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shattered legacies,

Chapter Text

It was on the train where Sherlock first met John. It wasn't a meeting Sherlock could look back and be proud of, especially considering... they both just needed a friend.


John was alone with no one to tell him what to do, or where to sit, or if it would be considered rude to sleep on the train. John had expected all of that. He needed structure and discipline to wean him from his previous home's structure and workings, or the very dangerous lack there of.

John was one of the last kids to go through the gateway because Harry had woken up late, his dad refused to provide transportation after having already given the boy at least 100 quid for supplies, and John's mum put up with so much already; he really didn't want to be a bother to her. So, John rushed Harry out the door and was left to carry his trunks to the platform.

John didn't buy an owl. John's dad wasn't on to let him have a bird in the house, squawking it up in the middle of the bloody night. John's mum took a sweeter approach and told him to maybe focus on school and not so much on pets as this was a once in a lifetime opportunity for him. John certainly didn't want to disappoint his mum, so he agreed that he didn't need a pet to go with him to Hogwarts.

John had just made it to the train on time as there were hardly any children out of the Hogwarts Express. He put his trunks onto a trolley nearby and rushed to one of the doors. John kept his Ukelele and a few other things that could occupy him on the journey, on his persons just in case if he got bored or wanted to play something. He showed his ticket and was let in. kids of all ages already filled the cars and cabins, their voices muffled and filling the small rooms with laughter, stories and well-constructed conversation.

"Hello," A voice said behind John. He had a black robe on with hints of red and orange, John saw as he quickly turned around. "You're a first year, aren't you?" The boy asked. John nodded, gulping down a ball of anxiety as the older boy chuckled. He introduced himself warmly as Jacob, a perfect in Gryffindor.

"Alright, let's find you an empty cabin, then," He said. His voice was smooth and comforting, but also as if he could turn it into a commanding yell in only but a second. John didn't want that...! John was quiet as they walked down some cars' aisleways, peeking in to see if it were overcrowded or not. All of them so far were filled with kids who were somehow already acquainted with one another, making John anxiously assume he'd missed something before the beginning of the year.

They saw one near the front, which no one but a single boy sat in. John didn't understand why, but the boy urged that John continued with him. John fell in behind the older boy, who continued down the aisleway as if he were walking in a squad-line. John slowed to a stop and wandered slowly back to the car with only one boy sitting in it.

John opened the cabin door with a slide and walked inside. The boy opened his eyes and looked up from his hands, which were strategically steepled under his nose and chin. John tried to be quieter as he shut the door and walked further into the little room. John sat down, looking at the boy across from him. The boy unfolded himself from the seat, placing his feet to the floor quietly, neatly folding his hands over his lap, and looked John up and down as he carefully placed his Uke on the seat cover next to him.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrow quirking up in confusion and annoyance. John straightened his posture as he looked back at the boy.

"Um," John began,

"Well?" Sherlock snapped impatiently, "It's one thing for a Muggle-born to come waltzing into the Holmes' car, but it's an entirely different disrespect to waste my time with insolent gibberish," He said with a low growl in his voice. The boy's body language was claiming aggressiveness and his eyes were sharp and wild as if begging for someone to pick a verbal fight with him, but John was used to people shouting at him.

"I was going to say that everywhere else was full and I'm trying to make friends, but it seems like you're being a complete twat about it," John said with a huff of frustrated breath. Just as Sherlock smirked and folded his arms across his chest, "So, I guess I'll have to try harder," That seemed to surprise the boy as he stopped right before making another snide arse comment coated with venom, "My name's John Watson," John said with a warm smile, sticking out his hand,

"Sherlock, but this doesn't mean we're automatically friends," the boy said with a posh smirk as he reached out to contribute to the shake of hands.

"How did you know I'm a Muggle-born?" John asked, tilting his head as their hands released from one another. John moved back into his seat more to get a bit more comfortable. Sherlock scoffed again, folding his arms once more, crossing his leg with a quick swing of it,

"I knew because you insisted on coming to meet me," Sherlock gave casually. John's eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion, "I'm a pure-breed, idiot," Sherlock said, "All of my family that was my family has always been in Slytherin and that's where I'm going to go when I get sorted, I know it...!" Sherlock smirked eagerly.

"Destiny, then?" John chuckled,

"More like pure logic, mud-blood," he said snapping his head up pridefully. John tilted his head, "My brother said 'Mud-blood' is another term for Muggle-borns," Sherlock explained. John nodded, and Sherlock continued on his prideful rant about how he belonged to Slytherin.

John didn't know any better, so he agreed. I mean, the proof was in the name, wasn't it? " What about you? Do you have any idea where you'll be sorted, or are you just as clueless as the rest of those insipid children out there?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged, sorry to disappoint, "what do you think I'd be?" He asked, leaning forward with a grin. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge that seemed to thrill him, by the look in his eyes. He hummed briefly as if thinking, still searching John for an answer.

"I think you'll be in..." Sherlock drew out, furrowing his eyebrows as if still unsure, "Gryffindor or Hufflepuff," he sat back with a smirk on his lips. John smiled as he leaned back, too. "My Galleons are on Hufflepuff, though," he assured, folding his arms.

John smiled as he narrowed his own eyes, "I have thirty Galleons, twelve Sickles, and seventeen Knuts left from Diagon Alley," John said, reaching and digging into his pocket to pull out his mum's old coin pouch, which was decorated with music notes, and snapped the top open. Sherlock's eyebrow arched.

"That's all you've got?" He asked, leaning forward to try peeking into the pouch. John frowned for a moment but reigned his expression in quickly.

"I'll get more, once mum gets paid," he chuckled. It was a lie. John's mum doesn't work because she relied on his dad, who only worked to get high and drunk. "Don't worry about it. What do you have on you?" Sherlock stood and John hadn't known how short the boy was until he did so. He stepped on to the seat and reached over the rack to grab and pull one of his bags.

"I have with me," Sherlock groaned as he hopped down with a little bag, similar to John's musical coin pouch, and looked down at it as he sat on the seat heavily. He pulled out a paper and unfolded it to read the numbers. "A lot more than you at the moment, however, I'd wager seventy-five Galleons and eighty Sickles that you'll go into Hufflepuff,"

"Wow!" John said, his eyebrows flying up in surprise, "that could feed me for a week!" John laughed, then furrowed his eyebrows, "I think," Sherlock let out yet another posh laugh.

"Idiot, you don't know that the room and board are compensated for?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head. John's ears burned in embarrassment.

They shook hands and the bet was set. They casually talked and John got bored on the ride there so he lied on the seat with his feet up on the wall, strumming a mindless tune on his Uke as he hummed his boredom, "yeah, yeah, yeah...!" John muttered and adjusted his fingers on the strings as he played.

They held staring contests, highest seat-jumper competition, and loudest humming sessions. None of them counted for anything because they were just bored.

A while later, there was a knock at the door and John's practise of rifts stopped for the door to open peacefully. It was a boy John hadn't seen before. "William, get your robe on; we'll be arriving soon," his voice was a little harsh as he leaned his upper body into the cabin. John wasn't as surprised as he saw the green outlines on his own robe.

Sherlock sighed as he sold reaching up to put his Galleons back. He pulled down a smaller trunk where he had his solid black robe. John stood and did the same, replacing his robe with the Uke he'd been using to alleviate boredom. John had noticed that Sherlock hummed the song that John played as they threw their robes on.

"Who are you?" The boy asked.

"I'm John Watson," John said, looking down at himself to see how he looked. John flopped himself back onto the seat, "I'm a first-year," John pulled his leg up with a grunt and pulled his wand from his sock. He smiled at Sherlock, who smiled back at him.

"Get out." The older boy said. John snapped his head up, his smile dropping quickly. "You're not welcome in this car, let alone this school, mud-blood," he sneered. John's eyes widened. He looked at Sherlock, who had the same reaction. "Go, out, now!" He shouted, startling John from his seat. He was grabbing his things and hurrying out of the cabin within seconds. He looked dejectedly as Sherlock as the door slammed shut. Sherlock was looking to the floor as muted yelling came from the boy who'd kicked John from the cabin.

Soon enough, the train slowed to a stop and John was wandering around in the aisleways until it did, looking into the windows to see if he could find one to fit into, but there wasn't any room for him. The doors were opened by upperclassmen. Johns remaining trunks were taken by Jacob, who he'd run into as he stepped off of the train.

"Hey, you okay?" The perfect asked, looking concerned at the paled first-year.

"Uh-uhm...ehr..." John's breath was quickening and his eyes darted around looking the crowd over as he remembered to keep his head down. John's head bobbed down, his eyes were watering and he didn't understand why. There was a lot of new noise surrounding, drowning him.

"Hey," Jacob's voice said calmly, "why don't we go someplace quiet for a few, eh?" He offered and John nodded.

They walked and Jacob told the other perfects where he was going so he wouldn't be discounted for. It was infinitely quieter away from the crowd and Jacob stopped and gave a gentle elbow to John's side, telling him to pay attention.

"Don't tell anyone I did this, but it's too good to resist," he said with a smile on his lips. John nodded. Jacob slipped his wand from his robe and wanted it into the air, saying some kind of incantation. Then, after a flash of light, there was a Bay stallion striding from the stars above. He only appeared for a moment, then dissipated into the sky again as if it had just been dust in the wind.

John watched in wonderment. His eyes went wide and his jaw went slack. Jacob laughed and John looked over at him. Jacob was a fairly attractive boy, taller considerably that John was with sharp green eyes and a face that even 'mommy dearest' could love. John's heart raced and his lips quirked up into an involuntary grin. He ducked his head down.

On the walk back, which really was pretty brief, Jacob asked, "so, are you parents wizards, or...?"

"No, I'm a Mud-blood," John said casually with. Shrug. Jacob stopped in his tracks.

"Hey, don't say that!" He said. John looked at him confusedly.

"Isn't that... Isn't that another way of saying Muggle-borns?" He asked.

"Um, well," Jacob said, struggling with the words to say what he wanted, "it's a bad way of saying it. Like, um... I-I don't want to say that it's racist, but it's kind of like that, you know?"

"Oh," John let out. Did Sherlock trick me, or did he not know? John thought. John and Jacob made it back just as the last of the first years had filled up the wooden rowboats.

"Hey, there, kiddo," Hagrid said, seeing John as he himself was about to sit in his own boat. He was huge. John looked up at him, "c'mon. We can share a boat," he said. His voice was low and rough, but it seemed as though his intentions were pure, which he was sure was true. John looked back to Jacob, who was already walking away.

The ride on the boat was fun. It was supposed to be tranquil and calming, but Hagrid gave him a few playful splashes of water, which lightened it up for John.

John thanked Hagrid once they arrived with the first-years with a smile. As they headed up the long case of stone stairs, some kids asked if Hagrid was nice or not. As the group entered, John looked over the group. He caught Sherlock trying to look at someone up front with John, but as soon as they saw each other, Sherlock ducked his head quickly. John shrugged it off and looked forward again as an older woman walked up to the group of young students.

She gave them the talk and led them into the Great Hall, where all of the older kids sat with their black outfits. The other professors and other staff of the school were up front. They stood in the front, looking at a wooden stool and an old hat made of a thick, brown material.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Mrs McGonagall asked as she held the rolled up paper in her hands. John smirked and rose his hand high. She seemed surprised at this act of bravery and asked bored his name.

"John Watson, ma'am," he said, stepping from the group of scared kids. He was ready to win those seventy-five Galleons, twelve Sickles. She motioned for him to sit on the stool. He walked up and Mrs McGonagall took the hat up to carefully place it on his head when he sat. It began moving, squirming.

You're brave, aren't you? Muggle boy, going to save his mum from a life of horror, eh? John nodded, looking determined, hmmm, you're plenty loyal. Considering, you grew to the Holmes boy quickly. His eyes scanned across the crowd calmly until they landed on Sherlock. He smiled softly as the boy let out a distant scoff as if to say that he was mad for volunteering. The hat hummed for a moment, contemplating where to put John, then,


The kids in Gryffindor stood and applauded loudly as John jumped off the stool with a smug smirk directed at Sherlock as if to say, You were wrong; pay up,

No one else volunteered as John had, so McGonagall just read off the list of names to the group of many. "Ben Cooper," she called. A blonde boy shyly set himself from the herd and sat on the stool. He was a Gryffindor.

There were many new Gryffindors this year, but not as much as there were Hufflepuffs. In the midst of all the sorting, McGonagall called for, "William Sherlock Holmes," and Sherlock's curly head walked pridefully down to the stool. He gave a knowing smirk to John, and the Slytherin table, then to McGonagall. She lowered the hat to his curls.

It took a long time for the sorting hat to come up with a decision, so long that John began to wonder what would happen if a kid had lice, then wore the hat. It'd be a bloody epidemic! John snickered briefly at the thought and tuned back into the ceremony only to hear,


The room fell silent. That wasn't supposed to happen. There was a slam on the table.

"Like hell!" Shouted the boy who hurried John from the cabin. He looked absolutely livid. John looked back at Sherlock. He looked scared, confused, mindless. The Slytherin around the yelling teen pulled him down as scattered, reluctant clapping from the Ravenclaw table. Mrs McGonagall lifted the hat from Sherlock's head. He slowly stood, his head down, and began walking to the table he now belonged to.

"You're no brother of mine!!" The teen from the table shouted, still struggling against his mates. "You'd better hope to God I don't bloody see you in the halls, William!" He threatened with a sharp tongue.

"That is enough!" Mr Dumbledore called from his seat, where he rose from. Everyone stopped and looked at him. "He's just a boy, your family, Mycroft," he said, "I cannot sit idly by as you threaten him like that. And, for what, being a Ravenclaw?" He asked. "I'm going to have to remove your title as Perfect of Slytherin, Mycroft Holmes," the Slytherin table gasped and groaned as he also took ten points from Slytherin.

"Way to go, twat!" The kids from his table said, some of the closer ones giving a smack to his arm. They forced him back down, but he still glared at the boy from across the vast room.

After Dumbledore gave an apology for the rocky start to a new year at Hogwarts, he gave his entrance ceremony speech, then allowed the supper to begin.

John ate pretty quickly and stood up. A lot of the upperclassmen that sat around Sherlock had left already to prepare the common room for the first-years, which was what also happened with most Gryffindor upperclassmen, too. John kicked his leg over the bench next to Sherlock. He hadn't eaten at all.

"Hey," John said softly, placing a gentle hand onto his shoulder. Sherlock looked over at John with a weak, forced smile. "It's okay, you know, to be a little different," John reassured with a smile as his eyebrow lifted some.

"That's easy for you to say," Sherlock said with a bitter chuckle, "Congratulations, by the way," he said, digging into his pocket to pull out his bag of Galleons, "You can count your winnings; I won't mind if you took more," Sherlock plopped the sack on the table in front of John, who looked up at Sherlock.

John only took thirty Galleons, ten Sickles. He slid the bag back to Sherlock, who took a sideways glance.
"You were wagered seventy-five, John," Sherlock said, "I don't deserve any of it," He shoved the bag to John, who pushed it back gently.

"I think you deserve a lot more," John tried sweetly.

"Well, you don't matter, John!" Sherlock snapped, his face red with frustration and his nostrils flared. John stilled. His eyes widened and he didn't really know how to react. His urge was to say something petty, like 'Now, I know why nobody likes you,' but John knew he'd regret that. He knew that Sherlock would act hostile to him. Not that he wasn't already, John's brain screamed, begging him to react in some way because it needed, craved the twisted satisfaction that the idea of revenge brought.

Who was Sherlock to say something he already knew anyway? Who did he think he was to make John believe he'd be different than the rest of them? "Yep," John muttered through tightened lips, tapping the table. He grunted lightly as he stood and rejoined his table.

They soon we're dispersed to find their houses. John spent little time socializing. He went to bed early, just lying there as he repeated the words in his mind.

You don't matter,
You don't matter,
You don't matter,

"I don't...matter,"

Chapter Text

Though Sherlock felt like shit by the time he'd gone to bed, he felt worse when he walked down to the common room. There was another first year, who was arguing with what seemed to be arguing with a third-year in front of a telly that Sherlock didn't remember being there last night.

"Bro, I swear, I was trying to revive you!" The first-year said, putting his arms up defensively.

"Mate, no, you bloody weren't! You were walking towards he bloody jukebox!" The older boy shouted angrily.

"Can we just switch to Modern Warfare; I don't like Zombies," The first-year asked, picking up the case to a different game.

"Modern Warfare bloody sucks," the senior of the two mocked bitterly. Sherlock just wanted to go to class...!

"For God's sake...!" Sherlock mumbled, bringing his hand to his face to catch his sigh of utter annoyance. The two students looked at him.

"Oi, Holmes, which do you think is better? Call of Duty or Modern Warfare?" The third-year asked, pointing at the boy with curly hair, who already wasn't happy to have to wear the uniform and colours of Ravenclaw, but he was absolutely was not on for a bloody debate on Muggle games, at seven in the morning!!

Sherlock said nothing. He only but glared at his house-mates and pushed past them with a disappointed sigh. He closed the door with a spiteful slam.

"Oi, be careful, Holmes!" Shouted the eagle doorknock. He scowled up at it with an angered sneer.

"Shouldn't you be more focused on the two about to have their own bloody modern Warfare in there?" Sherlock asked rhetorically, then stormed from the Ravenclaw tower.

Someone called his name as he was walking in the dungeons, lingering in front of the Slytherin house entrance, longing to be where he thought to belong. Sherlock turned to look back and saw Jim Moriarty, a Slytherin first-year, like what he was supposed to be. The two had known each other since they were kids as Sherlock's mum used to teach them both as Jim's mum was only an ordinary witch, but Sherlock's mum had an uncanny intelligence, which just so happened to carry through the generations.

"Hey, Sherl," Jim said and they bumped their fists together like they used to. Jim took a step back with a light smile. "Wow, I have to say, blue kind of suits you, mate," he said with a wink. Sherlock let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "It does; brings out your eyes," Jim chuckled, scratching the back of his head. Sherlock smiled back.

"So, what's it like in there??" Sherlock asked, desperate to hear what the common room looked like compared to the stories that Mycroft had told him when he was younger. Mycroft... "Do you really think he hates me?" Sherlock asked, adjusting his books in his arms slightly to get a better hold.

"I'd just keep your distance for now, if I were you, Sherl," Jim said, tightening his lips. "There are some recently nasty rumours about what he'd do if given the chance," Jim looked around and saw that the halls were mainly emptied. "I've got to get to Flying class; I'll send an owl tonight," Jim called, beginning towards the opposite direction to where Sherlock was headed.

He sighed as he walked into potions class with the professor, who just so happened to be the head of Slytherin house, where he was supposed to go...!

"Holmes," Snape droned in a low voice, "let's see if you're even smart enough to be in Ravenclaw," he said menacingly, looking over him, though he didn't show he was still very raw over what happened. Sherlock sat down in the rows and opened his book, dipping his quill in the ink bottle, preparing himself for whatever was to come.

There was a tap on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock twisted himself around to see John sitting there with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to face front. The lesson began.

Snape stood in front of the class with his hands steepled almost like how Sherlock does it. Though Snape doesn't place them under his chin as Sherlock had been doing most of his life, he still highly respected the gestures and similarities the two possessed. It only meant that Sherlock was bound to be a great wizard and that he belonged in Slytherin...! They were to brew a 'Cure for Boils,' Sherlock wrote in his notebook. He already knew the basics of how to make it, but he was hoping that John would stop tapping his God-forsaken fingers so that he could catch the rest of the lesson.

Sherlock snapped his head around and growled lowly with an intense scowl on his face. John's eyes widened and Sherlock glanced down at John's hand, then back up at his face, then at his bottle of ink in dangerous warning. He turned back to face front to be looking directly at the deep grimace of one Severus Snape.

"Holmes, may I ask what your infatuation with the Gryffindor behind you might be?" Snape asked, not bothering to close the space between them to make it a private matter.

"Sir, I, uh..." Sherlock began, genuinely anxious, "h-his tapping, sir; it's utterly infuriating," Sherlock managed, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture to John, who looked up at Snape with nearly innocent eyes.

"S-sorry, it's a tick, is all," John tried to justify, but Snape knitted his eyebrows together in a deep furrow,

"A what, Watson?" He asked loudly. The whole room centred their attention on the boys with the quarrel, "are you a clock, Watson?"

"N-no, sir. That's not what I meant," John said, his head lowering in lack of self-confidence. "It's a nervous tick," John's neck and left shoulder twitched and his breath hitched. "I didn't mean to disrupt, sir,"

"Two points from both houses; don't let it happen again. Holmes, you should learn to focus better if you're going to make it in Ravenclaw," Snape said and slowly continued with the flow of his lesson. Sherlock gritted his teeth and continued to take notes.

The class was told to gather behind and take notes as Snape quickly made his own brew of Cure for Boils. "It's a must know for any teenage wizard," he droned. They were sent back to their tables to crush up snake fangs in mortar and pestle so they could prepare to brew their own potions.

As Sherlock prepared his potion, he heard John humming from his station next to him. It didn't really bother Sherlock, surprisingly. An owl soon flew and landed on the window sill as Sherlock began stirring the potion after dropping in a few horned slugs,

"Holmes, you've been summoned to the Hospital wing," Snape said as he waved the note which was sent. Sherlock gathered his things and stood. John grabbed Sherlock's arm to stop him momentarily.

"Meet me in the courtyard later?" John suggested, looking up at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but relented anyway,

"Maybe at lunch," he sighed with a groan and left the classroom.

Sherlock turned the corner of the house to see his mum, Ophelia Holmes, standing with his younger, twin siblings, Sherrinford and Eurus, who were only a year behind Sherlock.

"Look at you," She said, handing the papers off to Madam Pomfrey, "when we got the news of your house, your father and I were furious," she said, walking to him slowly, leaving the two younger kids to their own, "we still are," she said, letting her face show a very brief expression of lividness,

"I didn't want to be in Ravenclaw, mummy," Sherlock tried, "the stupid sorting hat must be broken or something,"

"Don't lie to me, William." She said, sneering at him, "I always knew you were different than the rest of them," she said. Sherlock's eyes widened and his head began shaking slowly as if brokenly saying, no,

"What are you here for, mummy?" He asked, looking around briefly for Mycroft.

Ophelia stepped back with a smile. Madam Pomfrey handed the packet of paper back to her. "She wanted your records,"

"You could've sent an owl," Sherlock pointed out.

"Don't question me, William," Sherlock winced a bit as the clock tower boomed its bell and rang it through the entire castle. Potions class had officially ended. "Well? Get out of here, William," she scoffed and grabbed on to her children's shoulders. "Don't come home for Christmas holiday, William," and she was gone.

Sherlock dragged his feet to charms class with professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw, who saw Sherlock enter and smiled from atop a tall stack of books.

"Mr Holmes, I'm glad to see that you've not held a grudge," he joked in his monotone voice. Sherlock gave an obviously sarcastic smile and found a seat to plop into heftily. He sighed. Had my own mother just disowned me...? He thought as the bell chimed loudly again, signifying the beginning of the class. The door burst open and the classroom looked at the door the best they could to find John standing there, breathing heavily with dishevelled hair and darkened smoke marks on his face, robe, and hands.

"So sorry, sir," John panted quickly as he hurried into the room, "an unexpected explosion happened in positions and I helped clean things up," John sat down on the opposite side of the room, facing Sherlock. Flitwick frowned.

"Excuses are the nails, Mr Watson," he said as a warning. Sherlock silently scoffed from his seat. He felt something in his chest that was almost akin to pride. He knew that saying,

The class went well. Sherlock paid attention and was praised for his efforts and it felt good to him. He quite fancied compliments. Sherlock decided that he liked the class, more specifically the professor.

Then, he had a free period, so he went to the library to find other more about the sorting hat and the qualities of the different houses. He'd ended up checking the book out and heading to the common room to change from his robes. Sherlock didn't favour them, Slytherin colours or not. They were hot and got in the way, therefore, inefficient. Sherlock headed to the Great Hall to grab his lunch, then he upheld his word to meet with John in the Courtyard.

Kids played Gobstones and used the levitation charm on one another, laughing and talking amongst themselves. John entered his line of sight and Sherlock stood to greet him.

"Hey," John said, sitting down. Sherlock sat, too. He seemed to have cleaned up, too. Now, his face and hands were only red from the burns he must've sustained from the explosion. His hands were wrapped up, but Sherlock got a glance at his wrists. They were bruised, but Sherlock had a sickening feeling in his gut that it wasn't from the explosion.

"Hello, John," Sherlock said, "was there something you wanted to talk about?" He asked.

"Yes, there was. You may not think of it as important, but it's important for me. So, all I ask is for you to listen and genuinely consider what I have to say, please," John said, turning himself to face the curly-haired boy. Sherlock nodded. This was a completely different attitude than how John was yesterday. He must be serious about what he wanted to say. John nodded as well.

"Look, I get it. I totally understand what you're going through. To live your whole life thinking, believing that you're normal, wanting to just be like everyone else, then having it all shattered," John began, his voice shaking slightly, "it's terrifying," he chuckled nervously, glancing up to Sherlock very briefly.

Sherlock did as he said he was, he listened. John talked and he stayed quiet. John had a lot to say and he looked scared to say a lot of it as if someone would shout at and discipline him for saying it,

"And, I know that all you want to do is shut people out and try to fix it, fix yourself, but I feel like what needs to be said right now is that you're absolutely not alone. A lot of people are going through or have gone through similar situations. And, it's okay," John said softly. Sherlock looked down. "I don't want to make this speech about me, but hell, when I got my letter, it was an absolute uproar at home, more than it usually is," John chuckled nervously.

"Everyone matters, Sherlock," he said, "even you, even me, even your brother, Mycroft. Even if he doesn't deserve to, he does and that's just a fact,"

"Had what I said to you really had an effect on you, John?" Sherlock asked John stopped for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm used to it, so I didn't think it would hurt as much coming from you," John nearly whispered as if totally ashamed of his lesson than perfect upbringing, "but, I think it was because I was used to it that I didn't expect it to come from such a comfortable atmosphere that it surprised and affected me so much,"

"Oh... Well, I apologise for what I said, John. I was in a low place, I still am, and I guess I wasn't really ready for condolences and comfort yet,"

They had surprisingly made amends quickly, having a new understanding of one another. It was nice, Sherlock thought admittedly, this feels... Nice, Sherlock felt free to let a small smile form on his lips.

"I suppose, we could become friends," Sherlock said, snapping himself from his daze. Then, he remembered the book he'd gotten. He pulled it from behind him. "I got this from the library." He said.

"Trying to figure out why you were placed in Ravenclaw?" John asked, tilting his head to get a better look at the pages. "Woah, that's a lot of reading...!" John said with a chuckle. Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to scan his eyes over the words on the pages. He turned the page and ran his finger down, then swiped over to the other side of the book, then flipped it again.

"Huh, I didn't know that," Sherlock muttered, but before he could explain his findings to John, a marble hit the back of his head. "Ah, ow!" Sherlock groaned as he swung his hand up to rub at the pained spot.

They both looked back to find a Slytherin girl laughing at them. John stood up,

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" He asked, sounding angered.

"Uh, playing Gobstones properly." She said with an attitude. John gritted his teeth. "What are you gonna do, hit me? I'm the greatest witch in Hogwarts; I could knock you on your arse in ten seconds flat!" She said as a warning.

"You're no better a witch than I am a wizard," John said she looked absolutely offended and she strutted around the fountain to stand poshly in front of John. "You're probably just an arrogant first-year, who can't seem to get a grip on reality," John said, clenching his fists.

"Excuse me?" She said, laying an indignant hand to her chest in feigned surprise, "I have you know that I am a pure-breed Slytherin with endless potential, unlike you two, Mud-blood and reject," she laughed. John growled in his throat. His hands shook and his face almost matched his robe's secondary colours in frustration.

"Excuse me," Snape's voice interjected into the heated, venom- laced conversation, "what's the meaning of this loud nonsense?" He asked harshly.

"This Gryffindor threatened me, sir," the girl said, completely dropping her aggressive facial expression, to quickly replace it with one of a scared and helpless personality.

"What- I-uh, that's not true!" John objected angrily. Sherlock stood quickly, closing his book quickly.

"Your student threw a marble at me in an aggressive, ill-mannered attempt to get under my skin, sir. John was just trying to defend me, is all," Sherlock said, reaching over the bench the two boys sat on to pick up said marble and show it to the professor. "You're supposed to be supervising us. How would this have happened, Professor?"

"Don't try to play with me, Holmes. You know who I am, It never works!" Snape sharply warned,

"Excuses are the nails, sir," Sherlock sneered and stormed off it the halls without staying to hear that Snape had taken fifteen points from Ravenclaw, but only five from his own house, despite the source of the entire problem being an arrogant first-year,

"Let me in," Sherlock growled at the doorknock, who squawked,

"Which came first, the Phoenix or the flame?"

"What an insipid question to ask me," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, "an endless circle has no beginning, surely," he groaned. The door slowly opened and Sherlock entered angrily, stomping up the stairs to the dormitories.

He barged into the first-years' dorm and plopped onto his bed, harshly drawing the blue and grey curtains around so he could have some kind of privacy. He'd read his book until it was time for supper.

Sherlock had heard many different people entering and leaving the room and running up and down the stairs. Sherlock sighed, lying down for a while.

"I still don't get it!" He groaned.

Sherlock wasn't going to. He wasn't going to go to dinner, but something in him decided he would. He got out of bed and made his way down to the Great Hall where most students already were. Sherlock sat down at his table and picked at his food.

"Hey, Sherl," Jim's voice sounded from behind Sherlock and he turned to bump their fists together with a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw John, who was about to go and greet the eccentric boy, too, falter in his plan and just sit, looking at the two, who looked to get along so well.

"Hey, Jim," Sherlock said, offering him to sit.

"So, guess what I have for you?" Jim asked excitedly. Sherlock tilted his head.

"It's not Christmas yet; it's hardly Halloween," Sherlock lowly objected with a chuckle, but still closed his eyes when Jim told him to. He heard Jim giggle as he placed the thing on the table. Jim told him to open his eyes and Sherlock saw a custom made Slytherin scarf with his name on it in grey. Sherlock's eyes widened and something in his chest tightened and turned.

"I bought it in Diagon Alley before we came here; I was going to give it to you last night, in the dorms, but..." Jim trailed off, tightening his lips as he sucked his teeth. Sherlock opened his arms towards Jim and leaned in for a brief, borderline awkward hug. Sherlock quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck and comedically posed. Jim snickered,

"You look fabulous, Sherl," he said, laying a theatrical hand on his chest as he tilted his head up. They laughed. Jim's eyes brightened. "Hey, a bunch of us are gonna sneak out to the Forbidden Forest tonight," he leaned in to whisper, "You wanna come with?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows at the offer.

"Isn't that, like.... Forbidden?" He asked with an unsure chuckle.

"Yeah, but who cares? That's the fun in it!" Jim said, perking up to laugh. Sherlock still seemed unconvinced. For whatever reason, he looked back at John, who was now talking to the girl he sat next to in charms class. Sherlock looked back at Jim,

"Is it exclusively Slytherin?" Sherlock asked, feeling a bit nervous at the thought of being in the middle of a group of Slytherin when he himself was a Ravenclaw, like it or not,

"Mm, no. There'll be older kids from all houses coming. Every year, the older kids go and summon their patronuses as a kind of morale boost for the younger of the houses." Jim explained with an excited smile.

Sherlock thought about it, humming, then came to the conclusion, "yeah, I'll most likely be there; when do they meet, do you know?" Sherlock asked. Once Sherlock got the meeting time, Jim was on his way, saying how much he looked forward to seeing Sherlock there. Sherlock bid him goodbye and continued to pick at his food, actually eating a bite or two, feeling good about tonight.

Yeah, his family might have disowned him, but Sherlock knew Jim would always be there for him, thick and thin, like he always had. Sherlock smiled to himself and after dinner, he caught John in the hallways to invite him.

"A bunch of the older students give a morale boost to us younger by casting their patronuses into the night sky," He explained. John's eyes brightened and a smile spread on his lips.

"Yeah, I'll see what my perfect says," John said with a nod. Before he could walk away, John was topped by Sherlock's hand on his arm.

"John, I don't want to get into trouble, so please don't mention me by name," Sherlock requested. John smiled and agreed,

"No problem, mate. I've got you," he chuckled.

They ended up walking together. Their houses were right next to one another, so John walked Sherlock to the entrance to Ravenclaw common room.

"Nice scarf, by the way," John said smiling. Sherlock smiled back widely, genuinely.

"Ta, see you tonight," Sherlock said,

"We'll see," John chuckled. They waved at each other as John began walking to his common room.

Sherlock entered his common room and unwrapped his scarf from his neck. He wasn't sure exactly why, but it felt wrong to wear it in Ravenclaw.

Chapter Text

John sat in his common room and looked into the fireplace as he strummed on his Ukelele, humming to a tune he knew. The door opened and as if on cue, Jacob entered, laughing with his mates after doing a round of hall patrols.

John quickly stood and rounded the chair to approach the perfect.

"Hey, John," Jacob said with a charming smile, "how was your first day of classes?" He asked.

"It was good, except for the explosion in potions class," John chuckled. Jacob's eyes widened in worry.

"What happened? Are you okay?" He asked, placing his hands on John's shoulders to look at his face. He brought his hand up to feel the light burns. "Did you see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Snape told me not to," John muttered as his cheeks were being pushed together, forcibly pursing his lips. "Some Ravenclaw forgot to add the nettle," John said with a shrug. Jacob chuckled hopelessly, hanging his head as he let go of John.

"As long as you're okay," he said.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," John said. Jacob looked up with wonder, "later, though," John suggested. Jacob nodded and John sat down in the red armchair again. He began playing his Uke again.

It was nearly midnight when Jacob wandered down the stairs to the common room, where John sat still strumming tiredly at the strings of his small instrument.

"What was so secretive that you couldn't tell me with others around?" Jacob asked, chuckling as if not believing it would be a big deal. John sat up and turned to face Jacob.

"A friend of mine," John said, "told me there was an event tonight, very secretive; he was hush-hush about it,"

"Yeah?" Jacob asked, sitting on the arm of the chair. "What kind of event?" John seemed unsure of telling Jacob about it.

"Well," John started, feeling as if Jacob could prove the event to be true or false, "he said that the older kids of Hogwarts go out into the Forbidden Forest at half-past midnight and cast their patronuses into the sky as a kind of morale boost," John explained, "and he said that people from all houses usually go, but I didn't see anyone from Gryffindor leave yet. I'm starting to worry," John said, glancing into the fire with a worried expression as if to say that Sherlock might get burned one way or another tonight.

"Did your friend already leave?" Jacob asked. John looked up at him,

"Probably," John muttered. Jacob sighed. "John, I know you probably don't want the friend to get into trouble, but he's most likely in danger if he's in the Forbidden Forest." He said only making John's worry grow, "what is his name?"

"His name's Sherlock Holmes," John said, looking down as if ashamed that he'd done what Sherlock asked him specifically not to do. Jacob's eyes widened.

"Did a Slytherin invite him to this event?" He asked, placing a nervous hand onto John's shoulder. John quietly nodded,

"I think so; he was a first-year," John said, glancing his eyes up to Jacob, who quickly checked the time and cursed under his breath. He jumped up,

"Do you have your wand on you?" Jacob asked, jogging up the stairs to the fifth-year dormitory. He came back down tossing his jacket to John, who held up his wand. "Come on," he whispered, "we've got to get there before it starts,"

They opened the door to the common room and stepped out. John quietly cast the illumination charm so they could see better as they stealthily made their way to the staircases.

They'd somehow made it to the castle grounds, where they were careful not to wake the Whomping Willow. They stepped lightly past Hagrid's hut, however, Fang stood, smelling the air near them. Jacob stopped John and covered the end of John's wand with his hand to temporarily shut out the light. Nonetheless, Fang decided not to be on their side as he began barking and growling at them. Jacob began quickly pushing at John's back as they ran. By the time the two had made it into the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid was out of his hut, asking Fang what was wrong.

"Shit!" Jacob panted from where he hid from the hut's sight. John was panting beside him, his lungs burning with the chill of the air. Jacob looked at John and they began running again. They stayed close and followed a strict path. There was yelling and laughing coming from a while ahead. John knew they were close. Jacob told him to extinguish the wand and John hadn't known how exactly to do that.

"Say, Nox," Jacob instructed. John repeated and the light from his wand tip was snuffed out. They walked the rest of the way in darkness and quiet.

"Flippendo!" Was aggressively changed by multiple people and the sound of grunts and shouts of pain was hardly drowned out by the harsh chants. Then, half of the chanting voices switched to a different phrase, "Slugulus Eructo!" And the sounds of pain were then mixed with one of wretching, horrible wretching. Jacob looked between two trees to we a large group of Slytherins cast the spells on a single Ravenclaw. The influenced first-years were physically damaging him with punches and kicks. Some were switching rapidly between Lumos and Nox and it made John sick to his stomach when he saw, peeking out behind Jacob.

The distant alarm of Fang barking became increasingly closer and harsher as if he'd smelled the others, too. John's horrified eyes stuck to the sight of what they were doing to Sherlock, that poor boy!!

"My God," John groaned, lifting a quick hand to his mouth to suppress what might come up if he didn't stop looking soon. He quickly was pulled away by Jacob, who pointed behind them as if to remind him of the dog chasing their scent. John shook his head, I don't want to get caught out here,

"Oi!" Hagrid shouted in his gruff and low voice. There were whispers and a few last, scattered chants as the grass and dirt crunched beneath the retreating perpetrators' feet. Most of them were laughing, while some first-years were worrying about what would happen if they get caught. Hagrid flashed his lantern at the quick group of kids behind the trees as he stopped in front of the two Gryffindor boys. John quickly turned and threw up, making Jacob sigh as if relenting to whatever punishment was coming their way.

The grunts and wretching continued violently behind them. John was the first one to the scene, dropping his wand and everything, sliding on his knees to meet the suffering, convulsing pre-teen with shaking hands as he basically coughed up slugs. John illuminated his wand's end and pried one of Sherlock's eyes open,

"What are you doing, John?" Jacob asked, running behind John, who extinguished the wand and looked at the convulsions and nodded,

"Altered pupillary behaviour is commonly present during and following epileptic seizures, Jacob," John hushed.he moved quickly to the other side of the boy.

"You're saying he's having a seizure?" Jacob seemed afraid and very scared. He was probably thinking of what would happen to the boy. John glanced up and nodded.

"He's burning up, the seizures are trying to sweat out the fever," John examined as he tried to move the boy's head to the side to make it easier for him to get the slugs out. "His nose is probably broken," John said, then shakily ran his hands down the boy's chest and sides, "three broken ribs, and his collarbone, too," John checked his pulse quickly.

"Dangerously fast," John looked up to Hagrid and Jacob with a very worried expression.

"We should get him into the castle," Hagrid said gruffly. John nodded and took off Jacob's jacket.

"What are you doing?" Jacob asked as John laid his jacket to the ground, smoothing it out flatly to the dirt.

"It's too dangerous to try and pick him up because we have no idea what the state of his neck is right now," John explained, tugging the shoulders of his shirt to slowly pull him onto the jacket. Sherlock wretched up another two slugs. "If we move him the wrong way, it might damage him more so; I only turned his head so he didn't choke on the thick slime of the slugs' discharge,"

"How do you know all of this?" Hagrid asked, confused by all of the knowledge the boy was sputtering out as he practically switched into a young doctor. John looked up as he hooked his hands under the jacket, giving it a test tug.

"My father is a drug addict, my sister's an alcoholic, my mum gets beat on a daily basis, and we have absolutely no health insurance; I kind of have to take a first aid class every couple of months," he said darkly almost in a growl as he looked down at the boy, "but all that matters right now is pulling him back into the castle and getting help," John looked behind him as he turned and pulled. It was cold out that night and it was a long path. Especially when you're pulling someone else's convulsing weight instead of running away from a big ass dog.

John's back ached severely as he began pulling the boy through the path they took to get to the scene. Every now and then, he'd look down at Sherlock to whisper and try to coax him through what he was going through. John couldn't even possibly imagine!

John pulled Sherlock onto the soft grass behind Hagrid's hut. John slowly let the boy down and dook breaths as he paced in circles with his hands above his head to reflow the oxygen. His face and hands were suffering from wind burn and his nose had been running for about an hour. Not to mention his muscles screamed out of exhaustion and overworking strain.

"Hey, Hagrid; could you get a blanket that you hardly use?" John asked as he huffed out a groan.

"I'll get the softest one," He assured with a quick nod, glancing down at Sherlock as the convulsions started up once more. Jacob slowly walked up to John, looking down at the boy, who wretched up slugs. John bent down to throw them away from the jacket.

"Sorry about your jacket, Jacob," John apologised. The perfect shrugged quickly,

"Don't be, John; your quick thinking is probably why he's still alive right now," Jacob reassured, lacing a firm hand on John's shoulder. He faltered for something else to say, "I'm sorry about your past, John," he said with a light sigh. "but, then again, it's what made you the brave, smart boy you are now, however shitty that may sound," Jacob complimented with a chuckle,

"Hey, shitty's my bread and butter, mate," John's ears went red with bashfulness as he quipped comedically. He ducked his head.

"Seriously, though, John," he chuckled, "I have no idea what I would have done if you didn't step up like that," He said, giving John's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're a hero, John," John's eyes widened and he moved back from Jacob,

"N-no, I'm not a hero; please don't say that," John said. Hagrid's door opened harshly and John tossed three more slugs from the jacket. John had Hagrid lay out the blanket and he transferred Sherlock to that.

"That way, when we put him down, it won't hurt his head as much," John said with a grunt as he continued to drag the boy's body. Hagrid lay the Jacket over Sherlock to try and warm him up, but he had already been sweating for an hour through his sporadic convulsions. They heard someone humming as they walked out of the side of the castle,

"Hey," She shouted, "What are you two doing out here?" Madam Hooch asked. She jogged out to meet them but stopped as soon as she saw the luggage they carried as he shook violently even still. She looked up at them and quickly drew her wand, only for Hagrid to stand in front of them.

"We're bringing him into the Hospital wing, Madam," He said, waving his hand to tell John to pull, "You can follow and help us... W-what was it again, John,"

"Keep him from choking on the slugs...!" John grunted as he dragged the boy into the entrance of the castle.

"I'm sending an owl to Dumbledore, immediately!" She shouted, running back into the castle and off into a side corridor. They couldn't stop or wait. Sherlock's state was becoming worse and worse by the hour and John really didn't want to think about how much time they had before something irreversible happened. So, John strained himself physically to make the trip shorter in time.

Thankfully, because the Hospital wing was on the first floor, they didn't have to figure out how to pull Sherlock up a flight of moving stairs. John was actually very bloody thankful!

Jacob and Hagrid jogged in front of John to hold the doors open so that John could quickly move into the room. They all began calling for Madam Pomfrey as John softly set Sherlock down. She came out of her office in a rushed hurry and stopped in her tracks as she saw the victim on the floor seizing up with tears in his eyes. He threw up another slug. She gasped.

"Please help, Madam," John begged, pulling her closer, "he has multiple broken ribs, fractures in the clavicle, and has been having sporadic seizures since we've found him two hours ago," He explained, "You have to clear his airways, Madam!" He pleaded with the witch.

"What's the state of his neck, boy?" She asked, quickly dropping to her knees,

"Inconclusive," John shakily said. She nodded, then took his pulse, "It was one hundred and six when we found him, one thirty-two an hour later, then it dropped to eighty-five outside of Hagrid's hut," He gave. She told Jacob to grab the clipboard from her desk and hand it to John. John filled out what he noticed and left it blank where he didn't understand or didn't check.

"We have to move him to a bed, okay?" Pomfrey asked. John nodded nervously and watched nervously as Hagrid pulled him onto a gurney that was lifted and placed onto a bed. She thanked them, John especially, and told them they could leave. "Try to get some sleep, John?" She suggested, but John completely doubted it! His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through him like a hole in a dam.

All three were pushed from the hospital wing's patient room. "Hey," Jacob said softly, "let's get you back, yeah?" He asked, gently guiding a mindless John back to the towers so they could try to get some time to sleep.

John practically collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep not too long after, but his dreams left his mind more than restless as it showed him images of what would've, could've happened if John hadn't gotten there when he had.

"N-Noo! John screamed, sitting up quickly. He was in a cold sweat and some of the other first-years that were going through their morning routines looked at him, startled and very confused. John quickly swung his legs out of a bed he'd not yet gotten used to and ran down the stairs to the common room. He was headed for the door when another perfect pulled the running boy back in a circle.

"Ah-!" He said, tutting John quietly, "Jacob asked me to escort you to your classes, nowhere otherwise," He said. John let out a growl and tried to escape, clawing at the air for the door, but the other perfect held JOhn by the waist and chest to keep him back until he tired himself out. e picked JOhn up and turned him around, "Go up there and get a shower," He said. It took John a moment, but he relented climbing the steps slowly with a loud groan.

John started the shower and stepped under the water. He mainly enjoyed the heat, scrubbing his face, hoping to maybe wipe the sight of Sherlock being attacked like that out of his memory. John ended up sobbing, his face in his hands, leaning against the wall in front of him.

John heard the door open and he quickly scrubbed his face again, sniffling as he shut the water off and grabbed a towel to cover himself with. He went back into the dorm and got dressed quickly. As he descended the stairs calmly, he saw that the perfect was still there. John opened his satchel and took out his timetable.

"I hope you like transfiguration for first-years with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs," John said. The perfect stood, unfolding his arms and straightening himself out,

"I'm missing Defense against the Dark Arts for Transfiguration for firs-years? Cool," He quipped with a chuckle,

"I just need to pop in somewhere first," John said, reaching for the door. The perfect, held the door shut with his foot, his arms crossed again,

"What part of 'nowhere else' do you not understand, John?" He asked, gruffly from behind John.

"What part of 'need' do you not understand, Gregory?" John replied harshly. He waited a moment, then quickly and heavily drove his head back into the forehead of the perfect. As the sixth-year stumbled back, a string of obscenities spilling from his throat in a growl, John quickly opened the door, "Sorry for the split lip, mate!" he shouted, then slammed it shut behind him.

John made it halfway down the hall before the door was opened and Greg was making his angered way up the spiral staircase. John briefly twisted himself around to look at the livid student as he made for the stairs. John was on the base of the stairs.

He looked behind him, then leaned over the railings. He saw that the level below him was lined up perfectly, so he threw his bag down and climbed over said railing, then turned himself around and jumped. As he landed, the shifting of the staircase below his unsteady feet had him off balance. John fell, grabbing his bag strap as he tumbled down the turning staircase. Kids from the safer side of the stairs looked, surprised that a student was daring and brave enough to be case hopping. John looked up at Greg, who was staring down in disbelief at John. He stood and went down to the safe platform, then hopped down two more levels to the first floor with a roll as he landed.

John grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and ran as fast as he could to the hospital wing. John burst through the doors, his lungs heaving wildly as he'd been running since the staircases. Jacob turned, surprised to see John in the room.

"Where's Greg?" He asked, approaching the boy, who was reasonably out of breath. John swallowed loudly and held up a finger,

"I think he stopped following me when I jumped off the stairs," He panted. Jacob's eyes widened considerably.

"What?! John, are you absolutely mad!?" He shouted. "John, I respect you, especially for what you did for Sherlock last night, but this is-" he started, but John pushed past him,

"Speaking of, how is he?" John asked, smiling slightly with unrealistic anticipation of him being awake and sitting up, but as John pushed open the curtain, he saw that the boy was asleep. John tightened his lips. He supposed seizures did take a lot of energy out of a person. He'd need all the rest he could get. John sat down next to him and looked at his pale face. He was still sweating, meaning he probably still had a fever. John placed his hand on Sherlock's arm and watched the boy breathe. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips were slightly parted. John couldn't imagine the amount of pain he must've been in,

"I managed to control his convulsions and his vitals," Madam Pomfrey said as she saw John in the chair. "He's been asking for you in his sleep, you know?" She said with a smile. John felt his ears heat up.

"John!" Someone else burst through the door. It was Greg with dried blood connecting his nostrils to his upper lip. He looked livid, but Madam Pomfrey insisted he got the blood cleaned from his face before shouting near her patient.

Greg glared at John until he saw who he was sitting next to. "Isn't that that Holmes kid who talked shit on professor Snape to his face?" He asked. John nodded, putting his bag on the ground. John opened it and pulled out his Ukelele. He'd begun tuning it by ear and strumming lightly to test as Jacob questioned the nonchalance of John's response.

"He did what?" Jacob asked.

"He basically called Snape irresponsible because a Slytherin first-year threw her Gobstones at us in the courtyard during lunch," John said, strumming a harmonious chord, "and it was Snape's supervision shift,"

"Oh, my God," Jacob snickered, "N-no, that was very ill-mannered of him," he tried to act like a perfect, but was having a difficult time with it,

"Don't worry," John smiled up at Jacob, "Snape took ten more points off Ravenclaw than he had to his own house, so at least we know he's fair," John said sarcastically as he strummed a quick line of chords.

By dinner, John was expected to have left the patient room, but he was still there, playing little tunes and humming to them. Greg came in after dinner and said Jacob collected classwork for him from the classes he'd missed.

"We've also brought your dinner to the common room, mate," he said. John knew it was an incentive for him to leave for the night and John was finishing up a tune on his Uke when someone else entered the room. John stood, his music halting to see professor Flitwick. John smiled.

"How is he?" Flitwick asked,

"His vitals are under control again, his seizures stopped earlier this morning, and he stopped throwing up slugs not too long after we brought him in, sir," John said as Flitwick climbed onto the chair to the left of Sherlock,


"You don't want to know, sir," John said, looking down.

"Please, Mr Watson, he's one of my students; I need to know what happened to him," Flitwick said, looking over at John, who sighed and sat down.

"I think it was a hazing," John began,

Chapter Text

Sherlock's stomach ached! What had he eaten yesterday? He furrowed his eyebrows and groaned. He heard someone softly hush him in a low lull. He felt the prick of a syringe tip in his arm and his eyes snapped open. "Ow!" He shouted, ripping his arm from the person jabbing him with a bloody needle! He slowly sat up and opened his eyes to see a foggy view of Madam Pomfrey, who seemed surprised that he was awake.

"Oh!" She chirped loudly. Sherlock harshly hushed her and all of a sudden, everything in his sight became clear, too clear. He closed his eyes and covered his ears. But, it was no use. He could still hear everything clearly. "Honey, open your eyes," She cooed. Sherlock trusted her, but when he did, he got a light in the face.

"Agh-! God damn it!" Sherlock hissed, flinching away from the woman and her insipid light.

"Do you know where you are?" She asked. Sherlock nodded,

"I'm in the hospital wing at Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry," He answered, rolling his eyes, but even that felt like too much.

"Do you know who you are, dear?" She asked.

"Of course, I bloody well know who I am, woman! Have you gone absolutely daft!? I'm Sherlock Holmes, first-year Ravenclaw!" He shouted, making his own ears ring. He winced at his own voice. She stepped back and looked at him. She walked into her office and sent an owl to someone. Sherlock sat there. He pulled himself up to the head of the bed and noticed the different kinds of gifts people sent him. He looked up to find balloons, too. He flipped his over over his legs and looked down at them, then back up at the other wall. He seemed dazed for moments. Then, the door opened and,

"John," Sherlock said with a smile on his lips. He looked plenty more charming than before. Sherlock had the urge to run into the boy's arms. What a strange urge that was. John just stood and looked,

"Sherlock," he breathed, then quickly walked across the room to collapse at Sherlock's bedside, basically sobbing into his lap. Sherlock felt panicked, for more than one reason, though he decided to settle for awkwardly patting John's shoulder blades. "Thank God you're okay!" John sobbed.

"Eh," Sherlock wavered, "more or less, I'd say," Sherlock said, resting his hand in John's golden blonde hair. John looked up at him, confusion was written on his face. "Madam Pomfrey, may you roll me over a wheelchair, please?" He called to her nonchalantly. She did as he requested and Sherlock was struggling to set himself into it. Pomfrey helped as John sat there, looking stunned.

"C'mon, John, let us go," Sherlock said, rolling himself near the door. "John, can you open the door for me?" Sherlock asked. John stood and had a brief talk to Madam Pomfrey, who advised John to let him have his way for now. John walked up behind Sherlock's chair and hooked something to the handles. Pomfrey opened the door and let them exit with a smile.

"What do you remember?" John asked, pushing Sherlock's wheelchair down the hallway,

"I remember being able to walk after I left the library yesterday," Sherlock said, gritting his teeth, "One of those stupid students must've shoved me down the bloody staircase!" Sherlock growled. John stopped, parked the chair, and walked out in front of the chair with his hands on his hips. Sherlock can't remember ever thinking this was cute before, but he sure as hell does, now!

"That's all you remember?!" He asked, sounding at a loss. Sherlock tilted his head,

"Yes, of course, that's all I bloody remember, John," he chuckled, unsure why John was shouting.

"We're late for potions," John groaned as he went back behind Sherlock's chair and began pushing him again. Sherlock leaned his head back and hummed whilst watching John's facial expression change from that of annoyance and frustration to a smile,

"You don't have to push me, you know?" Sherlock said, letting his eyes close a long moment. He opened them up to see that they'd arrived at a staircase. John parked the chair and unhooked those things from the handles. John brought them in front of Sherlock to reveal that they were braces, leg braces. Magical ones, he wagered. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John strapped them to Sherlock's legs and showed Sherlock how to strap them. John stood and leaned over Sherlock to grab something else. "Wrist supporting crutches?"

John nodded, "Pomfrey doesn't want your entire recovery to depend on magic, and neither do I," Sherlock put his hands through the holes, which were open on the backs, and pushed himself up. He could feel his legs, they were just too weak to support his weight and move, for now. John helped Sherlock clamber down the stairs, only losing his balance once. Thankfully, John was in front of him, there to catch him if he had fallen, which he had. Sherlock chuckled nervously.

Once they'd made it to the base of the steps, Sherlock was pooped. He'd never thought it would take so much energy to do something as simple as going down a single flight of stairs. Sherlock had quickly developed a newfound appreciation for the disabled,

John had brought down the chair with some minor trouble. Sherlock wished he could help John, but unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. Sherlock's arms were growing tired and weak, like noodles, wobbling as he used them to support his entire weight for the first time ever, and they weren't used to being used, either.

John had unfolded the chair with a grunt and Sherlock plopped sown in the seat of it, feeling his relief instantly. They'd only had to go down the hall before Sherlock had to stand up again, straining his already overworked muscles even more. He whined in tired discomfort as John took a while to fold the chair back up before opening the door.

"Ah, how very nice of you to rejoin us, Watson," Snape droned with a harsh tongue, but cut himself off as he saw and heard Sherlock struggling in with his crutches. "Quite the enthusiastic learner, aren't we, Holmes?" Snape said bemusedly as he watched as Sherlock basically gave up and sat in the back. John stopped halfway down and went back there to sit with him. Sherlock scoffed,

"I'm just feeling so flattered that you'd let me interrupt your lesson," He said with a sarcastic look of admiration. The kids in the class couldn't get over the fact that it was actually him, "What're you lot looking at?" He hissed annoyedly, glancing over to see John chuckling, hiding his wide grin with his hand.

"It's good to have you back, mate," he muttered, causing an unsuspecting warm smile to slip to his own face. He sighed, starting to relax a bit again,

"Good to be back" And, so the lesson went on. Snape slipped back into his severe case of solipsism. Sherlock didn't have a notebook, but he could just copy John's notes later, if he'd let him, that was.

After class, Snape told Sherlock to stay but didn't take kindly to John keeping his presence near. "Don't you have a charms class to be heading to, Watson?" Snape snapped, trying to aggressively excuse the student. John smiled tiredly, unamused and very sarcastic,

"If you want to open, push, close, carry, open, push, close, carry, a wheelchair all the way up to charms class, please be my guest," He sassed, his eyes narrowing at the professor, who was bound to take points from his house, but John couldn't be arsed to care at this moment because, "otherwise I stay with him," He said in almost a possessive growl. And to think, this boy was only a first-year!

Snape quickly dropped what he wanted to tell Sherlock, making them both very suspicious of the teacher. John opened the chair and helped Sherlock sit. As soon as they were out of the room, Sherlock laughed, "I'm glad he didn't agree to that," Sherlock chuckled, "'cause I have to pee," John laughed.

"He probably wouldn't detour to the restroom, either, he'd probably wait smugly until you pissed yourself!" John laughed, leaning over the back of the chair to rest his head on Sherlock's for a moment. This is what John must've missed, Sherlock thought as they detoured to the restrooms, laughing and giggling because the damn door wasn't wide enough for the chair to fit.

They snickered as John quite literally had to wrap his arms around Sherlock's chest and hold him up as he used the urinal, then the same as he washed his hands. They weren't at the age where it was considered awkward yet. It was all just funny,

"Oh, my God!" John laughed as they approached the charms classroom, "You've never sword-fought with your brothers!?" He asked in disbelief. Sherlock laughed,

"With actual swords? Yes, It was bloody terrifying!" They chuckled some more as John helped him out of the chair and quickly folded it, "But, with our willies? Hell no!" They snickered once more, John carrying the chair with his right arm and keeping his left open in case Sherlock needed help.

"Good morning professor Flitwick," John entered first, as they'd agreed on their way to the restrooms, to surprise him with Sherlock's awesome presence, as he himself put it as John laughed.

"Have you visited Sherlock today?" Flitwick asked. John smiled,

"I have, and he's still a smartarse...!" John quickly said. Sherlock let out a sarcastically offended gasp as he did his best to support all of his weight on his right crutch as he lifted the left to swing it at John, lightly hitting it against his leg. John grunted, then laughed. He helped Sherlock enter the room and sit in his usual seat. Professor Flitwick's face lit up with excitement.

"Mr Holmes, I'm glad to see you're okay," he said with a genuine smile. Sherlock wavered again and looked down to his legs.

"Well, more or less," He said with a chuckle.

"Yes, but that's only minor compared to what happened to you," he said with a nod. Sherlock tilted his head. Flitwick looked at John, who shook his hand horizontally under his chin, telling the professor not to delve too much into detail. The goblin-man cleared his throat and moved on to greet other students as Sherlock glared briefly at John, who must've been an admittedly good actor as he hardly reacted.

After class, John had a break in the day, but Sherlock had flying-class, which he couldn't do anyway, so they both headed to the Gryffindor common room.

"Isn't Gryffindor common room, I don't know, for Gryffindors?" Sherlock asked with a chortle. John scoffed.

"We're allowed to bring friends," he said. John pushed Sherlock inside and parked him near the fire. Sherlock let himself fall asleep. He didn't even feel when John and a few other first-years carried him up to the dorms and plopped him into John's bed.

Sherlock stirred as he felt the other side of the bed dip to someone else's weight. "It's just me," John said. He sounded soft and considerate. "It's alright," He reassured quietly. Sherlock quietly groaned, his eyebrows furrowing.

"What time is it?" He asked.

He hadn't bothered to open his eyes. There was a shift, then John said with a hum, "21.30," Sherlock groaned again. He moved his arm to try and uncover himself as he said something about getting back to his house, however, as soon as his nerves sent the message of movement form his brain, Sherlock's arm practically shot with pain.

"God! My arms...!" He lowly cried, burying his face into the pillow. John didn't laugh.

"I've already sent an owl to Flitwick and your perfects; you won't be reprimanded tomorrow," He said, sliding himself under the covers next to Sherlock. He turned so he could face the boy, "Get some more sleep, Sherlock. You'll need all the strength you can get because these first few weeks are going to be hell," He said with a smile that didn't match his words. John rolled over, turned off the light next to his bed and went to sleep.

And, boy, was John RIGHT! The next couple of days were the worst. He arms, therefore he, collapsed on the staircases twice. Every morning, as soon as John would get to the Ravenclaw house, was painful stretching of his arms and legs. His limbs were already sore, but then they'd go to the hospital wing and do physical therapy, which was even more strenuous, to say the least.

However, John, unfortunately, couldn't roll him and help him around the castle all day every day as they occasionally had some classes apart, unbelievably enough. Professor Sprout has been getting agitated with the frequency of John's latenesses to Herbology.

"H-hi," Sherlock heard as he was snapped back to reality from his seat at the very end of the Great Hall's long table for the Ravenclaw students. The boy the voice accompanied was clad in yellow, "Sherlock, right?" He asked. Sherlock, looking the boy up and down, answered with a terse nod, making the boy smile.

His name was Victor and he was a second year, assigned to get Sherlock to and from all classes from then on. Sherlock looked over at the Gryffindor table, where John sat laughing with others as they shared loud anecdotes of their previous lives. Sherlock looked back at Victor and nodded, "Fine,"

"Great! We're gonna be best friends...!" He said sweetly. Sherlock shyly smiled up at Victor. They then ate together. And, after, Victor upheld his promise, helping Sherlock through the castle back to his house. John was waiting and as soon as he saw Sherlock, the blonde boy smiled.

"Hey," John said, chuckling, as he approached the two boys. Sherlock smiled. He leaned forward to give the boy a fist-bump, which was greatly appreciated by John's facial expression. John looked up at Victor. "I'm John,"

"Victor," they shook hands and it felt kind of awkward; Sherlock didn't know why, but it just was...! "I'm Sherlock's new... caretaker for the time being," Victor said. John looked at Sherlock, then back up at Victor. Nevertheless, he couldn't refuse it, so he just smiled and nodded, giving his good nights to both of the boys as he ran to catch up with another Gryffindor, who shouted his name as if they were best friends. They raced down the stairs to their house with laughter filling the hall.

The following week wasn't as bad as it seemed it would be. Victor was actually acceptable company for Sherlock. He was smart and funny, patient and kind. Something only very few people has been towards Sherlock. It felt like Sherlock could trust Victor.

"If you had to be a muggle, what would you want to be, like job-wise, you know?" Victor asked as they sat at the long table. Sherlock hummed, laying the book he was reading flat on the table as he thought.

"I heard about pirates; they seem fun." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "I mean, they get to do whatever they wanted; they were practically above the law," He looked over to Victor, who'd only just begun to laugh. "What?" Sherlock chuckled.

"N-nothing...!" Victor shook his head, trying to catch his breath, "I can see it, now!" Victor said, standing up to demonstrate, "You on the edge of a ship with you wand drawn like a sword, yelling 'ARGH!' on the top of your lungs," Victor doubled back into his chair with laughter as Sherlock began laughing as well. Other kids were looking at them as lunch was usually a time for casual studying, but Sherlock couldn't be arsed to care, really.

"Alright, then," Sherlock managed as they calmed from their fit, "what would you pick, then?" he asked. Victor wiped a tear of joy from his eye.

"I don't know, I guess I'd like to be an actor...!" He shrugged with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a lack of confidence.

"If you wanted to be an actor," Sherlock said, placing a hand on Victor's hand, "then, by God, my pirate arse will make you an actor...!" They laughed some more until they were shushed, where Sherlock uncharacteristically mocked the irritated kid, making Victor laugh more.

One day, Victor was so busy, though, that he couldn't have lunch with Sherlock. He only helped the boy to the Great Hall and promised to be back by the end of lunch. Sherlock nodded, suddenly feeling anxious about entering the Great Hall. Sherlock wheeled himself to his usual spot at the end, where he ate and studied.

"Sherlock," A voice said. There was some snickering behind the voice as Sherlock looked up. It was Moriarty. Sherlock laid his book down to the table and closed it with a smile.

"Jim, long time, mate," Sherlock said with a chuckle, holding up a fist for Jim to bump his own with. Jim only but looked at it as the others behind him did so, too. They were confused, which made Sherlock confused. He slowly lowered the fist with furrowed brows as the boys behind Jim began laughing.

"Where's your, uh, bodyguard, eh?" Jim asked, clearing his throat as he looked around, craning his neck to search for spots of yellow heading their direction.

"Oh, he's busy right now, but he'll be back at the end f lunch to push me to physical therapy," Sherlock said with a simple shrug. Sherlock thought it was a little suspicious that Jim flinched at the next activity scheduled for Sherlock, but he quickly recovered, glancing to his sides.

"And, your boyfriend?" Jim asked, his voice a bit shaky, "Where's he at, then?" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. Boyfriend? Sherlock didn't have a boyfriend...

"What'd you mean?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows as Jim described John. Sherlock didn't even look around to serch for the blonde boy. They hadn't seen each other in weeks, and John surely hadn't made his presence known to the boy. "I don't know...!" Sherlock said, causing the three boys to snigger and bounce in excitement, confusing Sherlock.

"Okay, then," Jim looked around swiftly before pulling his wand to cast, "Silencio," with practised swings to his hand, sending its effects on Sherlock, who only silently grunted, slightly panicked. Jim went behind Sherlock and pulled on the handles of the chair, excusing Sherlock from the table for him. Jim leaned over, "I'm so sorry, Shezzer," he whispered, "Please, pretend to look as impartial as usual,"

"Where were we going to put him again...?" Sherlock heard from one of the other boys, a fat one with buzzed hair and a dumb laugh...! "Ah, I remember, now; C'mon, Jim, to the lake we go...!" The boys laughed as Jim hissed at them to shut up. Sherlock's eyes widened and his face paled up considerably.

He was going to be killed...!