Hey guys! Sorry this update is a little later than normal. I've been pretty busy, what with finals coming up, projects due, Christmas shopping and getting ready for the Christmas performances I'm in. I left town for a little bit, also, and I couldn't bring my computer. Just going to answer a few reviews, but thanks to everybody who commented, it means so much to me!
To several people: Nope, sorry. Colin is not Anderson. LOL good guess though. Man, that'd be awkward. But, as I mentioned in an earlier chapter, Anderson and Donovan are both still alive, and Gremione even stalks them from time to time.
Mia: Yes, yes he is. Thanks so much ;)
Guest: Yes, yes he is :) congrats on being the first one to pick up on that.
Kat99421: I may have Neville remember at some point, but not this year.
Kai19: Lol, I love it.
PandasWearGlasses: I love you. I love you. I love you. And, yes. When I read your review I literally did a spit-take, because you are SPOT ON! Except about Dennis.
I just love reading all your ideas on who Colin Creevy is. Don't worry. Come summer (in the story) it'll be VERY clear…and awkward. Love you guys so much! Thanks for reviewing, hope you like this chapter!
On a side note have you all seen the new Sherlock trailer. OMG I EXPLODED INTO RAINBOWS AND FANGIRL MUSH!
-James
Lucius wasn't sure what to think when he spotted a horribly wrapped and lumpy package on the pile that was meant for Draco, which was addressed to "Mycroft" from "Johnald and Sherlock". The paper it was wrapped in was a garish orange color, and it was tied with a horribly contrasting purple ribbon. His confusion only grew when he watched his son's eyes widen as he lunged for that present first.
"It's from Ronald Weasley," his son explained. "We have funny names for each other." Which, obviously, did nothing to help Lucius' confusion. Narcissa walked into the room as Draco peeled off the horrible packaging, to reveal a rather large photo album. Only the first few pages were filled up, it seemed, leaving room for many other pictures. But most of the pictures that were there, were of that Potter boy. The first picture showed the Gryffindor first years posing in a sort of huddle, with Potter in the dead center. The next was a picture of Potter and another boy peering into a smoking cauldron. The next was a picture of Potter casting an extremely intricate illusion spell in, what Lucius recognized as, the History Classroom.
Draco had a fond smile on his face as he poured over the pictures, completely ignoring the package that obviously held a Nimbus 2000, which the boy had begged him for not even two months ago. "Those are your friends, then?" his mother asked him. Draco started a bit, and looked up.
"Yes," he said. "They're all a bunch of idiots. But they're the good sort."
"And what sort is that, dear?"
Draco thought about it for a moment. "The loyal sort."
****1047****
It was strange to be going back to Hogwarts, John thought to himself. Over Christmas break, he'd nearly forgotten that he was no longer Doctor John Watson. He had been surrounded by good smells and warm feelings, along with all the people in the world he loved most (except for Mycroft and Gremione, but oh well.) He and Sherlock even had a silly little "case" over break. The Lovegoods down the way were investigating the existence of "Crumple Horned Snortlacks", and their search had apparently lead them to the Burrow. Sherlock had been excited once an argument had broken out that they didn't exist, to which the Lovegood father had replied that you only couldn't see them if you were unintelligent, or uncreative.
So Sherlock had set off with John in tow, much to his family's amusement, to find the Snortlacks with the Lovegoods. It was the strangest afternoon John had ever experienced…and coming from him, that's saying a lot. He saw Mr. Lovegood talking to trees, Luna Lovegood doing a funky dance (apparently to draw out the Snortlacks) in the middle of a glen, even convincing Sherlock to join them both. Sherlock had been scratching runes on trees mumbling backwards while hopping on one foot.
But all their nonsense paid off, because at exactly 2:45 that afternoon a circle of mushrooms popped up in the snow, which melted to reveal green grass and flowers. In the center of a circle appeared a small pixie like thing with tiny, wrinkly horns and a pig snout. It stood there and laughed itself silly at the four of them (honestly, rude), before vanishing into thin air. Mr. Lovegood had shouted for joy, gathering up the mushrooms, gifting one each to John and Sherlock for their help.
Molly had rolled her eyes at hearing Mr. Lovegoods' story, but had thanked him for entertaining the boys that afternoon and invited them to stay for dinner (featuring mushroom soup). All in all, it had been a good break. But now, they were on the train back. Mycroft was arguing with Gremione about the existence of Qi and Auras in the train compartment they were sharing. Neville and (ugh) Creevy were oohing and aahing over the mushroom that Sherlock had saved from Molly's kitchen knife. And John was sitting near the window with Sherlock's head in his lap as the other boy sprawled out dramatically, reading through John's copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
John had been slightly miffed to discover Creevy had also been given a copy by Sherlock. Now, John sat there smugly as he combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair while Colin sat across from them with Greg.
"I can't believe the book you gave me!" Colin said excitedly. "I love it so much; you know it's just like you two. It's odd really…" Colin trained off, but then shook his head. "I couldn't help but hear your two voices as I was reading it. My Mum got a bit angry when she saw it, but she let me keep it."
"Why'd she get angry?" Neville asked from where he was sitting with Sherlock's feet on his lap.
Colin sighed, shrugging. "I dunno. She's always hated Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Always going on about how Holmes was a fake and Watson was just being used by him."
John flinched. "A while before they…died…Sherlock Holmes' reputation was attacked by a man named Moriarty. He made people believe that Sherlock wasn't really a genius, that he was just a kind of magician. And so he threatened the people Sherlock loved, saying that if Sherlock didn't kill himself that his loved ones would die."
"But his loved ones, save for his older brother, didn't know," Mycroft picked up when John had hesitated. "So, Sherlock, with the help of his brother, made it look like he jumped off a building and killed himself. And it was so convincing that even Doctor Watson, who was right there, thought he was truly dead." John's grip on Sherlock tightened minutely.
"I never knew that," Colin whispered. "I thought it was all just another trick he did to prove he was right."
"In a way, it was," said Sherlock, speaking up for the first time on the train ride. "While he was 'dead', Holmes traveled, killing all the people that were a threat to his Doctor and the various other goldfish in his life. And when he was through, he returned to London where they lived happily ever after for another year…and then died."
Neville sniffled. "It's so sad…They seemed a lot like you two, John. In love but they never outright said it. I swear I could help but cry when I read that Watson married someone else. I'm just glad he got rid of her soon enough."
"Me too," said Sherlock, going back to his book.
"Anyway," John said. "Some people don't believe that Sherlock was actually innocent, despite the fact that he's been legally declared such since then, post mortem."
"Except it wasn't really," Greg grumbled, but she didn't look too upset.
"That explains a lot, I guess," Colin sighed. "Me and my brother are fans though. Whenever we go to London, we always talk Da into letting us go see the Baker Street Museum."
"I'd rather like to go," said Sherlock, not taking his eyes off the pages of his book. "It's been…quite some time."
Colin brightened up. "When you all visit my house this summer, we can talk Da into it!"
Gremione gave a laugh. "I went this last summer. Did you know that the upstairs bedroom is labeled the 'guest room' and the downstairs is labeled 'Holmes and Watson's bedroom'?" John choked a bit on his own spit.
"Well, yeah," Neville said, confused. "Why wouldn't they share?"
There was a giggle then, that made everyone pause and look at Mycroft in confusion, though he had his usual mask back in place. "They weren't married!" John protested. "They weren't even gay!"
"Says who?" asked Sherlock and Colin at the same time. Sherlock glanced over at Creevy and grinned, then went back to his book. John pouted for the rest of the ride.
*****1047*****
The dorm seemed strangely cold, Sherlock noticed as he and the other boys entered with the intention to unpack. Sherlock went over his trunk, which an elf had brought up earlier, and drew out several text books and school paper, which he threw on the dresser. He then messed up John's bed, and threw his violin case on top of his own. Neville giggled when he saw what Sherlock was doing, and he drew out several plants which his Gran had given him for Christmas and set them all out in window sills and on top of any flat surface. Dean started tossing candy wrappers around, and Seamus lit several candles. Colin began using Sticking Charms to attach pictures to the walls, Dean put back up his Chudley Cannons poster. Sherlock pinned red and gold banners everywhere, which had words on it saying things like "Mycroft's fat" or "You're all idiots". John took out the quilts Molly had insisted they take and spread them out over everyone's mattresses, and threw his maroon Weasley sweater over the back of a desk chair. Then the six boys stood back and admired their handiwork, before busting out into giggles.
It was a mess, but now it felt like home.
****1047****
As they walked down the stairs to the common room, as it was nearing time for lunch, there was a shrill squeal as a blur tackled Sherlock. Lavender wrapped herself around him babbling "thank you thank you" over and over again. Sherlock awkwardly patted her head and then pushed her away abruptly, though Lavender honestly didn't seem offended. Her eyes were shiny, and around her neck was a pretty necklace.
"Sherlock found my necklace I lost and sent it to me over break," Lavender sniffled by way of explanation. "I've been looking for it since Halloween, where'd you find it?" she asked Sherlock.
"Outside by the Herbology greenhouses the day before we left. I tried to give it to Gremione, because it looked like something a girl would wear, but she identified it as yours. I held onto it, because I thought it might be a nice Christmas surprise," Sherlock explained, looking at Lavender warily, as though he were afraid she might pounce on him. Again.
She didn't, but it looked like she wanted to. "It really was, Sherlock. Thanks so much." Sherlock nodded and inched his way around her. "You're so lucky, John," she sighed after Sherlock had followed Seamus out the Fat Lady portrait. "If you two weren't already so in love, I might have tried asking him out this summer." Lavender gave John a smile. "But I'd never come between such beautiful love" and with that the little girl danced away, leaving John spluttering after her.
***1047*****
That night John snuck out of the dorm. He couldn't sleep; Sherlock hadn't come back to bed yet. As best as John could figure, Sherlock was trying to grow mushrooms in his trunk. John had seen Sherlock invisibility cloak thrown over a chair, and so John wriggled out from under the blankets and grabbed it, throwing it over his shoulders and pulling the hood up. He peeked behind him to double check that his best friend wasn't coming up yet, then ducked out of their room, being as quiet as he could so that he couldn't wake up any of the other boys.
He snuck back to the room with the mirror. John hadn't been back since the night Sherlock had dragged him down in the middle of the night. John wondered if the mirror might show him a different moment in his future now. John pushed open the door and walked across the dusty floor, past the mountain of stacked chairs. The mirror was still standing there, John walked up to it and stared, and ache growing in his chest.
It was much the same as before, except it was just him and Sherlock. They seemed about the same age as before, perhaps a little older as John now spotted a bit of grey near Sherlock's ears, except they were both wearing pajama bottoms, with Sherlock wearing a Weasley Jumper ™ that had SH stitched to the front. They were curled up on the couch in front of the telly, watching a documentary on bees. Sherlock was saying something angrily, probably correcting the narrator. And Mirror John laughed, repeatedly kissing the top of Sherlock's head, which was tucked under his chin as the raven haired man relaxed against him.
John noticed something he hadn't before…they were both wearing rings on their left hands. John felt something inside of him uncurl, a smile tugged at his lips. "Back again, Mr. Weasley?" John flinched in surprise, whirling around. Dumbledore was standing there smiling genially at him.
"I'm sorry, sir," John said quickly. "I-I didn't see you."
Dumbledore continued smiling gently at him, and John relaxed a bit. "Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you. So," said Dumbledore, moving to stand by Ron, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"Why is it called that, sir?"
"Surly you've realized by now what it does?"
"Sherlock…thinks it shows the future."
"A good guess, certainly. Tell me, Mr. Weasley, do you still see yourself surrounded by your friends and family."
John struggled not to blush, too embarrassed to question how Dumbledore knew his previous vision. "N-no."
Dumbledore's eyes widened, his eyebrows joining to his hairline. "May I ask what it has changed to?" John chewed on his bottom lip.
"It's just me and Sherlock now," John said quietly. "We're both safe…and happy, older too…just the two of us" like before, he thought to himself, but better. Dumbledore smiled again. "But when Sherlock looked into it, he just saw the two of us, as we are now."
Dumbledore's smile turned bitter sweet. "Forgive me, Mr. Weasley, but I feel that I must somewhat disappoint you: this mirror does not hold predictions of the future." John felt something in his chest freeze, then drop to his stomach. "Now, now," Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder, "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"
John felt his cheeks heat up. Dumbledore chuckled. ""It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. Mr. Potter has spent his whole life without a true family, without love or friends. Then, he met you and fell in love. I suspect he's never been happier, and I know he wants nothing more than his current life. Which is why Sherlock is able to use this mirror as simply that: a mirror. It speaks a lot about our dear Mr. Potter, that he wishes for nothing more than to be standing next to you. As for yourself, you've suffered from illness your whole life, constantly in fear because of warnings your parents and brothers give you about the danger of Dark wizards and creatures. Then, Mr. Potter cures and protects you. Therefore, it's understandable that you'd see this lasting forever. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." John's face was completely red, though he felt incredibly sober, thinking about what Dumbledore was telling him.
"That is why, the Mirror is being moved tomorrow. And I must ask you won't look for it. I dare say I won't need you to ask to pass on the message to Sherlock. He's already found what men spend their whole lived looking for."
"What's that?"
Dumbledore smiled as he turned. "Happiness."
John sat there for quite a while after that, staring at the mirror, Sherlock's cloak wrapped around him. He felt…a bit empty. In the Mirror, Sherlock and John had switched places. Instead of Sherlock using John as a backrest, Sherlock was holding John tightly, pillowed against himself. John laughed bitterly. Here he was, straight but in love with his male best friend. There was no denying it. Somewhere deep down, he unconsciously wished more than anything else to marry Sherlock…to go back to 221b Baker Street and live out their lives together. To grow old together. He loved Sherlock…more than anything.
But Sherlock…according to both Dumbledore and Sherlock himself, Sherlock was perfectly happy—literally perfectly happy—being just as they were now: friends. Best friends. Just friends. John scrubbed at his face. He knew then that they could never be anything more than what they were now, because that would ruin Sherlock's happiness, which is something John would kill someone else for doing, and never do himself.
But on the bright side, he and Sherlock were very close. John was happy how they were now, despite deeply wishing for more. Either way though, John reasoned with himself, they were eleven. And it'd be inappropriate to go further now. Not to mention it'd be a bad influence for the other boys. And on the even brighter side, Sherlock's "vision" in the mirror showed that John was the most important person in Sherlock's life. That was enough for John. More than enough after a decade of missing him.
And speaking of missing Sherlock…John rose from the floor and dusted off the seat of his pants. He was les careful making his way back to the dorm, going faster than he had gone coming down to the mirror's room. When he made it back to the dorm, Sherlock was pacing back and forth, looking worried. When the door clicked shut, Sherlock spun and made a relieved sound as he sprinted for John, burying his face in John's pajama top. John hugged him back fiercely.
"Sorry, I was restless," John explained, whispering. "I just went for a walk. Didn't think you'd be out till morning."
"S'fine" Sherlock mumbled, leading John back to their bed by the hand. They crawled under the blankets and John snuggled closer, resting his head on Sherlock's chest, falling asleep to the rhythm of his heart.
****1047***
Sherlock smiled at his John as he entered the common room after Quidditch practice one day. It had been raining, as proven by John's dripping, muddy robes, so Sherlock had been persuaded by Gremione to stay in and play chess with her, rather than going to watch like he usually did. Sherlock quickly moved one of his piece, putting Greg into check mate, then stood and wrapped his arms around John, not really minding the mud. John laughed at him and set his broom down. But Sherlock saw a tightness in John's shoulders.
"What's wrong?" he asked suddenly, his voice and eyes hard, his fists curled. "Did someone bully you?" he demanded. "I knew I should have gone today!" John covered Sherlock's mouth with one of his muddy hands.
"It's nothing like that, I swear! Besides, between all my brothers, you and Mycroft I really don't think anyone would try bullying me."
"They better not," Sherlock said, casting a glare around the room at the various sixth and seventh years which were studying around them. More than a few had to cover up coos or giggles. "What's wrong, then?"
"Nothing really, I'm just wondering why Snape's referring the next Quidditch match." Sherlock relaxed.
"Oh, obvious John. He's doing it to protect you during the game," Sherlock said. "Clearly. It'll be easy to intervene if he's on the pitch with you. Good. I approve. I actually already spoke to Hooch about flying closer to you players during the game. Just in case." John sighed, but was smiling, so Sherlock figured he hadn't broken some obscure social rule. However, Seamus and Neville, who were sitting nearby were confused as to why Sherlock thought this was a good thing.
"That's crazy!" Neville gasped.
"He's out to get you" Seamus agreed.
"Don't play," said Neville.
"Say you're ill," said Seamus.
"Pretend to break your leg," Neville suggested.
"Really break your leg," said Seamus.
Sherlock glared at his friend(?) and stood in front of John protectively.
****1047****
"Brother, mine,"
"Fat arse"
"Sherlock!"
Mycroft sat down across from Sherlock, who was sitting between Greg, who was scandalized that Sherlock would curse in the Great Hall, and John, eating dinner. In Mycroft's hands was a rather large tomb. "I've been researching Mr. Flamel, as promised." Mycroft flipped though the book, all four of them ignoring the glances they were getting from the various people around them. Sherlock sat up a bit more to look at the page.
"He created the Philosopher Stone" Sherlock noted to John and Greg. "That must be what Fluffy's guarding."
"Also, brother dear," Mycroft said. "When you inevitably go to get the stone, bring your violin. Cerberus' main weakness is to music. They fall asleep in the presence of soothing tones, and become aggravated with harsh tones…such as screaming." Sherlock nodded.
"Wait," John said. "What's the stone do. And Sherlock's not going anywhere NEAR that thing!" Sherlock patted John's head, but then answered John's question.
"It's more common use is the ability to turn certain metal, such as lead, into gold. The second, lesser known ability is creating the Elixir of Immortality. One drink and you stay the exact same age you are…for approximately ten years. After that you must consume another ounce. Much more than that, and you begin to age backwards." Mycroft answered as he closed the book again, shrinking it and passing it to his brother. "Keep it, I've another copy."
Sherlock nodded again, pocketing the book, deep in thought. "I want that stone. I don't care about gold; I'm already rich. But I don't ever want to leave John again. Not even in a hundred years." Mycroft gave his brother a smile.
"I completely understand," he said, uncharacteristically with fondness in his voice. "I'll help if you require it. Always."
Sherlock pinched his lips, but then spat out a "My gratitude, brother. But don't get used to it." Mycroft smirked.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
***1047****
The next month passed by with nothing remarkable, save for John breaking Hogwarts record for shortest Quidditch game in one hundred and seventy years. Oliver was so nervous about Snape favorite Hufflepuff in the match that he kept drilling it into John's head that he had to catch the Snitch fast. And so John did. The game lasted a scant five minutes, and the first year Slytherins shocked the rest of the House of Snakes when they all jumped to their feet cheering for their friend.
Hogwarts unity kept up strong. Mycroft even began partnering in Potions with Neville, whispering funny stories about his godfather to help the clumsier boy get over his irrational fear of Snape. Ravenclaws started up study groups, which anyone was invited to. Many, many people started up new sports teams, like soccer or dodgeball, that mixed the houses and played games on the pitch on weekends. Hufflepuffs took it upon themselves to teach the Muggleborns about wizarding culture, and some Slytherins joined in to help them.
Being first years, Sherlock and John didn't think anything of it: they'd never known Hogwarts to be any different. But the older children sometimes just paused and thought about how things now were with amazement. Of course, there were people who resented it, mostly purebloods who thought that things shouldn't be so mixed, and Muggleborns who resented wizarding culture being spread, but for the most part everyone was happy with the way things were.
Easter holiday rolled around, though not many people actually celebrated. Sherlock thought it was silly, and Ron only saw it as a means to get candy. Molly sent her boys (including Sherlock, Neville and—surprisingly-Mycroft) and Greg baskets of chocolate eggs. Mycroft's parents sent an enormous amount of top quality sweets, which he shared with all the first years from all four Houses (and Fred and George who snuck some, not that Mycroft minded). But mostly it was just a day for studying.
Studying for everyone but Mycroft and Sherlock, that it. The two Holmeses were off somewhere debating something, leaving John and Hermione by themselves in the library, where the both of them were furiously trying to get their enormous load of homework finished by the end of break, when Ron looked up and saw Hagrid browsing the shelves. They didn't say anything, but both children watched the giant closely.
He was acting weird, holding something behind his back, shifting around corners like he was trying to be stealthy. After a few moments, Hagrid fled the library just as Sherlock walked in.
"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Greg, standing up from the small cramped table she and John had been working at, scurrying across the library. Sherlock frowned at her, then looked a question at John.
"Hagrid was acting weird," John explained. Sherlock nodded his understanding, sitting down at the table. Gremione came back a minute later, with her arms full of books.
"Dragons!" she whispered. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him, " said Sherlock. "He promised me that if he ever got one, he'd let me name it."
"But it's against our laws," said John. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."
"Laws," Sherlock chuckled as if John had told a particularly clever joke. An hour later, the trio found themselves knocking on Hagrid's front door. "Who's there!" boomed out the giant's voice from inside.
"It's me! Let me in!" Sherlock demanded before opening the door and just walking in. John and Hermione followed, looking at Hagrid apologetically. Hagrid stood there for a moment, before sighing and laughing under his breath muttering "just like his da, that one".
It was stifling hot inside. Even though it was such a warm day, there was a blazing fire in the grate. "What'd you wan' then, Sherlock?" asked Hagrid a minute later after serving them all tea.
"We want to see the dragon," Sherlock said earnestly. "Remember you promised if you ever got one you'd show it to me!"
Hagrid ruffled Sherlock's hair affectionately. "Ah, you," he said happily. "s'nice that you've got a heart for creatures, 'arry. 'mean Sherlock. But ther' ain' nought a dragon yet. Hagrid made a gesture with one big hand for Sherlock to look in the fire grate, where Hagrid opened the metal door to the fire. A burst of heat leaped out, and the three children had to shield their eyes. There, in the middle of the fire, was a big, black, egg."
"It's not hatched yet," Sherlock breathed. "Oh…Hagrid you must let us see it hatch!" Hagrid laughed again.
"Course!"
"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune."
"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."
"Imbecile" Sherlock snorted.
"Now, now," Hagrid admonished, despite looking like he completely agreed. "But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Gremione.
"Well, I've bin doin' some readin' , said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library - Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit - it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here - how ter recognize diff'rent eggs - what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."
He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn't. "Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she said. But Hagrid wasn't listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire, which was casting a red glow on Sherlock's enraptured face. "Can I tell Mycroft?" Sherlock asked suddenly.
"Who's tha'?" Hagrid asked, frowning. "Can you trust 'em".
"I do," Sherlock said. "His real name is Malfoy, but I prefer to call him—"
"Malfoy?!" Hagrid gasped panicked. "Now, Sherlock!"
"He's not like his father!" Sherlock said. "I promise!" Hagrid hesitated for a long minute, then he exhaled heavily.
"I trust ya', Sherlock. Go ahead" Hagrid said, shaking his head as he covered the egg in ashes. Sherlock beamed at him, making the giant smile back, then ran out of the cottage to find his brother with John and Greg at his heels.
****1047****
"…a dragon?" Mycroft asked, obviously interested. "He's aware he lives in a wooden hut, yes?"
"That's what I said," grumbled Gremione. Mycroft gave her a dry grin.
"I'd like to see it hatch, but it poses a problem if it stays. For one, your friend may be fired. And for another…dragons are notoriously hard to control. It's unwise to keep it near a school."
"Yes, but I'm sure you know a place where little Francis could be safely trained before it's returned to Hagrid." Sherlock said, making John suddenly realize why Sherlock wanted to tell his brother. Mycroft nodded.
"I do, actually. I know the man your brother works for, John. Charles, right? Anyway, I'm sure I could convince him to take…Francis…without alerting my father. I've quite a bit of my own money, after all. I've been investing with the money I saved up from my allowance since I was four."
"Why Francis?" asked Greg, with a bemused look on her face.
"Like Francis Drake, the pirate," Sherlock explained, grinning like he'd told a joke. Mycroft seemed to get it, because he chuckled.
*****1047******
Voldemort watched as his host taught the class. He felt a twinge of regret, remembering his old desire to become the DADA teacher of Hogwarts. That desire never truly left him, though he'd long since resigned himself to never holding the position. He watched through Quirrel's eyes as the students practiced Petrificus Totalis on each other.
He had the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors today. A good combination, as there'd always been little tension between these two particular Houses. Though, in recent months, about seventy percent of all interhouse bullying died over night. Childish voices filled the air as the white light of the spell shot out from the points of wands. Nearly everyone's aim was horrible. Perhaps next lesson he'd each them Litur Chroma, which simple shot a colored light that stained whatever it landed on for exactly five minutes. Then the lesson after that, he'd bring out some targets for them to practice on.
There were a select few with natural aim, Ronald "John" Weasley being the one to stand out most. He was obviously showing off for Potter, throwing the spell over his shoulder, under a leg, while summersaulting, with his eyes closed. Potter was giggling at his little boyfriend's antics, and once again Voldemort weight the pros and cons of attempting to recruit the Little Weasley.
He'd learned through the gossip in the teacher's lounge that Potter had a deep seated mistrust of muggles, because of poor treatment at the hands of his relatives. He'd heard Severus comment on it, apparently having heard it from Lucius who heard it from his son who was told so straight from Potter himself that Potter couldn't care less about muggles. He knew that Minerva, who was friends with Molly Weasley, had been told by her friend that Sherlock didn't want to go back to the muggle world over break. Madame Pomfrey, who had given Potter a physical the day he came in with a headache, had reported that Potter was severely malnourished and bore signs of abuse.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to recruit Potter and his little followers after all.