This is sort of a two in one chapter. I found a good stopping point for a chapter, the realized it was waaay too short, so I continued as if it was the next chapter. I hope it feels alright to you.

I don't think I'll ever be able to wrap my head around the fact that right here, right now in this moment. I am eating a banquet in a castle among hundreds of wizards... and a giant. Who is also a wizard. I feel like a kid watching a magic show. Except the magic is real and it's not a show. All the moving pictures and floating candles and... magic is just everyday life for these people. It's all so amazing, I've almost forgotten the damenter attack on the train.

The most amazing part is how normal everyone is. Despite the giant and the robes and the pumpkin juice and... oh wow that's a ghost, the students looks so... average. Like I could see any of these kids around london any day of the week. I half expected some of them to be green and warty. When Sherlock first told me about being a wizard. I thought maybe that would account for his weirder traits. Maybe he'd be considered normal among other wizards. But as I watch all the students laughing and joking, I realize that I couldn't imagine a young Sherlock among them.

As normal as all the students seem, the teachers are another matter entirely. They ranged from giant to dwarf. There's a man who I could swear is a Gandalf impersonator in his spare time as well as a woman who I suspect is secretly hoarding cats. Perhaps the most normal person at the table, aside from myself and Sh-...myself,is a greasy looking black haired man who keeps shooting dirty looks at Sherlock and I from across the table. Every once and awhile I catch Sherlock shooting menacing grins back him. I'll make sure to aske about him later.

"The one with the beard is Albus Dumbledore, the rather eccentric Headmaster of the school. He keeps a pet Phoenix going by the feather shaped burns on his fingers. Must be in it's rebellious teen years. Also, very gay, not that it matters. Fond of good socks. Passwords all have something to do with candies." Sherlock has been quietly rattling off deductions about the other professors while I ate, just to put his mouth to use and fill time. I was very thankful for this, as this world is so foreign and listening to his deductions has become so familiar.

"The woman with the glasses and the scarves is Trelawney, the divination's professor. A mindless professor for a mindless subject. Oh, she's going to try predicting my death. Maybe I could find a way to predict it right back. If I just mention her fondness for muggle weed, she'll believe anything I say. Deducing things in the future tense could easily be taken for divination. Probably more accurate too." I warily take a sniff of the pumpkin juice. Sherlock claims it's good, but I don't trust the tastes of a man who eats the spaghetti that he keeps next to rat intestines. I take a sip and decide it's a little odd, but not bad.

"Try the chocolate cake, it's the consistency of clouds." He's been doing that all night. Sneaking chocolate frogs into my pockets, getting a spot next to the fondue pot, acting oblivious when various chocolate items appeared on my plate. I'm not angry, of course. He's just worried for my wellbeing. I'm just a tad annoyed that he won't listen to me when I say I feel fine.

"Sherlock, I told you. I'm fine." I say, chuckling just to prove my point. His worrying was almost cute. By almost, I mean it would be cute if he hadn't tried to poison my coffee and use me as a lab rat last time he acted this way.

"Try it anyways."

"No. I've had enough chocolate. You probably need it more than I do. You haven't even bothered pretending to eat."

"You were a centimeter away from being kissed by that dement-" He knows that argument won't work, he's already tried it. He's quickly piecing together a new one. "...How about I cut you a deal. I'll take a bite if you take a bite."

"Hm... not good enough. I'll take a bite if you have a bite and... three biscuits."

"two biscuits and some jam on bread." That sounds reasonable. Nearly half a meal.

"The whole slice?" He nods. "Deal."

I take a bite of the chocolate cake. He was right, it does have the consistency of clouds. After watching Sherlock take his bite, I cut myself a slice and chow down on it while watching Sherlock carry out his end of the deal. Just to be sure he doesn't weasel out of it.

"I told you it was good."

"Shut up."

After the banquet, Sherlock and I were eager to get to our rooms. For completely different reasons, of course. I wanted to curl up and sleep till noon and Sherlock was keen on... redecorating the place apparently. So it was quite obvious as we were leaving the main hall that neither of us were in any mood to make small talk. And yet, here we are. Half way up a moving staircase, having a getting to know you chat with a man who clearly has a grudge against shampoo.

"I see you've found yourself a new toy, Sherlock." The greasy black-haired man pulled a foul face at us. The medical man in me couldn't help but to see his uncomfortable stance and the strain in his voice that usually accompanies severe constipation.

"Ah, if it isn't my old schoolmate Severus." Sherlock said with a scowl. He pivoted on his heel with a flourish of his perfectly tailored midnight blue robes. God, he looks like he rehearsed that for precisely this moment. He planted a hand on my shoulder. "Severus, this is Watson. My cat. John, this is Severus Snape. An old... friend of mine." I pull on a exasperated smile and held out my hand to be shaken, in a last attempt to be polite. It was left hanging.

"That is not a cat." He says sourly. I take my hand back. "You know very well that muggles are forbidden here, Holmes. It almost seems as if the only reason you brought him was to break the rules. Typical of you."

Sherlock takes a deep breath as he prepares to launch himself into Condescension Mode, Level Anderson. I brace myself for the ride.

"I haven't broken any rules. The rule book allows me to have a cat. But it never specifies what defines a cat. It never stated whether a cat is only an animal of the genus felis, or simply anything which can labeled as a cat. So I took it to mean the latter. It just so happens that John here was born in a the year of the cat according to the chinese zodiac*. So, as he can be labeled as a cat, your precious rules remain unbroken." He says rules the same way a teenager would say parents. As if anyone would be stupid to actually take them seriously. I watch Severus stiffen. He's probably thinking that if he can't find a good comeback, he might as well try to look imposing. He's failing miserably at it. Although him and Sherlock are roughly the same height, he stands on a lower stair allowing Sherlock to physically look down him as well as intellectually.

"I see your retreat into the muggle world only made you more insufferable, as I expected." Sherlock smiles at Severus the same way a lion would smile at an antelope.

"And you still have a pathological fear of soap, as I feared."

"Very mature, Holmes." Sherlock turned back on his heel and glided the rest of the way up the staircase. I follow after him, wondering whether he conjured up a breeze just to make his robes billow as he makes his dramatic departure.

"Laterz."

*There is no cat in the chinese zodiac.

I've been on a weird review roller coaster lately. The second chapter got like ten reviews in just a few days which is the most reviews I've gotten for anything, then the third took around a week and a half to get two. So... I'm not really sure what caused that spike and dip. Because both chapters seemed the same quality...

Anyways, reviews are most appreciated. Especially constructive critizism. Or destructive critisizm, actually. I'd love to hear what you think. (Also I forgot how to spell critizizm. Are there Zs involved? How many? Should I stick an E in there? I don't know, I'm tired.)