Everything was so…soft. Sherlock nuzzled deeper into the warmth and comfort below him, wishing he could somehow complete burrow himself in it. A chilly draft swept through his curls and he groaned, pulling the sheets up over his head in protest.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty."

At the sound of John's voice, Sherlock poked his head above the blankets, and gazed in awe at the hospital wing around him. He had never been in it before, and it was surprisingly bright. "Who?" he muttered, not really paying attention to the other boy seated at his bedside.

"Never mind."

"Where's Collins? Why isn't he in here?"

"He didn't pass out."

"Well he also didn't sustain massive bloodless; and, I'm pretty sure he didn't apparate about five different times, or possess a bird."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

"Well, he certainly was in better shape than you, although he was a nervous wreck."

"Typical. So what happened? Who won?" Sherlock tried to sound nonchalant, but he was really dying to know. As long as he wasn't in last. Merlin's beard, if he came in last he'd never be able to look Mycroft, Collins, or the Durmstrang students in the eye ever again.

John grinned at him, confusing Sherlock even more. "You and Collins tied for first."

"Tied? For first?"

"Yeah."

"How? Wait, first of all, how did I not destroy Collins? I saved both of our lives."

"Well you got plenty of points for spectacular spellwork, which made up for the extra time you took. And he got just as many points for bravery."

"Bravery?"

"He threw himself off a cliff, Sherlock."

"I followed! And that wasn't brave, that was just plain idiotic."

"Whatever. But everyone was scored out of twenty. You both got fours for teamwork, but tens for the other half. So, you tied for first with fourteen."

"And the Durmstrang students?" inquired Sherlock, sitting up in his bed despite the protests of his entire body.

"They both got eights for teamwork. Irene Adler got a five for the other half, so she got a thirteen over all. And Moriarty got a three for the other half, so he received an eleven."

Sherlock froze in the act of rubbing his head, and gazed at the Gryffindor boy in disbelief. "Moriarty came in last?"

"Yeah." John too looked a bit shocked. "I overheard the judges. Apparently he was way too violent. He emerged covered in blood-but it was way too silvery to be his."

Sherlock felt his eyes widen in surprise. "He killed the griffin?"

"Yeah. Apparently Irene didn't have a part in that. But she also didn't try very hard to stop him."

"You look worried."

"Obviously. You're competing against an extremely violent psychopath. It's just lucky that you and Collins didn't run into them."

"Mmm."

He closed his eyes against the sunlight pouring in, grateful that it was still the weekend, and he had no classes to worry about missing. Then a tremor of shock tore down his spine when he realized-

"I dropped my wand."

John smiled calmly. "Don't worry, the judges retrieved it. Here."

He plucked it off of the bedside table and offered it to Sherlock, who accepted it lovingly. He was glad to be holding his own wand again, rather than Jack's. Although, he had been surprised to find that the other boy's had worked almost as well for him as his own did. He supposed it was simply the extremity of the situation that had allowed him to perform spells up to his usual standard with an unfamiliar instrument.

Glancing over at the table alongside his bed, he smiled to see the skull sitting there, appearing to grin at him.

John followed the boy's weary gaze. "That was a bit weird to use as a Portkey, don't you think?"

"I like it. Moriarty just got a rock."

The Gryffindor grinned, then slowly rose to his feet. "I have to go. Quidditch practice. You'll probably be released tomorrow, so just be sure to rest today, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah. See you later."

It didn't take long for Sherlock to drift back to sleep for a while, still clutching his wand in one hand. When he woke up again, he heard voices just outside the doors to the hospital wing; sitting up, Sherlock replaced his wand on the table, and instead picked up his skull. He clutched it uncertainly as the door opened, and Madam Pomfrey entered with (Sherlock's stomach flipped unpleasantly) Nevamann.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she said, upon seeing Sherlock. She then turned to Nevamann and informed him sternly, "I can only give you five minutes with him. The boy needs his rest."

She bustled off to her office, leaving Sherlock and Nevamann the only two in the hospital wing, and it was far too late to pretend to be asleep.

Nevamann pulled up a chair, his stern face breaking into a slight smile as he looked the boy over. "Hello, Mr. Holmes."

"Hello, Professor." Sherlock attempted to make his voice as tired as possibly, to hint to the man that he was in no mood to talk. Nevamann either didn't get the hint, or ignored it.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your stunning performance in the first task. I could not see, of course, but I heard from the judges exactly what happened. I hear your execution of advanced spells was extremely impressive."

"Thank you, sir," Sherlock began uncertainly, wondering why Nevamann couldn't have waited until class on Monday to inform him of this. "I just practice whenever possible."

"It shows. But also, you see to master new spells very quickly; that's more than just dedication, that's talent. That's power. What I came here to ask you today, Mr. Holmes, is if you have any idea of what you want to pursue once you finish your studies."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. And besides, isn't this something my head of house will be talking to me about later this year?"

"Of course, of course. I just wanted to put in my advice-there are many jobs at which you would excel. If you were to be an auror, for example."

"Mm," Sherlock replied.

"Of course, there are…other options." Sherlock snapped his gaze up, and didn't like the dark glint he saw in the man's eyes.

"I'm aware that there are many fields in which I could excel. I just have other things on my mind right now," he replied rather snappily, wanting to get rid of the man so much that he really didn't care how rude he was being.

"Of course," said Nevamann, stiffening a bit. "Well, Mr. Holmes, if there is anything I can do for you, please, don't hesitate to ask."

"Actually," Sherlock said, deciding to seize the opportunity. "There is one thing."

Ten minutes later, Sherlock was sitting up as much as he could in the bed without suffering severe amounts of pain, playing his violin. He wasn't playing anything in particular; he was just muddling around, as he so often did, trying to come up with tunes that sounded somewhat good, that he could make a note of later.

He continued like this for a while, and became so lost in the music that he didn't even notice his third visitor of the day slip into the room.

Once he finally ceased playing, he was mildly alarmed to see Collins standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

"Um," the boy began a bit shyly.

"Yes?"

"Well, thanks for saving me."

Sherlock snorted. "Did you expect me to let you die?"

Collins shuffled his feet, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. "I was thinking, we need to think of a better way to communicate. For the next task, that is. We might need to find each other again."

"I already know what to do."

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "I still need to set it up, but it's a variation of a Protean Charm. We'll each have an enchanted object, most likely a coin, and it will grow hotter whenever we get closer to one another."

"That's smart."

Sherlock shrugged. "It's just the most logical thing to do. I read about it last year."

Collins stood in silence for another moment. "Are you badly hurt?"

Sherlock shook his head, his curls flopping around. "Just a bit disorientated. My gash from the griffin is already mostly healed."

"Oh. That's good."

"Mm."

Sherlock, now holding his violin in his lap, began plucking at the strings, hoping Collins was better at taking hints than Nevamann; he was. After a small wave, the boy turned on his heel and left the room, and Sherlock laid his head back down on the fluffy white pillow, and watched the sun set behind the distant mountains. If he never saw a rock again, it would be too soon.

"John Watson."

The boy had just left the hospital wing when he stopped at the sound of the voice. He turned on his heel to see, to his surprise, Mycroft Holmes standing a few feet behind him. He sighed, not sure he exactly wanted to see Sherlock's older brother.

"Mycroft," John acknowledged with a polite nod of his head.

"Do tell me-how is my dear brother getting along?"

"You could go and see for yourself, you know."

"Ah, well. Sibling rivalry and all that. I'm sure you know everything about it with you and your sister."

John rolled his eyes, not wanting to play this game right now. "He's fine. He'll spend the rest of the day there, maybe tonight. Nothing terribly serious."

"Good to know. But that's not what I meant."

"Huh?"

"Does he seem like…himself?"

John stared at the other boy for a moment, thinking about it. "Yeah. As sarcastic and obnoxious as usual."

"That's good to hear. I suspect that will change soon, though. Keep an eye on him for me, won't you?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure thing."

Mycroft simply gazed at him for a moment before nodding, and continuing on his way, leaving John more confused than ever.