Hello peoples! It made me so happy when so many reviews came in for the last chapter. However, there was one review in particular that made me want to clarify something.

This will not be one of those fics where the new characters do the same exact thing that happened in cannon. I know it seems that way right now, but that is because they (like the characters in the first book) are simply going with the flow. Things are happening to them, and they are reacting as their personalities dictate. As you have probably (hopefully) noticed, they are reacting differently than the cannon characters did. Subtle changes are happening (i.e. Snape is fond of Harry; John already suspects Quirrell; the 'Golden Trio' has a better relationship not only with each other earlier on, but with their housemates and even those of other houses.) However, soon there will be a pivotal moment at which Sherlock will make an important decision that will completely change the course of the story. So, yes, this book is following a lot of the same story elements as the SS novel, but that will change soon.

Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I love your ideas, and I'd address them, but this AN is already super long. Just know that I've read them and am going to try and use as many as possible!

Smauglock: yes. Yes it is. xD

(I do not own anything in this chapter except…you know…the plot…ish)

May the gods be ever in your favor!

~James

(TJLCFTW!)

Kudos to those of you who know that that says.

****1047*****

Neville's eyes were wide as he watched his weird new friends share breakfast. John was eating cubes of fruit, but every other time he picked up a piece he'd shove it unceremoniously into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock, in turn, would then spit it out onto the floor, where a House Elf would appear, pick it up, and vanish. Gremione was rolling her eyes at the both of them. Lavender and Parvati were looking squeamish at it. Neville watched as the two girl turned to share a grimace at John and Sherlock's expense, but then the two girls tensed and looked away from each other to glare at the floor. Seamus and Dean were trying to turn water into Rum (Sherlock had managed some sort of muggle drink called 'coke' on the second day). Collin was babbling to Sherlock, happily oblivious that the other boy wasn't listening, about how his little brother accidentally blew up a vase with magic.

"He's a wizard too!" Colin squealed happily. Sherlock spit out a piece of strawberry in reply. Neville wasn't sure how to react to his friends. Fondness rose up in him as he watched John shove a melon cube in Sherlock's mouth, then hold the smaller boy's lips shut with his hand, forcing Sherlock to swallow it whole. Neville was certain that if Gran were here, she'd be glaring in disapproval at their manners (or lack thereof).

But, Neville decided, the Slytherin's manner would balance them out. So there wasn't any need to be worried about the Yule Ball Gran had agreed he'd be able to host. It was going to be a big thing, it seemed. It started out as just the first years from Gryffindor and Slytherin (ironic, Neville thought, because of the age old rivalry) but it soon grew to include the first years from all the houses, and then anyone who wanted to attend. No one seemed to care that it was a first year hosting it. Already, people were talking about who they were going to ask to the Ball.

Neville grinned as he recalled a conversation from last night. Fred and George were tossing around a quaffle they'd liberated from Oliver's personal chest. John and Sherlock were curled up together around Sherlock's history text in one of the plush chairs. Percy waved his wand, sending the quaffle flying into the prefect's hand. In need of new entertainment, the twins rounded on John and Sherlock.

"So, Ronnikins," started Fred.

"How's my favorite little brother been?" asked George.

"I thought I was your favorite little brother," said Fred, looking hurt.

"With that ugly mug?" shot back George. John grinned at his brother, but didn't verbally answer as he pressed closer to Sherlock, who was absently twirling his wand, muttering some obscure incantation under his breath.

"At least it's pretty enough for Angelina to agree to be my date!" Fred said with a mixture of testiness and pride. "Who're you taking? Flint?"

George gagged. "Never! I'm thinking Katie. Hey! Katie?" he hollered over to where said Chaser was sitting at a table, working on her Charms homework.

"Not on your life," she laughed. "I'm going with Oliver!" George pouted as Fred preened.

"What about you, Ronnikins?" Fred asked his little brother. "You going to ask little Granger? She's cute for a firstie."

John blanched as Sherlock his a grin, wondering how Greg would react to being called cute. "That a no?" asked George. "Well, then. Maybe Lavender? Or are Hufflepuffs more your taste? I hear Abbotts looking for a date!" John made a face.

"No." He said, irritated as he tried to focus back on his book.

"Fred, George," snapped Percy as he walked back into the room, seeing the twins bothering his littlest brother. "Leave him alone, he's obviously going with Potter." John's face turned bright cherry red, and he began to stutter out how ridiculous they were being. But Sherlock simply gave a firm nod, then turned back to his text book.

And that was the end of that.

****1047*****

It was almost the last class of the day, John realized happily as he and Sherlock made their way over to the History classroom. It was a nice way to end the day, he thought, watching Sherlock create his magnificent illusions. With Sherlock's complicated mind, he could add an amazing amount of detail to any story he set his mind to, right down to the warts on a troll or the feathers on a bird. It made History class much like watching a muggle movie, something John had missed growing up in the wizarding world.

Talk of Sherlock's talent soon spread about the school, and Seventh and Sixth years (who had break during their history period) often came to watch. There was a popular theory going around that "Harry Potter" the "Boy-Who-Lived" was so powerful that Binns was able to absorb his magic and become more lively. Which was why Binns was becoming a more interesting teacher. John wasn't sure about the likeliness of this, but he knew from talking to the other students, that before Sherlock, Binns would only teach on Goblin wars. Now, Binns was spreading out into other, more interesting areas of history.

"I wonder what class will be of, today," John said as he squeezed Sherlock's left hand with his right. Sherlock shrugged.

"Not sure," he said. "He finished up with the second on the French Families' civil wars, so it'll be a completely new topic." John let go of Sherlock when they entered the room, so that his friend could make his way to the front of the classroom where he normally sat. Three or four Seventh years were already seated along the back wall, talking and laughing quietly to each other. John sat in the front row, where he had a good view of Sherlock.

The First years filtered in eagerly. Seamus sat down on one side of John with Dean, while Colin sat on the other, with Neville sitting behind them with Gremione and Parvati. John was surprised to note that Lavender was sitting with one of the Ravenclaws on the other side of the room. But John shrugged that away as Colin offered him some jellybeans (it wasn't uncommon for kids to bring snacks to "Sherlock's History Cinema").

Binns floated through the back wall and gave Sherlock a faint smile. "As you all know," he began in his monotone. "Today is Halloween, so, with help from my wonderful assistance," he waved a hand towards Sherlock. "I will be straying from the curriculum for todays' lesson." He paused as a group of Sixth years snuck in to sit with the Sevenths. "I'm sure most of you have heard of Beedle the Bard. Beedle the Bard was a wizard who lived in the fifteenth century. This was a time of war, and wizards were alternately worshiped for the power they offered in battle, a feared for their strange ways. Not much of Wizarding history was actually documented in his lifetime, which is why this man is such a marvel.

For, you see, a large number of his stories survived. But history scholars to this day are uncertain whether his tales are actual history, or fables. There is little known about him, except that he was born in Yorkshire, and had a rather impressive beard."

The classroom was quiet except for the sound of students munching on their snacks. "Today, in honor of Halloween I will tell you a story than has survived better than others. Most of Beedle's tales have been twisted over time, told from storyteller to storyteller, altered slightly with every new mouth. And yet, this one remains the same: The Warlock's Hairy Heart."

Understanding seemed to light in Sherlock's eyes as he raised his wand. Suddenly, the room distorted and they were seated in the midst of a grand ballroom, where people in old fashioned robes spun and twirled to music. Laughter filled the halls. There, standing next to Sherlock, was a tall, handsome man with dark hair and gleaming blue eyes.

"There once was a handsome, rich and talented young warlock, who observed that his friends grew foolish when they fell in love" came Binn's voice echoing all around. Sherlock's doing, John was sure. "Gambling and preening, losing their appetites and their dignity. The young warlock resolved to never fall prey to such weakness, and so employed Dark Arts to ensure his immunity." In a swirl of cloaks and robes reminiscent to their dear Potion's Master, the warlock stormed from the ballroom. The other witches and wizards only paused for a moment, to watch him go, but then they simply laughed some more and kept dancing. "Unaware, his friends and family laughed to see him so aloof and cold.

" 'All will change', they prophesied, 'when a maid catches his fancy!'

"But the young warlock remained untouched by 'fancy', though many a maiden was intrigued by his haughty mien, and employed their most subtle arts to please him. None succeeded in toughing his heart. The warlock gloried in his indifference and the sagacity that had produced it.

The ball shifted to show that of a sprawling meadow, with young children playing about while their parents watched. Under the shadow of a large tree, the warlock just glared at all of them. "The first freshness of youth maned, and the warlock's peers began to wed, and then to bring for children. 'Their hearts must be as husks,' he sneered as he watched. 'shrivelled by the demands of their mewling offspring!'

"And once again he congratulated himself upon his wisdom." As the students watched, the sky faded to black, then grey and the people all disappeared, save for the warlock. Instead of standing beneath a tree, in was instead staring impassively at two headstones amongst a graveyard. He wore a smirk.

"In due course, his own parent's aged and died. Their son did non mourn them; on the contrary he considered himself lucky to be rid of them. Now he reigned alone in their castle, with naught but the servants to bother him." The graveyard became a grand hall, in which the warlock sat upon a throne. "The warlock, wealthy above all others, was sure he must be an object of envy to all who beheld his splendid, untroubled, solitude. Fierce was his anger and chagrin, therefore" the students watched as The warlock swept off his throne, and stalked towards a door. The warlock had paused and was listening. The whole room seemed to move, until they were on the other side of the door, watching two men, obviously servants engaged in conversation. "when he overheard two of his servants discussing him. One expressed pity for his master, who, with all his power and riches, was loved by nobody. The other jeered, asking why such a man with so much gold was unable to attract a wife. Their words dealt dreadful blow to this man's pride." John watched, as fascinated as the rest of the class as the man Sherlock was controlling vowed to take a wife that should be superior to all others. The warlock listed off everything he desired in her: physical beauty, grace, lineage, power, wealth and intelligence.

Once again, the ballroom appeared, showing the warlock watching one of the visiting maidens. She was gorgeous with soft red hair flowing past her waist and large green eyes. Every man there felt a pull on their heart as they beheld her, " Save for one", Binns said. "For the warlock felt nothing at all. Never the less, he began to pay her court." A great change seemed to come over the warlock. Suddenly, he was dressed in vibrant colors. He smiled and stood tall, he changed from languid and broody to a charming gentleman with a wave of Sherlock's wand. A dozens scenes flashed by as Binns spoke: The warlock and the maiden on a boat ride, on horseback in the woods, in a meadow of flowers, sitting in their garden, dancing…

"All who noticed the warlock's change were amazed, and congratulated the woman on succeeding where many had failed. The maiden herself was both flattered and repelled by the warlock, sensing the frost beneath the warmth. She'd never met a man so strange. Her kinsfolk, however, pressured her. For they found the match favorable. Eager to promote it, they accepted the warlock's invitation to a great feast in the maiden's honor."

They were in a dining room, with crystal chandeliers and silk table clothes. The table was set with platters of silver and gold, bearing the finest wines and most expensive foods. Minstrels strummed their lutes and sang of the love their master had never felt. The maiden was sitting upon her own throne beside that of the warlock's. The man was leaning towards her, muttering softly into her ears, with a fake smile. "He spoke to her many pretty things and words of tenderness stolen from the poets, without any idea of their true meaning. The maiden listened, then declared. 'You speak well, Warlock, and I would be delighted by your intentions…if only I had your heart!" They watched as the warlock sat back with a strange, pleased expression. They watched as he bid her follow, and then with the couple, they all left the ball.

The warlock led the maiden down away from the feast and into his locked dungeon. He pulled her by the hand to the far end of the stone room, where a single chest sat. It was old, that much was sure, and it created as the warlock opened it. He pulled out a gleaming piece of crystal, as large as her head. Inside…was the warlock's beating heart.

The maiden screamed and backed away. Many off John's classmates recoiled at the sight, and John had to give Sherlock points for creativity. "Long since disconnected from eyes, ears and fingers," Binns droned, adding to the creepiness. "It had never fallen prey to beauty, or music, nor love. The heart was shrunken, and covered in long, black hair." John bit down the 'obviously' that tried to leap from his throat.

The man tried to hand it to her, but she refused to take it. The woman cried out in horror at the warlock, who looked confused, in a way that reminded John of Sherlock when he realized John was upset but hadn't the faintest idea why. "The woman begged him to put it back where it belonged, and, seeing it was necessary to please her, he drew he wand, unlocked the crystal casket, sliced open his own breast and replaced the hairy heart in the empty cavity it had once occupied."

John was regretting eating all those jellybeans. Sherlock was having way too much fun with the illustration, if his manic grin was anything to go by. "'Now, you are healed, and can know true love!' the maiden cried as she threw herself forward to embrace him. The touch, scent, and sound of her all pierced the newly awakened heart like a spear. But his heart had grown strange during it's long exile in the darkness to which it had been condemned to grown perverse."

There were many startled gasps as the entire room went dark. "The guests soon realized the absence of the maiden and the warlock. Anxious as the hours passed, they began to search the castle. The found the dungeon last, and a most dreadful sighed awaited them there." The lights came back, and Lavender screamed. In a puddle of blood, the maiden lay dead. The warlock was kneeling over her, holding in one hand a great, smooth, shining heart which he kissed and caressed, vowing to exchange it for his own. In his other hand, he held his wand, trying to coax from his own chest the hairy hear, but it was stronger than he was, and refused to move. To the horror of the class and the conjured guests, the man threw aside his wand and pulled a dagger from his boot. Renewing his vow to never be mastered by his own heart, he plunged it deep within his own chest.

For one moment, he stood triumphant, a heart in each hand.

Then, he fell over dead.

With a gust of magic, it all faded, and the classroom returned to normal. There was stunned silence at the ending. "For homework!" Binns interrupted the quiet. "I want you to do research on Adalbert Waffling's Fundamental Laws of Magic! I expect a two foot essay from each of you, explaining how Waffling's research lines up with the story. I also which for you to include what you believe the moral to be." With that, the old ghost floated off, to Dumbledore knows where, and left the students alone as they, once again, applauded Sherlock's performance.

*****1047*****

Gremione was still fuming from their Charm's lesson. They had learned the levitation charm that day, fairly easy. It started out the same as the other charms lessons that week. John and Sherlock sat squished together, hands intertwined under the table. Seamus sat next to him with Dean, and Parvati had teamed up with Colin. Lavender was sitting with one of her Ravenclaw friends, again. Gremione had shrugged, and decided to sit with Neville that day. The class was unsurprised when, as soon as Flitwick announced what charm they were doing, Sherlock's feather began to drift across the room.

The ravens all sighed in resigned resentment, and picked up their wands. The Gryffindors snickered and cheered. Flitwick, beaming, awarded him five points. But then the drama had started when her classmates attempted the charm themselves. Oh, Merlin, their pronunciation was atrocious! Everything from "Wingardum levosa" to "Windindum Lemonova" was shouted as they waved their wands about like half-witted muggles.

Everyone was startled into silence when Lavender's Ravenclaw friend snapped. "It's not Windarvos lenoda. It's Windgardium Leviosa! Honestly, it's NOT THAT HARD!" Lavender's face screwed up, and you could tell the raven regretted her words, but before she could apologuise, Lavender fled the room. Flitwick sighed and took two points away from Ravenclaw, making the raven at fault flush in shame.

Swish and flick, Gremione's feather floated up. Then she raised her hand. "Yes, Ms. Granger?" Flitwick asked her.

"Since I've completed to lesson," she said. "May I go check on Lavender?" Receiving a grateful nod, Gremione slid out of her seat and gathered up her books. As she passed by the boys, John waved at her, to get her attention.

"Do you want me to come along, too?" John asked. Sherlock looked displeased and tightened his hold around John's waist. Greg smiled fondly at her best friends and shook her head. Greg wandered down the hall, looking both ways down the corridor. If I were a sobbing little girl, she thought, where would I hide? Thinking about it, she narrowed down the possibilities to the girl's dorm, one of the bathrooms, or an empty classroom. Out of all them, the second option seemed most likely, as the dorm was all the way across the castle, and a first year wouldn't be sure what classroom was truly unused.

Greg sighed as she trekked to the nearest bathroom. She always hated going into public restrooms, now that she was female. It always made her feel like a dirty old man. As she drew closer, she could hear sobbing coming from inside. With a deep breath, Greg pushed open the door and stepped in. She could see Lavender sitting on the ground in the far stall. Gremione grimaced, thinking of how dirty the floor must be.

"Lavender?" she called out. "Are you okay?"

"Go away Gremione," Lavender's voice was thick and trembling. "I don't want to talk right now." Gremione felt a small grin rise up on her lips for a brief moment, hearing Lavender calling her by the nickname Sherlock had given her. Most people assumed he was accidently mixing her first and last names, only four people knew better. Forcing her facial expression into one of cool understanding, Greg approached her and drew his wand. With a wave, she unlocked the stall and sat down next to Lavender.

They sat there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, until Lavender finally spoke up. "I got a necklace from my uncle, it was really pretty. It a little blue flower on the locket, and a picture of my baby brother inside. My baby brother died last year. He got dragon pox, and he was too little to fight it off. I showed it to Parvati, and the next day it was gone." Lavender sobbed again. "I know she took, because she was telling me how much she wanted it. I don't think she knew about the picture of Maxwell, but it's still the only one I had!" Lavender wailed, throwing her arms around Hermione. "I don't care if she borrowed it, but she's not giving it back and I'm afraid that she lost it! If only she'd admit it, I'd forgive her, but she won't! She won't even help me look!" Lavender kept crying and Gremione, not thinking she should say anything, just patted her back consolingly. She hadn't known about Lavender's brother.

After a while, she quieted down, but neither girl made a move to get up. "Thanks, Gremione," Lavender said quietly.

"No problem," Greg said. "I'll help you look for it."

"Okay." Lavender said, still not moving. Greg mentally sighed, but didn't try pushing her off.

****1047****
The food at the feast was incredible. It made even Sherlock feel hungry. The tables were fairly groaning with the weight of all the food. Sherlock looked up at John, who was practically drooling. The Gryffindor First years sat down excitedly, barely waiting for Dumbledore to finish speaking to dig in. Sherlock helped himself to a bowl of pumpkin soup, and grabbed a buttery piece of bread, surprising his dorm mates. Though John looked extremely pleased, giving Sherlock a pat on the head before loading up his own plate.

Sherlock drank from his bowl like a cup, then dunked his bread in John's mashed potatoes as he ate. Seamus and Dean were having a contest, to see who could eat the most drumsticks and ribs in one go. Neville was gorging himself on Halloween sweets, and Colin was munching happily on cob corn. The only one who didn't seem to be eating, was Parvati. The girl was sullently picking at a piece of chicken pot pie, while fingering something around her throat.

"What's wrong?" John asked the same moment that Sherlock spoke up "Where's Greg?" The boys all looked around, Parvati only sinking lower in her seat. "I can't believe they're missing this!" Dean cried, taking another messy bite of rib.

"We should go look for them," John said firmly, rising from his seat and trying to pull Sherlock with him. The other boys looked mournfully at the food, but to their credit, they all began to get up as well. Dean and Seamus were just wiping off their hands when the Great Hall's entrance doors burst open.

"TROLL!" a shrill voice cried. In unison, 300 heads spun to take in the rumpled form of their DADA professor. "T-troll in the dun-dungeon!" Quirrel shrieked. Then he gasped, looking very pale. "Thought you ought to know" he said weakly before collapsing. There were exactly two beats of silence before a tiny first year Hufflepuff started screaming bloody-murder. It didn't take long for everyone else to join her.

"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice echoed about the room. "Prefects, escort your housemates to the dorms. You will finish the feast there. Professors, come with me." Percy was the first to act, taking hold of John by the arm, to ensure that his baby brother wouldn't get shoved to the ground by stampeding Gryffindors.

"Gryffindors!" Percy called out. "This way, follow me!" John struggled in his brother's grip.

"Greg!" he said. "She doesn't know about the troll!" John looked for Sherlock, only to realize that his friend was missing. "Sherlock!" he cried. "Percy, Percy, Percy!" John tugged on his older brother's sleeve. The redhead looked down in worry.

"What is it, Ronny?" he asked, his voice soft as ever. "Is your leg hurting, do you need me to carry you?" John's face burned with shame. Percy seemed to take this as confirmation and bent to scoop up his brother. But John gripped his forearm.

"No!" he cried. "Sherlock went after the troll!" Percy's face went pale. "You have to help me find him! Please!" Percy's eyes steeled.

"No, Ron," he said firmly. "You're not going anywhere near a troll. I shall inform a teacher as soon as I get everyone to the dorms. GRYFFINDORS THIS WAY!" John jerked out of Percy's grasp and ran to the Slytherin table, where the students were stubbornly refusing to move, grumbling about how the troll was probably smashing their dorm.

"Mycroft!" John cried, oblivious to Percy panicking behind him. "Sherlock went after the troll! Or Greg, I'm not sure." Mycroft's eyes went wide.

"Where is Greg?" he demanded.

"Third floor bathroom!" Mycroft jumped up, ignoring the protests of his prefects, and ran out of the Hall with John on his tail.

"Since that is closer, let's warn Greg before searching for Sherlock. Hopefully my idiot brother can stay out of trouble that long!" John glared at the back of Mycroft's head. Since when did Mycroft put anyone above Sherlock? Suddenly, Mycroft stopped running, John collided with his back, sending them both tumbling.

"B-boys?" asked a voice. John looked up. There was Quirrel, looking fine. What was he doing here?

*****1047******

Greg had finally convinced Lavender to come with her to the feast. "It'll be fine, and I'll help you find your locket. I promise!" Lavender washed her face one last time and took a deep breath. "Let's go," she said. "It's starting to reek in here." The two girls turned to the door, only to freeze in terror.

"EEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII"

*********1047******

Lavender, Sherlock's mind supplied as he raced down the corridor. Apparently the troll had made its way to the third floor. Or, said his brain, the troll was never in the dungeons in the first place. "Come, John" Sherlock said to the empty air behind him. "We have to hurry. Merlin knows Lavender won't be able to hold off a troll on her own." Then he paused, grinning. "First a Cerberus, now a troll," he said happily. "Do you think we'll find a dragon next, John?"

Without waiting for his friend to reply, Sherlock dashed, coattails flying, towards the source of the sound and smell coming down the hall. "Good god, John, that smells!" Sherlock wrinkled his nose. He watched the troll shuffle into the bathroom, adding up data in his head. "It's a fully grown mountain troll, John. Its skin is impervious to any magical attacks we know right now. Our best bet would be to use the environment. You distract the troll, John, and I'll collapse the ceiling on it!" with that he ran into the bathroom yelling "BOMBARDA!" with his wand pointed above the troll's head.

"Sherlock!" Greg's voice called out to him as bricks and wood fell from the ceiling. The air was soon filled with debris dust, and the bathroom was in shambles. But the troll was only dazed. "Run Lavender," Greg told the frightened girl. But the girl only shook in fear at the sight of the troll, who was beginning to get back up.

"Just leave her and run!" Sherlock told her. If Greg had the time she would have sighed at her friend. As it was, she whipped out her wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried with a swish and a flick. Just as the troll was about to smash them to bits with his club, the large hunk of wood sailed out of his hands. The troll grunted in confusion, and Sherlock took his opening.

"Aguamenti!" he said in an authoritative voice, sending a jet up water up the troll's nose. The troll cried out in anguish, as Sherlock cast another spell. "Glacies Maxima!" The water, and the troll, turned to ice. "Bombarda" Sherlock said almost lazily as he waved his wand at the troll statue. Lavender shrieked again as she was pelted by frozen chucks of troll meat.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall. Lavender's eyes grew wide and Greg grew pale. Sherlock simply fluffed up his hair, trying to get all the troll bits out of it. Five people rushed through the door, then stopped as they took in the absolute devastation that used to be the girls lavatory. McGonagall had a small blonde by the hand, and Snape held a larger blonde by the shoulder. Professor Quirrel stood off to the side, his mouth gaping.

"SHERLOCK!" John dove for his friend. Instead of giving him a hug, like Sherlock had been anticipating upon seeing John enter the room (after getting over his confusion as to why John was there instead of here) John began mercilessly wailing on him with tiny clutched fists. "You utter prat!" he scolded angrily. "You moron! You git! You're supposed to be a genius! What kind of genius goes after a mountain troll?!"

"A Gryffindor genius," said the ex-Holmeses at once before glaring (in the case of Sherlock) and smirking condescendingly (in the case of Mycroft) at each other. McGonagall scowled while Snape masterfully hid a smirk. John looked like steam should have been billowing out of his ears before deflating and gripping Sherlock's skinny frame in a death grip.

"Do you three," McGonagall spoke up "have any idea what could have happened? What on earth possessed you to go after a troll? You could have been killed. What were you…"

"It's all my fault," said Lavender softly, interrupting her Head of House. "Parvati and I got in a fight, so I was hiding in here. Gr—I mean, Hermione came and sat with me, but I guess we ended up missing the feast. Sherlock had come to find us, because he was worried, but the the troll came. We didn't go looking for trouble, honest."

"I can attest that that is what happened," Mycroft said. "When we heard about the troll being in the dungeons, the prefects had us Slytherins stay at the table, since, you know, our dorms are down there. But the John came over and asked if Sherlock was with me. When we realized he was still gone, we went to go find a teacher, as by that point all the adults had left the room. We thought it'd be safe, since we'd been told the monster was in the dungeons…not the third floor bathrooms."

"And we did find a teacher," piped in John.

"Gryffindors indeed," Sherlock heard Snape mutter under his breath, but McGonagall didn't appear to, as she began to look appeased.

"Well," she sighed. "While what you did was foolish, you were not, actually, breaking any rules. Next time, however, send a prefect to find a professor instead of looking for one yourself. But that brings us to the matter of what happened to the troll?"

"I used aguamenti up it's nose," said Sherlock calmly. "Then I froze the water. Then I blew it up. I like blowing things up."

"You're not supposed to blow living things up, Mr. Potter!"

"It was going to kill Greg and Lilac!"

Despite herself, McGonagall let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Take fifteen points to Gryffindor, then," McGonagall said. "For protecting your friends."

"You can't reward him for things like this," Mycroft said, scandalized. "Don't you know anything? Rewarding him like that will make him want to do it again!" Snape let out a suspicious cough.

"To your dorms!" Minerva ordered. "I'll hear no more about it!"

Snape led a grumbling Malfoy away, and Sherlock watched them curiously. John tugged Sherlock along as McGonagall escorted them to Gryffindor tower. Half an hour later, they were all fed, showered and ready for bed. As John crawled in next to Sherlock, closing the bed's curtains behind him, he best friend asked "Did you see why Snape was limping?"

*****1047****
Sorry, I know that's a weird ending, I just couldn't think of where to end it. Thank you all for your reviews! Loves you!