Haha! I'm so happy with the reviews my last chapter brought in! I love it so much when you guys review! Lol, I don't want to give any spoilers, but when Tom finally meets Sherlock he's going to be…very…disappointed *evil smile*.

Sorry about such a long lapse between updates, but I've had a pretty hectic April so far. Between work, extra-curricular activities and school I just haven't had any time. Please review! It makes me more motivated to write! This chapter's a little short, but Oh, Well. We should see Lucius and Dumbledore's meeting in the next one, I think. Maybe. Lol.

The hat seemed to sigh. I know just where to put you, such an ambitious child. May your goals be reached. "Slytherin!" Ginny felt her entire world slow to a stop. Members of the Slytherin table turned to look at her with varying expressions of incredulousness, disgust, surprise and anger. However, it was a surprising few. Most of the younger half barely seemed to bat an eyelash, and those that did were the purebloods like Parkinson. The hat was lifted off her head and a gentle hand pushed lightly at her shoulder, prodding her off the stool. With shaking legs, she marched down the aisle to the table which housed the green clad quarter of the school, feeling a bit like she was marching towards a guillotine.

She sat down near a pretty girl who looked vaguely familiar with lily white hair and shimmering brown eyes. The girl gave her a kind smile, and patted her hand, almost consolingly. Ginny dared sneak a peek across the table at her brothers. Ron smiled at her, raising a glass as if to say "cheers", Percy looked pensive and the twins were openly gawking with their jaws hanging. Ginny blushed and ducked her head, then peered back up, fighting a blush to see Harry staring at her, eyebrows drawn together. Slowly, Harry smiled at her, and Ginny felt warm. Ginny smiled back, before her eyes flickered down to stare at her plate.

"I'm Astoria" the pretty blonde said to her, her voice soft and hesitant. "You're Ginerva, am I correct?" Ginny looked up at her. Astoria's eyes were hopeful, but cautious. Greengrass, Ginny remembered from the girl's earlier sorting. A pureblood. Her mum had often told Ginny that many purebloods never got that chance to make many friends until Hogwarts, because their parents would keep them hidden away until they learned to be "proper". Ginny had never known how much of that was true, and how much of it was jealousy, but if it was…Ginny felt a lurch of sympathy for her new Housemate.

"Call me Ginny," she said confidently. Just because she wasn't a Gryffindor, didn't mean she couldn't be brave. A thought occurred to her, about what Tom would think of Ginny, a Weasley, becoming a Slytherin. Since Tom was a Ravenclaw, he wasn't likely to be biased about Slytherins, would he? Worry gnawed at her gut, but for the most part, as she chatted with Astoria over their food filled plates, she was able to ignore it.

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

Dumbledore watched the children eating, and wanted to curse, though he refrained because of how many people were around him. He'd made a mistake, as much as he was loathe to admit it. But what was done was done, and all he could do is continue what he'd started and pray things ended up well. Now al he had to do was worry about Lucius, who was coming to secure a contract for his son and young Mister Potter next evening.

Albus felt some regret at his latest scheme, because he was potentially endangering his newfound alliance with the Malfoy family. But because Lockhart had failed to gain the boy's admiration, Albus really didn't know what else to do. The boy had to be brought under control before he grew too old.

Of course, when he had made these plans, he hadn't counted on Miss Weasley becoming a Slytherin. There had never, in the history of all Weasley's been a Slytherin amongst them, not even through marriage. Septemus Weasley was a Ravenclaw, yes, but that was the closest they'd come. Albus watched Harry smile at Ginny from across the busy room, and he sighed to himself. It might be interesting to see how it all unfolded, he thought as he tried to tune out Gilderoy retelling how he had valiantly trekked across the wilds of New Zealand in search of a cursed relic.

****1047*****

Sherlock was…intrigued. Which he found odd. Because, for once, this novel feeling wasn't aimed at a particularly not-boring murder or his John, but rather at John's little sister, Ginny. Sherlock watched her, and, when her gaze caught his he smiled briefly. Then he frowned as soon as she looked away, wondering why he'd done that. He was only half listening to Gremione, Neville and John discuss why Ginny was put into Slytherin, despite the fact he was curious about it himself.

She had never stuck him as cunning nor sly. And he hadn't observed her enough for him to learn of any ambitions she might have. He watched her, trying to deduce her, and was uncomfortable when he realized that he couldn't, though he did notice that she had rather lovely hair.

Sherlock blinked. He didn't even like red hair. Sherlock screwed up his nose, did he? His brain was feeling a bit odd. Sherlock cleared his throat, which he realized felt dry, and a bit gritty. Swallowing roughly, he picked up his now half-empty goblet of pumpkin juice he took a deep swig for the fourth time that night. Why was he feeling so thirsty? Perhaps he should speak to Severus later, have the older wizard examine him just in case he was ill.

Sherlock was about to pick a small piece of smoked turkey from John's plate when the platter of treacle tart caught his eye, and Sherlock suddenly realized he was craving a piece. He sat still for a moment and tried to remember even having craved anything before. Picking up his fork, he reached over and speared a chunk, plopping it in his mouth. It was…surprisingly good. Sherlock loaded a large serving onto his plate and scooped another bit into his mouth.

Ron looked over at him, amused. "You should be eating more than just sweets, mate," he said good naturedly, though Sherlock didn't take him too seriously. The blonde Weasley was currently working his way through something marshmallow-y. John's hand gripped his from under the table, and Sherlock had to fight the knee-jerk reaction to pull his hand away, not wanting to offend his friend.

Sherlock finished off what was on his plate, and he felt uncomfortably full, warm and heavy. John's hand in his own was clammy, slightly sweaty. Sherlock started feeling anxious and irritable, but still didn't pull away in case it offended Ron. Sherlock knuckled at his forehead. It was pounding. He took a deep breath. Merlin, he was having trouble breathing like there was a weight on his lungs, or a band strapped around them. He couldn't get a full breath. Yes, he should definitely see Snape tomorrow to see what was wrong—no, Madam Pomfrey would be better. Snape would probably just ignore him.

Suddenly, people were standing up. The dishes on the table disappearing as they were whisked away by the House Elves' magic. John pulled Sherlock to his feet. "Come on, Sleepyhead," John's voice was soft and fond. "Time for bed." Sherlock nodded, and allowed himself to be guided up to their dorm, blearily noting the password (bilge snipe). Stiffly, almost robotically, Sherlock pulled off his coat, slacks and shirt, folding them and placing them next to the uniform robes Severus had insisted he buy. Then he pulled out his nightclothes and laboriously tumbled into them. Sherlock collapsed on his own bed just as John was coming out of the bathroom, already in his Pjs.

"When was the last time you slept?" John asked him worried. Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt. Sighing, John began to slide into bed with him. Sherlock sat up, feeling rather alarmed, but unable to pin point why. "Sherlock?" John asked, freezing in place, half in and half out of bed.

"We're a little old to be sharing, John," Sherlock said, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. John didn't move, he had an unreadable expression on his face. Sherlock watched, stiffly still, as his best friend leaned forward and tenderly kissed his cheek, lips lingering. Then John stood on his own feet and tugged and the covers on Sherlock's bed, until they were freed from under Sherlock's body. John then proceeded to tuck in the slight boy before he padded the few feet to his own bed.

Sherlock watched him, as his eyes grew heavy, never noticing the worried looks on the faces of their dormmates.

*****1047*****

Ginny almost dove into bed that night, feeling overwhelmed with the world. Astoria had been nice, and a first year boy, Roman Bulstrode who had an elder sister in their House, had decided to introduce himself sometime into the meal. They'd been friendly enough, but before long Ginny had felt a deep longing to be alone. Claiming fatigue, she'd separated from the group nearly as soon as they'd reached the Slytherin Common room, speeding through her night-time hygienic rituals and changing into a loose night gown.

Once the curtains around her bed were fully blocking the world from her view, she rummaged around under her pillow for where she had placed Tom earlier. She wasted no time summoning a self-inking quill purely on intent, and didn't bother warning Tom with her presence with meaningless formalities. I'm in Slytherin. She wrote, and without waiting for Tom's familiar scrawl to appear she quickly penned an additional The first Weasley ever.

It didn't take long to respond. Congratulations! Oh, how exciting! I had many good friends in Slytherin during my Hogwart's career! Speaking of, have you met any friends? Last you told me you were having trouble.

Oh, no need to worry about me! I think a girl named Astoria Greengrass would make a good friend, and she's really very nice. Also, a boy named Roman was very kind to us. You know, Tom, I was so afraid at first when the hat shouted out its decision. I thought everyone would pitch a fit, or say I didn't belong there. But it was only a few of the older students that didn't look happy. My brother's seemed okay with it and Harry even smiled at me. He SMILED at me!

Well, you've certainly proven yourself to be interesting. And from what you've told me young Mr. Potter seems to like puzzling things out. This is good! Not as great as it would have been if you'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, but still good!

Oh, Tom…

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

Sherlock woke up feeling…strange. His thoughts were a bit muddled, but perhaps that was just because it was early morning? He was also very hungry. Something that Sherlock annoyedly contributed to Severus' enormous meals, which he was forced to devour. Sherlock scrubbed at his hair, pulling the strands, trying to clear his head. But it didn't seem to help. Reluctantly, Sherlock slid out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, intent on ridding his mouth of the foul taste of morning.

John was already in there, washing his face until his cheeks stung red. He smiled at Sherlock, though dimly Sherlock noted that there was something slightly off about his friend's smile. Sherlock shrugged it off, deciding to puzzle it out later. In his haze of vagueness, he never realized his year mates all but tip-toeing around him. He didn't notice John's four abandoned attempts to reach for his hand, nor the hurt look on Greg's face when he sat down between Seamus and Dean, across from John, with no room for her in his immediate proximity.

The inane babble of the Great Hall was somewhat soothing to Sherlock as he shoveled eggs, rolls and gravy, sausages and bacon onto his plate, then into his mouth. Dean and Neville shared a concerned look while John and Greg seemed slightly afraid. "Hungry, are you?" Seamus asked good-naturedly.

"Famished" Sherlock replied around a mouth full of breakfast. He was about to blame it all on Snape and his unreasonable dietary regulations, but then remembered that he was asked to keep his stay with the Potion Master a secret. So instead he refilled his mouth with gravy-covered bacon, and downed it with a deep gulp of juice. Sherlock thought he could feel the cloudiness in his brain lift a bit. Ah, Sherlock mentally nodded to himself. Low Blood sugar, presumably brought about by the large amount of sugar consumered before bed which caused his body to overcompensate and dissolve too much of the necessary sugars that his body required to function. Sherlock frowned, hoping that his current body didn't suffer from something such as Hypoglycemia as it would be detrimental to him should he ever decide to become a consulting Detective again.

Class Schedules were handed out by a hard-eyed McGonagall. Sherlock tried to decuduce why she would be so stiff, but none of them rang true. Was she tired due to a restless night? Was it worry? Was she annoyed with one of her collegues? Sherlock turned his eyes down to the sheet resting next to his nearly-empty plate, and registered with a groan that the first class that morning was Double Potions with the Slytherins.

"Are you alright, Sherlock?" asked John in a low voice. Sherlock glanced up briefly and nodded, waving a careless hand in the air.

"Fine, fine. Just looking over the list for today." Sherlock ignored the aimless small talk around him, which continued one until pleased comments and the fluttering of a hundred wings alerted him to the mail arriving. Hedwig landed on the table in front of him, and held her leg out, showing that a pouch had been secured to it. Feeding her some of the food still on his place, Sherlock emptied the contents of the bag, which proved to be a mail order he had sent out a week ago. Materials on how magic could be applied in modern muggle medicine. It had been meant as a gift for John. Thinking to save them for another time, he placed the shrunken books back in the bag, and stuffed it into his pocket. Ian had dropped several letters, one at each Weasley plate (the twins count as one being in this case), before soaring off to the other side of the room to deliver a last message to Ginny.

John pried his letter open with a thumb nail and slid the parchment out. Sherlock watched has his eyes slid swiftly over the writing, a small smile on his face. "How are you parents, John?" Sherlock asked, surprising himself that he actually somewhat cared about the answer. John grinned at him.

"They're surprised about Ginny's sorting, Percy owled them last night, but Dad's pleased that you've already worn down a lot of the bigotry between the houses, so she shouldn't be given much trouble. He's in line for a promotion as well, I hope he gets it." John then let his eyes fall back to the letter. "He says to tell you 'thanks', but he doesn't say what for."

Sherlock frowns, trying to think of what he could have done to earn Arthur's gratitude, but came up short. "Perhaps he's thanking me for inadverdantly causing Ginny's Slytherin experience to be less of a trial?" Sherlock suggested, and John nodded, accepting the answer.

The buzzing in his head grew to almost unbearable heights as he made his way to the desk he shared with John in the Potion's Lab. He was thankful for John's grip on his hand, though he did deduce that John was somewhat hesitant in initiating contact, what for, Sherlock didn't know. Sherlock squeezed his best friends hand back in thanks and John flashed him a blinding grin, which Sherlock attempted to return.

Snape banged into the classroom, the door swinging violently behind him, his robed billowing with each step. Sherlock frowned deeply, not even knowing why. "This year we shall be attempting an assortment of potions which are primarily transmogrifying in nature. Can anyone give be a definition and an example of one such potion?"

Draco, Greg and John's hands all shot up in the air. And while it was no surprise that Sherlock wasn't as eager to pander to Snape's request as the other three, his lack of response and seeming apathy caused the Potion Master to quirk an eyebrow in his summer ward's direction. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy" Sherlock barely listened as his archnemisis primly prattled off something about a pickling potion. He slipped into a light daze, and was only broken out of it by the sound of his name. "Mr. Potter" Snape's voice snapped "What would be the effect of a Chrysanthemum dipped in a mixture of ashwinder egg yolk, kneazle milk, ground bone of the Pantherophis guttatus and a drop of moray eel mucus?"

"A large mess" Sherlock muttered. Snape's eyes narrowed at him.

"Try again," the dour man snapped. Sherlock strained to remember what he'd read about it, a faint feeling of alarm rose when he found that he had no recollection of any such thing. Then he scowled, realizing that it was probably a trick question, and the greasy old git was probably just messing with him.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, bored.

Sherlock was not paying attention to what was around him. If he had been, he would have noted the way the entire class froze, and seemed to hold its breath. Never, never ever had any of them (save John and Draco) heard those words fall from Sherlock's lips. Sherlock flinched at the sudden cold feeling of John's hand on his forehead.

"He's been acting odd all day, sir," John said quietly.

"I'm fine, Ron!" Sherlock snapped, loudly. Snape stared long and hard at him. Sherlock felt a headache coming on, and instinctively locked the doors to his mind palace. Snape scowled at him, and Sherlock scowled right back.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape hissed lowly, "and detention with me, tonight. Seven sharp." Sherlock did not dignify this order with a response, only stubbornly meeting Snape's gaze. After what was several tense and uncomfortable minutes, Severus swirled, robes flaring. "Ms. Granger can you perhaps answer the question!" the way he barked out the question made it note really sound like a question.

"If later buried, it would sprout into a rose tree," she said quietly, not at all bubbly and bouncy as she usually was when answering a question. Sherlock glared at his cauldron, not seeing the almost terrified look on Mycroft's face. Later in that class, when his and John's potion turned out a thick mass of wobbly pink slime rather than the turquoise liquid they were going for, the Gryffindor and Slytherin second years didn't know whether to be horrifically surprised or afraid.

As Sherlock left the room, a careless air about him, Severus felt his heart shrivel just a tiny bit.