizarding culture, to tell the truth." Then he was quick to explain. "I mean, quills and robes and torches, ancient castles and carriages. It's like something out of Muggle Fairy Stories. It's all quite charming, but Muggle life is a bit more…modern, I guess? Like, we used to use quills, but now we use pens. Writing things you don't have to dip in ink to refill," Colin explained upon seeing Lavender and Neville's confused faces. "And we use electric lights, rather than fire. Just little things like that."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" asked Gremione, hoping to move topics onto less awkward places. Colin looked relieved.
"Yeah, a half-brother named Denis. He's two years younger than me."
"Hey, Ron," interrupted Dean. "Seamus was telling me that someone told him that they heard you've got twelve brothers. Is that true?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Feels like it sometimes, but no. Just five."
"Just five" Dean repeated under his breath with wide eyes.
"And a sister," Ron added. "Ginny"
"Wow," Dean shook his head. "No wonder you're so cuddly. Elbow room must be non-existent in your house." Seamus gave Dean a dirty look and whacked him on the head with an empty goblet. But Ron only laughed.
"You're telling me!"
****1047****
First class of the semester was transfiguration. Sherlock, who had already read the entirety of that year's texts, was sitting there, bored, as McGonagall explained the contents of the first two chapters. Honestly, what was so complicated about visualizing something and waving a stick over something else. Because everything else included—the fancy incantations and complicated wand movements—were unnecessary if you willed something to transform enough.
Sherlock sighed, leaning his chin on his knuckles as he entertained himself by repeatedly prodding John, who was sitting next to him, in the leg with his foot. Ron, in demonstration of his near saintly levels of patience, only gave Sherlock a token eye roll before taking his best friend's hand into his own.
Which had been Sherlock's intention all along, obviously.
Finally, finally, McGonagall was ready for the practical part of the lesson. "Children, kindly take out your wands. Mr. Finnegan and Mr. Finch-Fletchley," she looked first to Seamus, then to a Hufflepuff across the room. "Please pass out these match sticks to the class." She levitated a small match box to each of them as they grudgingly rose and began to hand each person one of the sticks. Sherlock twirled his wand absently in his fingertips as John pulled his own out (Willow, sturdy, fourteen inches, ashwinder core—good for healing).
Seamus placed the match stick in front of Sherlock. Before the other boy had even put John's down on the table, there was already a statuette of a skull sitting where the match had been. John and Seamus stared at it in surprise. Then Seamus shrugged and continued to pass out the matches. McGonagall hadn't noticed, as she was on the other side of the room.
John kicked Sherlock under the table, making the smaller boy yelp in pain and knock his knees against the bottom of the table. McGonagall whirled around to scold them for disrupting the class, but stopped when she saw the skull. "Mr. Potter" she said crisply. "Explain why exactly you felt the need to bring a human skull to class?"
"I didn't" said Sherlock.
"Yes," McGonagall pinched her lips "you did. It's sitting right there, I can see it."
"I do not deny its presence," said Sherlock. "Nor to I debate whether you can or canot see it. I am, however, saying that I did not bring it to class. It's not even a proper skull: it's a transfigured matchstick." McGonagall's frown deepened.
"Transfigure it back, then." Sherlock sighed and lazily waved his wand. Sure enough, it shrunk smaller and smaller, then thinned out. Soon enough a small needle was sitting in it's place. McGonagall's eyes widened, then she chuckled.
"Just like your father," she said fondly. "If any task I give you, Mr. Potter, is too easy, just let me know and I'll assign something else. No need to show off." Sherlock sighed again, nodding. Gremione, who was sitting a couple seats down, looked frustrated at how easily Sherlock had done the assignment. She got her match transfigured, soon enough, into a gleaming needle, and John got his partially transformed (the end was pointy and it looked sort of grey).
Sherlock lost all interest in the lesson after giving up trying to explain to Ron how to transfigure his match. That is, until Seamus somehow managed to blow his up. "How'd you do it?" Sherlock asked eagerly. "It makes no logical sense! What were you thinking of? What wand movements did you do? What incantation did you say exactly?!" he bombarded Seamus with questions as McGonagall and John tried to put out the fire Seamus had lighted on Gremione's head.
"I dunno" Seamus scratched his head. "Just kinda wiggled it like this, a bit" Seamus demonstrated. "And I was concentrating on seeing it turn into a needle, in my mind's eyes like I heard you telling John…when all of a sudden I wondered what dynamite would taste like…"
"Like nitroglycerin, diatomaceous and sodium carbonate antacid I'd assume," Sherlock said. "But, continue"
"Well, that's it" Seamus said as Neville shrieked when the flame was inadvertently passed to his desk. "No sooner had I wondered that, my match turned into a needle…and then it just blew up!"
"Maybe you turned it into an explosive needle" suggested Lavender.
"Obviously" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Seeing as how the needle exploded" He then proceeded in waving his wand in a circular motion, the fire going out and the classroom righting itself all at once. McGonagall's eyes widened, then she straightened her robes and strode to the front of the class, awarding Gryffindor five points before assigning homework for that afternoon.
****1047*****
Herbology was the next class. Sherlock found it slightly more intriguing. The professor, one Pomona Sprout, announced that they would be discovering which common plants had magical properties over the course of the next few weeks. Of course, Sherlock already knew much of the information—having read not only all of the Herbology text books for that year, but also several extracurricular—but it was still interesting to see how normally mundane plants behaved when grown in a magical environment. For example, dandelions, when grown surrounded and tended by magic, developed the ability to roar.
Sherlock found it gratifying that it impressed Professor Sprout when he only referred to each plant by their Latin name, such as the Taraxacum Asteraceae, the Viola Violaceae, Convallaria majalis and the DigitalisPlantaginaceae, to name the plants covered in class that afternoon. By the time class was over, Neville, Gremione and Sherlock were the only ones who'd actually retained (or really understood) anything. But from the looks of the Professor, she seemed overly happy just to have such "Fine young scholars" in her class.
Charms went much the same way, which Sherlock mastering each spell given with little or no (usually the latter) instruction. Flitwick was so excited he fell off his stool with a little squeak. "Bravo, Mr. Potter, Bravo!" he cried. "I'd day that you're your mother's son, but my Merlin's beard you're as powerful as she ever was! My, my, she'd be proud of you!" The Ravenclaws sharing the class with them scowled maliciously at Sherlock, Gremione giving her old friend a little glare of her own before being the second in the class to succeed at the pelleorem charm and turn her vase transparent.
Ron rolled his eyes at the two of them before asking Sherlock to show him how it's done just one more time. Sherlock acted exasperated with him, but agreed anyway. Ron just snorted, knowing that Sherlock was enjoying showing off.
Of course, those classes didn't even hold a candle to what Sherlock did in History of Magic Class. As soon as he realized that the majority of the class would be taking a two hour long nap, instead of actually learning anything, Sherlock whipped out his wand and somehow managed to create a life-size illusion of the Goblin war Professor Binns was describing. Students watched with rapped fascination as the two goblin clans clashed together on the battlefield to the droning sound of Binns and the roar of their generals. Ron's jaw dropped when he realized that Sherlock was actually enjoying his little magic display.
He was practically dancing about the room as magic continually poured from his wand. The students were taking rapid notes, oohing and aahing over the sight of Ragnuk smiting Gzuk's head off his shoulders. As the class went on, John observed Binns, and had thought the Professor was completely oblivious to Sherlock showing off. However when the class ended, to the student's disappointment, Binns turned to Sherlock and thanked him for his help before floating away, through the back wall.
As everybody left to go their separate ways (that was the last class of the day) Sherlock had his hand shaken many, many times as everyone expressed their thanks. Sherlock seemed almost surprised when this happened (not that anyone noticed but John). "You should consider being a teacher someday," John teased him as they walked side by side back to the common room. To John's surprise, Sherlock, instead of looked scandalized at the thought like John thought he would, he looked surprisingly thoughtful.
"Perhaps, if the thought of solving mundane crimes with the help of magic," Sherlock said slowly. Then he gave a little laugh. "Think of it, John. With any luck, Donavan will still be in the service, we could show up when we turn seventeen, scare the living daylights out of her, then using Veritasium to the suspects and make then sing." Sherlock chuckled once more, looking over to John with a smile. "You'll wow them all with your healing abilities," the smile grew hesitant. "That's assuming you'll be a healer, of course." John nodded.
"I was thinking about working as a private Healer for the Aurors," John said with a fond grin at his friend. "Though, I think now that I've got you, again, I'll be too busy stitching you back up to have much time for anyone else." Sherlock's smile was still there, and John felt warm. His hand found that of his friend's, and together the two eleven year olds slipped into the Gryffindor common room.
****1047****
As was tradition, the teachers gathered in the Headmaster's office to discuss the first day. Professor's who'd already taught would warn those who hadn't about potential problem children, or those with great potential. Though, for the first time that Dumbledore could remember, the majority of the teachers were thrumming in anticipation to speak. Usually they're all sulking, or complaining of weariness or headaches, the Headmaster mused. Yet, there was no denying the energy of the professors as they all sat in the deformed semicircle on plush cushioned chairs around the Headmaster's desk. Even Professor Snape looked unusually smug.
Dumbledore sat down at his desk with a bit of bounce. "Well, no sense in wasting any more time, since we're all obviously ready." He looked around at his employee's faces. "Minerva?" McGonagall cleared her throat.
"As you know, I had the first year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors today," she began with a nod of her head towards Pomona. "The Hufflepuffs were all very hard working, though I hope you'll not accuse me of bias when I saw that the three top students in class were all in Gryffindor." To Minerva's pleasant surprise, Sprout didn't seem that upset by this proclamation. "One Miss Hermione Granger, one Ronald Weasley, and one" here she couldn't help but pause for dramatic effect. "Harry Potter."
The professors collectively gasped. Not because of what Minerva said, but because Professor Cuthbert Binns floated into the meeting for the first time in nearly five decades. Dumbledore simply ignored the ghosts and gestured for Minerva to continue. "And what, Minerva, makes these three mentionable?"
"Oh, Headmaster," Minerva smiled. "I'd say that Mr. Potter had his father's talent, if he hadn't completely surpassed anything James did well until third year. And without instruction, no less. And Ms. Granger seems to be a very diligent study; she knew all the text book answers as sure as if she were quoting from the book. Mr. Weasley, while not as book smart as Granger nor bluntly powerful as Potter, was the only other one to make any change to his match stick. And even partial transfiguration is unusual for the first lesson." There were some nods. "But I mention Mr. Weasley mainly because I'm familiar with the family, and his mother has told me that Ronald has never shown much signs of magic at all. She counted only two separate occasions in which she'd seen him use accidental magic. Yet here he is, third in his class. He's completely different than what I was expecting, not to mention that he has no limp! It was just the day before term that Madame Hooch received a note excusing him from flying lessons, should he so wish, because of it. I remember her showing it to me."
To Dumbledore's surprise, Severus was the one to respond. "I spoke with the youngest Weasley boy some time ago, at which point I do recall him having an unfortunate limp. As I remember, he could barely bend his knee. However, his sort of limp was not caused by injury nor deformity. Muggles call this 'psychosomatic', in other words, it was all in his head. I'd done some research on it, out of curiosity and there were several reasons for such a limp, all adding up to feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness or inadequacy." Professor Sprout raised a hand to her mouth, her heart aching in sympathy.
Flitwick also looked troubled. "The Weasleys are a loving bunch," he squeaked. "Why on earth…" the small professor shook his head, trailing off, unsure of how to finish his thought. Severus waved that aside.
"Seeing as how he's cured of it I don't see how it's relevant. However, if my assumptions are correct, then his friendship with that Potter oddball" here Minerva made a noise of protest "is probably the cause of his relief. I might not have had them in class, but Potter seems unusually attentive to Weasley"
"But aren't they just the sweetest pair," Sprout cooed aloud. "I don't think Mr. Potter let go of Mr. Weasley's hand the entire time they were in my class."
"Nor in mine," Flitwick chuckled.
"And what of your class, Pomona" Dumbledore asked her. "Any shining stars."
"Well, in the Hufflepuff class, Finch-Fletchley showed a lot of promise. He said he grows vegetables with his father back home. Ms. Bones, though, must have tried the hardest out of all of them."
"And in Gryffindor? They were your second group of First years, weren't they?" asked Minerva, almost impatiently.
"Oh, Sherlock was magnificent. He knew all the Latin names and he was so excited about getting to the practical work."
"Sherlock?" Minerva raised an eyebrow while Dumbledore looked curiously at Snape, who had stiffened minutely.
"Oh, that's what Mr. Potter likes being called. Apparently 'Harry' is too 'plebian' for his tastes." Sprout giggled. "Though what's funny is how he can never remember people's names, but he can list all the plants in my greenhouse in alphabetical order from their proper names. He called Mr. Weasley 'John', and Mr. Thomas he called both 'David' and 'Domonic'. Ms. Granger he refused to call anything but 'Greg' or 'Gremione'." Sprout shook her head fondly. "Speaking of, Ms. Granger seemed to have memorized the reading section. But Neville was just a charmer with the plants. Made the Dandelions purr, he did."
"Mr. Potter needed no instruction in my class," Flitwick pipped in. "Just grabbed his wand and set off spelling everything transparent! I would have awarded him more points…if he hadn't done them spell on Mr. Finnegan to see if it'd turn his classmate invisible." Flitwick smiled. "Inquisitive one, Mr. Potter. He made all my Ravens fairly green with envy. Mr. Weasley showed promise, as did Granger when it came to the books. Mr. Finnegan would have, if he hadn't set fire to everything he charmed after turning them transparent. I regret having to take points, because he intentionally did it. I think Mr. Potter was egging him on."
Minerva gave a chuckle. "Just like his father."
"No, nothing like Jiminy Pooter," Binns disagreed. "Sherlock was most magnificent in class. In fact, if I were you Headmaster, I put him down as a potential history professor when he graduates. I'd happily stand aside for him." All of the professors stared at him in shock. Binns had refused to leave his post for the last eighty years.
"And just how did young Mr. Potter conduct himself in your class?" Dumbledore prompted.
"He assisted me in the telling of the first goblin revolution against the olde kings!" Binns said which what the others assumed was enthusiasm. It was hard to tell when the speaker was dead and always spoke in monotone. "He made the story come to life. I've never had a class so thoroughly enthralled, more than half of them took studious notes. And the others were too enraptured by Sherlock to take their eyes away for even a moment."
There was heavy silence after Binns stopped talking. The ghost seemed unaware of it, just sitting there, staring straight ahead. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "And you, Professor Snape?"
"They were all hopeless, as usual," drawled the dour man. "Save for Draco Malfoy…"
****1047****
"Sherlock," Dean prodded him with an elbow that night at dinner. "Why're all the professor's staring at you?" Sherlock glanced up from his plate—which was empty, as he was eating off of John's—towards the front table. As soon as he did, all of the teachers looked away in unison. "See, it's getting creepy."
"Just ignore them," Sherlock told his…dormmate(?). "They've probably just been gossiping about the first day of class. You know how adults are, they never stick to their own business."
All of the children within earshot nodded sagely at these words of wisdom, while John and Gremione roll their eyes. Sherlock steals another chicken leg off of John's plate and starts nibbling off the meat. "Why don't you just fill your own plate?" Lavender asks him.
"I'm not hungry," he informs her as he takes another bite.
At the professor's table, Dumbledore his watching them with amusement. "I'll certainly have to owl Molly, and inform her that Ronald has made a friend."
"I have to admit, Albus," Minerva turns to him. "I'm slightly worried by Mr. Potter's behavior."
"How so?"
"He acts like he owns Ronald. And Ronald seems perfectly fine with it!"
"Then what's the issue?" Minerva sighed, shaking her head as she returned to her meal.