Alone In The Halls
Sherlock could hear the sound of cheering from the Quidditch field. He and John, however, were currently huddled together under his Invisibility Cloak, searching every corridor they could for signs of The Chest. “Let's see, we've checked most of the rooms, the abandoned girl's lavatories, Dumbledore's office, McGonagall's office, and Snape's office. It's either The Forbidden Forest or The Third Floor Corridor.” Sherlock stated. John sighed. “There's always something in the Third Floor Corridor...”
When the duo reached the ever-shifting stairs, they were treated to the sight of this world's version of Anderson and Sally Donavan snogging on the steps. “How're we going to get them out of the way?” John asked as they stepped out of the stairway. Sherlock grinned and pulled out a vial. “Is that..? You've been brewing Polyjuice Potion? So that's what I smelled.” John said.
Sherlock nodded and pulled out a lock of black hair. “Who's hair?” John inquired. “Professor Snape's, supposedly.” Sherlock said, nonchalant as he stepped out of the cloak.
“How on Earth did you get that?”
Sherlock shrugged. “One of my clients used to fancy him. She hadn't thrown it out yet, luckily, so I asked for it in return for finding her boyfriend. Turned out he was hiding as a House Elf.”
“I...I don't even want to know...”
“Pity, I solved it by sitting on five pillows and consuming an ounce of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. And with a large magic sponge.”
Sherlock pulled out a black cloak and threw it over his shoulders. He then proceeded to strip off the rest of his clothes, handing them to John, and put on a bigger pair of trousers. Then he put the hairs in the potion, took a large swig, and hunched in a corner until he transformed.
Pulling his cloak to him tightly, Sherlock stood up. He was the spiting image of the Potions professor. The false teacher turned to John. “So, Mr. Watson...” he said in his best Snape impression. “What do you think?”
John nodded. “It's brilliant, Sherlock. Uncanny.”
Sherlock-Snape smirked. “Of course it is.”
Sherlock-Snape walked back to the stairway. “Mr. Anderson. Ms. Donavan. Surely you have better things to do...” The two split up, the color draining from their faces. “Professor!” They said, unified, terrified, and utterly mortified. “We were just...”
“On your way to the Quidditch game, I presume.” Sherlock-Snape offered.
“Oh, definitely, sir!” Anderson said quickly.
“We just got side-tracked...” Donavan added, running out of the stairway.
Anderson followed, but paused to ask: “You're...you won't tell my girlfriend, right?”
“Why would that be of any concern to me?” Sherlock-Snape said, serious.
“Right...” Anderson said, relieved, and continued to sprint after Donavan.
“Mediocre dunces.” Sherlock said under his breath. He called John as soon as they were out of earshot. John pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Sherlock glanced over at him. “Disappointed air.” he noted. “John,” Sherlock asked, "did you want to go to the Quidditch match?”
John looked down. “Well, it's not everyday you get a chance to to watch a real life Quidditch match. I mean, a real, honest-to-God one, not a pretend one.”
Sherlock sighed. “Well, we've been searching all morning and the game's just barely started. Hand me my clothes and the Cloak. You go to the game and try and slip in with the idiot...I mean “Anderson”... oh, you know I meant “idiot”.”
John smiled. “Thanks, Sherlock.”
Sherlock smiled back and nodded. “Well, go on.” John laughed a little and ran out of the stairs and towards the field, punching the air.
Sherlock shook his head. “I might as well let John get to watch, in case we get home.” he thought. “Now he won't regret missing it.” And with that, he picked up his clothes. Putting the Invisibility Cloak back on, he trudged up the stairs. Next stop: The Third-Floor Corridor, and maybe the way home.
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