I'm writing this from death valley. It's actually very pretty, all purple and blue and swirly. Almost like ice cream. But that might be the dehydration talking. I'm kidding. I have four jugs of water in the car. I was born in ari-freaking-zona. If I didn't know how to deal with the desert by now, I'd change my name to Anderson.

But seriously, it's quite gorgeous out here. I'd recommend anyone to google it.

There'll be more applied cat logic and much more embarrassment on John's part in this one. Also, more of Harry's group!

"Could you explain this 'houses' thing to me? The singing hat wasn't very clear on it." I ask as I jog to keep up with my longlegged flatmate on our way to his first class. I'm both curious and terrified to find out what Sherlock's teaching methods might be. There are two ways this could go. He could either draw upon his skills as an actor and play the part of a wise and understanding teacher, or he can be himself and leave psychological and perhaps physical scars on the poor children.

I keep tripping over my robes as we go through the halls. I don't know why he's in such a hurry, he spent the last hour fully dressed picking dirt out of fingernails with his magic stick thing. If he was really so keen on being on time he was fully capable of leaving earlier.

He sighed. As if it explaining would be such a burden to him. But does so anyways without skipping a step or missing a syllable."Every student is put into one of four houses based on their soul or personality or whatever. Griffindor is for the brave, loyal, and mind-numbingly stupid. Ravenclaw is for the smart. Slytherin is for the cunning and ambitious. Hufflepuff is for the 'hard-working and kind-hearted', basically the soft and useless. Whatever house you end up in determines your schedule, what table you eat at, where you sleep, what quidditch team you play for, so on and so forth. It's actually a quite efficient way to organize a school." So, the hat.. was like a mind-reading thing that decided which house you're suited for, and each house consists of more or less like-minded people which you would fit in best with. I think I'm getting the hang of magic logic.

"Huh. So I guess you were in ravenclaw." Sherlock snorts at my guess. I'm not sure how I could be wrong. Smart is practically Sherlock's job description. It was the obvious conclusion.

"I'm a Slytherin, actually. The hat tried to put me in ravenclaw but I shut it up and told it off for being such an idiot*. I'd look terrible in blue and bronze." I realized he was wearing different robes today. Deep green velvet with silver embroidery, vaguely reflecting one of the four banners in the great hall. Yet, next to him, the banner would look like a cheap birthday party decoration. I think it's ridiculous that he chose a house because of it's colors, but I have to admit he does look fantastic.

We were rapidly approaching the heavy wooden doors that marked the defense against the dark arts classroom. At the door, Sherlock stopped me. Whispering a little tip into my ear before I could open a door. "This class is slytherin and griffindor. They've been rivals for centuries. Nearing outright enemies. There will be an air of competition or even hostility. Especially hostility." With that said, Sherlock flicked his stick and the doors flew open. He strides down the middle isle of the quickly quieting class like a king to his throne. I follow after feeling like a stupid tourist driving through thick traffic only to realize I've driven into a coronation procession.

"I am Sherlock Holmes. I will be your Defense against the Dark Arts professor for the year. You may all call me Sherlock, Professor, or Professor Sherlock. Never refer to me as Mr., Sherly, 'Lock, or Holmes, or you'll asked to leave the class permanently." He says dead seriousness, standing behind a regal looking wood pillar. I now understand that when he was talking about redecorating, he wasn't talking about our room. The entire classroom had been decorated to look like an expanded, tidier version of 221b. Sherlock's cow skull and skull painting have both been mounted onto the walls, all of his random knicknacks were sitting on wooden shelves, and his second best friend was sitting in it's place of honor on the mantlepiece. There were even several stacks of paper jack knifed to any available surface, one of which was conveniently stabbed into the surface of his podium. The only things missing from the replication were a few pieces of furniture and the bulletholes. I awkwardly stood next to the podium, unsure of where else to go.

"This is John Watson, the class pet cat. He is very calm and quite child friendly, so don't be afraid to give him a scratch behind the ears." His fingers run through my hair, petting me like... well, a pet. I wanted to protest, I really did. But god, his hands are magic.

"I hate you." I muttered as his fingers danced over my scalp like miniature ballet dancers wearing massage therapists on their feet. I could feel him smirk through his hand.

"Listen for gossip." He whispers as he discreetly directs me to a nice cushy armchair near a window as he started up roll call. I settle in to the sun-toasted cushions and quietly observe the class. It was split into two sides, Slytherin in green on the left, Griffindor in red on the right. I had a better view of the gryffindors, as I was sitting on the right side of the room. I took note of the students as their names where called.

In the slytherin class, nearly everyone gravitates towards a boy named Malfoy. Mean looking kid. He sits between two burly kids, passing notes around and pretending to faint. Several kids in the griffindor group looked ready to punch him. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley I recognised as glasses, redhead and girl from the train. They were whispering amongst themselves about Sherlock. Basically whether he was to be trusted and how much of a nutjob he is. Hermaninny is set on giving him a chance, even if he is wierd. Ron claims she's just saying that cause he's pretty. Potter is wary but feels that they should give us some credit for saving their lives. Then a small boy named Neville chirps up saying Sherlock seems like a second Snape. Then laments that he's not going to survive the year. Poor thing. He looked like he expected something to explode when his name was called.

"Unfortunately, the equipment and textbooks I've ordered for the year have yet to arrive. So we'll be going by ear today." Sherlock says as he starts the class. He picked up a large book off a shelf, then dropped it to quiet the class. "Right. First lesson, every single one of you is an idiot. Do not delude yourselves into thinking you're any smarter than the common field rat. No amount of knowledge could save you from dark magic, as you are too stupid to apply that knowledge." Hermy gaped, looking as if she was going to storm out. Everyone else looked confused. "But fortunately for you, dark wizards are just as imbecilic."

"You, with the arachophobia." He called out Ron. "What would be your first move in a duel with... Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Uh...I don- expelliarmus?" He muttered after Hermoany whispered it to him.

"Granger, I know you're eager to show off, but if you're going to cheat at least try to be discreet. Wrong. You call her fat and punch her hard in the throat when she charges." He drew his wand, pointing it at the rolling blackboard against the wall. It rolled behind him and started displaying notes in Sherlock's handwriting.

"You see, the best things to do in a duel are

1) Be unexpected

2) Aim for their weak points

And this only applies to life and death duels against dark wizards

3) Break any and all rules whenever possible" As he said these he struted around the edges of class, discreetly studying the students as they fished out their parchment and pens.

"All wizards and witches, dark or otherwise, are accustomed to cooking, cleaning, bathing, fighting, eating, and wiping their ass...cots with magic. As a result, most wizards are physically weak and unused to hand-to-hand combat. Physical fighting is unexpected in a magic duel, and so it is every wizards weak point. It will ensure that even if your wand is in a thousand pieces and on fire, you will not be sitting ducks. Now... How about a demonstration?" He concludes his speech as he passes in front of his podium again.

"Dear John here is armed with nothing but his extensive knowledge of the human body and an fine physique. I am armed with a magic wand and knowledge of 78 spells, charms, curses and combinations of the like. Who do you believe will win?" I stand reluctantly from my seat. Sherlock gestures to a small white x on the floor as he moves to a similar one on the opposite end of the room. This is a bad bad idea. He's going to shoot some weird death sparkles at me and I'm going to have to not die. How do spells even work? Is it going to spray or spit or just... happen?

"Sherlock, this isn't a good idea." He pretends he doesn't hear me.

"Neville, call out 'ding' whenever it suits you." Neville squeaks. "John, I'm the one who told Rose you thought she was annoying." I'm seeing red. Blood red with little black splotches. I really liked Rose, she was clever and gorgeous and didn't make jokes about me and Sherlock. I'm going to kill that man and feed his corpse to a banana slug.

"DING!" Neville yelps. Sherlock points a thing at me and shouts another thing, causing a bolty thing to spring at me, but I dodge to the side. I charge into his side and tackle him to the ground. He shouts something else and another thing sweeps past my head. I wrench the stick out of his hand and pin him down with my knee in his chest.

"John, that's enough." Still angry with him, I gave him a good solid punch to the face. "John, I ca..can't breathe..." I reluctantly let up, moving off him and getting up off the floor. Sherlock pops up like a spring, dusting himself off as if he had simply tripped. In just a few seconds, he looked just as composed as before we started. Well, aside from the large bruise forming on his left cheek. "So, for the next week I'll be teaching you idiots how to do that. Any objections?"

*I think I might write up a one-shot about exactly how this occured.

Since I've started this chapter, I drove through a tree, dipped my feet into the ocean, stood inside a living hollow tree, and saw a herd of stoners grazing on weed in their natural habitat. So sorry if it took awhile.

Reviewers, unite!- I've got Sherly's attitude towards Hermie, Snape and John down pretty well. But I'm not sure how to work Harry and Ron. Review me with how you'd think they'd get along.

Ok, that cut off was a little weird, but it was the best stopping point I could find.