ONE MONTH LATER

I tried to hide it in the day time, in lesson time, because I don't like the stares people give me in the corridors. I told myself to walk, stride as if I was brave. As if I knew that mourning outwardly would not bring him back.

The funeral had been difficult. Davies, of course, stood, regal and suitably sombre, in his smartly fitted black robes, shedding two tears throughout the whole procession. Me, stumbling behind the elegant coffin in slightly tatty grey robes that were too big for me, trying to cover my face during the piercingly long walk to where our best friend would be buried. People stared.

Davies and I had another long, long walk the next day. I can't really remember much, we drank a bit, but we talked about Jacob. I've heard people say that it's only in times of hardship you see people's true character, and Davies surprised me a little. As much as I knew he was proud and collected on the outside, arrogant too, he wasn't much different now. I had wondered if he would show how much he really had cared for his best friend, let out his emotions unfiltered. But I wasn't sure he did. Sure, he cried when we talked, but it wasn't an uncontrollable pain. Like mine.

I felt ashamed at how the pain was still there.

I could see Jacob's face in my mind, still pin sharp and vivid, looking at me with curious eyebrows half raised. His bottomless eyes looked sad, and glancing at Davies with approval. His eyes didn't seem to approve of me.

I should be brave and fearless and strong. I was in Gryffindor, after all.

Wrong house.

"You look like you need something stronger than tea today. Here."

A bottle of butterbeer floated gracefully down onto the knotted, gnarled table in front of me. I sighed gratefully as I took it, the cool glass refreshing my palm. "I didn't think teachers were allowed to give students this," I said doubtfully.

Professor Heartley gave a wry smile and winked, turning back to the three wooden bowls lined up on the counter. "We're not, but I suppose you're an exception."

I wasn't quite sure how it happened. After the funeral, she had invited me back for a cup of tea (it didn't taste like ordinary tea but it was as good as) and had sat there in silence as I stared blankly into my mug. We hardly talked. She didn't seem to mind, though, and it was only the next day that I remembered I had a slight teacher crush. I wasn't exactly sure how I felt.

I still wasn't sure how I felt. It had been a month since the first time I'd visited her small cottage on the edge of the grounds and now it was at least once a week. We were friends now, I think, but I wasn't sure what kind of friendship it was. I didn't like thinking in terms of friendships anymore.

"Did Professor Ctheiz give you permission to go?" I asked, as she flicked her wand. Spoons started to stir the mixtures in the bowls.

"I haven't asked him yet," she looked a little sheepish. Her cheeks flushed a little crimson, and it matched the bright scarlet robes she was wearing today. There was the familiar echo of her large combat boots on the wooden floor as she walked to the sink.

"Why not?"

"I don't think he'll let me anyway."

"We've been through this," I scowled. "You might as well ask him. At least then he'll know that you want to leave."

Have I mentioned the coolest part about her yet?

She has a dream to be a hot air balloon pilot.

"But what good will that do?" she sighed; flicking her wand again and the bowls lifted off the counter and tipped their contents into one another.

"You never know what he'll say until you ask him."

She glanced at me with doubtful eyes. I was again reminded that she wasn't much older than me.

"But they'll need to find a replacement Care for Magical Creatures teacher," she continued, as if we hadn't had this conversation before. "I'd have to leave Vinny and Daisy, no one can look after them like I do."

Oh yeah, she has unicorns too.

"We've been through this," I repeated, not really sure what else to say.

"And who says I'll get into the pilot school anyway?" she asked absently, beginning to manually stir the mixture in the bowl.

I gritted my teeth. "You will, you've wanted to do this since you were born, yes?"

It was her turn to scowl. "Any luck?"

I hated it when people change the subject so quickly like that, I can never recover enough.

"Um, no," I replied a little shakily. I tried to look around her little kitchen in an attempt to shake the subject off, glancing between the rusty-hinged cupboards and the rare sunlight pooling on the floorboards near her feet.

"Well you need to get somewhere with it," she frowned, looking a little concerned.

I could deal with people staring at me every day, I just hid and pretended I didn't notice. I could deal with this eventually.

But there was still the issue of Sherlock Holmes.

I still couldn't believe that he had escaped capture. There were so many good Aurors in the Ministry, at least if the wild stories in the Prophet were to be believed, and so many good teachers in Hogwarts that could be looking for him. Because everyone had decided that he was the culprit.

I remembered the buzz in the Gryffindor common room just afterwards.

'I think it was him.'

'Well it definitely was, did you see the way he was talking to Jones? Really dodgy if you ask me.'

'You weren't even there.'

'Yeah but people have been talking. Like I heard that guy comes from a really weird family. Like, really weird. His brother is-'

'A Muggle law enforcer? Yeah, I heard that too.'

'Well I heard he's a dragon keeper.'

'I thought he worked in some sort of making-place? You know, the ones where they make Muggle objects. Umbrellas, I think they're called.'

'Well I don't like the way this whole thing is getting covered up. We have a right to know what happened. Jones was in our house.'

'It was Holmes, I just know it.'

'He didn't have any friends, I knew he was dangerous.'

'Well he did, sort of, right?'

'You mean the Watson boy?'

I had stopped listening and gone back up the stairs to bed at that point.

I had tried not to think about it too much but it was impossible not to. Everything pointed to him. Even now, my brain was desperately trying to figure out a way he was innocent and everyone was wrong. It just wasn't happening.

I still couldn't think of a reason why he'd do it.

That was the only thing holding that sliver of hope there in my head.

"Are they still looking for him?" Professor Heartley frowned.

"I don't know. I think they've given up," I sighed, taking a sip of my butterbeer.

"You should look for him." she looked at me pointedly.

"Me?" I answered, shocked. "I can't find my shoes in the morning, let alone a Durmstrang student on the run."

I suddenly remembered that dream I'd had a few months ago. Obviously it was only a dream. But it made me wonder yet again what Sherlock Holmes had done to get himself kicked out of the roughest magical school in the world. You didn't just get expelled for nothing, is what we heard.

"Well you knew him better than anyone else did," she continued.

"No, I didn't know him at all," I snapped, tightening my grip on the bottle.

She glanced at me with slightly worried eyes. "Okay, you didn't know him."

"Sorry," I sighed again. "I just… Want to know the truth about it."

"Well I think you know if it's true or not," she replied simply.

I examined the label on the bottle thoughtfully. Did I?

She's right, I need to talk to him. But how? How on earth do I find him?