A few notes beforehand; We're sorry it took so long, and for our other stories as well. We're just really busy at school and we don't have any time to write, like, not ANY. It bothers us and hope you understand. Furthermore, we hope you are all not too upset about Sherlock being a Gryffindor; it was necessary for the plot.

Enjoy!

3. Neville Longbottom

The second class of the day was Herbology, which they shared with the Hufflepuffs. To Sherlock's annoyance one of the Gryffindor prefects showed them how to get to the greenhouses. 'If the other students would just study the map of the Hogwarts grounds, they wouldn't have to show us around,' he complained.

They were walking alongside the rest of the Gryffindors who, according to Sherlock at least, were overly excited. Carl kept pointing at every tree and told his fellow students everything he knew about them. 'I can't wait to see the Whomping Willow! There are very rare, you know? I even heard that –'

Sherlock sighed and turned to John, hoping that his friend would be just as bothered as himself. But to his surprise, John kept his eyes fixed on waving flags near the Quidditch pitch. 'Legends were born there, Sherlock,' he whispered, 'Oh, I can't wait to see the first match of the year!'

'Hmm,' was all Sherlock replied.

The prefect finally stopped in front of the glass doors of the greenhouses. The building looked different from what the students had expected. No books or stories every paid much attention to the greenhouses and the only drawings and pictures the students had seen were from the time before the War.

'It's a bit different from what it looked like in my days.'

The entire class turned around to face professor Longbottom who, apparently, had made his way from the castle to the greenhouses without any of the students noticing it. He made his way through the group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, who all stared at him in anticipation, and waved his wand a few inches away from the door. 'Alohomora,' he muttered.

He entered a big, circular classroom and beckoned the first years to follow him.

He smiled and waited patiently for them all to take their seats. 'I'm professor Longbottom,' he said, when the last two Hufflepuff girls finally stopped giggling, 'I'll be your Herbology teacher for the years to come. Hopefully.'

He laughed, and some students (mainly the Hufflepuffs) did too, but most of the first years didn't get the joke. A Gryffindor boy raised his hand, 'How do you mean, "hopefully"?'

Professor Longbottom scratched his chin, 'Well, Hogwarts has got a very odd history when it comes to teachers, doesn't it? Werewolves, mad men, death eaters… you name it! Now, to get started –'

But before Neville Longbottom could finish his sentence, a Hufflepuff girl raised her hand. 'Yes?' Professor Longbottom said, gesturing that she was allowed to speak, 'Oh, and what's your name?'

'Phyllis Peters.' While she spoke, her cheeks turned a flaming red, but after a comforting look from professor Longbottom, she seemed less nervous. 'You saw what happened to all those teachers. Don't you think there's some sort of… curse?'

It seemed as if the entire classroom held its breath. Most of them couldn't even believe that Neville Longbottom was teaching them Herbology. He was a living legend, according to most of them. They all wanted to hear his stories about Harry Potter and the days of the Second Wizarding War.

Professor Longbottom understood, for this had happened nearly every year, since he'd been teaching at Hogwarts, when the first years met him. 'No,' he laughed, waving his hand, 'I don't think any of the jobs are cursed. And besides, it were mainly the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers who turned out to be… different than most of us.'

'What about Severus Snape? He didn't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts!' The girl next to Phyllis Peters called out.

'Profes –' Longbottom stopped. After all these years he still often called Snape "professor". 'Snape was also a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, miss…?'

'Bones,' the girl whispered, 'Amelia Bones.'

Professor Longbottom's face brightened, 'Bones?' he asked, 'Are you by any chance related to Susan Bones?'

'She's my mother. Named me after her aunt.'

'Quite right too. Madam Amelia Bones was a brave woman, she stood up to Voldemort and…' he didn't finish his sentence as he saw a few of the first years shiver at the mention of the Dark Lord's name. 'I assume you know the rest of the story?'

The Hufflepuff girl nodded. 'He killed her in person, I know. And I'm so proud.'

'And you should be. Not to mention your grandparents, they were in the first Order of the Phoenix, and your mother herself! How is she doing?'

'She's doing really good. Even told me to say hello to you.'

'Give her my regards when you go home, will you? Now, let's get started. Open your books on page –'

'Sir?' Another boy called out. 'My uncle fought in the War! Did you know him?'

'And mine?'

'What about Harry Potter?!'

'Do you ever speak? Do you ever see him?'

'I've always loved the stories about Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger!'

'Luna Lovegood!' 'Draco Malfoy!' 'The Grey Lady!' 'Dumbledore!' 'The Chamber of Secrets!' 'The Horcruxes!' 'The snake! Nagini!' 'Harry Potter's Patronus!' 'Dumbledore's Army!'

Old names came up and good stories were told that hour. Sherlock quietly listened and observed, enjoying the tales told. Especially the ones he hadn't heard before, which were mainly told by professor Longbottom himself. Unlike John, who asked as many questions as the rest of the class, Sherlock remained silent. He thought of his father, and wondered whether their teacher had known him as well, but he didn't dare ask.

John told the full tale of his uncle. 'He knew Harry Potter, he did! Talked to him, all the time! Even saved his life on the battlefield. The rest of my family say that the Boy who Lived wanted to thank him for that after the battle was over, but by then it had been too late. Mum says he was very brave…'

Professor Longbottom became less enthusiastic and all the more quiet as time passed by. He let the children share their stories without interrupting them, unless absolutely necessary. The answer to the student's question became shorter and abrupt and Sherlock could tell that the man was close to being overwhelmed by emotions. He could tell by looking his body language. At the beginning of the class Longbottom had stood up tall and had seemed so proud, but as time passed by the smile on his face had disappeared and he seemed to have shrunk. He kept quiet as if he'd wanted to fade into thin air and Sherlock wondered whether this is who Neville Longbottom had been, before he became the legend he was now.

Just a boy, like any of the students here, who didn't want to be noticed at all. Perhaps he had never wanted to be the hero he was now, perhaps he'd just become one…

Either way, as annoying and dull people usually were, professor Longbottom was neither, Sherlock decided. The man was rather fascinating.

Five minutes before the class ended, professor told his students to collect their books and leave the Greenhouses. Before he opened the doors, though, he said to them; 'Now remember, this is your last period for today, so you've got the rest of the day to yourselves. Make it a good one.'

Some students left immediately, curious to see the rest of the castle and its grounds. Others stuck around a little longer to ask professor Longbottom even more questions. Sherlock and John were amongst the first to leave, although both of them went to thank professor Longbottom.

The professor grinned at John and thanked him for his "marvellous stories" about his uncle. At shaking Sherlock's hand, he remarked that the boy had been very quiet during his class. The Gryffindor boy nodded.

'You're a Holmes, though, aren't you?'

Sherlock nodded again. 'Yes, I am. But I'd rather not be reminded of that.'

'Family issues then?' Longbottom laughed, 'I know the feeling.'

'I didn't know you had siblings!' one of the Gryffindor girls shouted.

'I don't, it's just that I –' he sighed, 'Oh, never mind.'

He turned to continue his conversation with the younger Holmes brother, but to his surprise the boy and his friend had disappeared.

It was early in the afternoon and both boys were looking forward to the rest of the day. After their lunch in the Great Hall they decided to go and examine other parts of the castle. They were just about to leave the Hall when a tall boy made his way towards them. He pouted his lips disapprovingly as he tapped Sherlock on his shoulder. 'I think all the first years have written to their families to tell them how they got Sorted. Not you, I think? Of course not, you wouldn't even talk to your family if they were right in front of you, would you?'

'Get out of my way, Mycroft,' Sherlock sneered at his brother and he stepped towards the entrance doors of the Great Halls. Mycroft got in his way, though. 'I already wrote to mummy,' he said, 'She'll be surprised to hear you didn't get Sorted into Ravenclaw, like me.'

John instantly decided that he didn't like Mycroft Holmes. He seemed cocky and John would bet the three Sickles in his pocket that the prefect considered himself better than anyone else at Hogwarts.

'Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Mycroft,' Sherlock repeated. After a big sigh, Mycroft stepped out of their way and without further ado Sherlock left him standing in the middle of the Great Hall. John, a bit mind blown at what had just happened had to recover before rushing after Sherlock, but Mycroft held him back. 'John,' he said, while he gave him a piercing glance, 'Look after my little brother.'

John couldn't even utter a 'what?', that's how confused he was. Instead he nodded, a bit absentmindedly, then ran after his friend.

He caught up with him in the courtyard, where they nearly bumped into a group of first year Hufflepuff, still talking about their Herbology lesson. The two boys quickly made their way through the different groups of students. John accidently knocked a second year Slytherin over and hastily apologised, trying to avoid any form of trouble. The Slytherin turned and shouted a loud 'Scum!', but no more than that, before facing his mates again and laugh at some other new first years.

John followed his friend across the covered bridge that led to a part of the castle grounds. Unlike many other students they didn't stop to read the memorial sign. It told the story of the old bridge, which had collapsed during the Final Battle of the War. But both boys knew the story and were too eager to see more of the castle to stop and think about what had happened there ten years ago.

They finally stopped when they arrived in the Stone Circle. A patch of grass surrounded by giant white rocks. Sherlock sat down next to one of the stones and looked out on the rest of the grounds below. John perched down next to him. It took him a while before he said anything. Not sure whether he should mention Mycroft yet, he pointed to his right. 'Look,' he said, 'It's the Owlery.'

Sherlock followed his friend's finger and nodded. There, on the top of a small hill, stood indeed the new Owlery. 'I should probably go there soon,' John continued, 'I'd better send my mum and dad a letter.'

'If this is Mycroft talking…' Sherlock said through clenched teeth,

'It's not!' John replied immediately. But he knew he was lying… Mycroft's words had had a bit of an impact on him. He should've written to his family right after he got Sorted into Gryffindor. He had even promised his little sister to do so. He sighed.

'Come on, let's go there,' he said. Sherlock, however, didn't make an attempt to get up. 'Sherlock! Come. On!' John nagged while tugging the sleeve of his friend's uniform. But Sherlock didn't budge.

'I'd rather have a look down there,' he whispered, his voice lower than it had been before.

'But that's the Forbidden Forest,' John gasped, 'We can't go there, Sherlock, it's dangerous!'

'Don't be ridiculous, I don't want to go to the forest. I just wanted to see what else is down there.' Not waiting for John to reply, he jumped up and ran down the hill. John bit his lip in hesitation, them muttered 'Oh, sod this' and sprinted after him.

He had to try real hard not to stumble over his own feet and when he finally came to halt at the edge of the hill, he was glad to have made it in one piece.

'Are you alright?' Sherlock asked him. John had trouble getting his breath back, but nodded, rubbing his slightly sprained ankle. He looked up at Sherlock who looked around proudly, as if he owned the surroundings. Then he spotted a tall figure in the distance, walking around a patch of what appeared to be pumpkins.

'Is that…' John began, but his sentence was cut short by Sherlock who finished it resolutely.

'Hagrid.'

Even though the man was gigantic (and not just in height), neither John or Sherlock had been intimidated with the friendly man. Of course they'd heard the most wonderful stories about him concerning Harry Potter, which helped trust and admire him.

'Mycroft says he's a horrible teacher and not even as friendly as everyone always says,' Sherlock told the other boy. John raised an eyebrow, not really believing what he was hearing. He had always thought that everyone considered Rubeus Hagrid to be one of the best and nicest men at Hogwarts.

'He even said we better avoid him as long as we can,' Sherlock continued. Then, to John's surprise, that familiar smirk appeared on his face. 'So, what do you say, John? Should we go and meet him properly?'

John didn't get time to reply, because the silhouette of the half-giant waved at them and signalled them to come over.

'Oi, you two, over 'ere!'

'What're yer names then?' he asked, as soon as the two Gryffindors arrived at his pumpkin patch.

'I'm Sherlock,' Sherlock said, 'And this is John Watson.'

'Sherlock?' Hagrid asked, 'Sherlock who?'

Sherlock sighed, hating that he had to tell the half-giant his last name. 'Holmes.'

'Holmes?' The man asked, a frown on his face, 'Mycroft isn' yer brother, is 'e?'

'I'm afraid he is.'

'Yer look alike,' Hagrid smiled, 'But yer not in the same 'Ouse are you?'

Sherlock shook his head.

'So… yer not that bright as 'im, then?'

'Oh,' Sherlock said, a surprised look on his face, 'I am clever. I'm not such a smart arse as he is, though.'

Hagrid laughed heartily and slapped the boy on the back. John couldn't suppress a grin when he realised Hagrid's laughter sounded remarkably like Santa Clause's "hohoho".

'It takes great courage to say that 'bout yer own brother, Mr Holmes,' the giant chuckled, 'I can see why yer a Gryffindor. Proud o' it?'

'Definitely,' Sherlock grinned. He sighed in relief as he realised that Hagrid didn't like his brother much either and, unlike most teacher probably would, admitted it to him. 'Anyway, what I wanted yeh for… Yer firs' years, would yeh mind givin' me an 'and?'

'A hand with what?' John didn't feel like doing something really gross for the giant and – according to stories he had heard – there was quite a chance that Hagrid would ask the first years to do some nasty jobs for him. John sighed in relief, though, when Hagrid gestured at the pumpkin patch. 'They need a bit o' sprayin', don' yeh reckon?'

Sherlock was hoping for Hagrid teaching them a spell or two to spray the pumpkin plants, but instead he both gave them a gigantic watering can that took the pair of them to carry.

'One, two, three… Pour!' John shouted time and time again. At "pour" they both bent forward to let the water drip out of the can, onto the pumpkins. It was hard work and it took them about forty-five minutes to water all the plants, but they didn't mind it. Hagrid watched them, looking very pleased, and eventually told them to stop.

'Thanks fo' yer help, yeh really didn' have to,' he said, but the look on his face told both boys that the giant was more than pleased with their help. Besides, the bags under his eyes gave away how tired he was. Sherlock guessed he had been at Hogwarts before any of the students, or teachers even, had arrived. His answer was confirmed when the giant showed them his cottage, not so far away from the patch. 'You live here all year long?' John asked in disbelief. Hagrid nodded. 'An' been doin' tha' for ages. They'd be los' withou' me, 'ere. Can you imagine what would happen to the grounds if I weren't there to take care of 'em?'

The boys shrugged, not sure what to say.

'It's all alright,' Hagrid said in a soothing voice, 'I don' mind all the work, it's a pleasure workin' 'ere, it is. Even after the War, with Dumbledore gone, it's an alright job. Not ter mention, I'm still a teacher, too.'

'And a brilliant one, too, I think?' John laughed. Hagrid blushed slightly and tried to hide his face in his bushy beard.

'Well,' John said after they hadn't spoken for a while, 'We should be going. Bye, Hagrid!'

'Wai'!' he called after them, 'Don' yeh wanna stay and drink a cup o' tea firs'?'

The boys looked at each other, they weren't sure. They really did like Hagrid, but they wanted to go back to the castle as well. 'Sorry,' John answered eventually, 'We should really be heading back.'

Hagrid nodded, looking a bit disappointed. 'It's alrigh'. I understan'. Well, eithe' way, don' be a strange', will yeh?'

Sherlock and John nodded simultaneously and promised they'd pay another visit soon. Then they turned around and walked the path that led all the way up to the castle.

It was nearly six when they finally arrived. They walked the long corridors, on their way to the Gryffindor common room when they bumped into Neville Longbottom again.

'Afternoon, boys,' he greeted them.

'It's the evening, already, Sir,' Sherlock corrected him. As soon as he had said the words, he regretted them. He didn't want to sound like Mycroft, who always corrected everything and everyone. To his surprise, though, professor Longbottom smiled at him and muttered, 'Ah yes, of course. Thank you… Mr Holmes, wasn't it?'

Sherlock nodded, happy to know that his teacher had to think about the name instead of knowing immediately who he was related to. 'Well then,' he continued, 'Enjoy the rest of your evening. I'd go to the Great Hall as soon as possible, if I were you. The food in the beginning of the evening is always slightly better than later on…' He briefly winked at them and then resumed his walk.

'Are you hungry yet?' John asked Sherlock while they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower. To no surprise, Sherlock shook his head. 'Are you?'

'No,' John lied. He did feel hungry, but he didn't want to go downstairs and eat by himself. He would wait for Sherlock to get hungry as well, so they could have dinner together.

Little did John know that Sherlock wouldn't feel hungry for at least another twelve hours…

John woke up the next morning, his stomach growling. He grunted as he sat up. He should've joined Carl, Jack and James when they went downstairs last night. Oh, how he regretted not having dinner… He slowly got up and shivered as his feet touched the cold floor of their dormitory. All the other boys were still fast asleep, except for Sherlock, whose bed was empty. John went to have a look in the common room, still wearing his pyjamas, where he found Sherlock – dressed and all – sitting in front of the fire place. If there would've been a fire burning, the picture would've made sense. But John really didn't understand why Sherlock was staring at the brick wall of the fire place, when there were no flames to look at. 'Hey, Sherlock,' John began, 'How long have you been up?'

The other boy shrugged and put his finger against his lips, ordering John to be quiet. John raised his arms in order to protest but sighed, realising it would probably be pointless.

'I'm heading downstairs,' he continued, 'Joining me?'

Sherlock shook his head and rested his chin on his knees. 'Not hungry. I'll meet you in class.'

John shrugged. If the stubborn Sherlock wanted to starve himself, then so be it. 'Suit yourself,' he said, then sighed and went back upstairs to fetch his time table and get dressed.

Their first period was History of Magic, alongside the Ravenclaws. Lots of Hogwarts students always said that History of Magic was one of the most boring classes at Hogwarts, and that they had never met a person – or a ghost, more likely – duller than professor Binns.

After getting dressed he quickly poked James' stomach and told him it was time to get up. He then left the dormitory, rushed past Sherlock in the common room and climbed through the portrait hole.

He sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, next to Greg Lestrade, who eyed him fondly. 'You're up early,' the seventeen-year old remarked.

John snorted when he reached out for the box of Surreal Cereal. 'Right back at ya,' he laughed.

Greg grinned and sipped his tea. 'We've got Quidditch practise in a bit,' he explained, 'Not with the entire team, of course, just the three of us,' he gestured at his friends, 'Getting ready before the new season starts.'

'Mind you,' one of Greg's friends said, 'It's illegal practise, really. Madame Hooch doesn't even know we're going to use the pitch.'

'Oi, Samuel, keep your voice down, will you!' The third boy hissed. He then smiled at John and winked. 'You could come with us, if you like,' he suggested, 'Just come and have a look.'

John had almost accepted the offer when one of the blonde girls across the table coughed.

'You can't take the boy with you, Greg,' she giggled, 'He's got classes to attend. He's only a first year! You can't expect him to play truant already.'

John didn't like the way she talked about him. How old did she think he was? Four?!

'Besides,' the girl continued, 'what does he know about Quidditch? I'll bet you five galleons he hasn't even had his first flying lesson yet.'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'I wasn't going to bring him, Minnie,' he said through clenched teeth.

'Good. You could take me, though,' she said and, still giggling, winked at the Quidditch Team Captain.

Greg shrugged, then drew in a deep breath. 'Fine. Come along, if you must. I'm sure Colin will greatly appreciate it.' He laughed when he punched the third boy friendly on the arm.

'Come on, guys!' Samuel called out as he got up from the table. He led the way out of the Great Hall, Colin – who had wrapped his arm around Minnie – right behind him. Minnie winked at John dramatically. 'See ya, kiddo,' she said in a mocking voice.

Greg, however, seemed in no hurry and got up rather slowly. He shook John's hand and smiled at him. 'Later, Watson.'

And, after he had started to make his way to the big doors of the Great hall, he turned around once last time and called; 'Make sure you come and meet us at the pitch soon!'

John sighed. He furiously wished that he had the guts to run after them and skip his first class of the day, but to his own regrets he didn't dare. He liked Greg a lot, though, and promised himself to go and witness him practise later that year.