Chapter Eight
Already Home
"Welcome, welcome!" Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood waving both his hands in mid air, settling the crowd down and collecting all the attention in the hall. John could hear the pitter‒patter of Lestrade's fingers against the wooden table to his right across from where he sat. He was clearly starving, begging for the food to be served in a short amount of time. But the headmaster walked over to a podium with an owl carved into the front, preparing to give the welcoming tradition.
"Welcome all to another year at Hogwarts; unless you have just been sorted into your houses, in which case this will be your first time exploring the walls of our castle. Before we enjoy our start of term feast, I have several important announcements to share." All eyes were locked on the headmaster while he cleared his throat once before continuing with his speech.
"First, I would delightedly like to announce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Bob Franklin." A man at the far right end of the staff table with short white hair and bulky shoulders stood up to the warm greeting. He bowed bashfully, thinking Dumbledore didn't need to address him so profoundly. "We all wish you the very best of luck," the headmaster explained as the clapping died down.
"Secondly, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that all students are strictly forbidden to enter the Forbidden Forest unless accompanied by an adult. Also, Mr. Filch would also like me to ask all students to keep a close watch on their pets. We had several unfortunate incidents happen last year and don't want a déjà vu of the event." Several people snickered over at the Slytherin table and Sherlock couldn't tell if they were the ones who were responsible for the act or if they were first years simply laughing at the ridiculous catastrophe.
"Thirdly," the professor projected, flashing an enlightening smile at all the kids, "and most importantly, Hogwarts will need to take host to the dementors of Azkaban." An outbreak of whispers and uneasiness passed over the hall, bodies leaning everywhere to speak to neighbors and former housemates. "But," Dumbledore's voice boomed over the distracting chatter, "it is your job to give them no reason to harm you. It's your responsibility not to mess with them and stay out of their way."
"The dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds. Many of you may wonder why they're being brought here this year; for the most powerful wizard of all time has gathered a group of followers, and these wizards will kill or torture anyone in their path. His followers plan to restore him to power, but I will not allow that or anything harmful to happen to my students." Sherlock heard John gulp loudly.
"I assure you," Dumbledore ensured, raising his hand and pointing his finger, being sure to make a point, "our school will be protected beyond wickedness, so I want none of you to worry. With the talented assembly of staff we have, nothing will get past our school borders." Multiple teachers at the staff fumbled with their hands, trying to find hope for themselves or blushing at Dumbledore's exaggerated comment.
Dumbledore continued on with his speech, but John wasn't paying attention. Instead, he leaned backwards and elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. A grunt exited from the boy's mouth and Watson quickly mumbled he was sorry.
"What's Azkaban?" the Gryffindor asked, curious to know what the place was. He'd never read any information about such a location and Sherlock had never told him back home. John could tell Lestrade was leaning across the table, trying to spy on the two boys and retrieve information from them secretly.
"Azkaban is the wizard prison. I heard it's full of misery and dread, that's why no one's ever broken out before. It's almost impossible."
"Almost…" John caught the word.
"Well, there's got to be some way to breakout. You can break out of anywhere if you pick the right moment and plan it carefully." John shuffled his feet on the marble floor. Albus Dumbledore's words were weaving in and out of his hearing, but he only caught a few before turning his attention back to Sherlock.
"Then what are the dementors for?" he whispered.
"They guard the place. You can't just expect murderous wizards to be locked in cells and have no security, do you?"
"I…No," John stuttered, changing his mind several times. "Stuff it, Lestrade," he muttered, snapping his head to face the other bench of his house table and catching the stock‒still Gryffindor. He shifted his body back onto the seat without attracting any attention, and John heard him mumbled, "Sorry," under his breath. Greg bowed his head in shame, picking at his jagged fingernails.
Dumbledore's lecture was coming to a close. He adjusted the sleeves of his robes, exposing the entirety of his wrinkly hands to the audience. "Enough chatter I think, for now. Your stomachs must be angry at you, and possibly me for keeping you waiting. Time to eat!" His blue eyes twinkled as he clapped his hands twice, very bouncy in personality.
Instantly, the golden dishes and goblets before their eyes magically filled with all sorts of delicious foods to munch on. There were gasps of excitement and impressiveness and John could just see Lestrade's piggy eyes light up with pleasure.
"All right!" he exclaimed, reaching for the plate of roast chicken, "let's eat!" John laughed and rubbed his growling stomach. Before filling his platter, he swiveled around in his seat to check on the brand new Ravenclaw.
"Sherlock?" The older boy didn't hear. Either that or he was purposefully ignoring the lion.
"Sherlock," the shorter wizard tried again, and this time the older brunette glanced briefly over his shoulder. "Eat," was all John told him.
"Why should I?" The reply came with quite a feud, and John narrowed his eyes. He's kidding, right? he thought.
"Um, because you need to…?" The comeback was more of an obvious question than an answer. Sherlock didn't move. He continued to sit on the bench, arms crossed, glaring at his golden plate. "Come on, Sherlock," John begged, getting his convincing tone on. "Please? For me? Even if it's just something small?"
"Oh fine. Just be quiet you little devil." Sherlock and John always insulted each other. Not in a bad way, but just to piss off each other or have fun.
"I'm the devil? Really?" Watson joked, slugging Holmes in the lower back. "You know‒it‒all Ravenclaw."
"That was a terrible rhyme," Sherlock snorted, and then he added shortly afterwards, "shut up." John grinned again and went back to his own house table, loading his plate with tasty pork chops and mashed potatoes for a filling first dinner at his new home.
"First day," John inputted, swinging his legs over the Gryffindor bench and joining Lestrade for breakfast. It had been exactly twelve hours since their first satisfying supper, and John was eager to dig into the most important meal of the day. Why, the food was even better than some of the restaurants' he knew back in town, and that was saying something. The previous night, John and Lestrade had said goodnight to Sherlock, who headed off in the direction of his common room while following the Ravenclaw prefect.
The Gryffindor boy prefect led them up the marble staircase in the entrance hall to move on to the upper floors of the castle. John got a better view of the main entrance to the school as they passed by, Greg and Sherlock by his sides. The ceiling was so high the torches on the walls, which resembled the ones at Gringotts, couldn't cast a glow up to their height. There were dark shadows in the corners near where the roof met the walls, and several houses could fit in the overwhelming space.
Once past the dungeons, Great Hall, and up the stairs, the students were exposed to an even taller part of the building that directed everyone to different levels in Hogwarts. But what frightened most of the first years was the fact that the sets of staircases farther up moved. They could rotate and each set of steps could connect to two platforms. "There are 142 staircases total in Hogwarts," the prefect informed their alarmed faces. "Just keep an eye on them though, because as you can see they like to change." Sometimes you could be standing naturally on a staircase having a conversation with a friend and the ground would shift right from under you. You'd end up facing another platform or hallway and have to wait until the ride swerved around to its normal place again before stepping off.
"But, isn't that dangerous?" someone whispered over John's ear, just as he detached his focus from the intertwining railing and stairs.
"Ravenclaws, this way!" A taller boy with a blue and bronze badge sewn to his robes ordered for his housemates to follow him to the west side of the castle down a lower flight of stairs and direct them to the fifth floor.
"Well, I'll see you later," Sherlock said, waving goodbye and bringing up the rear of the eagles.
"Bye!" both Gryffindors exclaimed, and the friends parted from each other.
The Gryffindor common room was a sight for their eyes, located all the way up on the seventh and top floor of the castle in a tower. The entrance was behind a portrait of the 'Fat Lady', who wore a bright pink dress with a bunch of lace in front of a canvas with smudged paint. The colors were faded and abstract, making sure she was the first thing one saw when they approached her painting.
Inside would be Watson's and Lestrade's new relaxing place for the next seven years, not including the summer holidays. Scarlet and gold covered the paneling near the ceiling, plushy armchairs sat before a roaring fire, bookshelves lined the walls, and tables purposed for studying littered the open area. Dormitories were up another flight of steps, (Too many, John thought) with girls on the right and boys on the left. Their room where they'd sleep was down a narrow hallway, and when they creaked open the door for first years all they wanted to do was flop down on the comfy mattresses and let sleep take over them. The five four‒poster beds had red duvets and snow white sheets, and when John sank into the mattress he felt like he was engulfed in a cloud.
Their belongings had been brought up to the dorms for them, along with John's owl as she sat perched in her cage when they entered their bedroom chamber. Their black robes now had Gryffindor patches sewn to the front, showing a lion roaring inside a scarlet border. Matching colored and striped ties and scarves had been folded on top of their dressers when they'd went to bed on the first evening, waiting to be used to show their house pride.
"Nervous?" Lestrade asked, taking a bite into some scrambled eggs back in the Great Hall after their own magical vision from their first night. John shrugged, flinging his bulky bag full of his school books off his shoulder and onto the floor beside his seat.
"Not as panicked as last night," John admitted. He picked up a slice of toast and crunched into it with his teeth before piling his plate with his full breakfast.
"Dude, last night was nothing." The use of 'dude' made John give Lestrade a look, but the larger boy continued on as if nothing had been said. "I went up there like nobody's business."
"Yeah, you swaggered in front of the whole school." John snorted to himself, but Lestrade sat proudly across the table.
"Damn straight I did," he inquired. "I made the most of it. If I was to be the only one in front of a large crowd attracting all the attention, I would automatically rule over everyone." John looked over his shoulder while chewing on a piece of bacon, feeling the bubbles on his tongue. At least half of the school was missing from the Great Hall, as there were large gaps at each of the four house tables, particularly the Hufflepuff table. Clearly there are some lazy people about these halls, John thought, turning his head back to Lestrade.
"Morning." A hand rebounded off the top of John's blond locks, startling him and making him jump a little off the bench. A body plopped down next to him at the Gryffindor table, his brown curls on his head messy and sticking out everywhere. Bed head. Can't even be bothered to fix his exposure, Greg inputted in his mind.
"Hello, Sherlock," he greeted, setting down his fork and rubbing his hands together. Tiny flakes of crusty bacon and biscuits flew off his fingertips.
"Aren't you supposed to be sitting at your house table?" John asked. He took a sip of his apple juice and almost gagged fearfully on the unanticipated sweetness of it.
"I can sit wherever I want." He pushed away the plate and goblet in front of him and reached for the sausage, taking a bite and swallowing loudly. "Don't worry. I'll sit in my proper place during dinner." He smiled, stopping in mid chew to address the gesture.
"Meet any new friends?" John asked him, flattening his hair. Sherlock snorted. Ridiculous question.
"No," was his dull response.
"Not even the boys in your dormitory?" Lestrade wondered, taking another bite of eggs.
"No. They're all sketchy and boring. The only friend, well, I wouldn't say 'friend' I have in my dorm is my skull."
"Your what?" The shock hit John and he nearly spit out his drink. A few Hufflepuffs at the next table stopped to look over at the first years.
"My skull. Yes, I have a skull."
"And you brought it to school?" John asked, mortified.
"Problem?" The lion shut his mouth before things went too far. Sherlock cocked his head, stealing another piece of sausage and thoroughly enjoying it. His buddy had never seen him so interested in a piece of food before.
A Gryffindor Head Girl suddenly came over to where they sat from out of nowhere. She had vibrant red hair, almost matching the badge pinned on the front of her robes. Her two braids bounced on her shoulders as she approached the group. "Here are your schedules," she said, handing John and Lestrade flat pieces of parchment. "And here," she added, giving the third to Holmes. "I was told to deliver this to you."
"Thanks," John and Lestrade told her, but Sherlock ignored the older girl and stared at his schedule. He had four classes daily, but they varied depending on the day of the week. Weekends were devoted to catching up on homework, studying, or spending time with friends. Each class was an hour long and lunch was split equally between the four classes. Some days he had double period classes. His schedule for Monday read:
9:00 – 9:30 — Breakfast
9:30 – 9:45 — Break
9:45 – 10:45 —Herbology
10:45 – 11:00 — Break
11:00 – 12:00 — Potions
12:00 – 1:00 — Lunch
1:00 – 1:15 — Break
1:15 – 2:15 — Transfiguration
2:15 – 2:30 — Break
2:30 – 3:30 — History of Magic
3:30 – 6:00 — Break
6:00 – 8:00 — Dinner
"At least they're nice and let us semi sleep in," Lestrade commented. Holmes noted one thing for his schedule on Wednesday only, an additional class that required him to stay up late at night.
12:00 A.M. – 1:00 A.M. — Astronomy
"What does your schedule look like?" he asked, gazing over John's shoulder. He studied the subjects John had on different days and double checked his own list to see what he had left on his schedule. His Thursday schedule listed:
9:00 – 9:30 — Breakfast
9:30 – 9:45 — Break
9:45 – 10:45 —Charms
10:45 – 11:00 — Break
11:00 – 12:00 — Flying Lessons
12:00 – 1:00 — Lunch
1:00 – 1:15 — Break
1:15 – 2:15 — Defense Against the Dark Arts
2:15 – 2:30 — Break
2:30 – 3:30 — Potions
3:30 – 6:00 — Break
6:00 – 8:00 — Dinner
"Look," John said, pointing to a class on their first day. "We have Transfiguration together. And then tomorrow we have Defense Against the Dark Arts at the same time." Lestrade reached across the table, spotting the black ink on John's parchment, nose scrunched up. Sherlock rolled his eyes when he discovered he had to take flying lessons, as it never truly interested him.
"John," Greg noticed, and the lion replied with a small hum. "We have exactly the same schedule…"
"Obviously," Sherlock concluded. "The classes are split by houses. Distinctly, the different years of separate houses have classes together. So, for example, the first year Hufflepuffs could have Potions with the first year Slytherins. Copy?"
"Crystal clear," Lestrade nodded, making the okay symbol with his hand. "What do you reckon John? Are you knowingly willing to take flying lessons, being inexperienced and all?"
"I don't know. Maybe…" He took another sip of his apple juice.
"You'll like it," Sherlock told him, letting his schedule fall flimsily onto the table.
"Might be interesting," Greg thought, the maple bacon after taste lingering in his mouth.
"Yeah…" John debated, "I think I will. Why not be excited? Nothing to lose by taking the class. I'll just earn something instead, possibly getting skilled on a broom. Come on," he said, checking the time on his watch. "I know we still have twenty minutes left for breakfast, but we should leave now. We have to figure out where all these classrooms are."
They finished chewing their food and swallowed, then got up from the table and headed for the open oak doors to the Great Hall. "See you at lunch," Lestrade grinned, and Sherlock nodded. The singled‒out Ravenclaw waved goodbye and headed off to the greenhouses while Watson and Lestrade made their way to History of Magic. Their feet echoed off the floor as they went up the marble staircase, and they stared at all the various paintings on the walls that moved as they went by.
When they reached the History of Magic classroom, it was almost completely deserted. They had five minutes remaining, so they took their seats at the front of the room closest to the right hand side wall. There was no sign of any teacher and some of the Hufflepuff girls behind them whispered so they couldn't hear.
"This better be a good class," Lestrade muttered, pulling out a thick textbook from his bag. "Monday morning and all, I need a good spark to start off my day." John smiled and twirled his wand in his hands. One by one, first year students filed into the room, and soon enough of the seats were occupied to begin their first lesson.
"The teacher's late," John pointed out from his watch's proof, noticing they were already three minutes into class. Greg's fist was digging into his cheek and he tried to keep his eyes from shutting. John had to poke him several times to make sure he didn't fall asleep.
And then, without any warning or sound, the teacher, or more so, the ghost walked straight through the chalkboard in the front of the room, causing many people to gasp.
"Jesus!" Lestrade bellowed, which made a few girls behind him squeal in return. He immediately turned around in his seat and gave them a look, and they shut their mouths without being told twice.
Turns out, the ghost was their teacher. He introduced himself as Professor Binns, and he talked in a very boring monotone. His silvery shape floated at the front of the room, explaining what they'd learn in his class during their time span together of almost a full year, until their second year at Hogwarts. He lost the attention of half the kids in the first ten minutes. John tapped his wand lightly on the desk, which had a few dents and scrapes in the wood, but halted and felt embarrassed when Professor Binns told him it was rude. The lion shoved his wand back in his bag and didn't pull it out for the rest of the period.
The professor made them read the introduction in their textbooks, and when John looked over to the desk next to his he found that Lestrade sure enough had fallen asleep. Mouth slightly open, head resting on the book, his chest rose up and down steadily and the blond waited to see whether the teacher would notice.
He got lucky that one time though.
"Did I really fall asleep for forty minutes?" Lestrade remarked, finding the news hard to believe after they were dismissed.
"Oh yeah," John said nonchalantly. "You were out after we'd finished reading the first page. I'm surprised you didn't get a detention." Watson had already made opinions about Professor Binns, and from what he heard from most people later was that he was one of the lousiest teachers in the school. Occasionally during class his head would bounce like a bobble head figure, or he'd sit there twirling his mustache in his fingers for a long while before continuing on with his lesson. Supposedly his body had gotten up and walked away without his head one day, and thus he passed away. What a fictional way to die, John thought. Unbelievable.
"At least he's nice and didn't give us homework on the first day," Lestrade sighed. They passed several suits of armor with helmets closed, making their way towards the Charms classroom. "Oh god, really…" Lestrade whined as they turned the last corner and saw a group of Slytherin first years standing outside the classroom door. "We have to have class with these gits?"
"Or worse," John said, picking out Jim Moriarty in the center of the crowd. His tone was beginning to rise in his voice and Lestrade knew it meant trouble.
"Is that the little bastard that you tried to beat up on the train?" He wasn't hard to spot in the group of Slytherins, being only one of the few who had slicked back, dark hair.
"How do you know about that?" John asked, bewildered. "You weren't even in the compartment. You didn't even know when he insulted us on the steps outside the Great Hall."
"Sherlock told me." Figures, John thought. They entered the classroom, which was much bigger than the first one, and chose seats at the far end of the room. A table stood in the middle of the floor and rising benches with connected tables where flat against the walls on either side. They looked almost like wooden bleachers except for the high backs that indicated where the seats were.
They sat in the second row, directly in the middle so they got a clear view of the professor's desk. As the Slytherins came into the room, they took seats on the opposite side of the learning area, making faces at their Gryffindor enemies. John saw Moriarty seated in the far back row with Irene Adler accompanying him, and he heard his own knuckle crack as he hid it behind his table. She seemed to follow him wherever he went. Her hair was in a tight ponytail today, yet she still wore pounds of makeup all over her face.
A few minutes before the bell rang, their teacher entered the classroom through a door on their left. John was confused for a split second and Lestrade tried not to burst out laughing; for the professor was barely three feet tall and his white hair connected to a matching beard on his wrinkled face. He had great difficulty climbing up, but the only way he could see all his students was to stand on a pile of books stacked on his stable desk. The Slytherins laughed at his size, and when he spoke to them for the first time Lestrade looked completely haunted.
"Welcome, welcome!" The adult's voice was very high‒pitched and squeaky. "I am Professor Flitwick, and over the course of this year we shall be learning various charms that are useful in the wizarding world." Professor Flitwick was also head of Ravenclaw house. John laughed to himself, imagining Sherlock having a discussion with the tiny adult and towering over his figure.
"Now, I'd like to get started straight away with using magic," the professor encouraged. "We will be learning one of the simplest charms today, which is the ability to make objects levitate." A few of the Gryffindors murmured to one another, excitement buzzing at the opinion of the teacher's choice.
"Let's practice without wands first," Flitwick addressed, catching a few first years reaching in their bags for their sticks of wood. They stopped at his proposal and straightened up to listen for the rest of his instructions. "Now, repeat after me. Wingardiumleviosa."
"Wingardium leviosa." The ring of about two dozen voices echoed the teacher.
"Wingardium leviosa. Don't forget to pronounce each syllable clearly."
The second time was much sharper and louder. "Wingardium leviosa."
"Good! Very good!" the elder squeaked again, pulling out his wand from beneath his robes. "Now, let's try it with wands now." The professor gave a small swish of his wand, and the students watched in awe as he gave a demonstration. Pearl white feathers flew in all different directions, becoming objects for practice and settling on the tables in front of them. Each first year had a feather of their own, and Lestrade poked his entertainingly with his wand.
"We must practice the movement first before I let you off. Here's how it must be accomplished." Professor Flitwick spoke at the same time as he moved his hand, making a waving motion with his wand. "Everyone, you must do the swish and flick! Flick your wrist while you say the spell, otherwise your magic won't be successful. Let's practice!" he exclaimed cheerfully, raising both his hands. "Say it with me."
"Swish and flick," came the words from all the students' mouths, and most of the eleven‒year‒olds finished their movement with a flick of their wrist. John, being ambidextrous, tested his wand in both his hands. He decided the feeling felt better and more secure in his left hand, so he concluded that would be his dominant hand with magic.
"Good! Now, practice away on your feathers! Take your time. I'm not expecting perfection by the end of the period. Use the swish and flick motion, saying Wingardium leviosa. See if you can make your feathers levitate!" He sounded so sure the students were going to master the task, confident, but John and Lestrade looked at each other with doubt.
John was having a hard time getting his feather to rise off the desk. The first couple times it didn't work at all. The feather just sat there plainly, acting as if it was purposefully taunting him at his failure. Then John remembered he wasn't pronouncing the spell right, so he corrected himself.
Lestrade was having an even worse time than John was. He got angry at his feather and stopped attempting to make it levitate three‒quarters of the way through the period. His eyes went wide in a 'no fair' sort of way when John managed to make his feather hover a few centimeters in the air.
Eventually, the smaller Gryffindor managed to make his feather lift about a foot above his desk, and it was the highest anyone's got in the entire room. "That's rubbish," Greg mumbled, giving Watson the hairy eyeball. "How come yours works and mine doesn't?"
"Dunno. Probably will just take some time. Things like that don't cope straight away," John pointed out as they gathered up their things.
As they left the classroom and were out of earshot from the exit, Lestrade commented on how he thought Charms would go for him all year. And John couldn't wait to tell Sherlock what he'd said, because it made him burst out laughing hysterically.
"Charms…" Lestrade shook his head in a none‒approving way. "Probably not my division."