Chapter Twelve

I believe you liar

"Nose better then?"

Sherlock stiffened, and turned slowly to find Mike Stamford some feet away from him. Would you Gryffindors leave me alone, Sherlock thought irritably. This is hard enough without your meddling. "Apparently so," he said, unconsciously moving his hand to rub at it.

"You'll get worse if you say that again."

He tilted his head to the side. "Apparently so?" he questioned, with obvious stupidity. "What's wrong with that?"

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Don't play stupid Holmes, we both know you are anything but that."

"Humour me."

The other boy visibly struggled for a few moments, obviously not wanting to say the word. "The…crude word for muggle borns."

"Mudblood?" Sherlock questioned, his lip twitching at Mike's response. Mike was a pureblood, though a blood traitor. Not that Sherlock really cared any about blood status. Blood matters, ability matters more. A Slytherin motto. And to Sherlock, ability mattered above all else.

He was mildly offended that they all fell for it. Surely John knew him well enough to know that it didn't matter to him. Surely he wasn't playing the part that well. It was a good sign if he was, but all the same.

"Don't," Mike snapped.

He rolled his eyes. "Was there anything you wanted Stamford?" he asked, with an impatient tap of his foot. He'd been on his way to the potions room when he'd been apprehended.

"To tell you to stay away from John."

"I was. He was the one that came after me. If he kept away then we wouldn't have a problem."

"And stay away from everyone else."

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, and looked mockingly around him. "Yes," he drawled. "I am so very surrounded by people, I certainly need that comment."

Mike just stared at him. You think I'm behind the attacks, Sherlock thought. How many others think the same, he wondered. How many people believe that I am attacking my classmates. People had made such comments over the course of all the years that he had been at Hogwarts, people like Sally Donnovan, but a majority of them hadn't thought so. Apparently the tide was changing.

As long as the Professors don't. He did not care if the rest of the school did. But if the Professors thought so, he could be expelled, or it could be referred to the ministry. (Though if that happened Mycroft would surely intervene somehow. Despite being young he was rising quite rapidly) But if he was expelled from Hogwarts, he could not solve this.

"Sure thing Stamford, I'll leave everyone alone. If you leave me alone," and with that, Sherlock turned and continued down the hall to the potions classroom. Ignoring the portrait of Snape, who flittered out of the room right after Sherlock entered, but returned a quarter of an hour later.

Right in time for Sherlock's cauldron to explode.

"My, my Holmes, you are getting rather careless," Professor Snape said as Sherlock dove for his wand and away from the mess. The boy vanished the potion on the second try, and glared at his cauldron that was now in pieces. "That is an error I expect from a first year, perhaps a second if they are struggling. Certainly not you."

Sherlock's glare turned from his pieces of cauldron to the portrait on the wall. "Accidents happen," he said shortly. But the Professor was right, it was a simple mistake he had made. Hadn't given the Cauflower time enough to mix with the rest of the solution before adding the firecone. A rooky mistake.

"Yes, but not by you." Sherlock's expression soured, and he turned away from the portrait to deal with his mess of a cauldron. "Something on your mind?"

"No," he said shortly.

"You are not perhaps worried that the school thinks you are attacking students?"

Sherlock glanced sharply at the Professor. "Are they?" he questioned. Stomach sinking.

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Which wasn't quite an answer. "But there is a potential of it, and therefore why you would be worried."

"I'm not worried. Because I'm not attacking anyone."

"Then prove it." Sherlock turned to ask how, how could he prove such a thing, but Snape shook his head. "Not to me Holmes. Don't prove it to me. You have to prove it to everyone else. While playing that little game of yours."

"What game?"

"Your game with Brooke. Your game with Watson."

"I'm playing no game with Watson," he said, forcing distaste into his tone.

The former head of Slytherin house raised an eyebrow. He recognised that tone of forced distaste, had used it many times before. And it is very difficult to fool a person with the same tricks that they had used to fool so many others. "Aren't you?" he questioned. "You give the impression that you are."

"How so?"

"You don't need me to tell you what you already know Holmes."

"Oh, I know it. But you could just be stabbing a guess in the dark," he pointed out, moving vials of ingredients back into the storeroom.

"Perhaps."

The two were silent as Sherlock packed up. Too irritated at himself and the mistake that he had made to continue working on his potions. Sherlock headed to the door, and paused when the potions master spoke. "Take care Mr Holmes." The boy glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow in question. "You're playing a dangerous game, and you might just find that you are betting more than you are prepared to give."

"I'll keep your warning in mind," Sherlock said, sounding slightly mocking as he left the room.

One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war. Five, six, seven, eight, transfiguration classroom, don't be late.

Sherlock pulled open the transfiguration classroom door, to find a body on the floor. Third year, Ravenclaw, he assessed almost immediately and bobbed down closer to the student to inspect further. There was a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, and Sherlock had just uncurled the hand to scoop it out when the door swung open and much to Sherlock's luck in came Professor McGonagall, followed by Professor Turner.

"Holmes," the headmistress said in astonishment, her eyes flickering to the body behind him.

"Wrong place, wrong time," Sherlock answered, getting to his feet and shoving the piece of paper into his pocket, her eyes followed the movement.

"There seems to be an awful lot of that," she said as her college moved forward to inspect the body.

"There does, I can't help that."

The headmistress eyed him suspiciously. "These coincidences seem to be adding up," she said and glanced at the student on the floor again. "Mr Holmes, if you could escort yourself to my office and wait there. You know the password I believe."

He nodded, and withdrew from the room heading in the direction on the headmistresses office, pulling out the note from his pocket as he did.

Eight, Seven, Six, Five, I'm staying alive, four, three, two, one, you might not be when all this is done.

"What brings you to this office, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock turned at the sound of the voice, to face one of the portraits on the wall. Facing Professor Dumbledore he answered. "The headmistress asked me to come and wait here."

"Why?" This came from another portrait, but Sherlock didn't glance away from Dumbledore.

"There has been another attack."

"And you were found at the scene of the crime," said Dumbledore, sounding curious as opposed to accusatory.

"Yes," he said simply, sitting himself down in a chair, eyes landing on Snape for a moment. "A case of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Not the first time it has happened."

"It happening more than once doesn't make it any less valid, does it?" Sherlock questioned.

"But there is something you are not telling us," this came from Snape, and Sherlock shifted so that he was facing him.

"What gives you that idea?"

"There always is. Whenever a student gets caught up into an event at Hogwarts, they are always keeping something relevant to themselves," his lip curled disdainfully.

"I am not hiding anything," Sherlock replied calmly.

"Then what has happened between you and Mr Watson?"

The Slytherin boy stiffened, and narrowed his eyes at the portrait. "He got boring," he said in a drawling tone, but the portrait remained obviously unconvinced, even if the one beside him – Dumbledore – gave a troubled frown.

"I'm sure," Snape said.

"Believe what you will," he said.

"I shall."

"Hm," Sherlock said, turning his attention to gaze around the room, waiting for someone to speak. Someone was obviously going to speak.

And sure enough, he had hardly been quiet for ten seconds when Phineas Nigellas spoke. "How did you know where the body was then? If it was not you that put it there." There were some murmurs around the room, as the other previous headmasters and mistresses wondered the same thing.

He hesitated. "I was simply passing by that room, the door was ajar. And considering Professor Hudson tends to lock her door after class," due to a rather unfortunate incident years back where it got pranked. "I was curious." It sounded quite feeble even to himself, and the portraits seemed to agree.

There is something you are not telling us, Snape's gaze seemed to say. It would be better for you if you did.

Not this far into it, Sherlock thought to himself. He couldn't bring up the letter writing all this time later. That would look suspicious, that he hadn't mentioned it during this whole time. It would look as if he'd made it up. A last minute trick to get him out of trouble.

"One day, a students curiosity will be their downfall."

Sherlock spun, finding the headmistress standing in the doorway. He hadn't noticed her enter, that was strange. He gave a troubled frown. "Quite possibly," he responded. "But there is nothing wrong with curiosity in itself."

"No, there is not."

"I believe I've answered all of the questions you would ask, already Professor."

"Possibly," she said eyeing him. "Possibly not. But have I answered the ones that you should ask?" he tilted his head to the side, brow furrowing in confusion. "Why Professor Turner and I ended up in the classroom."

"Oh," he said, yes that hadn't occurred to him. "Why did you?"

"But before I answer that, I do have another question for you," he gave her a nod to show he was ready for it. "Before you went to that room, where did you come from?"

The room on the second floor was the correct answer, but then he would have to explain why, and that came back to the earlier decision not to tell them about his correspondence with Brooke. So instead he answered with where he had been before that. "The potions classroom."

Judging by the way the headmistresses expression darkened, that was the wrong answer. "Is that so?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, with a slight frown. "Professor…?"

"Coincidences keep piling up Holmes, it's coming to a point where they can not be ignored."

"…what happened in the potions room?"

She regarded him coolly. "Another student who was attacked. Hidden from sight by a large amount of spells. Hidden well enough that the only way we knew that something was not right was because when he entered his portrait Professor Snape was unable to see what was happening in the room," Sherlock's eyes flickered to Snape. "Presumably the attacker was going to move the boy at a time where there was less people around, so less chance of being picked up on."

He stared at her. "You're insulting my intelligence Professor. I am not foolish enough to attack a student in a room and say I had just been there when there is a chance that the attack would be found." Professor Snape's earlier words echoed in his head though, that it would be clever of him to do so, because by blaming himself it made it less likely that he would be found as guilty. Because it was such obvious blame on him.

The Professor's were evidently thinking down this line. Because he was clever enough to work it like that, work it in his advantage that way.

"Perhaps, perhaps not Holmes. But I am afraid I cannot rule out the possibility. And as such, measures need to be taken."

He narrowed his eyes. "What measures?" he asked.

But just as she was about to reply, the door flung open. "Minerva!" Professor Hudson exclaimed, without even an apology at entering so unannounced. "There's been another one."

"Who?" she asked, worry clear on her face.

"John Watson."

Still here! I know it's been a little while, and I won't make excuses about that, but so sorry. I'm still (slowly) working on it though, and I'm very grateful for the support I've gotten from all of you that read this.