GWahahahahaa
Sam, you're a dork. Thank you for making me laugh.
I'd like to publicly thank the people who PMed me, I love those even more than reviews. And I'd like to thank k505 for helping me brainstorm. This person is brill, people. Thank you to all the people who reviewed such lovely things to me, I swear I have the best readers in the world. You all are so nice. For every negative comments I get, there's always twenty more lovely people there to cheer me up, and I can't tell you how much that means to me, and how critical it is for my writing process.
Marsetta: I think you'll enjoy what happens for when our fav BroTP finds out that Lucius "ships" them (though you understand Malfoy Sr. is looking at it purely politically). I've got big plans for that, and summer (in the story, not actual summer) is coming soon, so you'll find out then. XD
Alec Castairs: I LOVE YOU TOOOOO! What does your name mean? Lol, as funny as that idea is, I've actually already written up a little bit of an outline for second year (I'm really proud of myself. I wasn't even actually sure when I started if I'd be able to get it done so…) But I think you'll like my take on second year anyway. The plot really isn't going to go that "fast" in terms of me just flying through their school years. I'm going to be going through all seven books. Hope you're not too upset by that.
SB: Oh, he is.
Tastybigsexy: Alright so, Yes, in the movies each time Harry destroyed a Horcrux Voldemort became a little bit crazier. However, that's because Voldemort was also slowly dying. As Harry was destroying the Horcruxes, the soul piece inside of them died or faded or moved on, whatever. What Sherlock has in mind is NOT to destroy the Horcruxes, but rather mend the soul pieces together. Does that help exaplain things?
Alright, sorry that was a bit long, but I wanted to make sure I answered all of the questions. I'm sorry if I missed some; there were a lot of reviews to go through but HEY! That's a problem I like having. Happy New Year, and I hope you like this chapter.
PM, Fav, Follow or Review, please….I'm not picky :)
Albus Wolfric Percival Brian Dumbledore stared out the window, pondering. Fawkes was resting in his little make-shift nest. It was just after his burning day, and his soft downy baby feathers had only just finished growing. Albus picked up one of his Calming Drought laced lemon drops and rolled it in his fingers as he watched the small Malfoy boy sit next to the Muggleborn girl, Granger, near the Black Lake. The two small first years spoke, obviously sharing whispered, childish secrets from the way their two heads were bent near each other.
Eleven years ago, Albus had been told a prophecy that changed his life, and the fate of the war. The One with the Power to vanquish the Dark approaches, born as the seventh month dies…Again and again revealed, again and again survived…thrice born before, now once again arisen: the Lord of the Light approaches…born of the light, marked by the Darkness and claimed as its own…imbued with power known not, blessed with life ever renewed. Joined by a warrior of peace by his side, for neither can live unless the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark shall return as the seventh month dies.
It had been told to him by a dying prophet in Delphi, he'd gone seeking answers of why Voldemort became what he did. How could he stop Tom? Was Tom even inside of the monster called "Voldemort" anymore, and could he be saved? Instead of answering him, the Oracle had opened her mouth and uttered these words, just before all life left her body.
Dumbledore stored the memory in his pensive, which was locked under his strongest wards. He returned to Scotland, his mind spinning. The "Lord of Light" to be "claimed" by Darkness as its own? Was there no hope for the war? The prophecy said that the child to be born had the ability to vanquish the dark, but gave to guarantee that they would. In fact, it rather seemed like they wouldn't. "Marked by the Darkness, claimed as its own…" And who was this "warrior of peace?" in a moment of vanity, Dumbledore wondered if the prophecy didn't mean himself. The Darkness obviously meant Voldemort. But who was the child? Born of the light? The Potters, the Longbottoms and the Weasley's were all expecting.
Time would tell that Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom were both born as the seventh month died. Now, to figure out which one the prophecy meant…again and again revealed? And thrice born before? Lily nearly had three miscarriages due to her part in the war…the Healers had said that the child kept trying to be born too early just before it was actually time…three times in fact. Perhaps Harry, then? Neither can live unless the other survives…did that refer to the "warrior of peace" (who may or may not be referring to Dumbledore), or did that refer to the "darkness"? Too many questions…too much uncertainty.
Dumbledore knew he had to act…and so he took upon his role as the "warrior of peace", fighting and doing whatever it took to bring peace to the land and the people he loved so much, no matter what marks he had to bear on his soul, mind and conscience for it. And so, with a heavy heart, he invited Sibyl Trelawny to be interviewed for the job at the Hogshead, where Dumbledore fed her a potion of his own making in her tea…it worked perfectly.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies, to those who've thrice defied him. And he shall have a power the Dark Lord knows not, and he shall be marked as his equal, for neither can live while the other survives…the One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
The only part that didn't go so well, was Albus' younger brother, trying to be helpful, "caught" Voldemort's spy before young Severus Snape could hear the whole thing. Luckily, Severus apparated away, and the small amount he must have heard seemed to be sufficient. The next night, Severus came crawling back to him, begging Dumbledore to provide his childhood crush with extra protection. So, Dumbledore bound Severus to the little boy and then put the Fidelius over Godric Hollow…and made Peter Pettigrew the Secret Keeper knowing that the young man was a spy for the Dark Lord.
It took everything in Dumbledore to stay away from Godric's Hollow that Halloween. And after he sent Hagrid to fetch the babe, before retrieving Minerva…Albus cried true, bitter tears. It was even harder, after everything Albus had already done to Harry, to leave the infant at the doorstep of a family he knew to hate magic. He knew, deep down that Petunia would abuse this precious…precious little boy. This gem of human life that Albus loved like a grandchild. But the prophecy gave him a duty, and he had to do it. So he laid the tiny thing down at the Dursley's doorstep, and left. Never looking back.
Over the years, Dumbledore forced himself never to check on Harry. For if he did, he knew that he'd never be able to just leave again, leave that beautiful boy…that replica of his favorite students with those horrid creatures. But he had to. He now knew without a doubt that Harry James Potter was the prophecy child. Darkness did indeed "mark" him that night. Harry would forever bear a scar.
And then came the day of Harry's Sorting. Albus sat up in his seat, eagerly to watch the little first years file into the room. It took only a moment to find Harry Potter. And he was overjoyed, if a bit confused, to see that Harry was clinging to the youngest Weasley boy, obviously already fast friends. The first time he had any doubts about his plan came but moments later, when Minerva called out "Potter, Harry". There were murmurings from the seated students, but Harry didn't come forward. He didn't even seem to recognize his own name. Dumbledore felt fear rise up like bile, had the Dursley's harmed the boy's mind so much?
But then Ronald Weasley gave his friend a little push, and Harry seemed to realize it was his turn. Albus chuckled in relief. The boy had just been daydreaming. But, Albus had thought that Harry's sorting would be like his father and mother's. Both Lilly and James had only been on the stool for a moment before the hat shouted out "Gryffindor!" and they'd happily skipped to their seat.
Harry, on the other hand, sat there for many long, agonizing minutes, a glower on his face. Albus relaxed when he heard "Gryffindor!" be called out, but he was still concerned…Harry didn't seem happy with his placement.
None of the other teachers saw anything wrong. Harry was the best student they'd ever had…with the possible exception of Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter helped other people with their homework. Harry Potter was so sweet with Ronald Weasley. Harry Potter made friends with a Muggleborn, and with the Longbottom and Weasley boys.
But Harry Potter also refused his birth name, preferring "Sherlock" and glaring at people whenever they used a different name. All of his papers were marked with a simple "SH' where the name should be, and by Christmas, the other professors (except Snape, bless him) had given in and began solely calling him "Mr. Sherlock". More concerning, "Sherlock" seemed to be good friends with the Slytherin first years. He was charming…but in the way that made other people follow him like sheep. He managed to con the Longbottom boy into throwing a Yule Ball, at which Potter mingled with Light and Dark families a like.
Just like Tom Riddle. As much as Albus hated to admit his own failures…he had failed Harry Potter. Harry James Potter acted like the reincarnation of Tom Riddle.
Reincarnation…again and again revealed…thrice born before…oh Gods help him. What if…No, it can't be.
Harry couldn't actually be the reincarnation of Tom Riddle? No…no, Harry was born before he died. Albus choked on his lemon drop as something occurred to him. What if that…thing wasn't Harry at all? What if it wasn't the little baby that Albus had held right after birth. What if, that night at Godric's Hollow Harry Potter didn't survive…the curse killing him like it did his parents. Voldemort's body was missing…only the child was there…and Albus remembered Hagrid telling him that the "poor thing were so shocked 'e was, weren't even crying". He wasn't crying. Any normal baby would have been screaming their lungs out.
What if Voldemort was possessing the body of Harry Potter?
A ringing of his wards alerted him to somebody approaching his office. Albus calmed himself, and looked at the "window", waving his wand. The reflection shimmered, and changed to show one Lucius Malfoy waiting by the gargoyle. Albus sighed. Please, Merlin, he couldn't deal with Lucius, not now. But in the end, Albus told the gargoyle to move, and bid Lucius enter.
The blonde aristocratic man sat down without invitation and crossed his legs. "Good-Morning, Albus," he greeted. "I trust you got my owl?"
Albus had to think for a moment. Ah, yes. Lucius had owled him yesterday requesting and audience. "I did, Lord Malfoy. I apologize for not getting back to you in a timely manner, as you can see I'm rather busy" Albus said, sweeping a gesture at the piles of paperwork on his desk. Lucius actually winced in sympathy.
"I do understand, Headmaster Dumbledore, but I find this matter to be of great importance." Albus nodded, signaling for him to continue. "May I be blunt, Headmaster?" Albus was surprised.
"If your Slytherin pride will allow it," Albus gently teased his ex-student.
Lucius allowed a small smile before clearing his throat. "I made a mistake in my youth, and I don't want my son to suffer from it." Albus froze. What Lucius saying what he thought? "Regardless of what you think of me, Headmaster, I love my son. More than anything. And I want him safe. I know you've always held to that the Dark Lord was never truly gone, and recent events have lead me to…similar conclusions." Albus raised an eyebrow, not trusting himself to speak. "You are aware that I visit my child on the occasional Saturdays in the Slytherin common room?"
"Of course," Albus liked to think that he knew everything that went on in his castle.
Lucius opened his mouth again, but then closed it, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Every time I come…" Lucius licked his bottom lip, and Albus thought it was curious, how much emotion he was showing. "My mark darkens further," Lucius rolled of his sleeve, and there was the Dark mark, a faint purpleish color. Directly after the war, Severus' mark had faded to a barely visible grey outline. Dumbledore was shocked that Lucius would bare his mark to him. True, it was well-known that he had it. But Malfoy never flaunted it like this, not when he'd barely gotten out of a sentencing with his paper thin excuse of Imperio. Dumbledore felt dread setting in his stomach. More proof of his theory.
"I want protection for my son," Lucius pressed, dropping his sleeve. "And I have a way to guarantee his loyalty. You know that should the Dark Lord return, I also will have to return to his side, lest my wife suffer his wrath." Albus nodded. "I am also aware that you are Harry Potter's magical guardian."
Albus stopped nodding. "What does Mr. Potter have to do with anything?"
"My son is infatuated with him," Lucius said, his face a blank mask. The Malfoy Lord pulled something out of his pocket, and enlarged it. It was a photo album. Lucius handed it to Albus, who accepted it and began to look through it. Every picture was, indeed, of Harry Potter. Had Draco taken all of these pictures. Albus couldn't hold back a chuckle, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"Ah," Albus sighed. "Young love, there's nothing sweeter."
Lucius ignored his comment. "Draco is forever singing Potter's praises, and they flirted with each other when I came to the train station to pick Draco up. Furthermore, Draco has begged me to allow Potter to come over this summer." Albus froze. "As his magical guardian, you are able to write marriage contracts for your ward. I wish for my son and Mr. Potter to bond." Lucius held up a hand to stop any words from coming out of Albus. "Please, let me explain. My son truly does love Mr. Potter, I can see it plain as day. I also believe Potter is fond of my Draco, so the bond wouldn't be a burden on them, they would be happy. And believe me when I say that Draco's happiness is right beneath his safety on my priority list. Furthermore, as Consort Potter, Draco would not be persecuted as the son of a Death Eater, rather celebrated as the husband of the Boy-Who-Lived. He would have the trust of your people, and the protection that comes with it."
"You aren't the first person to come to me with offers of a Marriage Contract for my ward," Albus informed him.
"I should think not," Lucius said calmly. "Might I ask who the others are?"
"Augusta Longbottom as asked for a bond between Harry and Neville. Molly Weasley has approached about a contract between either Harry and Ron, or Harry and Ginny. Lord Greengrass has two daughters as well, who he suggested. And there are various people from other countries who have asked as well."
"The Longbottom boy is less magically powerful than my Draco, and so chances of producing an heir are very slim, as I'm sure you know. More so than they already are, anyway. While I have heard that Ronald Weasley is a powerful wizard in his own right, he also has a history of supposed mental disorder and physical handicaps. I have more to offer capitol wise than any of the others," Lucius pointed out. "Obviously, my son is the best choice. Not to mention you'd have the alliance of the Malfoys should another war ever arise."
Dumbledore was silent for several beats, then let out a sigh. "I shall consider it most seriously, Lord Malfoy. You have a good argument that I find little fault with. Let us see what happens over the summer, when Harry is at your Manor. That is, assuming you did in fact extend an invitation and young Mr. Potter accepted.
"Already done," Lucius said, looking excited and relieved at all once…though carefully masked behind a true Slytherin's blank face showing only proper polite interest.
"I shall require an Oath that no harm shall come to him whilst staying under your roof," Albus narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure you know why." Lucius stood at once and extended a hand.
****1047****
Sherlock and John swiftly maneuvered towards the corridor that housed Fluffy. It was Friday, and they had three free periods before they had to be in History Class for the end of the day. Sherlock told John that this was the absolute best time to go. It was during the time when he and John always holed themselves up in their room, usually with John reading on their bed and Sherlock inside his trunk experimenting. No one would question their absence. Furthermore, the teachers were occupied with final lessons before the exams started on Monday, and Dumbledore was in a meeting with Draco's father.
It was perfect.
Sherlock checked the door for wards, finding only a small, nearly hidden one that would alert Dumbledore any time it was opened. Sherlock nearly snorted at how easy it was to take down.
Aeldin and he were having more frequent talks at night as Sherlock lay next to John. Sherlock told Aeldin of his plan, and after an argument that lasted nearly the whole night, Sherlock managed to make Aeldin see how stupid splitting his soul was. And through the course of the night, Sherlock managed to wrangle the word "Horcrux" out of him, along with the data that Aedlin had made five of them. Six, if he counted the one in Sherlock…and seven if you counted the main piece that was inside Quirrell.
Aedlin wouldn't tell him much about Horcruxes, only that the one way he knew how to mend his soul was completely impossible, because he may or may not be a sociopath. "Why would that matter?" Sherlock asked, irritated because Aedlin was purposefully being difficult.
"I have to feel bad about it," Aedlin sneered, looking ridiculous for it, because he still had the form of a disfigured five-year-old.
"Ah, yes. I can see how that would be an issue."
And so, Sherlock had to find a different way to mend Voldemort's soul, that didn't require remorse. And that was after stealing the Stone out from under Dumbledore's nose in his own castle, then possibly confronting the soul piece of Voldemort in his teacher without being murdered on the spot.
It was Christmas.
Meanwhile, the past several nights, Aedlin had been teaching him various things about magic. Sherlock enjoyed it, because this creature that shared his head was obviously a genius on par with himself and his brother. And Aedlin enjoyed it because he'd been bored the past ten years and Sherlock was honestly a marvel of a student.
Which was how Sherlock was now able to extend his magic and unravel the warding on the door without Dumbledore being alerted. "Come, John" Sherlock hissed as his alohamora unlocked the door and he pushed through. Before John had even closed the door, Fluffy had started up a low growl. All three heads showed their saliva-dripping fangs, their ears pulled back on their heads. They were crouched low, as if ready to pounce.
Sherlock pulled his shrunken violin out of his pocket, and flicked his bow out from where he'd apparently stashed it up his sleeve. As soon as Sherlock began to play the first achingly sweet and high note, Fluffy stopped growling. It sat back on its haunches and looked at Sherlock strangely. Then the left head gave a yawn while the other two closed their eyes. John crept over to the trapped door and hefted it open.
"Hurry," John whispered, Sherlock nodded and began stepping towards the trapped door. Sherlock stopped playing and jumped down with John following soon after him. They landed on a soft mass, which bounced slightly as they hit it. "That wasn't too hard," John said, sighing in relief. "What are we sitting on?"
About two feet to his left he heard Sherlock's voice say, "Lumos", and soon light emitted from the tip of Sherlock's wand. Something moved against John's hand, and John slapped at it. His hand was suddenly stuck where it had struck the mass, which he now saw was a plant.
"Sherlock?"
"Jimsonweed," Sherlock replied.
"What?"
"Datura Stramonium"
"English, please."
"Nightshade"
"Nightshade? Why would there be—" John grunted as a thick vine suddenly wrapped around his waist. "Sherlock!" Another vine entangled his right leg and pulled.
"More accurately, Datura Stramonium in the order of Solanaceae."
"Is it alright to say I don't care?" John gasped as the vines continued to wrap around him. He suddenly realized that he couldn't see Sherlock anymore. "SHERLOCK"
"A vespertine plant that can be used to make a narcotic in the muggle world, however in the wizarding world it's known as Devil's Snare and is used to trap thieves and tear them apart."
"Help me!"
"It's fine, just calm down. Stop moving."
"TELL ME HOW TO GET OUT!"
"I just did; I even gave you two options."
"SHERLOCK!"
John heard Sherlock sigh, the bloody git. "Vespertine, John. An Evening Plant. That's why it left me alone: I had my wand lit. Also, if you just stay still…"
A burst of magic exploded out of John's wand, which was clenched tightly in his right first. The plant caught fire, and suddenly all the vines retracted away from him. An instant later he was falling through air.
"Arresto Momentum" John felt himself slow, like he was falling through water. Then Sherlock was there, helping him to the ground.
John punched his arm.
"What was that for?" Sherlock grouched, rubbing his arm.
"For being no help!"
"I was helping, John! If you stop moving it assumes you're dead and you would've fallen through. Then I would have caught you. The traps are easy, so I'd assume they aren't meant to actually kill, though they could be fatal. Just stall long enough for the Headmaster to get here. But he won't, don't worry. I disabled the alarm."
John just stared at him for a moment, then huffed and stomped towards the door on the far wall. As soon as he opened it, he had to duck to avoid having a bird poke his eye out. Sherlock joined him. "Oh, joy." Sherlock drawled. "Your turn, John."
"What do you mean, my turn?"
Sherlock just handed him a broom, and where the blood hell did he get that? Then he pointed at the door. "I'd can only assume it's locked and we need that key" Sherlock pointed at one of the birds…oh, wait… "to unlock it."
John was still staring at the winged keys. "And how do you know it's that key?"
"Because it's the same metal as the door. Honestly, John."
****1047****
Greg and Mycroft sat staring at the Black Lake, both worried out of their minds. "It is logical that only the two of them go," Mycroft was still talking ten minutes after having sat down beside her. And who would have thought that Mycroft rambled when he was upset? "After all, they're very efficient together, and if we'd all disappeared it would have been more noticeable. And this way we can provide them with an alibi. Did Sherlock take his violin?" Mycroft suddenly gripped her sleeve.
"I don't know," Greg sighed, yanking her sleeve out of his grip. "How am I supposed to know? They stay in a different dorm than me, so I couldn't have exactly seen Sherlock pocket is violin, now could I have?" Mycroft sighed, fidgeting with his robes.
"How long has it been?"
"Ten minutes," Greg said, amused. She bumped his shoulder with one of her own. "Stop worrying. It's making you act out of character. You're supposed to be Slytherin's Ice Prince." Mycroft glared at her.
"It's Sherlock that started that moniker, I'm sure of it." Greg snorted, trying to cover up her laugh.
****1047*****
"A Chess Set?"
John and Sherlock stared at the giant game board in amazement. "There are pieces missing," Sherlock said. "The King, the left hand knight and a castle," he noted to himself. "John, stand in the King's spot."
"Why?"
"Because you're rubbish at Chess, and you'll listen to me if you want to cross this room alive."
"What about you?" John asked, obediently standing in position. Sherlock didn't say anything, but he stood in the position of the missing castle, and they watched as the missing knight appeared out of nowhere and mounted his horse's previously empty saddle. Sherlock was quite for a few moments.
"Pawn to E4" The white pawn in the center of the board slowly slid forward, the metal scarping against the concrete of the gameboard as it went. The Black pawn opposite to the board matched him. Sherlock gave a sigh, like he was disappointed. "Queen to H5" he said, sounding bored. The White queen moved, putting Black into Check, prompting the black King into moving forward a single space. Sherlock groaned.
"I thought it'd be more of a challenge, John," Sherlock whined. "But this game's an idiot. Queen to D5, Checkmate." The White Queen walked several spaces, then smashed her chair against the unfortunate Pawn in her way, which cornered the Black King, who threw down his crown. Sherlock stomped off his square and grabbed John's hand, pulling him across the board. "Pathetic," he spat at the now still chess pieces. John could only pat Sherlock's back in sympathy.
But then both of them froze.
In the next room was a troll.
A troll that was unconscious.
"Sherlock," John whispered, pressing closer to his friend as he nervously looked around the dark room. "There's someone else down here with us."
"Obviously."
****1047*****
Severus Snape had just ended his final class for the day, which had been the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fourth years. Severus sneered as he waved his wand, vanishing unrecognizable goop from the table, and disposing of unsalvageable potions ingredients. The chairs all righted themselves, tucking into the tables. Used parchment stained with ink flew of their own accord into waste bins and ink spills were mopped up.
He then sighed and began to gather up the few vials of passable potions that had made it onto his desk. A few of the Ravenclaws had done an admirable job, as had two of the Hufflepuff, but the rest were honestly hopeless at it. For the life of him, Severus had no idea why his students found this subject so difficult. All it was was following the directions which he wrote on the board.
Severus massaged his temples after placing the vials into his cabinet for later examination. Something was happening today, he just knew it. And it was making it impossible to concentrate. Was one of his Slytherins getting into mischief. Merlin, he hoped not. He didn't want to have to give a detention tonight, he was looking forward to retiring early. Exams started Monday, and they were always stressful. For both him and his students. Severus just knew his classroom would be in shambles by the end of the semester: They always were.
A knock sounded on his door. Severus groaned, but before he could snap at whoever it was to come in, they invited themselves through the door. Headmaster Dumbledore? Severus frowned and turned to more fully face his mentor. "Albus, is something that matter?" Albus looked his age as he heavily sat against one of the tables.
"As a matter of fact," Albus began. "I'm not certain, my friend. I must ask you, has your Dark Mark changed at all of late?" Severus frowned.
"As a matter of fact," Severus said slowly. "It has. It's been growing steadily darker, though it's still fairly light. I was going to bring it up soon, but could never find an opportunity to approach you alone." Albus nodded, like he had been fearing that answer.
"Lucius Malfoy came to my office today" Severus' eyes narrowed. Lucius was an old friend of his. Not to mention the father of his godchild. "He informed me of the same happening to his own mark each time he visited Hogwarts."
"And why would Malfoy offer this information?"
"For Draco's protection apparently?" Severus had nothing to say to that. "Lucius said he fears the coming of his Lord once more and, furthermore, fears what would happen should little Draco follow his father's footsteps. He asked for a marriage contract to be written between Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter."
If Severus had been drinking something, he would have performed a spectacular spittake, professional Slytherin or not. "Draco and Potter? Is he out of his mind?"
"He is under the impression that little Draco has a crush on Harry, and that Harry returns the sentiment. He even produced a photo album he apparently found in his son's room. I looked at it, it was full of images of Harry. And they do spend a lot of time together. In fact, I've seen both of them go out of their way to talk to the other. It does make sense, I suppose."
"They call each other 'brother'."
"So did Sirius and Remus but…" the cheerful smile on the old man's face fell, as he recalled his old student's betrayal. Severus winced, he may never have cared for his late rival's pet mutts, but he knew his mentor loved them like his own children.
"Noted," Severus continued, deciding to ignore the memories that had arisen. "But what of the Little Weasley? Surely you can see how they treat each other."
Dumbledore smiled again. "It is purely because of little Ronald that I doubt my own theory."
"Of?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore took a steadying breath, then launched into a detailed explanation of why exactly, he feared that Harry James Potter was dead, and the boy wandering around was a corpse possessed by the dead Dark Lord of the previous generation. As outlandish as it was…it did make sense in a way. Even still, Severus had to choke back a laugh: it would never do for someone of his reputation to lose composure in such a way.
"Albus," Severus said exasperated. "Have you ever for a moment watched the Potter boy?" Albus frowned at him. "I can see how, on the outside, you can draw parallels. Potter is well liked, popular, smart, charming in his own blasted way, and incredibly possessive. But that's where they end. Potter is also completely oblivious, constantly bored and consistently rude. In fact, he mended House relations due to the sole fact that he couldn't care less. He may be a prodigy or a genius, but he certainly doesn't try in class. In fact, he has the lowest score in Potions at the moment than I have seen in all my years of teaching. He hasn't turned in a single essay, potion or even tried brewing the proper potions until I threatened the Little Weasley on Potter's behalf. I've only just gotten him to stop blowing things up."
Albus laughed a bit. "Yes, the other professors have come to me with similar complaints."
"You told me Tom Riddle had no true friends in school, only followers. But Albus, I ask you just watch the way Weasley, Potter and Granger act to each other, even the other Gryffindors and beyond that. Not to mention my godson. Potter and Riddle couldn't be more different."
Albus gave a little sigh. "Severus…I'm not sure what this school would do without you."
Severus snorted, turning away to hide his face. "With Longbottom, Finnegan and Potter here at once? It wouldn't even be standing."
*****1047*****
The logic puzzle was most certainly put there by one Professor Snape. Sherlock felt his respect for the man rise as he glanced over the parchment that held the riddle, and then he set about to sniffing the potions. "Danger lies before you," John read. "While safety lies behind. Two of us will help you, whichever you would find—"
"Drink" Sherlock said, tossing John the smallest bottle, third from the right end. John shook the bottle and frowned at his best friend. There was only enough for one gulp. John was about to ask why he would be the one to drink the potion, when Sherlock pushed his hand holding the bottle towards his mouth. "Trust me, John," Sherlock told him. John sighed, taking the cork off the vial and tossing it back. As soon as he drank it, he felt something like ice water running under his skin.
"What about you?" John asked. But Sherlock only stepped forward, as if to embrace him. Confused, John raised his arms to put them around Sherlock's familiar frame. But then Sherlock rammed into him. Hard. Sending them both through the fire that had been blocking the exit, Sherlock using John as a human shield against the flames.
"You moron!" John smacked Sherlock shoulder, which was shaking with his giggles. "You could have burns yourself."
"But I didn't, so that's now irrelevant."
"Irrelevant?" John asked in disbelief. "You…" John trailed off as he followed Sherlock now very interested gaze across the room, to the figure standing in front of a familiar mirror, watching them.