After having received the cube from Professor Flitwick, Sherlock had been so mentally exhausted that he had gone straight to bed, without waiting up for John-who knew how long the game might go on? This was Quidditch, after all.
He decided when he woke up the next morning that he would give himself the majority of that week to relax and get ahead in his classes so that he could later focus completely on the puzzle. In fact, Sherlock only left his dormitory once the whole day, to eat lunch with John in the Great Hall.
Once it hit Thursday, the Ravenclaw finally decided he had better get working-the longer he waited, the more and more his anxiety built up. He needed to get this over with so he could prepare any necessary spellwork.
Sherlock was aware that he easily could have worked on the puzzle in his dormitory, relaxing in his four-poster. However, what he really wanted was to move around, and stretch his muscles before they began to atrophy. He could practically feel them deteriorating beneath his skin, and he figured he'd most likely need them for the tournament.
Ten minutes later found the boy relaxing in the Room of Requirement on a squishy yellow couch in front of a large, floor-to-ceiling window that provided a marvelous view of the grounds. He found that his head was the most cleared when the sky was visible to him, and a bit of sunlight never hurt.
He began simply by fiddling with the thing, turning it over in his hands and flicking the rows at random. There was certainly some trick to the process-some pattern, if repeated enough times in a row that would solve the thing. But whatever it was, Sherlock didn't know it; he and Mycroft had never spent much time around muggles. Like most wizard children, they hadn't attended school before Hogwarts. The Holmes brothers taught themselves everything they needed to know, until it had turned into a competition. Before long, they were mastering French and German in their free time.
But the boys never associated with other children before Collins…and anyways, that was until the incident. And then they associated with no one at all, barely even each other.
From that Thursday morning until late that night, Sherlock never left the Room. He disregarded all of the classes that he was missing; after all, he was far ahead in all of his subjects, and the next task was at the forefront of his mind, anyhow. He couldn't afford to be distracted by anything else at the time.
Sherlock's mind plowed on, charging through method after method, formulating patterns and casting them away when they failed, until finally, he clicked the last colors into place. And nothing happened.
"What in the name of…?"
The boy's bright eyes surveyed the object in the twinkling starlight. His brain was failing to compute this anomaly. How could it not have worked? It was completely solved. That's what he had to do, right? Solve the puzzle, and get the clue?
You've been at it for too long, informed John's voice from within his head, bringing calm to the chaos as always. Sleep on it, and in the morning, it will make sense.
And so it did. When Sherlock woke up soaked in sunlight the next morning, he could have thrown himself out the window for all of his stupidity-because for some inexplicable reason, after a night of comfortable sleep out of his own bed, the whole thing all seemed painstakingly obvious.
Still rolling his eyes at himself, Sherlock pulled his wand out from the inside pocket of his rumpled school robes. He gently tapped the surface of the cube (the blue side, because it seemed to make the most sense-he was Ravenclaw, after all) and murmured "alohomora."
With a soft clunk, the cube fell apart into six flat pieces, and a ball of crumpled up parchment hovered in its place, surrounded by a faint silver glow. Grinning at his success, Sherlock carefully reached out his hand and plucked it from the air. Taking a deep breath, the boy did his best to flatten it out against his knee, and examined the pitch black script.
A priceless item you must seek;
Yet it is not bronze, silver, or gold.
Where the ground falters beneath your feet;
To this item we advise you hold.
Sherlock stared at the elegantly penned words, as if he could derive the meaning from the gleam of the ink. His brow furrowed as he read the rhyme over countless times until it was ingrained in his skull.
"Well that's not bloody helpful at all," he muttered after a while, crumpling up the paper again and shoving it into his pants pocket.
"What the hell?" John looked just as confused as Sherlock felt. "How are you supposed to make any sense out of that?"
"I don't have a bloody clue," the boy grumbled impatiently, running a hand through his curls.
The sun would soon be rising, and the boys were sitting in front of the fire in the Ravenclaw common room, trying to give meaning to the madness.
"So…," John began, for the thousandth time. "The first two lines are simple. You're looking for a valuable item, but it's not valuable money-wise…I feel like they could have just said that one straight out. It doesn't take you to get the meaning of that."
Despite himself, Sherlock grinned. "They do seem to be trying to be overly fancy, don't they?"
Absentmindedly, John nodded. "The last two lines though…I mean, the only thing that comes to mind is a-"
"-rope," Sherlock said, nodding. "But what value would a rope have other than helping me "when the ground falters"?
John rubbed his eyes furiously, as if doing so would help him to see the answer. "God, I need to go to bed."
"It's almost the weekend, you can sleep as much as you want for the next two days," Sherlock pointed out; he, himself looked wide awake.
"Yeah, and I'd rather be sleeping at night and solving this during the day. Why aren't we doing that anyway?" John was longing for his own four poster, waiting for him back in the Gryffindor dormitory. Just thinking about it made him drowsy; if Sherlock made him stay there much longer, he'd fall asleep on the couch.
"I think better at night," the Ravenclaw said pointedly.
"Well, I don't," John huffed.
"You barely think at all. Therefore, my thinking takes priority."
"If you're going to be rude, I'm not helping you."
"I don't need your help. You're just there for me to talk at. It helps immensely if I have an audience."
"Then I'll leave," John retorted stubbornly, crossing his arms across the front of his red knit jumper.
"Fine." Sherlock shrugged and looked at the ceiling, appearing as nonchalant as possible.
"Fine?" The blonde-haired boy quirked an eyebrow.
"I'll talk to my skull. He does quite well when you're not around. I don't have to worry about him saying anything stupid, either."
"You still have that skull?"
"Mhmm. So I take it you're asking someone to the Yule Ball tomorrow?" Sherlock inquired, changing the subject.
Exasperated, John let out a sigh and ran a hand across his face. "How could you possibly know that?"
"You're far better groomed than usual, and you're wearing your good trainers. But it's pointless. They already have a date."
"How do you know that? You're not up to par on social things at all. In fact, how do you even know who I want to ask?"
"I don't." The boy shrugged. "But it was short notice, and it's been a good few days since the notice was up. If they're mildly attractive, they've probably been asked by now. So who is it?"
"Not necessarily-and why on earth do you want to know so badly? I didn't think you were interested in such trivial matters."
"I'm not," said the grey-eyed boy indignantly. "I just want to know who you'd rather go with than me."
If John had been drinking something, he would have started coughing at that moment. "You're kidding. Sherlock, I want to go with a girl. Sarah, for your information."
"Who?"
"The chaser on my Quidditch team…?" John rolled his eyes. For someone with such an incredible memory, sometimes Sherlock forgot quite a lot. The Gryffindor had a sneaking suspicion that it was entirely intentional.
"I didn't think you two were talking anymore after that time in Hogsmeade."
"Well we have to stay on decent terms for Quidditch. And we've been talking here and there; when we see each other in classes, and the like. So I figured it was worth a try, even if we do just go as friends."
"Ah." Sherlock rubbed his eyes, already having a tough time keeping them open. Within an hour, the sun would peek over the hills, and he wanted to stay on a semi-normal sleeping schedule. Before he knew it, it would be Monday again. He couldn't afford to be on a nocturnal sleeping schedule with the Second Task coming up.
John cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "You know, Sherlock. You really do need to find a date. Why don't you just ask Molly? She would be delighted."
"Firstly, because I don't want to give her false hope that I actually like her. Secondly, I find her extremely irritating and I don't want to have to put up with her."
"For goodness sake, Sherlock, it's just one night. It wouldn't kill you."
"One night has the potential to seem like an eternity. And it most definitely could kill me. Have you seen how clumsy she is?"
Despite himself, John snorted. "Okay, just try to find someone, won't you? There must be someone in your house that you can put up with."
"Don't count on it."
By the time Sherlock woke up on the couch sometime in the middle of the next day, John had already left. In his place, though, was a small piece of parchment tied with a stunning pink and purple ribbon. Sherlock recognized it immediately, and knew that this year it would be more difficult than ever to refuse Slughorn's invitation.
For the past four years, Sherlock had received an invitation to Slughorn's Valentine's Day party, and every year he had said no-why would he want to go to a social event of any kind if it wasn't absolutely required? But with each consecutive year it had been progressively more difficult for him to refuse, due to the persistence of the jolly man. Last year, the boy had actually feigned illness two days before, allowing him a reprieve. This year, he had no choice. This year, he was, simply put…screwed.
Looking out the large, arched window and blinking in the chilly light, Sherlock sighed. Well, he thought to himself, these next few months should be interesting, to say the least.
Okay guys, so hopefully I fixed the continuity error sufficiently-sorry again! If you notice anything else, please p.m. me and let me know! Thanks for all the reviews. -Mell