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Education, Deduction, and Discussion
The next day, Sherlock and John sat under a tree, discussing the various things at Hogwarts. Sherlock had already deducted quite a bit of things about the teachers that turned out to be fairly accurate. This helped boost his confidence (though he'd never admit having confidence issues to John).
“...And that's why Professor Quirrell has Schizophrenia. Am I correct?” Sherlock concluded.
John snickered. “Something like that...”
Sherlock fidgeted around. He tried to make his Ravenclaw scarf and robes a suitable substitute for his Belstaff trench-coat and his scarf back home. But, sadly, it just didn't feel the same. He missed having a trench-coat to throw over his shoulders.
He missed home.
“Well, I couldn't sleep at all last night. How about you, Sherlock?” John asked, trying to take Sherlock's mind off his homesickness.
Sherlock shook his head. “I don't have time for sleep. I need to think of a way get us out of here. Sleep isn't going to help at all...”
“No, it only helps brain function. Nothing useful.” The young doctor replied sarcastically.
“What? Do they have prophetic dreams here in Fantastic Magical Wizard Fantasy World?”
John smirked. “Sherlock Holmes, are you actually accepting the possibility this isn't all just a strange drug trip?”
Sherlock answered, straight-faced, “Depends on how long I can operate in denial...”
John could not help but laugh at how seriously Sherlock delivered his answer. Finding his friend's laughter infectious, Sherlock joined in.
Suddenly, John cursed. “We've got to get to Potions in five minutes!” The duo grabbed their books and wands, scrambled away from the tree, and hurried to their class.
Once they got into class, Sherlock threw himself down into the first open seat he saw. John took the seat beside him on his right, albeit less dramatically then his friend. Sherlock looked to his left and saw that he had inadvertently sat beside Molly, who was diligently scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Curious, the young consulting detective leaned over to get a better look. Turned out she was drawing someone very familiar.
“You've drawn me far more handsome than I really am...”
“SHERLOCK!” Molly exclaimed, flustered. She scrambled to hide her picture, her face bright red. “H-how long have you been there?” She asked, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Not long.” Sherlock replied. “By the way, you need to work on your shading. Makes me look too... ominous...”
“You are rather ominous at times...” John chimed in.
“Shut up, John.”
Just then, Professor Snape burst into the room. “Put up your wands. There will be no spells in my class...” Molly and John obliged, stowing their wands in their robes. Sherlock, however, had decided to store his wand behind his ear, as if it were a pencil. Snape noticed this. “Mr. Holmes. That does not appear to be a... wise place to store your wand.” Sherlock huffed and stored his wand in his robe.
Snape walked over to Sherlock. “You're the new Minister's brother. Am I correct?”
Sherlock shrugged, while at the same time analyzing his teacher a little closer. “That's what everyone says I am.” He answered.
The class stifled their laughter as best they could. “Amusing.” Snape said, dully. Sherlock noted how his professor seemed to be analyzing him as well.
“Tell me, Mr. Holmes, for how long does one brew Polyjuice Potion?”
“I don't know, sir.” Sherlock stated bluntly, busy with his deductions “Does not care much for physical appearance.” He noted to himself.
“I do.” John piped up, raising his hand.
Snape looked over to him. “Ah, Mr. Watson. I remember when your sister was in my classes. She was... an eager one and enjoyed this class...”
“I'll bet she did. Plenty to drink...” John mumbled.
“It takes a month. At least, I think.” John said, louder.
John cleared his throat. “Know. I know, sir.”
Snape nodded. “Well, it's a miracle.” the teacher replied. “A Gryffindor has proven to be more knowledgeable than a Ravenclaw. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
“Perhaps that House isn't as bright they want us to believe.” Moriarty stated smugly from across the room. Moran and a couple of their fellow Slytherins snickered. “Perhaps not, Mr. Moriarty.” Snape replied.
Sherlock glared at Moriarty. As soon as he left this... whatever-it-was, he was going to kill the real Moriarty.
“Well,” he mused to himself. “All the more reason to leave as soon as possible.”
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