Here's a nice long one to start off the month. It's got more of Hermione!
As soon as we return to our rooms, Sherlock buries himself under five layers of work. He refuses to talk to me or even make direct eye contact. All I can do is sit back and watch him rifle through calenders mutter to himself over thick volumes.
I wouldn't be terribly worried because this is pretty normal behavior for him. When he's really caught up in a case, he'll block out everything else. Even me.
Except we're not on a case. Well, not really. I know he's been interested in that Black character. But we haven't been searching him out so much as waiting for him to show himself. So either the information- or lack of which- that Snape gave him has accelerated things greatly, or Sherlock's just covering up being upset.
I know it's the latter, but as I said before, there isn't anything can do because he's blocking me out.
Then there's a knock at the door. Sherlock makes no move to get it so, naturally, I do it for him. At the door, a wide eyed bushy haired girl stares up eagerly with the slightest hint of nervousness. I recognize that expression in an instant. It's the universal expression of a Sherlock fangirl about to have her heart smashed to bits.
"C-could I speak to professor Sherlock?" Behind me, another book slams shut and is thrown across the room.
" Uh... now isn't a good time."
"It'll only be a few minutes." Sherlock makes a wolf impression at another book. A very convincing one.
"It's really not a good time. He's in a... mood." To prove my point, Sherlock moodily stomps across the room and throws himself across the sofa.
"John, just let her in."
"Sherlock, I'm not going to throw this poor girl into the blazing fire that is your boredom for your own amusement." I hiss over my shoulder to the heap of consulting detective lying amongst his hoard of papers and books. He grabs a paper at the other end of the sofa with his toes and hands (or rather, foots) it to himself.
"... You do realize that's slightly offensive, right?" Sherlock says in a way that in no way implies that he's actually offended by my accidental reference to witch burning. He tosses the paper away and rolls and writhes around on the sofa like a cat in a box.
"I'm sure I can manage whatever mood he's in." She says quite confidently, probably assuming that this mood couldn't possibly be worse than his mood during class or that train incident. But she's wrong. Well, the train incident was pretty bad, but that was mostly a sulky mood. Now he's-
"Listen to the girl. Let her in! She might be interesting." Now he's demanding sacrifices. She shoots me a 'you heard the man' look and I have no choice but to sigh heavily and let her in. While she stomps triumphantly into the room, I take my seat in the only piece of furniture not drenched in Sherlock. Somehow, he had managed to occupy the desk chair as well as all three seats on the couch. He's got his legs and lower back taking up the couch, with his upper back bent over the armrest, his shoulders and neck hanging in the air and his head lying in the chair. I swear, he actually makes himself longer just to inconvenience people.
The young girl leans over Sherlock's head, which almost looks completely detached from the rest of his body. "Professor Holmes, I'd just like to start off by saying... your classes have been brilliant. I mean, who would've ever thought that the wizarding world's focus on magic could actually be a weakness."
"Oh no. School issued time-turner, new yet heavily patched bookbag, eager expression... You're one of those good students aren't you?" He groans, rolling his eyes and looking up his nose at her. "That's what I've hate about ravenclaw. They're all predominantly goody two shoes who willingly eat up all of the boring textbook knowledge that everyone is required to know but never have the guts to seek the knowledge actually worth knowing because it's been forbidden. I never thought I'd find a gryffindor good student." The poor girl turns an impressive shade of red although her eyes stay impressively dry. She shuffles in embarrassed for a bit before turning on him with a unique ferocity.
"You know most professors would say something like 'thank you' after being complemented on their teaching skills. You must be one special kind of bastard to actually insult a student for daring to pay you a complement. I'll be sure never to make that mistake again." She lifts her chin comically high, meaning she has to struggle to look over her chin to see Sherlock's face. "And for your information, I've got plenty of guts to seek whatever knowledge I feel like seeking. I've had a staring contest with a basilisk for christ's sake."
His curly mop pops up from the desk chair and the length of his body straightens into a vertical position on the couch in a feat of agility that's wasted on a mundane action like sitting up. "Really? What shape was it's pupils? I've always wondered about it but I've never been able to find out. Dumbledore made such a fuss when I tried hatching one under my bed. I tried explaining that a young Basilisk wouldn't be as lethal as a full-grown beast but he just wouldn't listen to me." Lethal? He tried hatching a lethal beast in school? Typical Sherlock. The girl catches me giggling and huffs disapprovingly.
"Uh-I... don't really- I was too busy being petrified to notice." She stumbles over Sherlock's sudden burst of energy.
"You tried to hatch a-"
"I didn't try. I succeeded. But it was killed before it opened it's eyes. Such a shame. It was easy to get the toad on the egg, but it took ages to get it to stay."
"I-I never. Well... you just..." She's struck dumb, less out of shock and more out of horror. Sherlock looks mildly amused.
"Sherlock, stop toying with the girl. She looks like she's about to either faint or punch you." I cut in to hopefully keep the peace. Sherlock mutters an indignant 'fine' under his breath.
"So, what brings you here today Miss Granger? Shall I offer you a cup of tea?" He asks with three tablespoons of false sugar in his voice. I get up to make the tea Sherlock's offering.
"Oh I don't think I should stay for long. I just had something to ask you. On the train you said that dementors aren't physical beings but I saw you-." I hear as I disappear into the small kitchenette behind a revolving bookcase. I go through the calming process of filling the kettle, hanging it over the fire until it whistles, pouring the water into three cups, dipping three tea bags into the steaming water and loading them onto a tray. I push the side of the bookcase open with my foot and wait patiently as it swings wide enough for me to go through. I nearly drop the tray I'm holding when I set eyes on the scene that had unfolded in the few minutes that I was away.
The student had an old dog-eared tome open on the desk, stabbing at the page with her finger and Sherlock was standing on the other side of the desk with one hand in his hair, looking exasperated and frustrated and at least three other different -rateds.
"It's impossible! Every book in the library says so!"
"And I agree with every book in the library! It is, indeed, as you have said, completely impossible!" I've never seen two people argue so loudly about something they both agree on.
"But I saw you!"
"For the last time, YOOOU SAAAW WRONG!" His voice is roaring as load as any lion, but there's not any actual intent or cruelty so I stand back and let it play out.
"IT WASN'T ONLY ME! THERE WAS RON AND... ok Harry and your friend were passed out. BUT RON SAW YOU TOO!" Granger matched his volume, but her confidence had faltered part way through. Sherlock collapsed back into his chair with a loud grunt.
"Oh big whoop, two frightened children thought they might or might not have seen me make contact with a dementor. What does it matter to you, anyhow?" Now that the argument has settled down from yelling, I decide that it's safe to set out the tea without worrying about cups flying across the room.
"It's Harry. The dementors are everywhere at the borders of the school and reasearch can only do so much. Of course, he should be safe as long as he stays on hogwarts grounds. But..."
"Trouble always follows the boy who lived. And always will, so long as he continues to live. Thank you, John." He takes his cup with a smile and I take a seat on the sofa with mine to observe. "You're a very loyal friend, Granger. That extent of loyalty is hard to find in friends. I know I couldn't." They seem to get along very well now that the friendly shouting match is over.
"What do you call me?" I ask, mockingly offended.
"I call you John, my dear Watson. And I was using the past tense, if you failed to notice." He muttered at me over the side of his teacup. "If you're so worried, why ask me about what you know to be the impossible? Why not ask me about the patronus charm or other less impossible alternatives?"
"...You faltered. If you can't cast it very well, there isn't much chance you can teach it much better." Sherlock twitches and chews his bottom lip at the blunt statement. He whips out his wand and points in in a random direction.
"Expecto Patronum" He says in the 'proving you wrong' voice. There is a long pause that usually comes before something big and after it... nothing. He says it again. Still nothing. He tosses the wand across the room and scowls to himself."It shouldn't be that difficult. It's basically just think happy thoughts, point and shoot."
"Must be the happy thoughts bit. Have you tried your first crime scene?" Sherlock scoffs at me and I smirk back. Granger looks a little alarmed at us both.
"Crime scene?" She looks like she half expects us to be the cause of the crime scene. I'm a little disappointed that it's just half. If I were her, I'd run from the room screaming murderer by now.
"Don't worry. He's an arrogant, vain bastard. But not a criminal. Quite the opposite, actually. We catch criminals in the muggle world." I tell her as reassurance with a smile. She mouths an 'oh' of realization and nods. She turns back to Sherlock to find that he's completely zoned out and muttering something under his breath. "Oh no, he's left. You might as well go. He's not going to be back for awhile."
"Wha-what? What do you mean left? He's right here."
"He's retreated into his head. One time he left in the middle of a shower and flooded the bathroom. Took ages to clean up." I walk over to him and gently pry the half full teacup from his hand before he ends up dropping or spilling it. "And of course he was too busy chasing down some serial cannibal to help."
"Huh. I guess I really should be going." Granger heaves the heavy book off the desk and drops it into her bag. "God knows what Harry and Ron are getting up to in my absence."
"Yeah, I know that feel." I open the door for Granger as she hauls her bag onto her shoulder and heads out. As I turned back to my seat on the sofa, Sherlock leaped out of his mind palace with a yelp.
"I found it!" He searched among a pile of books and papers in a corner and fished out his wand. "John, you're brilliant. Expecto patronum." A small smoky dragon bursts from the tip of the wand and flies about the room with wings that smell of cigarettes. It's heavy and dark like a storm cloud, but there as a light like a constant flash of lightning locked between it's teeth. Sherlock watches, completely and utterly stunned as it makes a few circuits around the room and disappears in a puff of smoke.
"That. Was... That was amazing." Sherlock stares into the empty space where it disappeared. "W-wasn't it? Sherlock. Is... something wrong?"
"No. Not wrong. Just... very unexpected. I didn't get a proper look at it before and... it was supposed to be light blue..." I don't know what shaken him up so bad. I don't really see why the color might be a problem. If it's for fighting off those dementor things, I don't think it matters if it's blue or lemon yellow. But what do I know about magic?