"Oh, Watson, I saw you've met Holmes already, why don't you help him around the castle?"
I started, looking up at Professor Teare with a blank expression. It took me a moment to realise who she was talking about. "But he's in Slytherin," I blurted out. No, no, no.
She frowned at me. As if the teachers didn't know about the rivalry of the green snake and the golden lion.
"I can't, we didn't really talk, I don't know-" I ramble on, not even sure why I was refusing.
"Really, Watson, there is nothing wrong with him," the Charms professor continued irritably. "I expect you to show him full courtesy, as he is a new student. Meet him tomorrow morning at breakfast, show him around." I opened my mouth to protest and she frowned over her black rimmed glasses. "I really don't know what you've got against the poor boy," she added. "He won't bite."
I don't know either. Not really.
What did I actually have against him?
That I thought he was pulling a prank on me?
But now it turns out he wasn't, why not give him a chance? He might be really nice.
What was his name again? Holmes?
As Professor Teare wandered away to help other students with finding the right page in our new books, my gaze also wandered around the room, instinctively catching Amelia's eye. She was looking at me and leaning forward, as if she had been listening in on our conversation. As soon as she noticed me looking at her she glanced away.
I frowned. I don't really know what's going on today.
She said he would meet me at breakfast.
He's not here.
Maybe I should leave.
Leave and forget about him.
He's Slytherin now, I'm supposed to hate him or something.
I was overthinking things far too much this morning.
"What's up with you?" I heard Amelia's teasing from just behind me. She came and sat next to me on the Gryffindor table with toast in hand. It was only the second day of the year and already I had two essays to complete by Friday. We were handed our new timetables yesterday, and it didn't look too bad. I was so looking forward to the first Quiddich practice.
After what Professor Teare had told me yesterday, I had been jumpy for the rest of the afternoon and into evening. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting; for him to jump out and hex me or something.
Stop being scared; all he did was talk to you.
Yeah, but why did he pick me out?
Maybe he saw your name on your luggage.
"Er, nothing," I replied with a slightly airy smile and instinctively reached forwards to ladle scrambled eggs onto my plate. Then decided my stomach couldn't quite handle that on top of all the unexpected butterflies so took some toast instead. "Shouldn't you be with your other friends?" I asked, not particularly concentrating on Amelia as I smeared a layer of strawberry jam onto my breakfast. "I mean, your, er," I stammered, trying to correct my mistake.
She shrugged. "Nah, they don't mind me hanging around with you, you know. It's your friends who seem to have the problem, right?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah." I kept moving the knife across my toast unconsciously, trying not to look her in the eye.
"I'd better be off," she said suddenly and disappeared down the table and I was left on my own again, staring blankly at my jam covered toast.
"Hello," a measured voice came from right next to my ear, and I jumped about a mile out of my seat. Promptly dropping my toast on the table and whirling round at the same time, I instantly recognised the dark curls and surprisingly bright eyes. He was sitting, quite relaxed, at the table as if he belonged here.
"Er, hello," I managed to croak back. Okay, this scared thing has to stop. He is not scary. You don't even know his full name.
"John Watson," I offered my hand and he shook it. Then I realised he already knew my full name. Damn it.
"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. "We're in the same Potions class, I take it?"
"Yeah," I answered, relieved; about what, I wasn't sure. "Yeah, third class today. Have you got all your books and everything?"
"Obviously." Coming from anyone else that might have sounded rude, but coming from him… He just sounded bored.
"Why have you suddenly come to Hogwarts anyway?" I decided to plough on while I was still feeling relatively confident.
"I was in Durmstrang," Sherlock Holmes replied lazily. I waited for him to say more, perhaps why he was no longer in Durmstrang, but he was pointedly silent. Wow, I've never met anyone from a different magical school. I wonder why he went there in the first place. He doesn't sound Scandinavian. Or Russian.
"Professor Teare suggested that I, er, show you around and everything," I explained.
"Yes, I know," he sounded quite pleased with himself, but for what reason, I couldn't guess.
Was he pleased that I was the one who was asked?
"On the train-" I started to ask hesitantly, wondering if this was a bit too much too quickly, but he cut across me.
"You were recommended," he said.
"By who?" I asked blankly.
His eyes flicked down the table and I followed his gaze. Amelia was looking at us, almost sheepishly. Sorry, she mouthed to me, but then she grinned and turned away back to her friends.
"You know Amelia?" I gaped. "How?"
"I made a deal with her brother once," Sherlock replied with a shrug. There was a pause. "I knew I would need a bit of-" his voice was filled with disgust, "assistance when I got here. Amelia recommended you."
"Oh." So he only talked to you because Amelia told him to.
"I knew Professor Teare was watching from the platform when I met you on the train. I knew she would ask you to help me. This way, teachers won't get suspicious."
"Why would they get suspicious?" I asked glumly, not really concentrating on Sherlock anymore. People from other house tables were turning round in their seats to catch a glimpse of the new boy. Other Gryffindors were looking at me curiously.
"My methods aren't what you call… conventional."
It took me a few moments to realise what Sherlock had said. "Conventional? What do you mean, methods?" I replied nervously, swiping the knife across my toast again.
"Well, you might get in trouble, that's all," he said, in a matter of fact way, leaning his elbow on the table.
I was trying to formulate some kind of reply when he promptly stood and started striding away. "And your Potions book is under the scales cabinet in the dungeons," he called lazily over his shoulder, and then disappeared through the massive oaken doors at the end of the hall.
I sat there, feeling like a complete idiot, still swiping the knife across my toast. Clenching my fist, I carefully laid the knife down next to my plate and took a deep breath.
Well, that went well, I thought sarcastically. He probably thinks you're a clueless wreck, well done.
This is what happens when I try and get myself noticed.
I get so bored sometimes of everyone ignoring me that I try and strike up conversations, or get involved in one thing or another. It usually ends in disaster.
There was this one time when I asked Felicity to the end of year ball-
Oh, you won't want to know about that.
"Sorry," Amelia was sat next to me again, but with a smile on her face. "Well, I'm not sorry, it'll do you good."
"What do you mean?" I frowned. "And why did you 'recommend' me?"
"I mean, he's not what you'd call conspicuous."
I felt my ears heat up. Maybe she was more perceptive of my feelings that I gave her credit for.
"And well, he asked for someone who knew the castle, and you know it probably better than anyone, John."
That was probably true, although I'd never thought of it that way before. Davies and Jacob usually tried to chat up girls at the house tables at lunch, which I wasn't particularly keen on, and Lestrade would go to the library with Anderson, who was extremely irritating. So I was left with a few spare hours in the day, which I spent wandering around the castle. It was surprising how many new things I discovered each term, and I began to wonder if the castle was less reluctant to share its secrets with me than anyone else.
"How do you know him? Was he telling the truth?" I asked, taking a bite from my toast, my appetite returning slightly.
"Yeah, he was." It was her turn to go slightly pink at the cheeks. "He and my brother go way back. And John," her expression turned serious. "There are… things you should probably know about Sherlock Holmes."
I raised my eyebrows. "Mm?"
"He's a bit… unusual."
"Should fit right in with me, then," I said dryly.
"No, I mean, seriously weird," she insisted. "Scary, even. He can tell things about you before he's even talked to you."
"Like what?"
Amelia hesitated. I'd never seen her like this, unsure of saying something. "Ask him. But just be prepared."
"Prepared for what?" I raised my voice, because she stood up, attempted to smile like her normal self and started to walk away.
A lot of people were walking away and leaving me feeling like an idiot today.
As I turned back to my toast, trying to digest the multitude of interesting conversations from this morning, I suddenly remembered Sherlock's parting words.
Your Potions book is under the scales cabinet in the dungeons.
Five minutes later I was reaching around the grimy floor in my empty Potions classroom. I could feel my heart thumping against my chest.
My eyes widened as my fingers clasped what felt like the corner of a book. Taking a deep breath I brought my arm out of the dusty shadows under the scales cabinet, and sure enough, in my now blackened fingers was my old Potions book.
What the…
I flicked through the pages, dumbfounded. This was my book from my second year. On the first day I had spilled some of the CHECK we had been trying to make on the front cover, and it had burnt right through it. Useless, I had left it on the table, I think, as I'd left the class, presuming someone else would pick it up and dispose of it.
I hadn't left my name in it, nor put any distinguishing marks anywhere on the pages. How did he know it was mine? How did he even know it was under here?
I remembered Amelia's last words too.
Just be prepared.