Harry Potter, Sherlock 1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock Holmes. I probably won't remeber to write this at the beginning of every chapter, so let's assume that if I didn't own them while writing the first chapter, I probably won't start magically owning them later.**

**This is the first time I'm doing this, so I don't have a beta. Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes. Also, I'm aware that the title to this story is totally lame, if anyone has alternate suggestions, they would be welcome!**

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**A Study in Friendship**

**Prologue**

Harry raised his quill, preparing to press it to his parchment, but then put it down again feeling torn. He had thought long and hard about about what he was about to do, and he had made his decision, but it still felt like he was betraying his friends and Cedric's memory by doing this.

He had tried so hard to be selfless, to be good and noble and strong, to be worthy of the love his friends had given him. All his courageous actions ever since he had started going to Hogwarts were for his friends' benefit. Merlin knows he had never acted courageously or nobly before then. As a child he had been sneaky and selfish, he had cared for nobody but himself. He didn't think he was a bad person, but having grown up with no one to care for him or help him he had learned to look out for himself before anyone else.

Then, he came to Hogwarts and met his wonderful friends who enjoyed spending time with him, and cared about him like no one else in the world had done before. He hadn't wanted to disappoint them, hadn't wanted them to know the selfish side of him. The one that stole candy from a classmate, and then traded it with Piers Polkeiss in exchange for him keeping Dudley's gang away.

He thought of Hagrid's face when he told Harry that he would be a great wizard just like his parents. Dear Hagrid, who was so sure that Harry would be brave and noble and kind, just like his parents were. Harry had so wanted to be worthy of the high esteem that the man who was his first ever friend held for him. He wanted to be worthy of Hermione's affectionate hugs and Ron's companionship. So he had tried to be what they all wanted him to be, he tried hard and succeeded in acting in a way that was worthy of their admiration and friendship.

Still, he felt lonely sometimes. He knew that despite his big actions, in his heart of hearts he was still the Harry from Privet Drive. The selfish Harry who cared only for his own safety. Like that night, when they had gone to retrieve the philosopher's stone. His actions had been flawless, but in his heart he had wished that he had never discovered what the three headed dog was hiding, that he could go back upstairs to his lovely four-poster bed, and let someone else deal with the problem. He wished the same thing the night he went down to the chamber of secrets with Ron. The he would feel guilty for feeling that way, and he would wish that he could really be as brave and noble as his friends thought he was.

Sometimes, he wished that he could find someone that would know him for who he really was, and still care for him even if he was selfish and cowardly sometimes. It was a lonely feeling, knowing that there wasn't a single person in the world who knew him for who he really was and still loved him for it.

Still, even despite the bouts of loneliness and guilt, Harry was usually happy and thankful for the wonderful friends he had. But all of that was going to end now, and that was why Harry hesitated so, even though he knew that what he was about to do was necessary. He didn't want to betray his friends, it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had to! He was so tired of the fear and the pain, of the nightmares. Being locked in his room for four days had given him a lot of time to think: he thought about how the dementor incident was just the beginning, how he didn't want to spend the rest of his life being afraid. He was sick of being the one who jumped into danger to save other people. He thought about how it was the time to do something to save himself.

And he decided that it was time. After four years of keeping to the charade, of acting like the good little Gryffindor he so wished he really was, he was going to do the cowardly and selfish thing.

He lowered the quill to the parchment again, and began to write:

_Voldemort,_

No, that was no good. He needed to be more respectful if he wanted to reach an agreement with the dark lord.

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know that I am the very last person you are expecting to hear from, considering how much you want me dead, but that's actually the reason I'm writing to you. I want to know why you want to kill me. We both know that what happened to you when I was a baby had absolutely nothing to do with me, it was my mom's sacrifice that saved me. Also, as you must know from spending a year attached to the back of Quirrell's head as he taught us, I'm a completely average wizard, and have no special powers whatsoever, so I really can't think of a way in which I would be a threat to you. I escaped you by pure luck, and since I can't count on getting lucky next time, and I really don't want to die, I think it would be in my best interest to get you to stop wanting to kill me. Only, I don't know why you want to kill me in the first place. Once I do know, maybe we'd be able to work something out between us. Maybe I could spy on Dumbledore for you or something?_

_Respectfully,_

_Harry Potter._

Harry read over the letter and grimaced. The whole letter sounded incredibly stupid. The whole idea of sending Voldemort a letter was incredibly stupid, but Harry could think of no other way to contact Voldemort, so he'd just have to settle for the letter, even if it didn't sit with him right- writing Voldemort a letter, as if he were his friend or something! Still, there was nothing for it, he wanted to survive and if doing something stupid and idiotic (and traitorous) was what it took to make it out of this war alive, then so be it.

He woke Hedwig up from her nap, and gave her the letter to give to Voldemort.

"Take this to Voldemort Hedwig"

She gave him a sharp look, almost as if she was wondering if he was crazy.

"No, I really mean it, bring this to Voldemort, it's a matter of life or death to me, and when you're done don't come back here. Uncle Vernon is in a really volatile mood, and I'm scared he'll lock you back up in your cage if you so much as make a sound. Anyways, I don't have the means to clean your cage now I'm locked in here, this place isn't fit for you to live in. Go to Ron and Hermione, they'll take good care of you till school starts up again."

Hedwig hooted reluctantly, but took off towards the sky.

As he watched Hedwig become a speck in the sky and vanish, he wondered at the fact that despite feeling guilty for what he had just done, there was a happiness blooming inside him. He was happy to be helping himself for once, to be doing something useful.

He turned away from the window with a slight smile on his face, not noticing the gray eyes that were watching him from the house next door.

Sherlock Holmes, of number two Privet Drive, watched the Potter kid through his bedroom window. It seemed as though he given his owl a letter and then sent her off to deliver it. But that didn't make any sense, pigeons were used for delivering mail, not owls, and anyways, who used a pigeon to send mail nowadays? It was completely illogical! Another strange puzzle piece in the already complex mystery that Harry Potter had presented him with. The strangeness of the mystery didn't bother him, on the contrary: he was feeling positively giddy at the thought of such a complex and mysterious problem. He glanced at the boy's window again. He had not seen the boy leave the room for four days, he was probably locked in there. Further proof that the boy was being abused.

He had told the police of course, about how the Dursleys were abusing their nephew, but Lestrade said that he couldn't just arrest people because someone had suspicions that they were abusive. That made Sherlock angry- they weren't suspicions, they were deductions!

He had explained to Lestrade how suspicious it was that the Dursleys, who were always so ridiculously obsessed with showing what a normal, average family they were, were so quick to speak about how their nephew was a hooligan and a criminal. Almost as if they didn't want anyone to trust the boy or look too closely into his life.

He told Lestrade how the clothes that the Potter boy wore weren't some stupid punk fashion statement like the adults seemed to think, Sherlock knew enough about the way youth his age dressed to know that his clothes weren't the kind that were torn on purpose. His clothes were the kind of clothes poor people wore because they couldn't afford anything better- ugly, old, torn up. And yet the Dursleys were very well off, and had just bought a new car that had cost quite a bit of money according to Vernon Dursley's boasts.

He asked Lestrade if he didn't think it was suspicious that the boy always kept just far enough away from his uncle's reach, almost subconsciously. As if he had been conditioned for years to stay out of the range of Dursley's fists.

Lestrade had listened patiently, and looked like he wanted to believe him (at least in that Lestrade was better than the DIs in his previous home in London, the ones who wouldn't listen to him when he insisted that little Carl Powers had been murdered. Lestrade listened to him and heeded his advice ever since he had helped solve that easy little robbery case) but in the end, he had sighed and told Sherlock he couldn't start arresting people because of torn shirts and vague suspicions. He asked Sherlock if he knew how many times the police was called because a neighbor heard a child screaming and thought he was being abused and it turned out that the kid was just throwing a temper tantrum. The DI told Sherlock that if he could convince the Potter boy to complain, or if he witnessed Potter being harmed, then he would be able to do something about it.

Sherlock had scowled and stormed off, mumbling about stupidity and incompetence.

What Sherlock hadn't told Lestrade was that he suspected that Potter was hiding a secret that was far bigger than just being abused, which was the reason that when he finally saw Dursley harming Potter with his own eyes a couple days later, he didn't go straight to Lestrade, but instead kept it to himself.

From the very start he had suspected that there was something more to the whole situation than just a normal case of abuse. For one thing, not only was Potter scared of the Durselys, the Dursleys we afraid of Potter in return. It sounded funny that the Dursleys were scared of Potter, considering how they treated him, but it was almost like they treated him that way so that he would be too scared of them to do something to them in return. Sherlock saw how they always watched Potter out of the corner of their eyes, flinching whenever he made a sudden movement.

Another strange thing was the owls that were constantly flying in and out of Potter's window. He had absolutely no idea what the meaning of that could be, which was strange because he was usually very good at figuring out the meaning behind strange situations. The way he saw it, every action in the world led to a reaction, and every reaction had an action that led to it. If something seemed strange or impossible, it was only because you didn't know what caused that thing to happen. So there was a perfectly reasonable explanation behind the owls, Sherlock just had to figure it out.

So far, Sherlock's theory was that Potter was part of a secret group. A dangerous one if the way the Dursleys watched him was any indication. It wasn't only the owls and the way the Dursleys acted around Potter that led him to this conclusion, it was also the way Potter talked and acted- as if he weren't really a part of this world, as if he came from somewhere different.

This was confirmed to him the day he had witnessed Potter being harmed by this uncle. "Your lot" Vernon had said, "Your lot don't get on our news".

As for the nature of the secret group, Sherlock had a suspicion, but it was such a ridiculous one that he didn't even acknowledge it in his own mind. It was preposterous to think that there were people that could do ma-. Never mind. He wasn't thinking about that ridiculous theory.

And yet, the noise that Sherlock had heard definitely hadn't been a car backfiring. The noise had startled Sherlock who had been studying the earth in his back yard and comparing it to the earth in the park down the road. When he saw the the commotion involved Potter, Sherlock snuck into the Dursleys' garden and crouched behind a bush, observing the confrontatin, hoping it would shed some light on the mystery that was Potter. But far from explaining things to him, the encounter just left Sherlock with even more questions than before. Sherlock was observant enough to see that no car on the street had backfired, and he had studied the sounds of a gunshot enough to know that the sound wasn't of a gun being fired either.

The Dursleys had seemed to think that Potter had made the noise, and while Potter had insisted that he hadn't, he didn't seem to think it was a stupid assumption on the Dursleys' part. When Vernon had accused him of making the noise, he should have retorted that Vernon was obviously being stupid for suspecting him of making the noise when it couldn't possibly have been him. After all, the kid hadn't been holding anything in his hands that could have made such a sound, and yet Potter didn't think it was strange that his relatives were accusing him of making a sound he couldn't possibly have made.

And that stick that he had pulled out of the pocket of his jeans, holding it like it was a weapon, it looked disturbingly like a magic wa-. No. He wasn't thinking about that absurd theory.

Still, Vernon Dursley had started choking Potter, when he suddenly let go as if electrified, but Potter had not touched him. No, no, no, no, no! He refused to consider something that was absolutely impossible.

And yet, that was the only possible explanation for all the bizarre things he had been noticing ever since Potter had come back from his supposed school. And it fit perfectly- why the Dursleys who were so obsessed with being normal, were so scared of anyone looking at him too closely, how they were scared of him despite the way they treated him.

But magic? Impossible!

The mystery was enough to drive Sherlock mad, which was the reason he hadn't told Lestrade that he had seen Potter's uncle strangling him, even though that would have prooved that he had been right (And there was nothing Sherlock liked better than proving that he was right). If Potter was removed from the Dursley's care, he could be taken to a foster home where Sherlock would never see him again! And that would be unacceptable- Potter couldn't leave until Sherlock had unraveled the mystery that surrounded him.

Sherlock knew it wasn't right to let Potter stay in an abusive environment when he could get him out of it, and despite the fact that he wasn't a very compassionate person, he still hated the fact that a kid, only two years younger than himself, was being treated like a prisoner in his own home. So he had come up with a plan. A brilliant plan (as all of his plans were). A plan that would allow him to keep Potter where he could observe him and still get him away from his disgusting family.

Sherlock had deduced that the Dursleys were going out tonight when he had seen Vernon enter the house carrying a bag from a place that rented out tuxedoes. Tonight, the house next door to his would be empty save for Potter who would probably be locked in his room.

Sherlock could easily break into number four. Once he was there, he would pick the lock to Potter's room, and introduce himself. He would explain how he had deduced that Potter wasn't being treated right by his relatives, how the police wouldn't do anything, and offer Potter the opportunity to move in with him to hide from his relatives.

Sherlock was a great actor, and could easily play the part of the horrified and sympathetic seventeen-year-old neighbor (He would even be partially sincere) and Potter would be delighted to get away from his horrid relatives. He would move in to Sherlock's house where he would be safe from his awful family, and nice and close to Sherlock, so that Sherlock would finally be able to solve the mystery that Potter presented.

It was a perfect plan, the only part he was worried about was convincing Potter to leave his relatives and move in with him. It made perfect sense to Sherlock that Potter should leave his family and come with Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't a normal peson, and he wasn't sure if a normal person would want to go along with the plan. Maybe it broke some stupid social convention that Sherlock had never bothered learning?

No, he reassured himself, Potter would be happy to leave the awful people who lock him in his room and move in with his nice, sympathetic neighbor, the plan was foolproof!

And then, when Sherlock solved the mystery that surrounded Potter, he would turn Dursley in to the police and let them deal with Potter and his family. And then everyone would be happy (except for Dursley who deserved to suffer anyways), it would all turn out perfectly!

At least, that's what he thought...

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So, how's that for a prologue? I'd really be thankful for any constructive critisism, because I have absolutely no idea if this is any good or not. Should I continue? Should I burn this? Let me know!


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey all, I'm back with another chapter. I'd really like to thank anyone that reviewed, alerted, or added this story to their favorites. Without your encouragement this story might have died. I don't really like this chapter, but I don't think I can make it any better without a beta. If anyone is interested in helping me- please send me a PM.**

**I still don't own Harry Potter or Sherlock. Duh.**

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**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter One**

Harry lay on his back in bed feeling rather content. Yes, his situation was bloody awful right now, what with the upcoming trial at the ministry, and his the silence of his friends, but at least he felt like he had done something productive rather than just sitting in his room wallowing in misery. He was doing something to help himself, and it felt really good. Plus, the Dursleys were gone for the night, which was always a good thing, off to some stupid garden competition.

He refused to brood or sulk or contemplate the reasons his life sucked (if he started, he'd never finish). Instead, he lay in bed enjoying the silence that the departure of the Dursleys had brought.

A sudden crash had him sitting upright in bed, reaching for his wand. He listened for more noises, but after the initial crash that had startled him everything became quiet again. Still, Harry did not lie back down. If a human had caused that noise that meant there could be burglars in the house. It could also mean something more sinister, but Harry tried not to think of that.

He kept his wand held in his hand, and crept silently to the corner of his room, where he'd be able to spot anyone who came in before they could see him. A moment later he was glad he had done so; there was a rustling sound from the doorknob, as if someone was picking the lock. A second later a click sounded and the door swung open.

Harry leapt in front of the intruder, wand held aloft, and stopped abruptly in surprise.

He knew the person standing at the door, and it wasn't a burglar or a death eater- it was the new kid whose family had moved into number two, Privet Drive. The previous owner had gotten remarried and moved in with her husband, and the new tenants were a mother, and a boy around Harry's age. Apparently the boy's father was dead, and the second son in the family lived on his own in London.

Harry had heard Petunia gossiping about the new kid with Uncle Vernon. Apparently, he and his mother had moved into number two only a couple of weeks before Harry had arrived for the summer. He was around seventeen years old, and, according to Aunt Petunia, completely insane.

Aunt Petunia had taken to telling anyone who would listen about how Mrs. Number Three had heard the boy complaining to his mother that Little Whinging was boring because there were no serial killers there. Her newest story was that the kid liked to take dead animals home and disect them.

Since Petunia had been telling all the neighbors false stories about Harry for years, Harry knew that her stories should probably taken with a grain of salt.. In fact, Harry liked the kid (Sheldon, was it?) on principle, simply because Vernon and Petunia disapproved of him.

Right now though, Harry's feeling for the kid (no, not Sheldon, it was a really weird name) were anything but friendly. The boy had really given him a scare, and even though Harry didn't think he posed much of a threat he still didn't like the audacity of the boy who had broken into his house.

Harry had turned on the light in his room, and was preparing to tear the kid a new one, when he actually saw the boy's face, and in his surprise, forgot to be angry. Harry had expected the stranger to look scared, guilty or apologetic- he _had_ just been caught braking in to a stranger's home after all, but the boy didn't look at all uncomfortable with the fact that he had been caught in the act. In fact, the boy was ignoring Harry completely; he was staring intently at the floor.

The floor that, Harry belatedly realized, had his schoolbooks thrown all over it. Schoolbooks with titles like 'A History of Magic' and 'The Standard Book of Spells (grade four)'. One of the books, ('Break with Banshees') even had a moving picture on it. Lockhart was winking and waving stupidly from his picture at the muggle boy. Idiot. Couldn't he tell that the boy was a muggle?

This was bad, Harry knew. Muggles weren't supposed to witness magic, it went against the statue of secrecy.

He turned back to the boy, trying desperately to think of an excuse that would explain the magic books, and was once again surprised by what he saw. He had been expecting the boy to look shocked and confused. Instead, he saw that the kid had started pacing around in circles madly muttering to himself. Harry stared at him in shock for a second. Maybe he really was crazy? He tried to listen to what the kid was muttering.

"'…went by the technique: if there's no other explanation, then the only one left must be the correct one no matter how unlikely it is. Magic is the only explanation-the wand he is holding, and his spell books are proof that he can perform magic. But it's impossible! Everything in the world has to be logical, there has to be an explanation to everything. Magic doesn't have and explanation. There's absolutely no proof that it exists. Unless-"

He suddenly jumped into the air and clapped his hands together looking delighted.

"Magic is thought to be impossible because there is no proof or logical explination for it. But if there was a magical community they would be so much more advanced than us. They could easily hide any evidence that would prove the existance of magic. Which means that it isn't impossible, we simply don't have the information the proves the logic behind it!"

"It's perfect!" he cried out, no longer murmuring, but rather shouting in excitement "Magic would explain everything, and it would all make perfect sense too because the lack of evidence to support the existence of magic doesn't mean there isn't a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, it just means that the magical folk have hidden the evidence. Of course! It's brilliant! It's all so brilliant!"

Harry was seriously alarmed by this point. He had thought he might be able to convince the muggle that he was imagining things. Any normal muggle would convince themselves they were hallucinating, he wouldn't even need to convince them, but the boy was so sure of himself, so confident in his being right, that he didn't think the boy would fall for that. He had to do something though- muggles weren't supposed to know about magic. So Harry made his best attempt at regaining control of the situation:

"Would you mind telling me what the hell you are doing in my house?" he demanded, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. The boy started in surprise, looking as though he had forgotten Harry was there. He probably had, thought Harry.

"I came to rescue you" said the boy (Sherlock! that was the name!), matter-of-factly.

"Rescue me?" repeated Harry blankly.

"Yes, of course, rescue you! It was obvious that you were being mistreated by your relatives. Your baggy clothes, you glasses, your fingernails, they all just screamed abuse. I could have gone to the police, but I didn't want to do that because I knew you were hiding something else and I wanted to find out what it was.

Instead, I was going to offer you to hide from your relatives in my house. That way, you would be in the perfect position for me to observe you and figure out what you were hiding, and you would be away from those disgusting idiots you are related to- a win-win situation. I never expected to solve the mystery so fast though, I've really outdone myself this time!"

Harry stared at him open-mouthed. He was feeling touched that someone had actually noticed he was miserable, that someone had cared. He was feeling panicky because muggles really really weren't supposed to know about magic, but the boy had already figured it all out. And he was feeling just a little bit hopeful- being able to get away from the Dursleys would be a dream come true. The boy might be strange, but he seemed harmless enough and Harry thought his intentions were good. In any case he couldn't be any worse than the Dursleys.

But Sherlock wasn't done talking yet: "It's all obvious of course. At first I discarded the idea of you having magic, even though it would have explained all the strange things that happened around you, because the idea of maic was illogical. But if magic really does have a scientific explanation, it was just covered up by your society in order to keep yourselves secret, that would make the only logical conclusion I can thing of- magic, possible. It anwers all my questions perfectly! You're a wizard, aren't you?"

He looked triumphant and smug for one moment, before his face fell again.

"But that still doesn't make sense, if you can do magic, why on earth would you allow your relatives to treat you the way they do? Surely you can overpower them? I don't understand it, but there's got to be an explination"

"Actually-" began Harry, but the crazy muggle interrupted him before he could continue: "No no no, shut up shut up shut up! Your noise making is bothering me, I need quiet in order to solve this problem."

He started pacing again muttering- "There has to be an explanation, there always is one, in order to find it one must simply find all the puzzle pieces. Why would you allow yourself to be abused, when you could easily harm your relatives doing magic? I'm a certified genius, I could figure this out in 20 seconds if I just had two minutes of quiet without your noisy breathing messing up my thinking process. Would you shut up for a second while I think?"

"Well," said Harry, amused despite himself "I _could_ shut up and let you think until you figure out the anwer, or I could just tell you why I don't use magic against my relatives."

"Oh, was that what you were going to say? Well, go on then, why don't you use magic against them?" the boy demanded, as if he hadn't been the one to interrupt Harry in the first place.

"It's illegal for underage wizards to use magic in non-magical areas, and even if I wasn't underage, it's illegal for wizards to use magic against non-wizards." Said Harry, who was so amused by the stranger's obsessive compulsive pacing and muttering, that he forgot to be mad at him for breaking into his home, or alarmed that he had just broken the statue of secrecy. The boy had figured out about magic on his own, and it wasn't like Harry could obliviate him, so he didn't see the harm in telling the mad muggle more.

"Of course!" crowed said muggle triumphantly "It's all so logical: If wizards have managed to keep themselves a secret for so long, they must have a government of some kind, and laws that prevent you people from exposing yourselves to the world! I've done it, I've solved the mystery!"

He looked so smug that Harry couldn't help but laugh, then, remembering the reason the boy had come in the first place, he sobered up.

"I don't suppose your offer of letting me hide from my relatives at your house is still standing, considering you've already solved the mystery you wanted to figure out?" he asked hopefully. The muggle was weird, but he was also funny, and nice in his own way. But Harry supposed that now the kid had the answer to the mystery, he would have no reason for wanting Harry around his house.

"What?" said the boy, who was still apparently still basking in the glow of having discovered the answer to his puzzle "Of course you're still invited to stay in my house! Just because I've figured out your secret doesn't mean I'm satisfied! Now I need to find out what causes magic, how it works, what rules of nature can and can't it break? What kinds of crimes can be commited with magic? It's a shame you can't do magic while you're here, I would so love to experiment with your magic, see if there's any machinery that can detect it, find out how it works, but I suppose we'll just have to work with theory.

In any case, you still have to come to my house, I'm sure I could figure it all out on my own eventually, but it would be much quicker and easier with your help. So you really must stay with me until I'm satisfied. You do want to stay with me, don't you?"

"Yeah, I want to!" said Harry grinning "My name's Harry, by the way." He held out his hand.

"Sherlock," said the boy shaking Harry's hand and grinning like a loon "Sherlock Holmes."

So while Harry started packing all his things away in preparation for his imminent escape from the Dursleys, he asked Sherlock about himself, and Sherlock introduced himself more thoroughly. He also wasted no time in telling Harry that he had been part of the wizarding world for four years, that he didn't like tomatoes, and that he kept his most prized possesions under the loose floor board in his room. Needless to say, Harry was impressed. Occasionally, Sherlock would stop to ask questions about different objects Harry was putting in his trunk. He practically shivered with delight when Harry showed him his invisibility cloak.

"Just imagine the different crime options there are in the magical world Harry! You could kill a man in the middle of the street and there would be no one to tell the police who it was, you could enchant a knife to strike your victim in the back without getting anywhere near him, therefore leaving no clues!" He seemed so excited that if Harry hadn't known that it was the challenge of the mystery that excited him, he would have thought Sherlock was a serial killer. As it was, he didn't have the heart to tell Sherlock that most wizards were about as imaginative as a sack of bricks, and would probably provide no challenge for him.

Harry might not have known the mad muggle long, but he could already tell that he thrived on solving puzzles and challenging his mind. It made him think that Sherlock probably hated Little Whinging as much as he did- a dull place, where the biggest crime that went on was Dudley's gang vandalizing the park and smoking weed.

When he asked Sherlock what caused Sherlock's family to move to this hellhole he told Harry it was supposedly because his mom got a good job offer that required that they move there. "But I think it's just an excuse, Mummy says that her job here is much better than the one she had in London, but as far as I can tell, the job here is nearly identical to the one she had in London, and pays more or less the same. I think the real reason she moved was because of me. Both of us weren't really happy in London, but I think is was the fact that I had it bad that caused her to decide to move."

When Harry asked what Sherlock's problem with his previous home was, Sherlock said that it was because the police force in the area were idiots, and would never heed his advice. "But that's not why Mummy wanted us to move, she wasn't happy because I was always alone at school and didn't have any friends" The simple, matter-of-fact way he said it, showed that he couldn't care less if he had friends or not.

Harry could understand why Sherlock would have trouble making friends, what with his brilliant mind, striking looks, and intense personality, he probably intimidated most people. Harry, though, had grown up with the loud and menacing Uncle Vernon, and had spent the last four years of his life escaping the evilest dark wizard of the century who was intent on killing him. He wasn't intimidated so easily. He had, in fact, taken a liking to Sherlock. Sherlock was so straightforward: no pretense, no fake politeness, Harry had the feeling that Sherlock wouldn't have judged him at all for writing the letter to Voldemort- he would have understood perfectly.

"The move hasn't been working out the way Mummy thought it would though" continued Sherlock, unaware of Harry's thoughts, "She thought that I'd be able to meet new people if we were in a new place. She really doesn't like how alone I am- she thinks it makes me even more antisocial than I already am, so she had high hopes for the move. So far, it has been a dissapointment- I haven't yet met a single person whose presence I could bear for more than 30 seconds, all the people in my high school are such idiots, and Mummy's getting rather desperate for me to have a friend. It's good for us though, she'll be so happy to see me interacting with someone my age, that she won't even think of asking any awkward questions. She'll be so delighted that she wouldn't risk anything that might scare you off."

Harry was surprised to hear that Sherlock was still in high school- he looked around 17 or 18 years old, which was the right age to be in high school, but Sherlock was obviously a genius. He could have easily skipped a grade or five with his brilliant mind, so why wasn't he in college?

When he voiced his question, Sherlock smirked and explained that his being smart didn't mean he was good at school. Sherlock refused to study subjects that he deemed useless, and almost all the subjects he was required to learn at school fell under that category. He just deleted every single history or literature lesson from his mind the second it was over, and thus failed half his classes. His amazing grades in Chemistry and his high IQ weren't enough to make up for his appalling grades in other subjects.

Harry thought that was rather amusing, but said nothing, not wanting Sherlock to think that he was laughing at his expense. He simply hoisted his trunk up, tucked his wand in the back pocket of his jeans, and gestured Sherlock that he was ready to leave.

They quietly exited the house, locking the doors behind them, and quickly ran to the house next door where they were greeted by an ecstatic Anastasia Holmes, who was so delighted to see that her son had made a friend, once she had been introduced to Harry, that she had welcomed Harry with open arms and a warm hug.

Not five minutes after Harry and Sherlock entered number two, the advanced guard of the Order of the Phoenix apparated into number four, intending to collect Harry, only to find the house empty.

* * *

Tom was lying lazily on his couch, reading a rather dull book on the definition of 'dark arts', when an owl swooped into the room and dropped a letter on his head.

Tom put his book down and picked the letter up feeling bemused. It had been years since he had received a letter. He had no idea who could have sent it. His Death Eaters were the only ones who would have any reason to contact him, and they knew better than to do it by letter.

Letters could be intercepted, and sending one with sensitive information was a serious breach of security. If the letter had indeed been sent by a Death Eater, then someone was going to get crucio'ed tonight. He would let it be a lesson to all death eaters.

Once he had actually opened the letter and read it, his mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped the letter in shock. Potter? Potter had written him? Offered to spy on Dumbeldore for him?

It could be a trap of course, but that didn't seem very likely. If it was a trap designed to feed him false information about Dumbledore, it was a very feeble one considering Tom already had a spy that reported all of Dumbledore's movements to him. Plus, it was _so unlike _Dumbledore to do something tricky and covert- it just wasn't how he operated.

Dumbledore liked great big confrontations with a large audience, where he could lecture Tom on the power of love and the beauty of forgiveness, beg Tom to change his ways (even though they both knew that it was all for show- Tom would never change), pretend to be disappointed when Tom didn't show the slightest pang of remorse for his actions, and then throw a few spells at him.

Big public shows were Dumbledore's _thing_, and it was therefore unlikely that he was behind the letter.

This led Tom to believe that the letter was sincere, which was absolutely perfect. Tom had never expected Potter to do something like this (he had always seemed so noble and brave in their confrontations- and writing this letter was such a cowardly sneaky thing to do) but if he could gain Potter's cooperation his victory in the war was practically guarranteed. Potter was the only threat to him, and if Potter and he came to an agreement, he could be unstoppable!

He would be cautious of course, since it could still be a trap, and Tom Marvolo Riddle was no fool, but he could not suppress the triumphant smirk that appeared on his face as he sat down to write Potter a reply.

* * *

The end of chapter one! I'll try to get the next one out ASAP, but in the meantime- feel free to review and tell me what you thought.


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Chapter two's up, and this time it's new and improved because I now have a beta. Oceane- thanks for the help with the chapter! :)**

**Also, I Don't own anything.**

* * *

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Two**

The kitchen of number 12, Grimmauld Place was crowded and noisy. The nine members of the advanced guard sent to collect Harry Potter were all shouting, trying to be heard over each other's voices. Sirius Black was shaking Dedalus Diggle demanding to know where his godson was. Molly Weasley was running from one guard member to another, trying to figure out why they hadn't brought Harry with them. Mundungus Fletcher was taking advantage of the pandemonium to sneak some of the Black family silverware into his cloak.

"Silence!" roared Dumbledore. The room quieted at once. The shock of seeing Dumbledore looking anything but calm and jovial seemed to shut everyone up more effectively than anything else could.

"I want one of you to tell me everything that happened from beginning to end." Said Dumbledore gravely, "start at when you reached the house."

Lupin was the first to answer, and everyone settled down as he started speaking. "Well, everything went exactly as expected at the beginning. The Dursleys were gone, as we had planned, and everything seemed perfectly normal until we reached Harry's room."

"No it bloody well did not!" growled Mad-Eye "There was something suspicious about the whole situation from the very start!"

The rest of the advanced guard rolled their eyes. "Alastor," said Lupin patiently "You're reading too much into something very simple. You forget that muggles can't repair windows quickly like we can, so there's really nothing strange about one of the kitchen windows being broken. It was probably caused by some neighborhood kid who accidentally kicked a ball through the window.

"Is that so?" growled Mad-Eye "Think it's a coincidence do you, that the window was broken in the exact place where someone could reach their hand in through the hole and unlatch the window from the inside?"

"Mad-Eye, a Death Eater could have easily unlocked the door with a simple spell, why would he go through all the trouble of climbing in through that window?" this time it was Kingsley who spoke "It makes no sense that it was a Death Eater who broke the window, it was probably just a mistake like Remus said."

"That's what he would have wanted you to think!" exclaimed Mad-Eye triumphantly "Oldest trick in the book, that is!"

The rest of the guard rolled their eyes in exasperation, but before one of them could start arguing with Mad-Eye again, Dumbledore stopped them:

"Never mind that for now, what happened once you reached Harry's room?"

"It was empty." Said Lupin, continuing his narrative "He wasn't there, and what's more, his luggage was gone too."

"Which supports the argument that it wasn't Death Eaters that kidnapped him." put in Tonks "Death Eaters wouldn't have given him time to pack!"

"That's what they want you to think, girlie!" growled Moody again "They want to make it seem like he just ran away so that you won't suspect it was them, you're falling for their tricks!"

Tonks opened her mouth to argue, but Dumbledore interrupted her. "Enough of this, there's one very simple way to find out if Death Eaters are behind the kidnapping."

He turned to Snape "Severus, you were called to the Dark Lord's side very recently. Just an hour ago, in fact. Did Voldemort give any indication during the meeting that he had Harry in his possession?"

Snape shook his head "No, he did not. I would have said something straight away if he had, _I'm_ not incompetent" the way he said 'I'm not incompetent', with the emphasis on the 'I' seemed to indicate that he thought a certain someone else was.

"Well, I think that settles it" said Dumbledore "If Voldemort had captured Harry he would have called all his Death Eater and bragged about it, showed them how he had Harry in his power. His pride always was his downfall, it was what allowed Harry to escape from the graveyard last year.

So, we have established that Harry is not in Voldemort's possession. Can anyone think of any other explanation for his mysterious dissapearence?"

"Maybe his relatives took him with them to the suburban lawn competition?" suggested Hestia Jones.

"With his trunk?" asked Lupin skeptically.

Hestia blushed and fell silent.

"Then the only option I can think of is that Harry ran away from home" said Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I don't think that's what happened, Kingsley." Said Dumbledore thoughtfully "Both Sirius and Arthur told him to stay and Number Four, and Harry is an obedient boy;" Snape snorted at this, but Dumbledore ignored him. "If he was told not to leave his house, then I have full trust in him that he didn't run away unless he felt he absolutely had to."

"So what do you think happened, Albus?" asked Emmeline Vance softly.

"My dear Emmeline, I must admit that I am at loss. I think at this point, the best course of action would be to ask Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to write Harry letters asking him where he is. That should at least give us some idea as to whether or not he left by choice, and if he's safe. Arthur, you speak to the children in the morning."

Arthur nodded.

Sirius opened his mouth as if to argue, but Dumbledore interrupted him:

"Sirius, I know this is frustrating for you, and you must be worried, but there really is nothing else we can do for Harry at the moment. You would do well to try and worry as little as possible unless it turns out there is a problem. Good night, everyone."

They all murmured good night, and slowly departed one by one.

One floor up, Fred George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked up from the extendable ear they were leaning over looking shocked.

* * *

Harry was pissed. He knew that Ron and Hermione were just following Dumbledore's orders, but it hurt that the first time they sent him a letter since the dementor incident wasn't to comfort him or give him any advice; it was to find out where he was. On Dumbledore's orders.

It was now the second day since Harry had moved into Sherlock's house, and Harry had woken in a really good mood until he had gotten the letters from them. At first, when he had spotted Hedwig and Errol flying towards him through the window, he had felt happy to hear from his friends. That only lasted until he opened the letters and discovered that all they wanted from him was to know where he was.

Well, guess what! He thought irritably, as he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he wasn't going to tell them where he was! They only wanted to speak to him to find out if he was safe? Well, it was too late! Sherlock didn't even know him, and he had noticed how miserable Harry was and offered help. True, he had an ulterior motive, but he had noticed how bad off Harry had it, when his friends of four years hadn't, because said friends hadn't even bothered to write to him.

He knew it wasn't really Ron and Hermione's fault, that they were only writing what Dumbledore told them to, but he wished that they could just consider his feelings for once over Dumbledore's orders.

At least he had Sherlock as a friend now, thought Harry, Sherlock might be unconventional, but he was fun to be around, and he had helped Harry too. Sherlock was-

Sherlock was a dead man. Harry stared at the bathroom mirror in shock looking at the worst haircut he had ever had including the disaster of Aunt Petunia and the kitchen scissors.

All the front of Harry's hair was missing- his bangs and half the hair on the front of his scalp. It was like someone had tried to cut his hair while he was sleeping, and since he had been lying on his back had just cut off all the hair they could reach without waking Harry. And Harry had a very good suspicion as to who that someone was.

"SHERLOCK!" he bellowed "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO MY HAIR?"

He got no answer. He sighed, of course not.

When Harry stormed into Sherlock's room, he found him bent over a microscope scribbling something in a notebook.

"What did you do to my hair, Sherlock?" demanded Harry "And don't try to deny it was you, because it sure as hell wasn't me or your mom!"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope. "Of course it was me Harry, don't be ridiculous, why on earth would my mother want to cut your hair?"

"Why one earth did YOU cut my hair?" retorted Harry angrily.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, Harry, you know it'll grow back again overnight, you told me yourself how it always does that. So I really don't see how it matters."

"It matters because now I have to walk around all day looking like an utter idiot. Anyways, that's not the point, the point is- you ask permission before you sneak into a person's room in the middle of the night and cut off half their hair. What do you need my hair for anyways?"

"Don't be a baby Harry, it'll all grow back in less than 24 hours. As for what I need the hair for- I needed your DNA. You told me yesterday that most magical parents have magical children, and that it's extremely rare for a witch or wizard parent to have a non-magical kid. That means magic is probably genetic, I needed you hair to be able to look at your DNA."

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again with a sigh. There was no arguing with Sherlock, he honestly hadn't realized what he had done wrong. Instead, he decided to ask Sherlock what he had found.

"So, did you find out if magic is genetic?" he asked, mildly interested.

"Don't be silly, Harry, I don't have the necessary equipment here to be able to study that sort of thing. The kind of machinery that's used to research DNA isn't just something you can go to the store and buy."

Harry felt embarrassed, but also a bit annoyed. It wasn't his fault he didn't know any of these things! They never taught any of that in the wizarding world. "How are you going to find out if magic is genetic if you don't have the right equipment to check?" he asked irritably. If Sherlock had to cut his hair, he didn't want it to be for nothing.

"We'll probably have to break into a university or research lab in order to access the necessary equipment. Shouldn't be too complicated, but we aren't doing that today. I'll need your assistance in breaking in, and you can't help me looking like that-" he indicated Harry's hair "You look ridiculous, it'll draw attention. For now, there are some other experiments I can think of doing right here at home. Can I borrow some acromantula venom from your potion's kit?"

Harry sighed tiredly. He was really starting to regret telling Sherlock all about the wizarding world yesterday. It had seemed like a harmless thing to do at the time. After all, if Sherlock already knew about magic, did it matter how much he knew? The statue of secrecy was broken anyways, so there was no point in not telling Sherlock what he wanted to know.

Harry had told him everything- from his accidental magic at the Dursleys, to getting his Hogwarts letter, to the Triwizard Tournament last year. Sherlock had almost moaned with envy when he heard about the adventures of the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets.

"You're so lucky Harry. Back in London there was this murder that happened in the house down the street, and I managed to get there and take a look before the police mucked up all the evidence. I managed to figure out who the murderer was right away, of coures.

When I proved it was him to the police, they were going to go ambush him in his hideout. I wanted to go with them, and I think it was my right considering I was the one who figured out who he was and where he was hiding, but they wouldn't let me come along. And they never let me into a crime scene again, even though I had proved to them that I was better than any of them at solving crimes.

But you- not only are you allowed to investigate the mystery and chase after the culprit, it's actually expected of you. You would have absolutely no trouble in getting into a crime scene, the magical police force (they're called aurors, right?) would probably expect you to come help them chase after Voldemort. What a challenge!

I'm so jealous. I wish I had an archenemy- the closest thing I've got to one is Mycroft, and he doesn't really count."

"Well, you're welcome to take my place" Harry had grumbled "I know you hate boredom and would do anything for a thrill, but I could really use boredom every once in a while. I'm so tired of always having to worry about whether I or anyone around me is going to die soon.

But it's all going to be different from now on anyways- by the time I start school, I'll have reached an agreement with Voldemort, hopefully, and finally be able to spend a school year worrying about homework and not about when I'm going to die."

"Well if **I **had an archenemy" declared Sherlock "**I **would never make a truce with him. You have a gift Harry- in a world full of boredom and predictability you were given a once in a generation lifetime of adventure and challenge, and you're just throwing it away! And for what? So you can be bored!

Well, I suppose someone with your meager intellect would find enough challenge in his day to day school work that he wouldn't need a murderous enemy to break his boredom, so it's okay for you. Still, having an archenemy and just throwing it away like that!"

Harry had been unsure if he should be amused by the longing in Sherlock's voice, or be insulted by the 'meager intellect' comment. Finally he decided that since Sherlock was so arrogant he would probably call even Hermione an idiot, he shouldn't be too insulted.

He sniggered at Sherlock instead "That all sounds very nice Sherlock, right up until the moment where your archenemy overpowers you and you die, then it's a bit of a letdown."

Sherlock considered that for a moment "You're right. You're no match for Voldemort; he'd beat you for sure. Maybe it's better if you leave the whole having a deadly enemy thing to me. You're not built for that sort of thing, and I really don't want you to die."

"You don't?" asked Harry, feeling touched. He knew that while Sherlock was a good guy, he didn't experience emotions the way other people did. He hadn't known for sure that Sherlock cared what would happen to him one way or the other until now.

"Of course I don't want you to die, you're my friend!" exclaimed Sherlock "At least, I think you are- I've never had a friend before. Am I your friend?"

Harry chuckled and nodded.

His friendship with Sherlock was very different from his friendship with Ron and Hermione, and that was really the only thing he had to compare it to, but in some ways he was just as close to Sherlock as he was to them. Maybe even more so because Sherlock and Harry's personalities were so compatible- Harry felt that he could be himself around Sherlock in a way he never could be around his other friends.

At least, that's what he had been thinking at the time. Remembering the way his hair looked in the mirror, he scolded himself for getting attached to the bastard so quickly. If only he hadn't taken a liking to the madman, his hair would be its normal messy self right now, and he wouldn't be planning a break-in to a research lab in the near future.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts to find that Sherlock had been talking about the experiments he was planning to conduct this whole time, apparently not noticing that Harry wasn't listening. Harry tried to understand what Sherlock was talking about, but he was using too many long and complicated words, and Harry had absolutely no idea what he was saying.

"You know, I never learned anything past fourth-grade biology" he commented "So I have no clue what you're talking about. I barely understood what you said about DNA."

Sherlock stopped talking for a second and looked at him "That's okay, I don't expect you to understand, talking out loud just helps my thinking process. Before you came along I would talk to him." he pointed at the wall, where a smiley face was drawn in yellow marking pen. Then he carried right on talking about his experiment.

Harry shook his head in bemusement and turned to go downstairs and get himself some breakfast, when a loud pop startled him, and caused Sherlock to stop talking.

A house-elf was standing on Sherlock's bed looking around in confusion. She spotted Harry and asked "Harry Potter Sir? Yorry has a letter to give to yous from the Dark Lord, sir."

She (Harry was pretty sure it was a female but with elves it was hard to tell) held out a short hand to give Harry a roll of parchment. Harry was just about to take it, when the elf jumped back in shock looking startled- Sherlock had just leapt in front of her.

"Fascinating!" said Sherlock, looking the elf up and down. Harry rolled his eyes and took the parchment from the elf, who was still eyeing Sherlock warily.

"So you're a house-elf?" asked Sherlock "Harry's told me about your kind. Oh, how I would love to dissect your brain. My theory is that your nucleus accumbens is somehow wired to trigger a reward response whenever you obey orders. After you die, could I have your body? It would be the equivalent of donating your body to science, and there's so much research I want to do about your species. But even before you die, there are some experiments we could do. I can very easily break into a hospital, and I would love to give you an MRI, do you have any other duties you need to do, or are you free at the moment? If you are, we could go to the hospital right now! And while we were there we could also-"

Harry stopped listening to Sherlock at this point, and instead unrolled the piece of parchment, and read what it said there:

_Potter,_

_First of all let me commend you for coming to the obvious realization that you cannot beat me. You _would_ do well to keep on my good side._

_Other than that, you are an utter idiot. You don't send information as sensitive as that which you wrote to me with an owl. It's ridiculously easy to intercept an owl and read the letter it carries. In fact, I'm very surprised it hasn't happened to you yet. As you can see, I sent my letter to you with my house-elf, much safer. Considering you don't own an elf, I have charmed this parchment with the Protean Charm. Anything you write on this parchment appears on a similar piece of parchment in my possession, and vice versa. When we run out of room on this parchment, I shall send my elf to you again with another one._

_As for the reason I want to kill you- there was a prophecy made, some 3 months before you were born, that went as follows: _

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal-'_

_There is more to the prophecy, but my spy, who was listening in on the conversasion was caught at that point, and couldn't hear the rest. I tried to find out how it ended, but wasn't able to. As you can guess the prophecy spoke of you- you were born at the end of July and your parents had defied me three times. I didn't know what the rest of the prophecy said, but I figured the best course of action would be to kill you just in case. It is possible, however,that the continuation of the prophecy would have stated you would be of some use to me. I wasn't taking any chances as long as I didn't know for sure how it ended, but with your cooperation we could find out what it says. If what it says is favorable to me; I will abandon my quest to kill you. Are you willing to help me retrieve the complete prophecy? _

_It would do you well to remember that if you decide not to cooperate, I will continue to try my hardest to kill you. And I am the most powerful wizard in the world, I could crush you like a cockroach. Keep that in mind before you make your decision._

_Regards, _

_Lord Voldemort._

Harry looked up from the letter, stunned, and turned show it to Sherlock, anxious for his advice.

When he turned to face Sherlock, he saw a sight that really shouldn't have surprised him. Sherlock was staring helplessly at Yorry, who was bawling her eyes out, great heavy tears splashing from her eyes and staining her pillowcase.

"What happened?" he asked Sherlock, suspecting the answer already.

"I don't know!" answered Sherlock "I was just telling her about what kind of experiments I could do with her body if she decided to donate it to me after death, and she just started crying. Do you think it was something I said?"

Harry rolled his eyes and crouched down to face the sobbing elf. "Yorry, I'm very sorry for anything Sherlock said to you. You don't have to do what he says, don't worry."

"Y-Y-Yorry doesn't want t-t-to have hers body dissected for science experimentses when she dies!" bawled the elf "Y-Y-Yorry wants to have hers head chopped off and hung next to her ancestors! Yorry is a good elf, and s-s-she w-w-wantses a place on the family wall!"

"Err… okay," said Harry hesitantly "You can have your head chopped off once you die, Yorry, you don't have to listen to Sherlock. In fact, if you die, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that your head is hung next to your ancestors. Is that okay?"

"Oh, thank you Mister Potter! Mister Potter is a very great wizard indeed! So generous! So kind!" cried Yorry, throwing her arms around Harry.

Harry hesitantly patted her on the back. "Okay, umm… Thanks. You've done your job, so why don't you just go back home to your master, and tell him I have the letter."

"Yes, Master Harry sir, I will Master Harry sir!" and with that, she popped away and was gone.

Sherlock stared at the place Yorry had vanished from with a grimace on his face. "You know, I was thinking of acquiring an elf in the future, it could be so useful, having one around. But if owning an elf involves dealing with _that_ kind of thing all the time, I think I'll pass."

Harry laughed.

* * *

Tom was pacing nervously up and down his study. He had given his elf the letter to give to Potter 10 minutes ago, and she still wasn't back yet. She was supposed to just deliver the letter and then pop straight back to him to report what she saw. And he knew it didn't take her that long to find Potter- house-elf magic was very powerful.

He needed to know where Potter was. If he was with the Order of the Phoenix it was much more likely that the letter was a planned trap. Even if he wasn't, Tom would still proceed cautiously of course, he wasn't stupid. But knowing whether or not Potter was with the Order would give him a clearer idea of the situation.

Where was that blasted elf?

With a pop, aforementioned blasted elf appeared in his study. Tom looked down at her in surprise. She was breathing quickly as if she were on the verge of a panic attack, and there were dried tears all over her face.

"What's wrong, Yorry?" asked Tom, not with compassion, but rather curiosity "Did Potter try to capture you or hurt you?"

"Oh no, Master Dark Lord Sir! Harry Potter didn'ts try to hurt Yorry sir, Harry Potter sir is a kind and noble wizard!" Tom rolled his eyes "Master Harry was kind to Yorry sir! He was good and thoughtful!"

"Yes, I get it" growled Tom "But if the sun shines out of Potter's ass, what went wrong?"

"It's Harry Potter's friend sir" gulped Yorry "Harry Potter is kind, but his friend sir- Harry Potter's friend is **EVIL**".

* * *

And that concludes chapter 3. If you noticed any improvement the grammar of spelling- the credit goes to Oceane Meldagon. Please review, especially if you have any questions or suggestions!


	4. Chapter 3

**Thanks to all the reviewer, alert adders and favoriters, and thanks to my beta who is really quite awesome!**

**I got a review saying that the Tom in my story is a bit childish, and I want to explain why I made him that way. If you don't care why, you can skip straight to the story. The reason is, that I think being separated from a piece of your soul, would cause you to be seperated from your emotions too in a way. Tom hasn't really been connected to his emotions, and therefore hasn't really experianced any emotional growth since he was 16. He is smarter and more experianced than a normal 16-year-old, because he has gone through a lot and has learned from it, but emotionaly he is still a teenager. Hope that makes sense.**

**Note: In this universe Avery didn't F*** up, and Voldemort knew from the beginning that only he or Harry could retrieve the prophecy.**

* * *

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Three**

Sherlock reread the letter that Voldemort had sent Harry one more time. He smirked triumphantly as he read the paragraph explaining Voldemort's reasons for coming after Harry in the first place. There was so much he had been able to deduce about Voldemort's motives and history from that simple paragraph.

Harry, of course, had taken the letter at face value and had read nothing more in the letter other than what it said. Sherlock had known he would. In a different person, Sherlock would have found the naivety frustrating, but surprisingly, Harry's complete cluelessness didn't bother him at all.

Harry was fun, and accepting, and he cared about Sherlock. In the short time they had known each other, Sherlock and Harry had formed a tight companionship which stemmed from the fact that their personalities just meshed. So it was okay if Harry was being oblivious or naïve, because he had Sherlock to give him advice and explain to him what was going on.

Sherlock cherished the role he held in Harry's life- someone to help and guide him. It was a way for him to repay Harry for the friendship and acceptance Harry had gifted him with ever since the very first night he had known him.

Still, just because Sherlock forgave Harry his cluelessness, didn't mean he had to make Harry's life easy. "I'm not telling you what I've deduced; try figuring it out on your own for once!"

"Why should I?" demanded Harry "if you already know and can tell me?"

"Because it's more fun for me this way" replied Sherlock "Come on, Harry, think of it as a challenge."

Harry huffed. Maybe he didn't enjoy challenges, how perplexing.

"I'll give you a hint." said Sherlock "Start from the fact that Voldemort's decision to come after you and your parents was completely irrational."

"No it wasn't!" said Harry "Voldemort says right here why he did it, and it sounds perfectly rational to me. If I knew someone had the power to destroy me, even if I didn't know if he would or not, I'd try to kill him just in case. It makes perfect sense."

Sherlock wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration, but settled for rolling his eyes. "It is not logical! What if the continuation of the prophecy was- 'but the boy will only vanquish the Dark Lord, if the Dark Lord kills his family, otherwise, the boy will help the Dark Lord win in the war' he had no way of knowing if the prophecy might have ended that way, it was a stupid move!"

"Big deal!" said Harry irritably "I still don't think that the fact that he acted stupidly is in any way significant. 90 percent of the wizards in the world have never heard of common sense, so Voldemort acting stupidly wouldn't surprise me at all."

Sherlock sneered in disgust, the lack of logic that plagued so many wizards (at least according to Harry's stories) was a source of great disappointment to him. If there was such a thing as magic, why did it have to be wasted on such complete morons?

Sherlock knew though, that the Dark Lord wasn't a complete moron. "Harry, that may be true of most wizards in the magical world, but you don't become the greatest Dark Lord of the century by being stupid and illogical. Voldemort couldn't have risen as far as he had, or become as famous as he had, by blundering about the way most wizards do. No, the Dark Lord isn't an idiot.

"Anyways, according to Voldemort the prophecy was made a couple months before you were born. He only attacked you when you were a year old, why the wait?

"No, Voldemort's excuse for coming after you is meant to cover something else up. Surely you can figure out what?"

"No, I can't!" said Harry stubbornly. "Well then, I guess you'll just have to stay in the dark. If you don't figure it out in a week's time I'll tell you. For now, just write him saying you agree to help him in finding out how the prophecy ends. Now, pass me that vial labeled 'arsenic', would you?"

_Lord Voldemort, I am willing to help you find out how the prophecy ends. What do I have to do?_

He had barely finished writing, when an answer started scribbling itself on the parchement:

_Potter,_

_There is a copy of the prophecy hidden in the ministry of magic. Only the people of whom the prophecy speaks are able to retrieve it, but there are wards in that area that would cause an alarm should I enter the building. Therefore you must retrieve the prophecy. On the day of your hearing at the ministry, Lucius Malfoy will intercept you and find an excuse to get you alone. You will follow him to the room where the copy of the prophecy is kept. You will then take the prophecy and give it to my house-elf who will bring it to me. I will then share what the prophecy says with you through this parchment._

"How did he know I have a hearing at the ministry?" demanded Harry.

"He probably has many Death Eaters who work for the ministry. You yourself told me about the animal executioner Macnair, and there are probably more. Not to mention Lucius Malfoy with direct connections to the Minister. Here, let me see the letter."

Harry handed it to him.

"No, no! That's no good!" declared Sherlock, once he was done reading the letter "What if the prophecy says you might kill him or something? He would listen to the prophecy, then lie to you about what it says, so you'll think he doesn't want to kill you anymore, and then, once you're off your guard, he'll kill you! You have to demand to be present while he listens to the prophecy!"

Harry turned to the parchment and wrote:

_What if the prophecy says I might kill you or something? You would listen to the prophecy, then lie to me about what it says, so I'll think you don't want to kill me anymore, and then, once I'm off my guard, you'll kill me! I want to be there when you listen to the prophecy. That's the only way it's fair_. After a moment of thought he added: _And, I want my friend to be present there while I hear the prophecy as well._

The fact that he would have walked right into Voldemort's trap without Sherlock, was proof that Harry needed his advice. Anyways, Sherlock would love the chance to witness some magic, he hadn't been able to yet, because of Harry's status as an underage wizard. He could take Harry's invisibility cloak and come with him.

Sherlock read Harry's response over his shoulder and nodded in satisfaction. "Well, that takes care of that" sighed Harry "Now I just need to figure out how to get to the hearing."

_Ron and Hermione,_

_First of all, I'm safe. You don't need to worry._

_Second of all, I'm safe. That means I have no reason to leave the place where I am now. I am really very happy here, and have no intention of leaving till school starts up again. I won't say anymore than this, because I don't want you to figure out where I am- I don't trust you to keep my whereabouts from Professor Dumbledore. I know he's involved in this somehow, because the only way you'd know that I'm no longer at my relatives' house is because he still has someone spying on number four. I'm guessing once the guard realized I wasn't home anymore, he told Dumbledore who asked you to write to me. Honestly I'm pretty mad at you, but I don't want to get into that in a letter._

_Despite the fact that I'm happy where I am, and don't want any of Dumbledore's little spies to find me, I do need assistance in getting to the my hearing on August 12th. I know either your dad or Dumbledore would be willing to help me get there, but since I don't want them to know where I am, just tell them I'll meet them in front of number four, Privet Drive, at 7am the morning of the hearing._

_Even though I'm mad at you guys, I still miss you a ton and hope you're doing well. We'll talk when school starts back up._

_Harry._

Harry gave the letter to Hedwig (he thought that if Errol was the one with the letter, it might only reach Ron and Hermione sometime next year) and sent her off after giving her a piece of a sandwich he had made himself. Errol he decided to leave be for another day, because he didn't want to be responsible for yet another loss of a family pet to the Weasley family.

"All done!" he announced to Sherlock as he reentered his room after sending Hedwig off. "Yes, good," said Sherlock distractedly "Say Harry, that house-elf Dobby absolutely adores you, doesn't he? I'm sure he wouldn't mind helping me if you tell him that by doing so he would be doing you a favor."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy strode through the ministry, smirking as he saw wizards getting out of his way hurriedly. Every time he walked through the ministry and saw the crowd parting for him he felt smug and powerful.

He felt doubly smug today, being on a mission from the Dark Lord, a secret mission too. He was the only one out of all the death eaters who was privy to the information that his lord had formed some kind of agreement with Potter.

Lucius strode down the first floor of the ministry to the very last door at the end of the hall. Finally, he reached a door with a plaque on it that read:

Cornelius Fudge

Minister of Magic

He sneered, then adjusted his facial features to convey friendship and respect and opened the door.

Percy Weasley, Fudge's new junior assistant, looked up from the pile of papers on his desk, and started as he recognized Lucius. Lucius could tell that he was torn between the ingrained hatred towards all things Malfoy that he had learned from his parents, and his desire to suck up to someone as important as him.

In the end, Weasley's boot-licking tendencies won out, and he got up to greet Lucius. "Lucius Malfoy! Such an honor to see you, I assume you have an appointment with the minister? Come right in!" Lucius couldn't help the sneer that graced his face this time, but quickly schooled his features as he passed Weasley and the other secretary's desks and stood before the polished door that led to the Minister of Magic's office.

He knocked three times, and then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

"Ah, Lucius!" beamed the minister, as he set eyes on him "I got your owl saying you might stop by today. Come in, come in. Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, minister, the question is- what can we do for each other?" said Lucius.

The Minister gestured for him to continue, looking eager.

"We both have a problem, Minister" said Lucius sincerely (at least he hoped it sounded that way) "You- are dealing with a stupid but infulential child who is causing panic and pandemonium in your previously peaceful country. Said child is besmirching my name, claiming me to be a Death Eater and a terrorist. We both want the same thing.

"Harry Potter needs to be silenced, not just for our sakes, but for the sake of the whole wizarding world, which he is throwing into chaos." he continued in a saintly voice. "We have been given an opportunity to accomplish this without even trying- Potter's blatant disregard for the Statue of Secrecy saw to the fact that we don't even need to do anything in order to silence him- he has condemned himself with his arrogance, and his disregard for the rules.

"Still, I am afraid. You know Dumbledore has always favored Potter because of the political edge it gave him to be associated with the Boy-Who-Lived. He will do his best to help acquit Potter, and I am afraid Potter will manage to weasel out of the punishment he deserves once more."

Fudge nodded and looked concerned, exactly as Lucius had known he would.

"You're right Lucius, I was just thinking about that. It would be typical of Dumbledore to allow his precious favorite to escape the penalty he deserves. But what do you propose we do?"

Lucius grinned savagely "Allow me to have a little chat with Potter before the trial, Cornelius. Perhaps I can persuade Potter to admit to being guilty before the hearing even begins. You know how persuasive I can be when I want to."

When he saw that Cornelius looked a bit worried he quickly added "Oh, nothing illegal Cornelius, at least nothing that can be proven. And you must think of the wizarding world, of your citizens whom he is scaring and intimidating as we speak. For the good of the wizarding world I would do anything, Cornelius, help me save it."

Fudge nodded slowly "Of course, Lucius, of course. We must do everything we can for the sake of the citizens. I will arrange for you to have some private time with Potter."

Lucius swelled with triumph, but schooled his expression before Fudge saw. Instead he adopted a look that he hoped said 'well-meaning and caring'.

"You have made the right choice, Cornelius" he announced, and swept out of the room quickly, using powerful strides to get to the elevator lift, and ignoring Weasley's salute to him on his way out.

It was quite convenient how stupid Cornelius was. Lucius could of course put him under the Imperius Curse, but why waste the energy and concentration it took when Fudge catered to his every whim so beautifully on his own?

He apparated out of the ministry, heading straight to the Dark Lord's headquarters, to tell him that he had completed his mission.

* * *

Five days later, Lucius was walking alongside the Minister as they approached Arthur Weasley, who was leading Harry Potter through the ministry atrium and towards the lifts.

"Well, well, well….. Patronus Potter." he drawled "The Minister here was just telling me what you are on trial for today. Tut tut, flaunting the rules once more are we?" Potter scowled. Arthur Weasley swelled with indignation. "What business is it of yours Lucius?" he demanded.

Lucius smirked "Actually, Weasley, it is very much my business. You see, as a respected member of the Wizengamot, and a personal friend to the minister, it is my privilege to be present at Potter's hearing. Respected ministry wizards get all kinds of privileges Arthur, not that you'd know anything about that."

Arthur Weasley looked torn between anger and dismay. He knew that Lucius could get away with what he was doing- he had the Minister in his back pocket and could do whatever he pleased. He probably thought that Lucius would just pronounce Potter guilty without any sort of trial. It was a stupid thing to worry about, even Lucius didn't have the power to get himself hired as judge. Plus, Lucius had a mission to complete.

"The trial will take place in old courtroom ten. Since you have neither the authority nor the clearance to be present at his hearing, I'll take little Harry there. Come along now, Potter." Weasley, looking distressed, quickly whispered a few words of comfort and encouragement to Harry before helplessly watching as the three of them- the Minister, Lucius and Potter, walked away.

Once they were gone Lucius turned to the Minister and said "Cornelius, would you mind if I had a little chat with Potter here before the hearing. It doesn't start for another half hour after all, and I'm sure Potter and I will have plenty to talk about." As this was part of the plan, the Minister nodded, and walked away without another word.

He looked slightly guilty, but also determined. He probably thought Lucius was going to torture Potter in order to get him to admit he was guilty, how quaint.

Once the minister had left, Lucius turned silently towards the lifts, and Potter followed him. Once they were alone in the lift,Lucius waited for the doors to close before turning to Potter. "I was told you'd be accompanied by a friend."

"He's here" answered Potter "he's just under an invisibility cloak. At least, I think he's here. Oh, I hope he hasn't wandered off!" just as he was starting to look panicked, a low voice emerged from the boy's right- "I'm here." Potter sighed in relief. Lucius sneered (it was his default facial expression).

So, the Order of the Phoenix didn't know that Potter had a friend who was accompanying him. Not Weasley or the mudblood then. Maybe it was someone the Order would disapprove of. A Slytherin, perhaps? Well, it was no concern of his.

"Department of Mysteries" announced a cool female voice, as the lift came to a halt. Lucius exited, and Potter followed him. Now that they were in the silence of the deserted floor, Lucius could hear an extra pair of footsteps echo across the floor.

He pushed the plain black door to the Department of Mysteries open confidently. His lord had arranged that the Department would be empty. That was all he needed to know, it wasn't his place to enquire how and which one of the Unspeakables had arranged it. He knew only his part in the plan.

As Potter and his invisible companion entered after him, the door clanged shut, and the great circular wall started rotating.

"It is safe for your friend to remove the cloak now if he wishes" remarked Lucius as the walls came to a stop.

"Room of Time" he announced.

A door swung open, and Lucius heard Potter follow him. He also heard the whoosh of fabric that indicated that Potter's companion had removed the invisibility cloak.

Lucius looked at the boy curiously to see if he recognized him. No, he did not. No matter.

As they walked through the Time Room, he snagged a time turner from one of the shelves, and handed it to Potter "If your meeting with the Dark Lord lasts longer than half an hour, you are to use this to get to your hearing on time."

Potter took it from Lucius, and gave it to his friend. "Here you go, I know you're dying to get a look at one."

Potter's companion shook his head. "No, you keep it to get back. I would probably destroy the time turner before you had a chance to use it. I stole another one back there that I can examine instead."

Lucius wondered if he should protest about the stolen artifact, then decided that he didn't care enough. He walked through the door at the end of the room, which led to the Hall of Prophecies.

To row 97, down to the very end of the row. Ah, there it was-

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter

"No one but you or the Dark Lord can remove the prophecy from the wall Potter." Potter was looking at the golden ball in awe, Lucius sighed impatiently "Well, what are you waiting for? Take it!"

Potter reached out and grabbed the ball, carefully holding it in his hands.

"Yorry!" called Lucius.

With a crack, the house-elf appeared beside them.

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she had the chance, Potter's friend cut her off. "Ah! Yorry! We meet again." Yorry shivered "What do you need us to do?" he continued.

"Master Harry Potter and-" her voice wavered for a moment "M-m-master Harry Potter's F-f-friend must both be touching Yorry. Yorry will transport sirs to Dark Lord's headquarters."

She grabbed Harry's hand, and with her other hand, touched Sherlock's hand with one finger, keeping as far away from him as possible.

A crack, and the three vanished.

Slightly curious about what had the elf so scared, Lucius conjured a chair, and waited for the boys to return.

* * *

Tom sat in the extravagant throne at the head of the long table, waiting for his elf to return with Potter and his companion.

The whole throne and long table ensemble was way too posh and extravagant for Tom's tastes, and he much preferred his own house, but there was no way in hell he was taking Potter to his own home. Too risky. Therefore, he had commandeered Lucius Malfoy's sitting room for the meeting with Potter.

A crack sounded and Yorry appeared in the room with Potter and another, bowed to Tom, and vanished with another crack.

Tom looked at Potter's companion curiously, wanting to see what he looked like. When his house-elf had first pronounced Potter's friend to be evil, Tom had been surprised. After all, what would it take for a house-elf who served the Dark Lord to define a person as 'evil'?

Then Tom remembered that elves saw things in a different way than humans did. They didn't concern themselves with politics or wars; they judged their masters according to how well the masters treated them.

Tom disliked the whole concept of elves punishing themselves. How incredibly stupid it was! The elf would punish itself by harming itself somehow, and as a result would be injured. Then, the injury would cause the elf to work slower, and be less competent.

He had seen it with Lucius' elf, who Lucius had made iron his fingers after burning dinner. As a result of his injury the elf was clumsy, had dropped and broken three plates, and burnt a shirt he was ironing.

Therefore, when he was given the elf along with an estate from Walburga Black as a gift, he had told the elf straightaway that he forbade her to punish herself.

Obviously, this had caused the elf to think he was 'good'. And if Potter's friend had in some way acted violently towards the elf, the elf would naturally consider him evil in a way she had never considered her master.

Tom remembered the way Crabbe Senior used to treat his house-elf. He treated all creatures that way- Tom remembered seeing him pulling the wings off a struggling fly once, a stupid grin on his great brutish face.

He imagined Potter's friend to be much the same way: big, hulk-like, grinning stupidly as he dangled Yorry upside-down by one leg and poked her in the eye.

Hmph, he thought Potter had better taste than that, maybe he just kept him around as a bodyguard rather than a friend. Like Lucius did with Crabbe and Goyle.

Which was why he was surprised when he saw what Potter's companion really looked like. He hadn't expected him to be so pretty, with his sharp cheekbones and soft lips he looked nothing like Tom had imagined him.

"My house-elf called you evil." He stated blankly.

Potter rolled his eyes. The other boy- the other boy _preened_.

"Well, that is quite the compliment, even if I don't feel I've earned it that particular time. I can't recall doing anything remotely evil on that occasion. Harry, can you?"

"Talking about wanting to burn her skin wasn't evil?" demanded Harry incredulously. Tom looked at the boy with growing interest.

The boy shrugged "Only after she was dead, I wasn't threatening to torture her or anything."

Shame, thought Tom, that wasn't quite as interesting as wanting to burn her alive, though it was still curious.

Harry rolled his eyes "I'd explain to you what's wrong with that if I thought you'd understand, but as it is I'm giving it up as a lost cause."

He then turned back to Tom. "This is Sherlock" he said, gesturing at his friend "Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Lord Voldemort."

The boy, who was apparently named Sherlock Holmes, looked him up and down.

"You've undergone a ritual to make yourself immortal. You've repeated the ritual multiple times. The ritual normally cause the person who performs it to go crazy, but you thought you found a way around it. It worked partially- most of the time you retain your sanity, but once in a while you become unstable and loose your grip on reality.

"Also, these aren't really your headquarters, despite what your house-elf said, and you haven't eaten breakfast yet, probably too busy preparing for our meeting."

Tom stared at him "How did know? No one could possibly have known that! I've never told a living soul."

It may have been stupid, confirming that what Sherlock had said had been true instead of denying it, but if the boy had some sort of clairvoyant power, then there was really no point in denying anything.

The boy rolled his eyes "I'm not a seer or something, if that's what you're thinking. Everything I just told you I deduced naturally.

What I told you about your ritual to make yourself immortal, was a conclution I reached based on a combination of all the things Harry told me about you. Your words to your Death Eaters in the graveyard where you were resurrected: 'I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.' coupled with the fact you didn't die when the killing curse hit you all those years ago and your hideous looks suggest that you underwent some sort of magical ritual to attain immortality. The ritual obviously takes a lot of power and requires you to sacrifice your human looks. No one would walk around looking like you do if they could help it, the ritual must be really powerful if it can keep you from enchanting yourself to look normal again. Therefore, an obscure and powerful ritual used to attain immortality- or at least keep you from dying when most people would.

"And not just one ritual- you said you had gone farther than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. That suggests that you either preformed the ritual multiple times, or preformed many different rituals. I think the first is more likely- because how many rituals to make yourself immortal can there be? If there were many, there'd be a lot more than just one undead Dark Lord wandering around.

"Now, our question is- if it is possible to avoid death, how come you are the only one who had preformed this ritual? Why aren't there immortal dark lords everywhere? It also seems unlikely that a ritual of such power requires only your looks as a sacrifice. Coupled with your completely illogical action of going after Harry and trying to kill him, this suggests that the ritual made you somehow unstable or insane. On the other hand, you didn't go after Harry straight away, so at the beginning you did realize that it didn't make sense to try and kill him. Your actions at the graveyard- untying Harry and letting him fight you, give the impression you are a crazy megalomaniac who is obsessed with proving his superiority, but your response to Harry's letter shows you have a strategic and political mind. Harry said you were brilliant while you were in school- you would have been aware of the consequences of the ritual, but being the magical genius that you were, you found some kind of loophole or way to get around it. At least you thought you did, but it only worked partially- that's why you still experience bouts of instability and insanity.

"I knew these weren't you headquarters because, from the way you are squirming on the chair you are sitting on, it is obvious that it is uncomfortable. If you were familiar with this room, you would have picked a different chair, or cast a cushioning charm. So you haven't been here before, or at least not often enough to know about the chair. Plus, you would be stupid to lead a prophesized enemy of yours straight into your headquarters, and we've already established that you aren't stupid. This place belongs to a follower of yours perhaps? Probably the one who brought us to the prophecy in the first place, since he was already in on the plan.

" As for how I knew you had missed breakfast? The look of yearning you threw towards the granola bar sticking out of Harry's jeans pocket."

Sherlock then pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down on it looking triumphant.

Tom knew he was gaping, and that Dark Lords didn't gape, but he didn't think he could help himself.

"Well, did I get it right?" demanded Sherlock.

Tom sighed "I basically confirmed that you were right when I asked you how you knew, so I don't see that there's any point in denying any of it. You did get one thing wrong though- I'm not stuck looking like this, I can still enchant myself to look normal. I kept this look on purpose because it intimidates my followers and keeps them respectful."

Sherlock sighed "There's always one thing! I always get one thing wrong!"

Harry patted him on the hand consolingly and turned to Voldemort "So, if you only look like that to intimidate your followers, could you please make yourself look normal? Sherlock and I aren't idiots like your Death Eaters, we'd have plenty of healthy respect for you even if you didn't look like something out of a horror movie, I know what you're capable of. I won't start underestimating you just because you look normal, so can you please make yourself look less repulsive? It's ruining my appetite." He explained, opening the wrapper to his granola bar.

Tom shrugged and waved his wand over himself, casting the illusion that made him look like he had when he was sixteen years old. He hated being looked down upon or patronized, which was why he never chose to look anything but monstrous when there were others around- he knew that in their stupidity they would stop respecting him if he didn't look intimidating, regardless of his capabilities.

But it seemed as if Potter would give him the respect he was due even if he didn't act like a maniacal super-villain. So why not look human for a change?

Harry smiled at him, and after a moment's thought broke his granola bar in two and offered Tom one of the pieces.

Tom accepted it gratefully. He was really beginning to hope the prophecy didn't say he had to kill Harry. Both Sherlock and Harry were a refreshing change from most of the idiotic wizards he came across.

Tom hated the fact that he had to act all uptight and scary in public. That he could never be seen joking or even eating for fear of his persona being ruined. He didn't like that he had to act this way, but knew that no-one would accept him as a leader for the dark if he didn't.

And finally, here were some people who had the sense to judge him by his actions and power. They were respecting him for his accomplishments and not because he was terrifying- that was the only way he got his Death Eaters to show him respect. It was nice to have people who seemed to know that just because he got hungry or horny or lazy just like any other human being, didn't mean he was harmless.

It was nice, and Tom sincerely hoped that he could let them live. On that subject-

"I think it's time that we finally listened to the prophecy. Are you ready?"

"Okay," said Harry "How do we do that?" he looked at the golden orb as if searching for some kind of activation button.

Tom snorted. "We break it."

"Break it?" asked Harry.

"Well, the unspeakables have a magical artifact that allows you to listen to the prophecy and then put it back where it came from, unharmed. But I don't own that artifact, and while I could steal one, I happen to know that if a prophecy ball breaks, the prophecy will play itself. It's not the official way of listening, but it's so much easier, and if we want to listen to what the prophecy says again, I have a pensieve we can use. Why go through the trouble of stealing the prophecy activaton device, if breaking it works just as well?"

Harry shrugged "If you say so…" and with that, he raised his arm, and threw the golden orb towards the wall, aiming at the ugly black vase that was standing in the corner.

He missed, but the prophecy ball smashed.

A pearly white ghostlike figure emerged out of the ball and began speaking. Harry gasped, apparently recognizing the person giving the prophecy.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the - Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"_

* * *

Du du du dumm. According to my beta I deserved to be strangled for that cliffie, so I'll try and update the next chapter as soon as possible.

On a different note- I was asked by a reviewer about what pairing would be in the story. Though this story is meant to primarily describe the friendship between the boys, I could also see a romantic attachment happening eventually. Do any of you want romance, and if so between who? Leave a review!


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry for the wait on this chapter. I said the next chapter would come really soon, and instead it's only being updated 5 days later. I was telling the truth when I said the chapter would be done soon, I finished it the next day, but since I'm a dolt I forgot I wouldn't be having any internet for the next couple of day.**

**Sorry for the wait, and enjoy!**

* * *

**Bonds of Friendship**

**Chapter Four**

The second the prophecy finished playing and the hazy white figure vanished, pandemonium broke out in the Malfoy family's previously pristine and elegant dinning room.

Tom jumped up, his wand raised, a curse on his lips only to stop. Harry, who had snapped his fingers and called out "Dobby!" the second the prophecy had finished playing, was now being shielded by said elf along with his friend Sherlock.

"Dobby, get us out of here!" instructed Harry. Tom hurried to Point his wand at Harry again, preparing to curse him, desperate to hit him before he got away, when Sherlock roared "Stop! Dobby, don't take us away yet! You two-" he turned to Harry and Tom "stop fighting for a second, would you?"

Both Tom and Harry paused to stare at Sherlock incredulously. "Are you crazy?" demanded Tom "He could kill me at any second!"

"What he said!" said Harry, nodding emphatically "In case you didn't notice, he's trying very hard to kill me right now, and I'm really no match for him!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Really Harry, I don't mind pointing out the obvious to you every once in a while, since you obviously seem to miss it half the time, but could you try to figure things out on your own for once? And you-" he turned to Tom "I really expected better from you. So much for being rational and thinking things through."

Tom and Harry both opened their mouths in outrage to defend themselves, but Sherlock cut them both off. "There's something very suspicious about that prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives? Haven't you-" he pointed at Tom "survived that killing curse that was thrown back at you all those years ago, and hasn't he-" he pointed at Harry "been alive that whole time?"

"It's a figure of speech" said Tom impatiently "It means neither of us can live with ourselves; neither of us can live peacefully while we know the other survives."

"Really?" asked Sherlock skeptically "Because Harry knew you were alive this past week, but ever since he thought there was a chance that you would be willing to make a truce with him, he has been perfectly at ease with the thought that you survive."

"That's true" admitted Harry "and you've got to admit, you were perfectly fine with the thought I survived ever since you knew I didn't want to fight you anymore, weren't you? Otherwise you would have just killed me as soon as I entered this room."

Sherlock looked at Harry approvingly.

Tom frowned "So how is it possible that the prophecy said what it did? Are you saying it's a fake?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far" replied Sherlock "after all, everything it said about Harry vanquishing you and you marking him as your equal did happen. I think the prophecy is self-fulfilling.

"Think about it- if you had never known about the prophecy, you would never have tried to kill Harry when he was a baby, his mother would never have shielded him, he would have never vanquished you, and you would never have marked him as your equal. And even if in that hypothetical universe Harry would have had the potential inside him to kill you, he never would have, because nobody would ever let a normal teenager fight a Dark Lord. The only reason this prophecy was partially fulfilled was because you took what it said seriously in the first place. If you don't obey the prophecy, it will never be fulfilled."

Tom nodded slowly "What you're saying makes a lot of sense, Sherlock, but I don't think I'm willing to take the chance that what the prophecy says might happen. It's too big a risk, sorry."

"Wait!" cried Sherlock, as both Harry and Tom prepared to raise their wands again "I have a way to ensure that won't happen!"

The two other boys paused, and looked at him hopefully.

"According to Harry there is such thing as a magically binding contract that can force you to adhere to it. That's why Harry had to compete in the Triwizard tournament, because of a contract of that sort with the Goblet of Fire. If both you and Harry signed a contract saying you wouldn't try to kill or harm each other, then you wouldn't have to worry about the prophecy anymore."

Tom inclined his head thoughtfully "A magically binding contract isn't secure enough as far as I am concerned, they're far too easily circumvented. The idea is valid though, how about an Unbreakable Vow?"

Both Harry and Sherlock stared at him blankly.

Tom huffed "An Unbreakable Vow is a vow that if you break, you die. My goodness, don't they teach that at Hogwarts anymore? That school has really gone to the dogs. Not surprising, considering the current headmaster. In any case, we can perform the ceremony now. Sherlock, you can be our binder."

At this point, Harry stared at Sherlock a bit nervously "What does being a binder entail?" he asked hesitantly "Do you need to do magic for it?"

"Ah, I didn't think of that" said Tom "I assumed you were over seventeen Sherlock, but I guess you just look old for your age? Underage magical restrictions still apply?"

"Actually-" began Sherlock indignantly, he seemed to take offense to the fact that Tom assumed he was a wizard. Hadn't he just proved how logical and intelligent he was?

Harry interrupted him though before he could correct Tom. "Umm…. You won't try to kill Sherlock, will you? If you're planning on killing him, this deal is off."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. Why would I want to kill him? He's no threat to me. In fact he'd make a great Death Eater" he looked at Sherlock "if you're interested, of course, I could use someone with your brains on my side."

"Actually," said Harry "the reason Sherlock can't perform magic isn't because of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, it's because he's a muggle." He cringed, clearly expecting Tom to try and attack Sherlock or something of the sort.

Instead Tom looked at Harry curiously "You broke the statue of secrecy?"

Harry gaped at him "Well, you're certainly one to be lecturing me on breaking the law!" he cried indignantly.

Tom grinned "I wasn't lecturing you, I was merely curious, you don't seem the type to go around bragging about how you can do magic."

"I didn't!" declared Harry "Sherlock figured it out on his own"

"Ah, I should have known, of course he did!" said Tom staring at Sherlock curiously "Well, I would say that we can just have me be the binder when you do your vows, and you be the binder when I do mine, but I'm not sure a muggle can participate in the Unbreakable Vow ritual, even if it doesn't involve magic. I'll call Lucius and ask him to do it just in case."

"You really don't care that Sherlock's a muggle?" asked Harry incredulously, "I thought the whole reason for this bloody war was because you hated muggles and wanted them all dead!"

Tom snorted "Do you really think I buy all that pureblood propaganda that my servants spout? Anyone with eyes can see that it is absolutely ridiculous. I mean, look at me- I'm the most powerful wizard in the world and I'm a half-blood. So is Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape too. You're also very powerful Harry, you cast a corporeal Patronus at the age of fifteen, and you're also not of pure blood. I'm not stupid enough to think that purebloods are actually superior to other wizards!"

"Then why-" began Harry.

"Why do I act as if I do? Why do all my followers believe that?"

Harry nodded.

"That's very simple, Harry. I wanted to rule the wizarding world. Oh, not be Minister of Magic, a temporary job with heavy responsibilities that wouldn't give me nearly enough power. I wanted to take over Britain and rule it like a king.

I knew I would never get any muggleborns on my side, they usually have the most common sense, and having grown up with muggles and experienced real democracy and freedom, would never trade that up for a dictator. Even if I would have been a very fair and just dictator.

I knew that if I wanted an army to help me take over wizarding Britain, it would have to be mostly comprised of purebloods. And what better way to get the purebloods on my side than start spouting nonsense about how superior they are to everyone else?" he finished triumphantly.

Sherlock was looking at Tom with admiration. Harry stared at him incredulously.

"You're crazy." He told Tom blankly "You're crazy, and you-" he turned to Sherlock "are crazy for not thinking that he's crazy."

They both shrugged unconcernedly. Harry sighed.

"Okay, let's do this unbreakable vow thing. Hey listen" he turned to Tom "can you include my friends Ron, Hermione and Hagrid in your vow not to kill me? I'd ask you to not kill Sherlock too, but knowing him, one day he'll get bored, and try to get you to kill him in order to provide himself with the challenge of escaping you.

So just my other friends. Can you swear not to kill them too?"

Tom thought about it for a few seconds "I'm assuming the friends you just mentioned don't know you're here, right?"

Harry nodded.

"And they still intend to fight me, correct?"

Harry nodded again looking resigned.

"I'll tell you what. I definitely won't make the vow not to kill them, but I'll give you my word to only do it if I think they pose a threat to me. I will only kill them in the course of the war."

"Thanks." Said Harry gratefully, he knew that was more than he could have hoped for considering Voldemort owed him nothing, and could have just killed him to eliminate any risks.

Tom waved his hand, showing it was no big deal, and them summoned Yorry to bring Lucius over.

He waved his wand, changing his features so that he looked monstrous again, and they all sat down to wait.

A minute later, Yorry appeared with the man, bowed to Tom and disappeared again with a crack, but not before smiling shyly at Dobby, who was still standing unsurely before Harry, forgotten.

Dobby turned to Harry "It seems Master Harry does not need Dobby's help anymore, Dobby will maybe get to know Yorry better if that is case. If Master Harry needs Dobby, Master can just call and Dobby will come."

Harry nodded, and Dobby cracked away.

"Ah yes, I had forgotten about your house-elf." remarked Tom "Sneaky move, bringing him with you."

Sherlock looked proud "Did you really think we would enter your headquarters, where you might hear a prophecy saying you should kill us, without an escape plan? There was no way we would have agreed to enter this place if we didn't have a quick way to get out. Well actually, Harry might have" he looked at Harry in exasperation "but I would never. We sent Dobby an owl asking for help the very day we made the arrangements to hear the prophecy."

"For your information I would have had the sense to think of that even if you weren't there to tell me" scowled Harry "it just would have taken me longer to think of it." He finished, somewhat sheepishly.

"Unimportant!" declared Tom, getting impatient "Let's get on with this. Lucius, Potter and I will be making an Unbreakable Vow. We need you to be our binder."

"Of course My Lord." murmured Lucius, looking at Harry with interest "May I ask what the wording of the vow will be?"

Once the wording of the vow was settled, both Tom and Harry knelt on the ground, holding each other's right hand. For a second, both pondered how curious it was that holding the hand of a complete stranger would feel so familiar and comfortable.

Then Lucius touched his wand to the place where Harry and Tom's hands met.

"Will you, Harry Potter swear to never try to kill or injure Lord Voldemort?"

"I will." Responded Harry, as he had been instructed.

A strand of fire shot out of Lucius' wand and encircled their intertwined hands.

"And will you, My Lord, swear to never try to kill or injure Harry Potter, or instruct your Death Eaters to do so?"

"I will" Intoned Tom.

A second circle of flame appeared.

"And will you both," continued Lucius "swear that if the other is in danger, you will do everything within your capabilities to save them?"

"We do." They both whispered, looking into each other's eyes.

Their faces both glowed red for a second as the third flame bound their hands and their lives together in an unbreakable vow.

With that taken care of, Lucius had been sent away, and Harry and Tom settled at the table in the Malfoy Manor dinning room to discuss strategy. Tom and Harry needed to think of a way to avoid fighting each other, without causing anyone to become suspicious.

Once they had the basic outline of a plan, and Harry had been given another roll of parchment with a Protean Charm so they could update each other on different issues of importance, Sherlock and Harry rose, and prepared to leave the house.

Tom called Yorry, and Harry called Dobby. Both appeared standing right next to each other.

"Yorry, we need you to take us back to the Ministry of Magic" said Harry "Dobby, you can go home."

"In a second, Master Harry." Said Dobby in his squeaky voice, and he leaned down to whisper something in Yorry's ear. Yorry blushed.

As the elves were saying their goodbyes, Sherlock turned to Harry. "Umm…. Thanks," he said quietly, looking awkward "for what you said beforehand to Voldemort, about the deal being off if he killed me. I appreciate that."

"It was no problem!" smiled Harry "Thanks for convincing Voldemort to not kill me, even though life would have been much more interesting for you if he still wanted to."

"Oh, well I guess there's really no point in you having an arch-nemesis if you're not going to enjoy it." Muttered Sherlock.

Their eyes met and they grinned.

Tom watched them, and felt a small pang of jealousy.

He saw himself in both those boys.

Sherlock, with his good looks, brilliant mind, and emotionless personality reminded Tom of himself strongly. But unlike Tom, Sherlock had found someone willing to be his friend even if he wasn't the most kind and sensitive person in the world.

He saw himself in Harry, too. A lonely halfblood orphan, separated from his peers, too-large expectations heaped on his shoulders. And yet Harry had found a friend to share his burden and ease his loneliness, something Tom never had.

Why couldn't Tom have a friendship like the one those two shared?

As he looked at them, smiling at each other happily, Tom wondered if perhaps Sherlock and Harry shared a relationship that went further than mere friendship. He disregarded the thought, it didn't really matter he decided.

He turned away, not wanting to see them leave, when he felt a tap on his back.

He turned, and saw Harry holding out him hand to him smiling "I'm really glad we had this meeting, it didn't go the way I thought it would, but it was great. I'm really happy with what we did today." Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement and shook Harry's hand.

Sherlock didn't offer his hand, but instead nodded his head in parting to Tom "It was very nice to meet you, Lord Voldemort, it's a shame you weren't prophesized to destroy me, you would have made a worth opponent."

"I'm honored" said Tom, in amusement "and call me Tom."

Sherlock nodded and took Harry's hand. Harry took Yorry's, and they disappeared with a crack.

* * *

The end of chapter four! For everyone interested in the pairing situation: SherlockXHarryXTom won by a landslide, and since I'm quite partiall to that coupling myself, that's where it's going to lead.

Everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted last chapter, you are lovely. My beta- you are amazing. Please review, and feel free to add any comment or questions about the characters and plot!


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the long delay in this chapter coming out- I was stuck without any internet for the last two weeks. Hopefully, there will only be a few days between updates from now on.**

**Because it's been long since the last chapter, here's a recap: On the way to Harry's ministry trial, Harry and Sherlock made a little detour to the prophecy room. The both of them along with Tom, listened to the prophecy. Harry and Tom made unbreakable vows to never try and harm each other in order to circumvent the prophecy. Harry now has to face his trial for breaking the Statue of Secrecy and casting a patronus.**

* * *

**Bonds of Friendship**

**Chapter Five**

Harry looked up at the many faces staring down at him from their high seats in the courtroom and felt very small. Some of the faces looked stern and judgemental, others merely curious, but they were all looking straight at Harry who was trying his hardest not to fidget.

He took some comfort in the fact that Sherlock was standing right next to him under the invisibility cloak. If there was anyone who could inspire confidence in a person it was Sherlock, with his sharp mind and fearless attitude.

He felt the slightest brush of a hand on his shoulder and sat up straighter.

The hand brushed his shoulder again, stronger this time, when the Minister Fudge stopped talking to the woman next to him, and looked down at Harry, sneering down at him in contempt. Looking up at his smug and condescending face, Harry felt very sure that this hearing would not end well for him.

True, Harry and Sherlock had come up with a defense tactic that should insure Harry victory, but Harry wasn't familiar enough with wizarding law protocol to know if he would actually be able to get away with it. So despite his back-up plan, Harry was worrying.

Tom had told Harry that he probably didn't need to worry about getting expelled since Dumbledore probably considered him much too important to the war effort to discard. And despite his recent dismissal from the Wizengamot, Dumbledore was still very powerful- powerful enough to ensure Harry's acquittal from the trial. Still, thought Harry, being the Minister is a pretty damn powerful position too, and Fudge definitely wanted him gone.

He didn't know what Lucius Malfoy had told Fudge about their short meeting (or what Fudge thought was their short meeting. In reality it had lasted about an hour and a half, but they had used the time-turner) all he knew was that as Malfoy slid into his seat in the stands, he leaned down and whispered something in Fudge's ear, and whatever it was that Malfoy had said caused Fudge to smirk smugly at Harry.

Harry had pretended to ignore him.

There was no ignoring him now, though, as he started talking, looking straight down at Harry. First, he asked a young man at his side if he was ready.

"Yes sir." said an eager and very familiar voice.

Harry started in surprise as he recognized Percy Weasley sitting at the very edge of the front desk holding a quill and some parchment.

Glad to see a familiar face, even if it was the face of his least favorite Weasley, Harry tried to catch Percy's eye.

Percy, though, was looking down at the parchment in his hand determinedly, avoiding Harry's gaze.

Harry's heart sank, he knew Pecry was a snob and a suck up, but the snub still hurt. Harry felt himself deflate, until he felt the firm pressure on his shoulder that told him that Sherlock was still there with him, steady and faithful.

He did have a strong friend and supporter he could count on. Percy could go suck it, Harry always thought he was a prat anyways.

Percy was probably ignoring him because Harry broke the law, the most unforgivable crime ever in Percy's book, probably even worse than being a Death Eater. Idiot.

He focused on Fudge again. He was dictating something to Percy, who was scribbling furiously on his parchment.

"Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August," Fudge was saying," into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley -"

"Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said a quiet voice from behind Harry, who turned his head so fast he cricked his neck.

Harry felt a wave of mixed emotions wash over him as his eyes settled on the serene face of his headmaster.

He felt immense relief at the sight of Dumbledore, because he knew that with the headmaster's presence, his chances of acquittal in the trial had just doubled.

He also felt a great resentment, though. He resented the fact that he had to rely on the man who was responsible for his horrible summer. Dumbledore was the reason he was stuck with no news whatsoever, completely isolated from the wizarding world the whole summer.

Dumbledore was the reason the letters from his friends were all cautious and distant, he was the one who instructed them to censor their letters and it was his fault they couldn't write to him in the free and friendly way they normally did. Dumbledore was the reason he had spent four days locked in a tiny room with hardly any food or water, if he had guards set up all around the house for Harry's protection as Arabella Figg claimed he did, how come none of them had come to bust him out? Or at least to bring him some food? Water?

Harry was relieved to see Dumbledore, but he wished he wasn't, because he hated relying on a man that he held so much resentment for at the moment.

His resentment only increased when, like Percy Weasley, Dumbledore refused to meet Harry's eye, and instead focused his gaze on Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah," said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. "Dumbledore. Yes. You - er - got our – uh - message that the time and -er - place of the hearing had been changed, then?"

Harry scowled at Fudge. He may have wished he didn't need Dumbledore's help, but using such a dirty trick to keep Dumbledore from coming to the trial was a new low.

Dumbledore kept his cool.

"I must have missed it." he said cheerfully. "However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the ministry three hours early, so no harm done."

"Yes - well - I suppose we'll need another chair - I - Weasley, could you -?"

"Not to worry, not to worry," said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together and surveyed Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest. The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.

"Yes," said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."

He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.

"Yes," Harry said.

"You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, but -"

"And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge.

"Yes," said Harry, trying to be truthful "but -"

"Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age of seventeen?"

"Yes, but -" Harry tried to keep his cool despite the fact that they weren't allowing him to defend himself, but it was very hard.

"Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"

"Yes, but -" But he was interrupted yet again.

"Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"

"Yes," said Harry angrily, "but I only used it because we were -"

The witch with the monocle cut across him in a booming voice.

"You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"

"Yes," said Harry, "because -"

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"A - what?" said Harry.

"Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapour or smoke?"

Harry was beyond frustrated by this point. The judges kept on interrupting him before he could explain himself, and he hadn't been given a chance to defend himself at all. Now, the first time he was being asked a question, it wasn't if he had anything to say in his defense, or what his reason for his casting the Patronuss was, it was a question as to the nature of the spell!

So instead of answering her question, he shouted out his defense: "I only did it because there were Dementors there, and they were about to kiss me and my cousin!"

The hall went quiet. Harry, who had expected more muttering from the crowd of spectators, looked around nervously.

"Dementors?" spoke Madame Bones finally. "Are you saying there were Dementors in the muggle area you were in?" she looked shocked, and slightly skeptical.

Harry was about to answer, when Fudge gave a little chuckle as if he had heard a great joke.

"Ah," he said, looking at Amelia as if inviting her to laugh along with him. "Yes. Yes, I was expecting to hear something like this. You've become quite practiced at lying ever since last year, haven't you Potter? And Dementors would be the perfect cover up story. Muggles can't see them, you know. Convenient, eh?

"Well, I'm sorry Potter, I'm going to interrupt what I am sure was a very well-rehearsed story, but seeing as it's just your word for it, and you have no witnesses who can defend you…." He smirked nastily at Harry.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked as if he were about to say something, but Harry interrupted him before he could say a word.

"Veritaserum."

"Excuse me?" said Fudge.

"Veritaserum" repeated Harry, "It's the strongest truth potion in the world. If you don't believe me, give me Veritaserum and ask me if I was telling the truth about the Dementors. Go ahead."

He and Sherlock had discussed this tactic at length. It was actually Harry who had come up with the solution, after Sherlock had said that they had to think of a way to prove that Harry was telling the truth because just his word wouldn't be enough. Harry thought of a way of ensuring that his word _would_ be enough.

"Veritaserum? Are you mad boy?" blustered Fudge, he obviously hadn't been expecting this complication "Apparently the boy really is as arrogant as the prophet says." he chuckled weakly, and looked around, slightly nervous. Harry's suggestion had caught him by surprise "Don't you know how expensive Veritaserum is? It is used for serious matters such as murder trials; we don't have the resources to give an expensive truth serum to every snot-nosed teenager who decided he was too good for the rules!"

Harry silently commended Fudge for being quick to think on his feet. Unfortunately for him, Harry was also a quick thinker, and had already come up with a comeback (he was sure Sherlock had already come up with twelve) "I'd be willing to pay for the Veritaserum from my own money." he declared.

Amelia Bones, who had been frowning sternly at Fudge ever since he had spoken, now turned to Harry. "That won't be necessary, child. According to the Decree for the Defendant's Right to Self-Defense, Paragraph F, which was added in 1909 when Veritaserum was invented, the accused has a right to request questioning under Veritaserum. You should know that Cornelius." she turned to glare at Fudge.

Then, turning back to Harry she said, "Are you aware of the protocol for examination under Veritaserum?"

Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so." she sighed "You are to comprise a list of questions by the next court meeting. You will be asked these questions while under the influence of Veritaserum. You have the permission to consult a lawyer. Keep in mind that any loopholes or open questions will make your statement less trustworthy. I suggest you use point blank questions such as 'Were there Dementors in your immediate area the night you cast the Patronus?' don't leave room in the questions for interpretation or loopholes.

"Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Very well, then we must schedule the next court date. On that date you will present the judges with your list of questions and be interrogated. Now, as for when-"

"Actually," interrupted Dumbledore, who had up until then been watching the proceedings with approval, though Harry could tell he had been surprised by the turn of events. "None of that should be necessary. I have with me a witness who has seen the Dementors with her own eyes. She can testify to the fact that Harry is telling the truth."

"A witness?" question Amelia Bones sternly. She seemed to have taken over the trial as Fudge was in a state of shock, and was still sitting in his seat with his mouth open, watching the proceedings with despair. "There couldn't have been any witch or wizard in Potter's vicinity. Otherwise the trace would have recorded the fact that he was in the company of another magical adult, and assumed it was the adult who performed the magic. Muggles can't see Dementors. How is it that you have a witness?"

"She is a squib." replied Dumbledore calmly.

Amelia Bones' eyes widened in understanding and she smiled wryly, "Ah yes, we always do seem to forget the squibs somehow, don't we? It is our own folly. Bring the witness in, Dumbledore."

When Harry saw Mrs. Figg striding nervously into the dungeons wearing her carpet slippers, he was extremely glad that he had the Veritaserum as a backup plan. She didn't look like the most convincing witness in the world. In fact, she looked barmy.

The interview started as a train wreck, and only improved slightly at the end when Mrs. Figg was able to correctly describe the effect the Dementors had on her- the feelings of despair and hopelessness.

Once the interview was over, and Mrs. Figg was sent back out of the courtroom, Fudge seemed to have recovered his former good mood. He was obviously heartened by how feeble Mrs. Figg's testimony was. Harry didn't blame him.

"Not a very convincing witness." Fudge sneered.

"Oh, I don't know." replied Madame Bones. "She certainly described the effects of a Dementor attack accurately, but if you weren't convinced, Cornelius, we can always go with the Veritaserum."

Fudge seemed to be deliberating very hard.

From this, Harry deduced that he must not have been aware of any Dementors missing from Azkaban. Otherewise he would have known that Harry was telling the truth, and would have jumped on the chance to avoid the Veritaserum. If he was considering going with the Veritaserum it meant he was pretty sure Harry was lying which meant he wasn't aware of any dementor rebellion.

So, Fudge wasn't aware of any dementors who had left Azkaban, Harry wondered what the meant. He would ask Sherlock, who would probably be three steps ahead of him in his deductions.

At the end, Fudge's conviction that Harry was lying seemed to win out on any hesitations he had.

"Let's use the Veritaserum." he declared, sneering nastily down at Harry.

He must have decided that Harry had only volunteered to take Veritaserum to make his story seem more trustworthy, and was actually counting on the witness to clear him before he had to take the truth potion.

Well, thought Harry, that was Fudge's problem. His future at Hogwarts was now assured.

"Very well!" declared Madame Bones "I am scheduling this meeting for next week, August nineteenth. You all," she turned to the crowd of purple-robe clad witches and wizards who had all been watching the proceedings with increasing boredom, and had groaned when Fudge had announced his decision regarding Veritaserum "I won't require you to attend that hearing. To be honest, I don't know why you were called here in the first place. There was no reason to hold a full criminal trial for a simple matter of underage magic."

The crowd cheered, the trial had obviously lost their interest at some point, and Harry was sure that many of the present witches and wizards felt that a simple matter of underage magic was beneath their dignity. Some muttered and shook their heads, angry for having been called to come for such a trivial matter, but some looked disappointed. Harry wondered if they were hoping for some juicy gossip about the Boy Who Lived. If so, the trial had probably been a letdown for them.

"Hearing dismissed!" declared Madame Bones, she turned to Harry. "You may go. As for you-" she turned, growling, to Fudge "don't think that I haven't figured out your agenda, Cornelius. It's a disgrace to the justice system-"

Harry was enjoying watching Fudge get reprimanded, but sensed that it was time to go. He got up, and heard a shuffle of footsteps beside him that indicated Sherlock's presence.

He turned to Dumbledore, wanting to thank him for his help. He had gone out of his way to bring Mrs. Figg along after all, and even if it turned out to be unecessary, Harry was grateful for it. He wanted to express his gratitude, despite the fact that he was disgruntled at some of Dumbledore's other actions.

Dumbledore though, had already got up, and was striding out of the courtroom without a backwards glance at Harry.

Harry fought down another wave of resentment. Now was a time to celebrate, not be grumpy, his acquittal was practically assured.

He strode out of the courtroom with a bounce in his step, and Sherlock by his side.

Tom bent down and looked at the enchanted parchment for the fourth time that day. The parchment was the one connected to Harry's piece of parchment by way of the Protean Charm. For the fourth time that day, the parchment stayed empty.

Tom supposed that meant that the Order of the Phoenix hadn't managed to get their hands on Harry, and that he was still living with Sherlock.

When they had been discussing their new course of action, Tom had made Harry describe his life a little so that he's be able to realistically stage attacks against him without Harry actually being involved (it would be very suspicious if Tom wasn't witnessed trying to kill Harry at least once by the end of the school year). Harry's description of his life eventually turned into an interesting discussion between the three of them about relatives (both Harry and Tom had rolled their eyes at Sherlock when he had started complaining about Mycroft, and Sherlock had dropped the subject realizing he would get no support from his current audience) but in between that discussion they had addressed other issues as well.

One of the discussion topics was where Harry would live for the rest of the summer (or even beyond that if he did end up getting expelled for Hogwarts).

Tom knew, via Snape's reports, that Dumbledore had once again called the Order of the Phoenix together. When Harry told him that Dumbledore had sent people to bring him somewhere safe, just after he had escaped to Sherlock's, Tom told Harry about the Order, and explained that he was probably supposed to be taken to the headquarters of the group.

He added that Arthur Weasley would probably try to convince Harry to move to the headquarters once the trial ended. He had brought up the option that Arthur might refuse to take him back home so that Harry would be obligated to come with him.

Harry shot down that concern by saying that Arthur would never do something that underhanded, and even if he did, Harry had muggle money and knew how to navigate the city. So there was no chance of Harry being forced to reside in the Order headquarters.

Tom was rather disappointed to hear this, as he had hoped that if Harry found out the address of the headquarters, he might be bribed into telling Tom. However, since their peace-agreement didn't include anything about Harry helping Tom in the war, there was nothing he could do.

There was nothing left for Tom to do other than be happy for Harry that he could continue to live with Sherlock, though he still felt a little disappointed.

And though he would never admit it, Tom also felt a little jealous. Living with Sherlock and Harry sounded like a blast. It certainly had to be better than living with Nagini, all she did all day was talk about wanting to eat and wanting to mate- snakes weren't famous for their intelligence.

Tom took a moment to fantasize about leaving his current life behind. Not having to deal with the shear idiocy of Crabbe and Goyle, who's mistakes, while amusing, where a bitch to correct and cover up. Not having to listen to anymore of Lucius' annoying flattery and general ass-kissing. Not having to spend hours pondering the information Snape had given him and trying to figure out if he was a spy or not, the slippery snake.

There was something appealing about Harry and Sherlock's life, the companionship maybe? The fact that they were able to have fun? That they had someone to care for, someone to care for them?

In any case it didn't matter. Tom had worked way too long and hard to just abandon his dreams because of some childish fantasy.

In any case, he still liked the power he had over his Death Eaters. He had always craved Power. He had wanted it ever since he was a little kid in an orphanage and was locked in that tiny closet by Billy Stubbs.

Still, he couldn't keep himself from glancing down at the parchment connected to Harry's one last time.

This time though, something was different. Words were forming on the previously blank parchment.

_Lord Voldemort? Tom? Are you there? It's Sherlock._

A grin formed on Tom's face against his permission.

_Yes, it's me. Where's Harry? Did something happen?_

_No, it's all fine. He's taking a nap in bed right now. I think our breaking into the hospital tired him out. I needed to ask you for a favour._

_Do I want to know about the hospital? What am I talking about, of course I do, tell me what you were doing in a hospital! What's the favour?_

_Can you enchant another two pieces of parchment so Harry and I can communicate during the school-year? Owl mail is so slow; I don't know how you wizards handle it! I still can't believe you people don't have internet._

_ No problem; I'll send the parchments with Yorry in a couple of minutes. Send Harry my regards._

_I will. Harry has some news for you actually, but I'll let him tell you himself. Thanks for the help!_

_No need for thanks, you'll owe me one for that. Tell Harry I want reports on Dumbledore's comings and goings._

_I knew you'd ask for something in return. I'll tell Harry, he's so grateful that you let him live he'll do it with no complaints._

_Good. I'll be expecting him to contact me._

Done writing, Tom took two pieces of parchment, took a quill and wrote on them both (he didn't know which one would end up with Harry):

_Don't forget you owe me!_

_Tom_

Then put them one on top of the other. He wanted Harry to remember he owed Tom every time he used the parchment (which he had a feeling would be often).

Then, after some hesitation, he took a third blank piece of parchment and put it over the other two. He waved his wand over the stack of parchments, and murmured an incantation.

He then called for Yorry, and handed her the two original pieces of parchment with instructions. The third one he kept for himself, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt over his plan to eavesdrop.

* * *

The end of chapter 5! There are some parts in the chapter that are quoted from Order of the Pheonix, I'm sure some scenes in the trial looked familiar...

Thank you most lovely beta for the help with this chapter, and thanks in advance for reviewing!


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: I am so so sorry for how long it took to get this chapter out. I had awful writer's block, and much less free time now that school's started up again. This chapter was really hard to write, because while it has some important scenes, there's no real development to the plot, which I found kind of boring. Next chapter should be easier to write.**

**I've been getting a lot of reviews about the pairings, so I wanted to say a word about that: I said there'd be romance eventually, and I meant it, but this story is primarily about friendship (as the title suggests). Tom, Harry and Sherlock will be friends and companions long before they will become lovers. The romance won't happen for quite a while. I'm sorry if that dissapoints anyone, but I wrote this story because I thought that all three main characters really needed a true and fast friend, not because I thought they needed to get laid (don't worry, though, it will happen, it just won't be the focus).**

**Wow! Really long AN there, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Six**

The atmosphere in the kitchen of Number Two, Privet Drive, was somber and melancholy. Sherlock, Harry and Sherlock's mother, Anastasia Holmes sat quietly eating their dinner in a subdued manner that was a great contrast to the lively and happy dinner conversation that usually occurred every night.

Usually, Harry and Anastasia would make enthusiastic conversation, with Sherlock butting in occasionally with a rude observation or sarcastic comment. Tonight, however, Harry was looking positively downtrodden, and Sherlock too was extremely upset. He wasn't giving any outward indication that he was distressed, but Anastasia could tell, simply from the fact that he hadn't made a single observation all night.

Anastasia herself was deeply upset, and had to actually stifle a small sob as she thought of Harry leaving and Sherlock returning to his former unhealthy and closed off lifestyle. Tonight was Harry's last night at the Holmes residence before he left for St. Brutus' the next day.

Anastasia didn't believe that Harry really went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. She might not be the genius that her two sons and her late husband were, but it didn't take a very high IQ to realize that Harry and her son were hiding something from her. Plus, there was no way Harry was a criminal.

There was a kindness and patience to Harry that she had never seen in anyone else. Harry tolerated Sherlock's quirks with a long-suffering but amused smile, never once getting irritated or frustrated.

An incurably criminal boy wouldn't grin at Sherlock with that fun-loving, affectionate (and dare she hope- slightly infatuated?) grin that she saw Harry send Sherlock constantly.

Harry may be a lot of things, and sometimes, when Anastasia looked in his eyes she could tell that he had been through a lot in his short life, but Harry was not a cold-hearted criminal. This, she was certain of.

She didn't care that Harry was hiding a secret- he could be an alien from Mars come to study the lives of humans for all she cared. He had made Sherlock open himself up to friendship and allow himself to feel emotion like he never had before, and Anastasia would never forget that. She owed Harry.

Harry had brought something into Sherlock's life that had never been there before. Anastasia knew that Sherlock loved her dearly, but she had never once seen him smiling and joking with her as frankly and openly as he did with Harry.

She knew that she was the only one in the family who had been worried about Sherlock before now. Sherlock had been perfectly happy in his solitude, and had had no intention of disrupting it by trying to make friends. As for Mycroft, he cared about Sherlock because Sherlock was his brother, but the only real interest he had in Sherlock was when they were trying to one-up each other.

As the only 'normal' member of the Holmes family, Anastasia found that she had no one to share her worries with- no one else in the family gave the slightest attention to something as petty and mundane as _emotion._

She was the only one who had found fault with Sherlock's solitude because she was the only _normal _person in her family. Anastasia wasn't a disconnected genius like her husband had been. Yes, she was extremely intelligent, but she was nowhere near the level of genius that her beloved Arthur had been.

It hadn't been her brains that had drawn Arthur to her, it was the fact that, despite her being an emotional person, Arthur's coldness hadn't put her off like it did most people. She had managed to see him for who he really was and had loved him deeply despite his detached and cold demeanor, because she had seen the beautiful soul that lay beneath it.

Sherlock was the carbon copy of his father- the only thing more astounding than his genius was how utterly emotionless he could be. But Anastasia knew the goodness in him that lurked right alongside the coldness, even if it was well hidden sometimes.

That was what had caused her to worry so much.

She had seen Sherlock withdraw more and more into his head as the years passed. Seen how every year he thought more with his brain and less with his heart. She didn't want Sherlock to erase that part of himself- the emotional part, it was the most beautiful side of him. And it was becoming less and less visible as time went by.

She had moved to Surrey because she had hoped that in the new place Sherlock would find acceptance and friendship that would bring out that long-forgotten side of him.

At first, she thought the move had been a colossal mistake. From the very first day she had noticed all the gossiping and spying that occurred between the ladies of the neighborhood and was disgusted. Those harpies making snide comments behind Sherlock's back was the last thing her son needed!

She had completely despaired at that point, feeling as if she had failed her son, and that was when Harry had come.

He had been a godsend- friendly, fun-loving, and most of all- accepting. He had charmed his way into Anastasia's heart as well as Sherlock's, had fit right into the family dynamic as if he had always belonged there, and had caused Sherlock to smile without there being a dead body involved.

The house was brighter and cheerier with another person in it, especially a person who brought so much joy to the other inhabitants of the house.

And now he would be gone. Anastasia knew she would miss him dearly, and she knew it would be five times harder for Sherlock to deal with his departure than for her.

She could no longer help it, she got up from the table, walked around to where Harry was sitting, and flung her arms around him, sobbing.

"You'll write, won't you?" she demanded.

Harry looked like he wasn't sure if to feel pleased or embarrassed by the display of affection. He patted her arm lightly and smiled up at her with great affection "I promise". His eyes looked a bit glassy, but his smile was sincere.

"Good" she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head "I'll finish up her and wash the dishes, you and Sherlock go upstairs, you should spend as much time together as possible before you need to leave".

Harry nodded at her and motioned Sherlock to follow him. Sherlock got up wordlessly from the table and followed Harry.

* * *

"Well, what is it?" demanded Sherlock, the second him and Harry had reached his room.

"What's what?" asked Harry in confusion.

"My present, of course. What did you get me as a present?"

"You mean you don't know?" asked Harry in shock. Seeing the scowl on Sherlock's face he smirked "You really don't know, oh I am _so_ never letting you forget this, Mr. I-Know-Everything!"

Sherlock's scowl deepened and Harry decided that he should put the teasing aside for now. He bent down, and pulled a box out from under the bed.

"That's the worst hiding place I've ever seen" commented Sherlock.

"Well, I figured you'd deduce that I got you something within about five seconds, I just figured if it was out of sight the chances of you being tempted into opening it would be smaller." answered Harry. Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement, and then tore the box out of Harry's hands impatiently.

Inside sat a white skull, with a pink bow taped to it at the temple.

"So you have someone to talk to when I'm away. I figure it's a bit better than that smiley face drawn on your wall." Said Harry with a grin.

Sherlock laughed "It is!" he took the skull out and examined it.

"It's not a real skull" was his genius deduction.

"Of course it's not!" exclaimed Harry "What did you want me to do? Break into a mortuary or dig up a grave to get you a real skull? I stole it from the biology classroom at that preppy school near Magnolia Crescent" suddenly he looked a bit guilty "Do you think it was stealing? I had to break into the school to get the skull because I didn't have any idea where I might be able to buy one, but I left money behind to pay for it!"

Sherlock laughed "So breaking into a school is somehow better than breaking into a mortuary?"

"Yes!" answered Harry emphatically.

Sherlock looked down at the skull again "Thank you for the present, Harry, I love it. But, you know, it won't really be able to replace you. Even if you do talk an awful lot of nonsense, I really think I prefer you to an inanimate object. You'll use that parchment to write a lot, won't you?"

He looked down at the ground, looking slightly uncomfortable with his display of emotion. Harry too blushed and tried to pretend he wasn't touched by the moment.

Neither Sherlock nor Harry were especially touchy-feely or affectionate, and any display of emotion was highly irregular for either of them.

Harry had never been given any sign of affection or caring for the first ten years of his life and had become accustomed to it. He didn't feel comfortable hugging his friends and lavishing affection on them and vice versa. It reminded him too much of Aunt Petunia fawning over Dudley.

Sherlock was socially inept and had a brilliant mind. He, too, was far more comfortable relying on his brain then on something as erratic and unstable as emotions.

Still, both Harry and Sherlock managed to convey their affection for each other in more subtle ways.

Harry had witnessed for himself how much Sherlock cared for him the day of his second trial at the ministry.

It had been obvious to them both that Harry was going to win. After all, having been imbibed with Veritaserum and then point blank if he had been telling the truth about the dementors was a foolproof way to prove his innocence.

Still, after leaving the trial with Harry as victor, Sherlock had seemed deflated somehow. He had congratulated Harry with a very painful looking smile on his face, and had proceeded to fume the entire way home.

He had been silent during the entire bus ride and the walk home, only stopping to snarl at Mr. and Mrs. Number Seven "You're both cheating on each other. I suggest you stay married, you obviously deserve each other."

Harry had realized that Sherlock's bad mood had stemmed from the fact that he had been hoping that Harry would have to stay with Sherlock and was disappointed now that it turned out that he would be leaving. Harry had found it touching.

Still, even though he had already known Sherlock cared, hearing him say it made a wave of affection for Sherlock wash over Harry, and when he nodded his consent his throat felt slightly obstructed.

Sherlock, as unaccustomed as Harry to such emotional displays lightened the mood by saying "So, I see I've been a good influence on you, Harry. You would never have had the guts to break into a private institution before this summer."

The conversation relaxed again, and the skull grinned on as its blank eyes watched the two boys continue to chat well into the night.

* * *

Harry sat in the train compartment and stared out of the window. The platform was bustling with people. Kids were greeting each other happily, smiling, and talking about their summers.

Harry watched a tearful mother hug her son goodbye. The son squirmed uncomfortably, looking around to see if any of his friends were there to witness him being so uncool. Once he saw that no one was watching, he turned to his mother and gave her a long tight hug. The mother smile tearfully and ruffled his hair.

Harry himself had already said his goodbyes earlier at the muggle side of the train station. Anastasia Holmes had hugged him tenderly, and wished him good luck with incredible fondness in her voice. Harry had already come to associate her presence with the sweet and motherly feeling that he had only felt around Molly Weasley before.

The only difference between the two was that Mrs. Holmes was a much more lenient mother than Molly. Harry could never imagine Ron being allowed to get away with keeping pieces of dead skin in a container in the kitchen. Then again, Harry supposed raising Sherlock must have gifted Anastasia Holmes with super-human patience.

When the time had come to say goodbye to Sherlock himself, Harry had found himself choking up. He had never before known acceptance or friendship of the kind Sherlock had given him this summer. The brilliant teenager now held a big part of his heart, and he knew he would miss Sherlock's presence more than he had ever missed anything before.

He would miss the constant stream of conversation that Sherlock could keep up for hours, endless deductions that Harry was never able to keep up with. He would miss being woken up in the middle of the night by a hauntingly beautiful melody played out on a violin. He would miss how Sherlock would smile indulgently at him, and explain his complicated deductions with a patience he never showed anyone else. Most of all, he would miss the feeling of companionship, of having someone to care for, someone who cared for him in return. Someone he could be himself around with absolutely no reservations or hesitation.

He had wanted to tell Sherlock all of this, but when he opened his mouth, all that would come out was: "I'll miss you a lot".

Sherlock smiled at Harry and pulled him into a hug. "I wish I could come with you, I'll be bored to death with you gone." He looked at Harry then suddenly.

For one second, Sherlock stared deeply into Harry's eyes as if he was trying to convey some deeper message that he couldn't say out loud. A second later he had looked away, and the moment was broken.

"There's a wizarding kid behind you" whispered Sherlock "His baby sister threw up on him this morning. He's had time to change clothes, but not to shower. You might want to avoid sharing a compartment with him."

Harry was laughing as he and Sherlock shared one last one-armed-hug and parted, but as soon as Sherlock was gone the smile had slid from Harry's face.

He had felt depressed at the thought of not seeing Sherlock again for so long, and had set out to find a compartment for himself where he could sulk quietly. Finding no empty compartment, he had settled for the next best thing-

In one compartment, there was only one girl, and she seemed absorbed in her own world and unlikely to bother Harry, something that suited him.

There was something about her that made Harry take an instant liking to her- she had her wand stuck behind her ear for safekeeping, was wearing a necklace made out of what appeared to be butterbeer caps, and was reading a newspaper upside down. But it wasn't her weirdness that had caused Harry to feel like they already knew each other and were friends- it was her air of utter indifference to what other people thought of her. Shelock had the same aura about him, and the thought made Harry smile.

"Mind if I sit here?" he had asked her.

She had looked up from her newspaper at him, revealing pale protuberant eyes, surveyed him for a second and then nodded.

She had gone back to her newspaper a second later, and Harry had sat opposite to her and was now staring thoughtfully out of the window.

A couple seconds later, the girl seemed to have finished the article she had been reading, because she folded her newspaper and turned her gaze to Harry.

"You're Harry Potter." She told him.

Harry nodded "I'm aware."

"That's good," answered the girl solemnly "it means you aren't infected by the Flimni Floogbies. They make you loose track of who you are, you know. I'm Luna Lovegood."

"Pleased to meet you" answered Harry, meaning it.

She looked like she was about to speak again, but just then the compartment door opened, and Ron and Hermione rushed in.

"Harry! There you are!" cried Hermione and embraced him. Her hug nearly choked him, and he patted her back awkwardly feeling embarrassed. He was happy to see her, to see them both, but he felt less connected, less on the same level with them than he usually was. His awareness of this fact made him feel uncomfortable.

"Oh Harry! We really can't stay long to talk, the prefect's meeting's already started, and we're late as it is, but we just had to find you before the train left the station, we haven't seen you all summer! The second the meeting's done we'll come back here and we can catch up. Okay?"

Harry nodded feeling a bit taken aback at how quickly Hermione was speaking. Hermione gave him a quick smile and then dragged Ron out of the compartment by the hand very quickly. Harry heard her from out in the hallway. "Oooh, late for our very first prefect meeting, how embarrassing! Hurry up, Ron!"

It had all happened so fast, that Harry had barely had time to process what she had said. Once he had thought it through, he sat up in surprise. "Did she say _We're_ late to the prefect's meeting?"

Luna nodded her head slowly peering at him curiously.

"She didn't say '_I'm_ late', she said '_we're_ late' right?" Luna nodded again.

"Huh" said Harry softly.

He honestly hadn't thought about the prefect position at all that summer and had forgotten that this was the year prefects would be assigned from their age group. Even if he had remembered though, he never in a million years would have guessed that Ron would have become their grade's prefect.

He wondered on what basis Ron was given the job.

Ron was abysmal at school, so the only reason to give him the prefect position would be all the adventures he'd been through during the school years. The only qualification for his becoming prefect would have been his bravery in rescuing the Philosopher's Stone during the first year, and helping save Ginny the second. And if those were the reasons for Ron being chosen as prefect, then Harry should have been the one to get the badge, as he had done everything Ron had done and more.

Harry could only think of one explanation for the mysterious nomination, and if that explanation was true, then it was definitely unfair on Dumbledore's part.

Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed how Ron reacted when he became jealous of Harry and when he felt that Harry was overshadowing him last year, and was trying to soothe Ron's ego by giving him a position superior to Harry's to spare Harry the heartache and hurt he had had to go through last year during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry was touched by the sentiment, but he also felt slightly guilty that it was his fault the prefect position wasn't being given to someone who really deserved it. He also felt resentful- if it took getting nominated to be prefect for Ron to stay his friend, then he wasn't a friend worth having. Harry wanted to believe that Ron would stick by him even if he didn't get the role. Dumbledore's actions indicated what his opinion of the friendship between Ron and him was, and it was insulting.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the compartment door opening, as Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom entered the compartment.

"Luna, is it okay if we sit-" she began, before spotting Harry "Harry!" she cried happily sitting down next to him "I haven't seen you all this summer, where have you been?"

"Around" said Harry vaguely, not feeling in the mood to start a long and complicated explanation "Hey, Neville."

Neville grinned and greeted him back.

"Does everyone here know each other?" asked Ginny "Harry, Neville, this is Luna Lovegood. She's in my year, but in Ravenclaw. Luna, these are Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom."

"Okay." Said Luna faintly. She stared at Neville for a couple of seconds before turning back to her magazine. Harry thought that she wasn't trying to be rude, she just wasn't aware that the expected answer was "Nice to meet you." In any case, Neville didn't seem to mind. In fact, he had already turned back to Harry.

"So, Harry, guess what I got from my family for my birthday?" he asked, enthusiasm shining in his eyes.

Harry was no Sherlock, but he decided to consider the question rationally. Knowing Neville's strict grandmother, it would probably be something to help him at school. Neville seemed really happy about getting it, so if it was something to do with education, it probably had something to do with his best and favorite subject.

"Something to do with Herbology?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yup!" exclaimed Neville proudly. He rummaged for a bit in his bag, before emerging with a yell of triumph clutching the ugliest plant Harry had ever seen. It looked like a grey cactus, only it had big pulsing boils instead of spikes.

"Well," laughed Harry "she certainly didn't give it to you for its aesthetic value. I'm assuming it has some important magical properties?"

"It's called a _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_" sighed Neville happily, staring at the plant with pride "it has tons of cool things it can do. It's super rare and can be used in all kinds of really powerful healing potions. Not that I'd ever put mine in a potion" he shuddered, and hugged his plant protectively.

"It has a really cool defense mechanism too, look!" he pulled out his wand with the hand that wasn't holding his toad, Trevor, and prepared to poke the plant with it when the compartment door opened again.

Cho Chang, the incredibly attractive Ravenclaw seeker whom Harry had had a crush on since last year peaked inside.

Seeing all the intrigued faces staring at her, she appeared to get a bit nervous and stammered slightly as she greeted Harry.

"Um, hey Harry. I just uhhh thought I'd stop by to say hi." She licked her lips nervously.

"Hi." Said Harry. He tried to think of something more sophisticated to say, but nothing came to mind. It occurred to him as he looked at her that his perspective of her had changed.

Last year he had been blown away by her beauty. Now, as he looked at her, he could still acknowledge that she was a gorgeous girl, but after spending an entire summer around Sherlock with his ethereal beauty and endless grace, Cho's good looks didn't seem as impressive as they had before.

Apparently, that fact still didn't prevent him from being reduced to a dribbling idiot whenever she was around.

He continued to stare at her, searching around wildly in his mind for something intelligent to say as the silence became more and more awkward.

Cho's blush deepened, and she finally said "So…. That's it, just thought I'd stop by. Bye now!" and without waiting for a response she ran out of the compartment, closing the door after her.

'I should have asked her how her summer was!' thought Harry furiously a minute after she had left, but it was too late by then.

Ah, well, it didn't really matter. Cho was pretty and all, but Harry didn't know her well enough to really be emotionally attached to her, so it wasn't the end of the world if nothing happened between them.

His attention was turned back to Neville seconds later, as Neville continued talking about his plant. "…and it spurts liquid from all these boils when it feels threatened. It's not poisonous or anything, but it stinks. Cool, right?"

"Pretty cool." Answered Harry, slipping into a fantasy of shooting greenish stinky liquid into Malfoy's face with a muggle water gun. He wondered if he could procure some of the smelly substance.

"Neville, what causes it to shoot out the stinky stuff?"

"It's called stinksap. Here, I'll show you…"

"No, no," Harry hastened to answer "we still have a four hour ride left, and I don't want to spend it in a stinky compartment. You can show me later."

Neville nodded. "You're right, Harry. Just remind me to show you."

They settled into comfortable conversation, that wasn't interrupted until Ron and Hermione entered the compartment about an hour later.

They greeted Neville and Ginny, and then turned to Harry. Hermione gave Harry a pointed look, and Harry nodded and got up.

"Could you excuse us for a bit?" he asked Neville, Ginny and Luna "Hermione, Ron and I have some things we need to discuss."

They were waved away, and Harry exited to compartment with his first two friends.

"Let's go find somewhere private."

As Harry's search had revealed earlier that day, there were no empty compartments in the train. Every room they looked into was filled with people who all stared at Harry openly with curiosity. Some of them even blatantly pointed.

Finally, with a burst of genius, Harry suggested they try the prefect compartment- since the meeting was over, each prefect had likely joined their friends in the other compartments, and there was a chance it would be empty.

Hermione seemed reluctant at the idea of breaking the rules by letting a non-prefect into the compartment, but Harry just rolled his eyes at her and entered the room. Hermione soon followed looking resigned but a bit nervous at the thought of being caught.

Once they had settled down in the compartment an awkward silence descended. Harry felt that he didn't know where to start or how to explain what he was feeling, and both Hermione and Ron were looking at him expectantly waiting for him to start his explanation.

"So I guess you're wondering where I've been staying all summer" he finally began. They both nodded.

"You want to know where I stayed, why I stayed there and didn't come to the place Dumbledore wanted me to stay in. I didn't give much by way of explanation in the letter I wrote to you, though I did mention I was angry at you. I'm sure that upset you and you want to hear an explanation for that too."

Both Hermione and Ron nodded. Ron's face was red and he looked indignant and mutinous. Hermione's eyes were wide and slightly wet; he had hurt her feelings with what he had written in the letter.

He felt slightly bad for making Hermione sad, but then he remembered how alone, scared and isolated he had felt that summer before he had met Sherlock, and his guilt vanished.

"I know that things were different from your point of view- you were just following the instructions Dumbledore had given you, right?"

Both Hermione and Ron nodded.

"I understand what things were like from your side. The thing is, you two never once stopped to consider what I was experiencing from my side.

"Do you know what this past summer was like for me? You need to understand my mindset at the beginning of this summer: First of all- I was tired. I was so so tired of bad things happening to me, and me not being able to stop them. All I wanted was to catch a break. One tiny break. Just one school year where I wouldn't have to end up fearing for my life. But, of course, there's no way I could ever hope for peace now, because Voldemort's back. And I was just so tired of being scared and having to be strong and brave.

The whole summer all I can do is worry about what's coming the next school year, what I'll need to face. All this summer I'm either agonizing over what the future holds for me, or reliving that night in the graveyard.

At nights I dreamt of the graveyard, and saw Cedric die in front of my eyes over and over and over. During the days I wonder if anyone else I know is being killed by Voldemort at that very moment.

I got almost no sleep at night because of the nightmares, and during the day all I could do was worry and try to get some news of what's going on in the wizarding world.

Do you know how much comfort an honest and sincere letter would have been then? I was going crazy from living scenario after scenario of someone I loved or cared for or even just knew getting blasted away by Voldemort. And you couldn't give me even the slightest bit of news? Of comfort?

Instead you made me feel like a disobedient child- stay where you are, and let the grownups handle it. Do you realize what you were doing to me?"

Harry was breathing hard by now. He had been so happy and content these last few weeks, he had felt so carefree, that he had completely forgotten the depression and the crazed restlessness from the beginning of the summer. Now that he was describing those days, he felt the familiar feelings flood him again, and resentment for Ron and Hermione welled up inside him.

He looked at his two oldest friends. Ron was looking irritated. Harry knew why. He had made Ron feel guilty, and Ron hated feeling guilty or admitting that he was wrong. He was mad at Harry for making him feel like a bad person.

Harry was starting to reach the conclusion that Ron was a friend who was fun to hang around with, but not the type of friend you wanted to rely on at a time of need.

Hermione, on the other hand, was looking absolutely wretched. There were tears in her eyes and before Harry knew it she rushed over to hug him.

"Oh Harry! I'm so so so so sorry! I didn't realize how bad it was for you, or I would have done something. But Dumbledore told us not to write you anything important, because the letters could be intercepted! I really really wish that these security methods weren't necessary, especially now that I know how awful you had it this summer, but we had no choice! We had to!"

Harry felt his heart soften a little. Hermione could be an annoying know-it-all sometimes, but he could count on her when he needed help or comfort- she genuinely cared.

If only she would take two minutes to think!

"In your last letter to me this summer, you asked me where I was. I couldn't figure out how you would know that I left my aunt and uncle's house at first, and then I realized. I found out the day I had to fight off the dementors that there was supposed to be someone watching me to make sure that something like this wouldn't happen. Dumbledore had assigned some sort of guard to protect me."

Hermione nodded.

"And obviously, if you knew I was missing, you were aware of the guard; that was how you knew I wasn't there. Ron, when your dad took me to the ministry for my trial, he tried to convince me to come with him to some sort of headquarters. He said it was the headquarters of a group that was fighting against Voldemort and that you've been staying there this summer."

Both Hermione and Ron nodded.

"The people who were watching me this summer, they were in this group too, weren't they?" he didn't need to see his friends' nods to know he was correct, it all fit together perfectly. "So you lived in the headquarters of the group, and knew there were people guarding me. Did it once occur to you to write me a letter and send it with one of my guards?"

Both Hermione and Ron stared at him. A look was forming on Hermione's face. A look that Harry had seen before on other people, but never on Hermione. The 'Why-Didn't-I-Think-of-That?' look.

"This whole summer, that idea didn't occur to you once, did it?" asked Harry with a bitter smile. "and I know why you didn't think of it. Dumbledore told you that you couldn't send me any letters with information, and because he's Dumbledore you didn't think to question it. We're so used to thinking of Dumbledore as this omniscient figure, who knows all and sees all and always knows what's best, that it doesn't really occur to anyone to question anything he says."

Hermione let out a subdued laugh. "That's exactly it. Here I am thinking to myself- 'How could I have overlooked such an obvious solution when I pride myself for being smart?' and you come out with the exact reason. It never _did_ occur to us to question anything Dumbledore said."

Harry smiled bitterly "Believe me, I understand. I was always just as awed by Dumbledore, just as ready to do anything he says, he really does always seem so wise, doesn't he?

I understand why it didn't occur to you to question what he says, because I've experienced for myself what it's like when he tells you something. He really makes you feel like that's the only solution, and like he's really wise for suggesting it. That's why I'm not more angry than I am, because I know the effect he has on people.

But I'm your best friend and he's just your headmaster. I know that we're all naturally inclined to believe he's always right, and maybe he is most of the time, but _I'm_ your best friend. If there was any occasion where you should have questioned what he told you, it was this one. You didn't bother trying to think of a different solution for my sake, and I'll be honest with you- it really really hurts."

Ron looked really apologetic by this point and Hermione looked absolutely miserable.

Harry sighed, they were still his friends and he still loved them. He hated seeing Hermione looking so downtrodden, and he figured he had already made his point.

"Look, I don't want to fight with you. You're my friends, and I don't want to stay angry with you. I've said my piece, and I think I've made my point. Let's go back to the compartment with everyone else and forget this ever happened. Just next time, when you're faced with a similar situation, you'll think it through more. Won't you?"

They both looked relieved that they were being forgiven so quickly and nodded. In fact, they were both so grateful that Harry had forgiven them with such little trouble, that they completely forgot to ask where Harry had been that summer.

* * *

**Ooh, Harry's sneaky... I'm really sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes I've gone over it myself, but my beta seems to be MIA, when she contacts me, I'll upload the chapter with corrections.**

**I love it whenever I get questions, constructive critisisms, insight into the characters, or even just a short and sweet 'I like it!'. Review!**


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: I know, I know, I promised quick updates from now on, and it's been over a week since I last updated. School has been really really busy, and really really stressful. Thank god this is my last year of school, at least for a couple of years, I don't know how much more I'd be able to take.**

**This chapter is much shorter than normal, but I wanted to post at least something, to show that I hadn't forgotten my promise. Next chapter should be normal length again.**

**Oh, and I discovered something: JKR has given express permission for fanfiction to be written about the Harry Potter series. No disclaimer from now on!**

**Warnings for opinions that might be considered slightly homophobic, and for minor Dumbledore bashing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Seven**

Back in the train compartment, Luna was once again reading her newspaper and Ginny was discussing Quidditch with Neville.

Harry and Ron joined Ginny and Neville's conversation effortlessly, while Hermione buried herself in a book.

Harry was glad for the comfortable air of companionship in the compartment, after the loaded conversation he had just had with Ron and Hermione. He was also grateful that the others didn't ask any questions about where they had just gone. He was feeling content and comfortable and didn't feel like dealing with all the unpleasant and bitter emotions that the conversation had brought up in him.

The comfortable atmosphere was disrupted a couple of minutes later, though, as Draco Malfoy entered their train compartment, his trademark sneer marring what would have been an otherwise handsome face.

"Oh, god, you again Malfoy?" groaned Harry "Shove off, would you?"

He honestly didn't understand why Draco Malfoy visited his train compartment every single year, why he sought them out. When Harry hated people, he tended to avoid them, but Draco Malfoy kept on purposefully confronting him. Harry wondered why that was.

An idea occurred to him, and a wicked grin spread over his face.

Malfoy looked slightly disconcerted by the grin, and hurried to hurdle a comeback at Harry. Harry had the distinct impression that Malfoy had planned the insult in advance. "Mind your manners around me Potter, it wouldn't be wise to get on my bad side. You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out detentions."

The whole speech was delivered with a cocky grin, but the grin faded somewhat when Malfoy saw that Harry was continuing to grin in a rather smug manner.

"You know, Malfoy, I've been thinking. Why do you keep on seeking Ron, Hermione and I out? When I hate someone, I do my very best to avoid them, because I don't like being in the presence of their ugly mug" he gave Malfoy a pointed look, and the boy flushed angrily "but not you, Malfoy. I've noticed that if you haven't had a fight with us for too long, you'll go out of your way looking for us. Like now" he added pointedly "And I started thinking to myself, why would you do your very best to be in the company of people you hate? And I think I've figured the answer out."

Harry's grin became wider as he delivered the punch line "You have a crush, don't you? You have a crush on Hermione, which is why you're always seeking us out. You can't let anyone ever know about the crush, because she's muggleborn and you're a Slytherin, so you pretend to hate us, but you can't stand the thought of her not knowing who you are, so you try to bully her to get her attention. I actually feel a bit sorry for you, unrequited love sucks."

A look of sudden comprehension bloomed across Neville and Ginny's faces, and Ron's gaze was bouncing from Draco to Hermione and back, his face a bit green. He looked like he wanted to puke. Even Crabbe and Goyle were staring at Malfoy speculatively, apparently Harry had been quite convincing in his argument.

Malfoy's face was the light pink the was the equivalent of a tomato-colored blush on anyone else's face. Finally, he sneered (his default expression, Harry supposed) and snarled "As if I would even think of touching a filthy little mudblood like her!" before storming out of the compartment.

As soon as the door closed behind Malfoy and his two thugs the compartment filled with the sound of laughter.

"That was awesome, Harry!" cried Neville in between snorts of laughter "Malfoy in love with Hermione, there's literally nothing more offensive you could have said to him! No offense, Hermione." He hastened to add, staring at her.

She shook her head at him, indicating that she had taken the comment the way he had intended, and then chuckled quietly again. "In love with me, Harry? You're out of your mind. With the amount of hair gel he uses in his hair, there's no way it's me he's in love with. It's got to be either you or Ron."

Harry snorted again, but Ron looked vaguely sick.

After the giggles in the compartment subsided again, Neville spoke out "But seriously now, Harry, do you really think it is possible that he might be in love with Hermione? If so, I can't help feeling a bit sorry for him."

Harry shook his head "I just said that to humiliate him. The reason he seeks us out is because he is a bully, and bullies love the empowered feeling they get by putting another person down, it makes them feel more important than they really are. The only time Draco ever feels significant is when he's bothering other people, otherwise, no one would ever pay any attention to him." Harry was quite familiar with bullies as a result of his childhood, and had spent quite some time in his younger years pondering the motivation behind his tormenters' behavior. He thought he could write a book on the psychology behind bullying. After all, he had grown up in the home of the two biggest bullies to ever walk the face of this earth, and one of them came with his own gang.

Luna, who had been silent up until that moment, laid down her magazine and added her own input: "It's really not Draco's fault for being the way he is, it is a well known fact that an ancient curse that was placed on the Malfoy family a century ago causes them to attract Blibbering Humdingers."

Ron scowled, unforgiving "I think Malfoy is a Blibbering Humdinger himself, what an arse!"

Luna nodded solemnly "Well, that's what Blibbering Humdingers make you do, they give you the constant sensation of having a stick up your behind, it's terribly uncomfortable."

"What utter and complete nonsense!" snapped Hermione "I've never heard of Blibbering Humdingers in my life!"

Ron gave her an exasperated look "Hermione, she just said Malfoy has a giant stick up his arse, she obviously knows what she's talking about."

Hermione sputtered incredulously while the rest of the cabin roared with laughter,

As Harry laughed heartily, he felt any remaining tension from him conversation with Ron and Hermione leave him. For the time being everything was good, and Harry forgot all about Dumbledore, Voldemort, friends and betrayals.

Albus Dumbledore pulled out of his pensieve and stood up, groaning as his aging muscles protested against the sudden movement after so much time kneeling.

Well, it had been worth it. All the briberies, confunduses, the long hours of trying to track down Amy Benson had finally paid off. Just yesterday he had finally managed to find the psychiatric ward in which she was located, and get a private interview with her. An interview during which he had obtained this memory.

He now finally knew the location of that cave. The cave to which Tom Riddle had taken Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop so very long ago. And Albus just knew that there was a Horcrux in that cave, he could feel it in his bones.

He was glad he had made some progress on the Horcrux front, because things were moving much quicker than he had planned, and he was having trouble keeping up with everything that was going on.

It had started the night that Severus had returned from a Death Eater meeting to give him some surprising news: Voldemort was no longer interested in hearing the contents of the prophecy. Severus didn't know why, and Voldemort hadn't seen fit to explain it, but he had ordered all his Death Eaters to stop all the efforts that were being made to obtain the prophecy.

The news had actually relieved Albus the first time he had heard it. He had been dedicating so much of his time to protecting the prophecy, that he had had no time to focus on the most important part of the war against Voldemort: the Horcruxes.

Now that he didn't need to worry about protecting the prophecy, he would be able to dedicate more of his time to hunting down the pieces of Voldemort's severed soul and destroying them.

He had been feeling hopeful, and, he had to admit, slightly arrogant, when he managed to bypass the wards around the run-down Gaunt shack so easily.

He had to admit he was proud of how little time it had taken him to discover the location of one of the Horcruxes. He was already starting to imagine the light at the end of the tunnel, the death of Voldemort, when disaster had struck.

The source of the disaster wasn't one of Voldemort's traps- little did Albus know before he set out on his journey that the greatest danger he would face during his quest for the Horcruxes wouldn't be of Voldemort's making, it would be himself.

He had been prepared for dark and dangerous enchantments cast around the shack, for a swarm of ghastly dark creatures (inferi, maybe, or dementors). What he hadn't been prepared for was his own reaction when he saw the stone on the Horcrux-ring.

When he had spotted the symbol carved on it, he had become light-headed with euphoria. He felt a haze surround him, and all he could think of was seeing his mother, his father, Arianna, again.

Who was Voldemort? What did he matter? In a few short moments he would get to hug his parents, to sweep sweet little Arianna up in his arms and whisper in her ear how sorry he was. Whisper it over and over and over again until she forgave him, and they all became a family again.

The blinding pain, like one-thousand burning knives, coursing through his skin, originating from his finger brought him back to his right mind and he quickly pulled the ring off and apparated away.

It was too late by then, though, and all Severus could have done was trap the curse inside one arm for the time being.

And suddenly, Albus had found himself with far too little time, and far too much to do. He needed to gradually teach Harry about the Horcruxes, slowly preparing him for his destiny, but how could he, when the boy didn't even know about the prophecy yet?

He wouldn't be able to dump the prophecy on Harry and then immediately start teaching him about Horcruxes, the boy's mind would rebel, he would break under the pressure. Harry needed more time to come to terms with everything, but because of his moment of weakness, they didn't have that type of time to spare anymore.

He would have to force Harry to absorb all this life-changing information within the span of a year- the amount of time Albus had to live. Harry would just have to handle the sudden influx of information as best he could.

Harry would be able to manage it, he was a strong boy, one of the strongest people Albus had ever known.

Strong, and yet, so weak and needy when it came to love and emotions. Deprived of the love he had craved for the first ten years of his childhood, Harry was desperate to please his friends, to do anything for them. He would give everything in his power and more to his loved ones.

Dumbledore felt ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but in retrospect, it was a good thing that Harry was raised the way he was.

It felt like blasphemy to even think it. No child, and especially not one as loving, as noble, as good as Harry, should have had to go through the childhood Harry had endured.

But despite how awful it was, how sad Albus felt when he thought of the first lonely and miserable years of Harry's life, he had to admit to himself that it turned out for the best.

Harry appreciated his friends in a way someone who had grown up with love in his life never would, and would therefore do anything for them. Even sacrifice himself.

And Harry had to sacrifice himself in the end, for the greater good.

It broke Albus' heart to think of it because he had come to care for Harry, even love him, during the brief years they had known each other. But despite the great loss to the world that the absence of Harry's loving personality would be, Albus knew it had to happen.

So in a way, it was better that Harry had had such a sad childhood, if it meant it would enable him to do what was necessary for the greater good.

Dumbledore sighed. People never understood what kind of sacrifices being the leader of the light entailed. Because sometimes, you couldn't fight evil with good. Sometimes, you had to defeat evil by committing a smaller evil. That was a kind of sacrifice only he would ever know.

He sighed again, and stood up, sparing a short glance to his blackened and shriveled hand, before heading out of his office and towards the Great Hall, to greet the returning students.

* * *

**Hello again, sorry for the lack of Sherlock and Tom this chapter, their absence will be rectified next chapter.**

**Even though I hardly ever have time to write, I always make it a point to write for at least 15 minutes every time I get a review. I hope that's incentive to leave me a short review, because I really do love getting them, and I read and appreciate every single one.**

**See you soon (hopefully)!**


	9. Chapter 8

Sherlock opened the door to his room and threw himself onto his bed, burying his face in the pillow.

He looked at the skull, which was smiling vacantly at him from the desk across the room.

"Bored!" he grunted at it.

The skull continued to smile.

Dull! Talking to an inanimate object was so dull.

He used to talk to inanimate objects out loud before, speaking out loud helped organize the mess that was going through his head. He had liked speaking out loud to the empty space of his room, laying a whole complex tangle out in neat, precise words till it all made sense. But that was before he realized how interesting having a conversation could be.

He enjoyed talking to Harry much more than he did talking to himself, and was finding it hard to return to his old pattern of talking to the smiley-face drawn on his wall.

Sherlock glanced at his watch.

_Two hours and twenty seven minutes until Harry would be available._

Harry had promised him that he would write right after dinner in the great hall about how everything had gone and if the adventure for that year had already started.

Sherlock knew, from Harry's incredibly detailed stories, that the train always arrived at the station just as it was getting dark.

After that it was 20 minutes to get to school, 30 minutes for the sorting ceremony, and an hour and a half for the feast and start-of-term announcements. Then it was 12 minutes to get to the Gryffindor tower, another 10 to shower, get ready for bed, and get rid of Weasley who would probably want to talk or play chess or something else stupid like that, and then, finally, Harry would be available to write.

It had started to get dark exactly 25 minutes ago, which left two hours and twenty seven minutes until he could expect a message from Harry. He glared at the skull once again.

"You don't give a damn that just by looking at my mother's shoes and hand I managed to deduce that she went to the Coffee shop two streets down today, and stopped to talk with Mrs. Turner. My brilliance is wasted on you."

The skull remained impassive.

"I think I'll name you Anderson." Said Sherlock vindictively. When the skull didn't respond he continued, "Anderson is in the Police force back in London and he's an incompetent idiot, so the name would suit you perfectly."

Anderson smiled. No, not Anderson, the skull just didn't look like an Anderson.

"Or I could call you Lockhart, he was extremely good looking, and no one can deny that you are too, but he was the biggest idiot to ever grace Planet Earth. His skull is just as empty as you are."

Once the issue of naming the skull was resolved, Sherlock went back to staring at the clock.

_Two hours and twenty six minutes until Harry would be available._

* * *

A white eye, with no pupil, met Harry's gaze as he stared at the black creature incredulously. Since when were there animals harnessed to the school carriages? They were perfectly capable of driving themselves!

And what kind of animals were these anyways? They were like nothing Harry had ever seen before. Well, Hermione would know.

"Hermione, what are those things?" he asked, pointing to the midnight black and slightly intimidating creatures.

"Which things?" she asked, puzzled, even as she looked straight at them. Talk about hiding in plain sight.

Harry rolled his eyes, it was true that he had gotten used to Sherlock, who was the most observant person in all of Britain, but surely Hermione wasn't that oblivious. After all, it was very hard to miss the weird black creatures pulling the school carriages that he knew from previous experience were perfectly capable of driving on their own.

"The black animals harnessed to the school carriages." He answered patiently.

"Harry? What animals? The carriages are pulling themselves, just like they do every year."

If she wasn't Hermione, Harry would have thought she was playing a prank on him, but Hermione _never_ pulled pranks. Harry was just starting to get worried, when Luna spoke up:

"Don't worry Harry, I can see them too, you're just as sane as I am."

Harry suppressed a laugh- being as sane as Luna didn't seem like a great reassurance.

"What do you see?" he asked her. If they saw the same thing it couldn't be just a figment of his imagination.

"They look like horses that are black all over, only they have wings. And their pupils are white."

Harry slumped with relief, he wasn't just imagining things. After all, what were the chances that he and Luna were sharing the same delusion?

"Wait a second," said Hermione "that description sounds really familiar to me… I know! Thestrals!"

"Oh, of course! Thestrals!" exclaimed Ron sarcastically, "Now Harry and Luna having delusions makes perfect sense! Thestrals!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Thestrals are magical creatures that can only be seen by people who have witnessed death, Ron, you should really-" but she suddenly cut herself off, looking at Harry, horrified by her lack of tact. Ron turned to face him too, both looking as though they expected him to have a sudden breakdown.

Desperate to turn the attention away from himself, and feeling slightly annoyed that Ron and Hermione viewed him as so fragile, Harry quickly turned to Luna.

"Who did you see die? If it's not too personal, I mean."

Luna shook her head and closed her eyes slowly. "No, it's okay. It was my mother. She was quite a brilliant witch, you see, but she did like to experiment with different kinds of magic. One day, one of the experiments got out of hand. It was quite awful."

Hermione looked horrified, and Harry himself felt the guilt gnawing at him for asking Luna such a sensitive question. Even Ron, the least tactful person in the universe looked uncomfortable.

Luna's wide grey eyes opened again and stared at them, "It's okay, though, she's in Splingdig Sponpog now, what most people ignorantly call heaven, Daddy and I will join her there someday." And with that, she calmly stepped onto the carriage, and after exchanging confused looks, Harry, Ron and Hermione followed her.

The conversation soon turned to a lighter subject- speculation on why Hagrid was missing, but Harry couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that the Thestral conversation has awakened in him.

The only people who could see Thestrals were those who had seen death. The reason he could see them, was that he'd seen Cedric Diggory die. By Tom- Voldemort's hand. What was he doing siding with the man who had killed an innocent friendly kid?

Had he made a terrible mistake?

This disturbing thought followed him all through the sorting, and the feast in the great hall, until he was finally distracted by the announcement about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

It was that ghastly woman who had been in his trial. The one with a face like a toad.

Harry would normally never judge a person by their looks or make fun of them, especially considering that he himself wasn't much of a prize to look at. In this case, though, he felt justified for hating her ugly face because from what he had seen, her inside matched her outside.

She had looked so disappointed when it had turned out that Harry had been telling the truth. When Harry had been fed the antidote to the Veritaserum during the second trial, the first thing he noticed once the strange haze had lifted from his mind, was that toady face glaring at him fiercely.

From the obvious disappointment on her face as the outcome of the trial was declared, it was evident that she had hoped Harry would be expelled. What kind of person hoped a fifteen year old kid would turn out to be guilty of a crime and lose his magic forever?

Her hideous pink sweater didn't make it any harder to hate her.

He zoned off when she started speaking, he could tell from the first sentence that it was what Vernon liked to call 'politician crap'- saying a whole lot of things that sounded meaningful and meant nothing.

When the speech was done, Hermione, in a very long-suffering voice, explained that what had sounded to Harry and Ron like complete nonsense, was actually a covert declaration that the ministry was planning on interfering with Hogwarts.

"Well, that's not necessarily a bad thing," said Harry, suddenly optimistic, "maybe they'll fire Binns, or decide that Divination is a rubbish subject and cancel it."

Hermione snorted, "You could drop divination and pick up a better elective any time you like. Anyways Harry, you've gotten a glimpse these past few months of the way the ministry operates. You've seen how incompetent they are. Do you really think any changes they'll make to the school will be good?"

Harry deflated again. It was true. There was no chance of him liking anything that awful woman would come up with. For a moment, he wondered where his sudden and intense hatred towards her came from, he had met enough nasty people in his life to be completely unfazed by them normally. It must be a reflection of how she felt for him.

He looked up at the staff table again, just in time to see Dumbledore leaving the room. As he swept through the doors, Harry caught a glimpse of black- was that his arm? What had happened to it?

He was about to mention this to Ron and Hermione when he was interrupted by the sound of Professor McGonagall calling out his name while rushing towards him.

She bumped into a first year on her way towards him, and turned to apologize, but the first year squeaked in fright and darted out of sight. Harry stared after him, puzzled. He had also been nervous during his first night at Hogwarts, but he had never been so intimidated by Professor McGonagall that he had run away from her in shyness. Then again, Harry had been a tougher first year than most. By the time he was 5 years old, the only grownups he found truly intimidating anymore had been Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge. Until he had first seen Hagrid, that is.

"Potter!" cried the professor as she reached him, "I've been sent with a message from the headmaster, you are to come visit his office immediately."

Harry's first feeling was relief. Maybe the headmaster was now going to explain why he had ignored him so thoroughly during his trial, maybe he would offer him support and advice, both of them being victims of the media's slander?

A second later, though, he remembered what had occurred over the summer. Merlin! Being back in the familiar surroundings of Hogwarts had almost made him forget the changes that had happened.

He shouldn't be happy to see the headmaster, he should be nervous. He had, after all betrayed his cause. Anyways, he was just Harry's headmaster, and Harry should know better than to be so dependent on some adult he really didn't know all that well. Especially an adult who had spied on him this past summer and so must have known how he was being treated, and still, had allowed it to continue.

Harry squared his shoulders and turned to McGonagall, "I'll be there in a minute, then, Professor."

"Very good, Potter." She replied, then, her eyes softened and she added quietly "And I must say I am exceptionally glad to see you here today, I was very worried about the trial, but it was quite the clever move you pulled with the Veritaserum." The corners of her eyes crinkled in a brief smile, "Severus was furious when he found out. I suspect he feels a bit betrayed by his own craft for providing you with the means to win the trial." The grin was gone as fast as it had come, and she added in a louder voice, "Good night, Potter."

The shock of seeing McGonagall smile threw Harry for a couple of seconds, but then he collected himself and grinned back.

* * *

"Ah, Harry." Beamed Dumbledore as Harry stepped into the office. Harry forced himself to smile back even as he suppressed an urge to clench his fists. Not only for the huge injustices of this past summer, but also because he hadn't been told the password and had just spent the last 20 minutes shouting candy types at a gargoyle.

"You've caused us quite a bit of trouble, my boy." Smiled Dumbledore tiredly. Harry deflated slightly, and tried to squash a twinge of guilt.

"Us, sir?"

"Yes, Harry. Us. Arthur informed me that during the day he took you to your trial at the ministry he had a chance to explain about a little group called the Order of the Phoenix. As a group concerned with fighting Voldemort, you are a very important priority of ours."

Harry chuckled nervously and felt his guilt intensify. He was feeling slightly nauseous.

"Sorry for causing you trouble, sir. I'm really very thankful that you wanted to protect me, but I was perfectly safe where I was. I mean, _you_ couldn't find me, and you know me much better than Voldemort, if you aren't able to guess where I was, his chances are pretty small."

Dumbledore sighed, "It's a logical argument, Harry, but I feel very uncomfortable with it. Why take a risk when we had a perfectly suitable safe house for you? One where you could have spent time with your loyal friends Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley and with Sirius as well?"

Harry felt slightly sorry that he had let a chance to see Sirius pass by, but he wouldn't trade the month he spent with Sherlock for anything in the world.

"Look, Sir. I'm sorry for making everyone worry, I really am. But I had personal reasons for not wanting to join them all in Sirius' house. It was important to me."

Dumbledore wasn't convinced "More important than your life?"

"I didn't come to you _because_ my life is important to me. I refuse to stop living, to put my life on hold because of safety issues. What's the point of being alive if your life's empty? If you're not really living? I truly am sorry for any worry I might have caused my friends, but I am completely at peace with my decision."

There was that disapproving stare again. The one that made Harry want the ground to open up and swallow him in shame. Apparently, though, Dumbledore had given up on the argument, because he let the subject rest.

"Let's let that subject lie for a while. Though I can't say I approve of your decision, we have more important matters to discuss. I didn't call you up here just to discuss your absence this summer."

Dumbledore sighed, "In your first year at Hogwarts, while lying in the hospital wing after saving the Philosopher's Stone you asked me something Harry. Do you remember what that was?"

Harry nodded. It was a question that had haunted him for years, and he had only found an answer to it last summer. Not that Dumbledore had any way of knowing that, "I asked you why Voldemort came after me in the first place."

"The time has come for me to answer your question Harry. I should have told you at the end of last year, when you returned from the graveyard clutching the Triwizard cup in one hand, and Cedric Diggory's body in the other. I decided against it though. The trauma was still so fresh in your mind, and I was reluctant to burden you with such a heavy weight when you already had so much to bear on your young shoulders,

"It cannot be delayed anymore, though, Harry. The time has come for you to know. You _must _know, because time is running short." Dumbledore glanced briefly at his hand before turning back to Harry, "I'm so very sorry to burden you with this information, Harry, but I fear that there is no choice."

Harry nodded for him to continue.

"Just a little bit over 15 years ago, I was conducting a job interview at the Hogshead. One Miss Sybil Trelawney had applied for a job as a Divination professor. Now, I've always been a bit, ahem, skeptical, shall we say, about that certain area of magic, but I thought it would do no harm to allow the young woman a chance to prove herself.

I was in the midst of the interview, and knowing Professor Trelawney I'm sure you can guess what my impression was, when something most curious happened. Do you remember when you told me of the prophecy she had made the night Peter Pettigrew escaped and I told you that was her second genuine prophecy?"

Harry nodded, and then pretended to widen his eyes in sudden understanding "She made her first real prophecy then? Is that why you hired her, Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled a bit, and nodded.

Harry frowned, "But I still don't understand what that has to do with Voldemort going after me." he said, feigning confusion. He peeked up at Dumbledore through his bangs, was he overdoing it? After a look at Dumbledore's face he concluded that he was fine, the headmaster was buying it.

"Maybe you'll understand once you hear the prophecy." Smiled Dumbledore gently. He touched his wand to his temple, and withdrew from his head a silvery thread that Harry recognized as a memory. Slowly lowering it into the pensieve, which Harry just noticed had been left out, Dumbledore spoke.

"The memory you are about to see, Harry, is my memory of dear Sybil going into a trance and reciting the prophecy. If you have any questions once you have watched it, I would be delighted to answer you."

He gave the pensieve a prod with his wand, and a familiar figure, draped in shawls, rose out of the pensieve, rotating slightly.

Harry had already seen the prophecy play out once, but he still watched the figure, transfixed, until it sunk back into the stone bowl.

How should he play this? He wondered. He didn't think he was good enough to feign a panic attack. Calm acceptance, then? He had always been remarkably levelheaded in the face of danger or trauma, it wouldn't be too unbelievable.

He sat silently for a few moments, Dumbledore let him sit there quietly, obviously intending to let him process what he had just heard.

Finally, Harry spoke "Does this mean that I have to kill him or else he'll kill me?"

Dumbledore sighed "I'm afraid so, my boy. I am so very sorry to burden you with such a heavy weight. A boy of your age should not have to face this kind of knowledge."

Harry shook his head "There's no point in me complaining about it now. I didn't start bemoaning my fate back in first year, when I found out Voldemort was still alive and wanted to kill me, and I won't start breaking down now."

"That's the spirit, Harry!" encouraged Dumbledore "I admire you for your courage. In fact, I have to say I'm a little surprised by how well you're taking this."

Harry contemplated that for a while "I guess" he said slowly "that I always knew I'd have to face him one day. It always felt inevitable, because I knew he'd never rest until he killed me personally."

"You are a very intelligent and brave young man" praised Dumbledore "many in your shoes would have tried to flee from the responsibility." And me not fleeing from the prospect of facing the most powerful wizard in the world makes me intelligent? Wondered Harry. He said nothing though.

Dumbledore smiled gently at him before continuing. "Now that you know, Harry, it's more important for me than ever to prepare you for your final confrontation with Voldemort. The more you prepare for the final confrontation with him, the higher the chances that you will escape the encounter alive.

For this reason, I have taken it upon myself to help you to the best of my ability. We shall be having private lessons this year, in which I will endeavor to make the chances of you killing Voldemort as high as possible.

I will send you a note in the next few weeks, scheduling a date for our first lesson. Is that alright?"

Harry nodded, feeling relieved that the meeting was coming to an end. He was exhausted from his long day, and all he wanted was to curl up in his warm four-poster and talk to Sherlock.

"Goodnight Harry." Said Dumbledore gently, and Harry nodded solemnly and repeated the sentiment.

As he exited the office and closed the door behind him, he felt his shoulders slump as he sighed with relief. He hadn't given himself away, he hadn't gotten caught.

Still, he felt tense and nervous. What had seemed so easy and effortless back in the muggle world now seemed almost impossible.

He was a different person when he was in school. He wasn't used to keeping things from Dumbledore, to be bad when he was at Hogwarts. Sneakiness and lies belonged to the Dursley Harry, not the Hogwarts one.

Well, there was no going back now. And he didn't regret his decision either. Harry straightened his shoulders and continued walking towards Gryffindor tower, his strides determined and confident.

* * *

**So... I'm back, after a ridiculously long brake and with a rather short chapter... Sorry, the next one's in the works and should be up pretty soon!**

**Thank you dear Oceane M. for correcting all my mistakes, and thank you people who read and wrote back telling me how much you liked it! It means so much!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Hello readers! A couple notes before you start reading the chapter.**

**First, there is a scene in this chapter in which some sentences are taken word for word from 'Order of the Phoenix'. It was a really boring scene to write, because it was basically just rewriting a scene from the original book, but hopefully as the story veers farther away from cannon, there'll be less scenes like that.**

**Also, I've been having trouble reaching my beta, so I finally just decided to post this without her input, which probably means this chapter won't be up to it's usual standard, and you might find some spelling and grammar errors. I went over the chapter myself, but I probably didn't catch them all. If you find any mistakes please point them out, so I can correct them. Constructive criticism in general is welcome as well.**

**And finally, I've posted a new one-shot, so feel free to go to my profile, read it, and leave a comment.**

**And on with the chapter!**

* * *

Tom was bored. He sighed, and threw 'Secrets of the Vilest and Darkest Magics' on the floor, huffing in frustration. The title had seemed promising at first: even if it didn't hold the information he was looking for, it was sure to have some nasty but oh-so-interesting spells and rituals.

The book was a dud, though. Not only did it have no information on how to move Horcruxes from one vessel to another, it was written by an idiot author who thought that the 'Bat Bogey Hex' was considered a vile and dark magic. The most harmful spell in the book was 'Obliviate'.

Tom picked the book up and turned it over to check for the name of the idiot who had written it. _Gilderoy Lockhart. _Hm….didn't sound familiar.

Tom sighed despondently. As Sherlock Holmes had kindly pointed out in their meeting a few weeks ago, he went through uncontrollable periods of insanity, which he could really not afford to have.

The plan was to reabsorb all but one of his Horcruxes. Many calculations and much research into the more obscure magic had left him with one conclusion. The reason he still suffered from insanity occasionally despite the changes he had made to the Horcrux ritual that were supposed to negate that side-effect was that it would only work for one Horcrux. Tearing the soul more than once destabilized his soul so much that his safeguard against insanity was rendered unreliable.

The solution was to reabsorb all but one Horcrux, though that was a big security risk. If that one Horcrux was destroyed, Tom would be mortal once more. Because of that, it was very important that the Horcrux never be discovered.

He was foolish, the first time around, placing his soul into object that held significance to him, anyone who knew him well enough would eventually be able to guess what they were. This time, he would make his Horcrux something impossible to ever find. Like a grain of sand. He could place that grain of sand on the beach, and no one would ever be able to find the Horcrux, not in a million years. The chances of it ever being destroyed so miniscule that it was ridiculous to worry about it.

Now, the only question that remained was how to do it? Tom refused to reabsorb any of his Horcruxes until he knew that his last Horcrux was as safe as it could be.

Unfortunately, he could find no books with any information about transferring Horcruxes from one vessel to another.

He had one last place he planned to look for answers in, but if he didn't manage to find them there, he'd have to figure it out for himself.

His gaze drifted again to the small shelf by his bed. It had a couple of muggle novels on it and some good books on the Dark Arts, but he had already read them all. Some of them even twice. His gaze drifted to the piece of parchment perched innocently at the edge of the nightstand, the closest to the bed. He wouldn't even have to sit up from his slouched position to reach it.

Tom refused to consider the fact that he had moved the rolls of parchment that depicted his conversations with Harry and Sherlock, and their conversations with each other from his office to his bedroom.

True, his bedroom was a more personal setting, but that didn't mean that the communications between him and the pair would be any more personal, he just had the parchment there for the sake of convenience.

Tom tried to ignore the twist in his chest when he thought of the pair. Goddamit! How embarrassing was it that the most powerful Dark Lord in the world, one who's name most people feared to speak, was jealous of two teenagers?

As much as he tried to ignore the feeling though, he was. There was a downside to being one of if not the most feared person in the world, and that was the loneliness.

It didn't bother him much usually, he was used to being lonely, he had never had a true friend in his life, but once in a while he's catch a glimpse of what he was missing and envision a different life for himself: one where he would enter the room and be received with a smile instead of with fear.

The jealousy was especially acute in Harry and Sherlock's instance, because they treated him like he was a normal person, even a friend, highlighting the relationship he would never have.

Still, despite the embarrassing and unpleasant emotion the thought of Harry and Sherlock's friendship brought up in him, here he was, checking the parchment for the third time today to see if there was anything written on it.

Finally there was something there.

_Harry? Harry, it's Sherlock. What's taking you so damn long? You promised to write the second you got the chance!_

Tom waited for an answer from Harry, but none was forthcoming. After a couple of minutes with no response, Tom reluctantly returned to his book, only to throw it down in frustration again a few minutes later.

There was only one way this Gilderoy Lockhart had managed to slay a werewolf, and that was boring it to death, prattling on about his favorite hair gel.

Thankfully, his eye caught movement, and he smiled as black lines started forming on the parchment, and Harry finally answered Sherlock.

_Shit, I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting, Sherlock. After dinner Dumbledore called me to his office to talk, and that took a really long time. But you'll never guess what he wanted to talk to me about!_

_What did that slimy bastard want?_

_Sherlock! Don't talk about him like that. He may have made some mistakes, but he's a good man_

_._

_Harry, he had people watching you all summer to 'protect' you, yet he didn't seem to know you'd been locked into your room with almost no food and water for four days straight. Either he lied, which makes him a cruel bastard, or he really didn't know which makes him extremely idiotic not to mention criminally negligent. Same goes for the people who worked for him- the ones that spied on you. You should try to find out who they are._

_How will I find that out? I have nothing to go on!_

_Oh, I wouldn't say that. For one thing_

_No, no, no, forget it. I know that you can figure it out if you want to, and you can explain to me later. We're getting off track. I was about to tell you what he wanted to tell me._

_Oh?_

_He told me about the prophecy. The one we already heard this summer._

_That's mildly interesting at best. What's so surprising about the fact that he decided to reveal that prophecy to you? It would just encourage you in your fight against Voldemort, thus serving his purpose. Did he say why he didn't tell you before now? That would give us some insight into his way of thinking._

_He said I was too young to be burdened with such a weight. He said he wanted me to be able to enjoy my childhood while I still could._

_Oh, dear god. Either the man is terminally stupid or he's a manipulating and lying bastard. If I gave you a list right here of all the things he could have done to make sure you had a happy childhood but never did, I'd take up this whole parchment. Did you tell him to shut his face?_

_No, I nodded in understanding and listened to what he had to say._

_You were probably right in doing that, don't let him get suspicious of you._

_Is it really that impossible that he's just a nice old man whose only mistake is believing that an aunt and uncle will take good care of there nephew? Maybe he really meant it, Sherlock!_

_That argument has absolutely no legs and you know it! This summer you were right alongside me- angry at Dumbledore and wisely cautious of his motives. What could have happened to change your mind? Option one: he put some kind of mind-altering curse on you. Possible, but unlikely._

_What probably happened is just you succumbing to peer pressure. All the hours I spent trying to teach you some common sense, all my work, comes crashing down after a few hours with some idiotic kids who think Dumbledore is the best thing since chocolate._

Tom snorted.

_It's not that! It's just, being back in school reminded me of Cedric Diggory. Maybe you remember me telling you about him? The innocent 17-year-old kid who got murdered just because he happened to be in the way? He was murdered on Voldemort's orders!_

_Ahhh, emotions. I knew the tricky things would trip you up eventually. Guilt, right? That's the one you're experiencing now? You feel guilty for siding with the person who killed your parents. Your guilt is made worse by the fact that not only did you side with him, you also after meeting him that you genuinely liked him, that makes you feel like you've betrayed your parent's memories. A stupid feeling, considering they are dead and no longer know or care what you do._

_Tell me this- how guilty would you feel for murdering Tom? Not Voldemort, Tom. The man who happily made a truce with you, ate a half of your granola bar and honesty didn't intend to do any of the awful things his alter-ego did in uncontrolled moments of insanity? Because Dumbledore and his people expect you to kill him, and don't tell me that wouldn't make you feel guilty!_

Tom waited curiously to read the answer, snickering slightly at the thought of how they would react if they knew he was eavesdropping on their conversation. There was a small part of him that may or may not have been quite touched by Sherlock's defense, but he firmly ignored it.

Reading Harry's response widened his grin.

_You miserable bastard! I know for a fact that the situation is much more complicated and convoluted and much less black and white than the highly skewed version of reality you gave me right now, but somehow I still find myself convinced by your argument. You're lucky you're my best friend you manipulative sod, and that you're so smart I'll always end up listening to you in the end._

_It wasn't like I was going to back out of our agreement in any case, I just needed you to help me remember why I made it in the first place. I couldn't back out even if I wanted to, the unbreakable vow, remember? Don't answer that- Of course you remember, you're you. _

_You _knew_ I wouldn't back out of the deal- that I couldn't, so all of this was just to make me feel better, wasn't it?_

_Of course_ _it was. You know, you might want to be careful about what you say to me here in the future, Tom can read what we're writing here._

Tom nearly fell off his bed. How could Sherlock possibly know? It's true that there was a spell for detecting how many objects the Protean charm was cast on, and had Sherlock used it he would have seen that the particular charm on his parchment connected it to two more, but Sherlock was a muggle! He didn't even know that spell, and even if he did he could never use it!

It was probably just speculation on his part; Tom would not do anything to confirm Sherlock's suspicions. He squashed down his first impulse which was to write down a message asking Sherlock how he could have possibly known- that would do no good.

Instead, he waited to see what would happen next. Harry's reaction didn't take long to come.

_What? What do you mean he can read everything we're writing? How do you know? And why the hell didn't you say so earlier?_

_It slipped my mind…. As for how I knew, it was obvious, look at the bottom of your piece of parchment. Where Tom wrote 'Don't forget you owe me', it's smudged._

_So?_

_So that means there was another piece of parchment that was put on top of it. Right after he wrote the sentence he must have stacked the parchments, smudging the writing._

_I still don't know where you're going with this…._

_Now look at the back of your parchment- there's black smudges there, like someone put a parchment with wet ink under it, causing your parchment to smudge it. Which basically means that my parchment was under yours when he stacked them, so what was the parchment that was on top of yours and smudged your writing? He obviously put the Protean Charm on three pieces of parchment, and kept the third one to himself as a means to spy on you._

_You got all that from a couple of smudges?_

_Well, that and the fact that I was expecting him to do something like that. You're still a potential security risk, he'd be a fool if he didn't try to spy on you._

_Sonofabitch!_

_Don't be a drama queen, Harry, relax. _

Well, there went his cover. Tom sighed and put his enchanted parchment away for the time being. He'd deal with the situation of Sherlock and Harry later.

As he turned out the lights in his room, he threw one last glare at the handsome man on the utterly useless Lockhart book. Tomorrow, he'd set out to the once last place in which he might still be able to find answers to his horcrux problem.

* * *

Harry rubbed his temples tiredly, and tried desperately to will his awful headache away, cursing school, Mondays, and most of all- Dolores Umbridge.

The day had started out normally- it was a miserable day, but routine enough as far as first days back went. Binns bored them all into a stupor within the first ten minutes of class, Snape was vindictive and unfair, and a seemed a bit perturbed that Harry was too used to this treatment to care anymore and Trelawney made a tragic prediction to which Harry responded by yawning.

It was Professor Umbridge's class, though, that had finally managed to make him lose his cool and earn himself detentions every evening for the next week.

He had entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom along with Ron and Hermione to find Professor Umbridge sitting at her desk wearing the fluffy pink cardigan he had seen the night before. He quickly took a seat at the very back of the classroom, as far away from the Professor as he could get, Ron and Hermione following his lead.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said, when finally the whole class had arrived.

A few people mumbled "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

Harry felt his face heating, but obediently answered "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge" with the rest of the class, feeling ridiculously like a five-year-old.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge with saccharine sweetness "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please." This order was, of course, followed by an exchange of gloomy looks between the students. Everyone knew that practical lessons were much more fun than the theoretical ones were.

As the class scrambled to put away their wands and take out their writing equipment, Professor Umbridge bent down to her own bag and extracted an unusually short wand. She tapped the blackboard, and as words began to appear on it (_Defence Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles_), she began to speak:

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry‐approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'.

._Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.__  
_. _Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.__  
_. _Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

Oh dear. Harry could practically feel his eyelids get heavier and heavier just reading the course aims. This did not bode well for his OWL grade in Defense.

He consoled himself with the thought that there was also a practical part to the Defense Owl. They'd need to have a practical lesson at some point, and those, at least, were never boring.

With that slightly cheerful thought in mind, Harry opened his new Defense book and started to read the first chapter. A paragraph in, and Harry resigned himself to the fact that he would never be able to maintain his concentration long enough to read the whole chapter.

Relaxing back into his seat, Harry let his eyes wander, only to sit up in surprise at the sight of Hermione, at her desk, book closed, and hand raised in the air. Considering Harry had never seen Hermione disobey a teacher's order, especially if it involved reading a book, Harry found this very curious. And quite a bit more interesting than Wilbert Slinkhard's dull book.

He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, in a voice sweeter than honey. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, a slight strain of annoyance now detectable in her voice.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little giggle. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.‐?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him.

Harry gritted his teeth, the woman was being deliberately obtuse and condescending. Should he interfere in the argument?

Harry thought he could guess what this argument was really about- Umbridge was on Fudge's side, and was trying to stress the point that Voldemort was not back by pretending to not realize why the students would need to defend themselves.

When discussing strategy back in Malfoy Manor, Tom had said that though it was better for him if as few people as possible knew about his return, Harry should be honest about what had really happened after the third task, as suddenly denying the Dark Lord's return would just arouse Dumbledore's suspicions.

On the other hand, though, Harry had gotten the sense that Umbridge was very loyal to Fudge, and therefore wanted to hear nothing about Voldemort being back. If he started talking about how important learning Defense was because of Voldemort's return, he would just be stoking her ire. Was it really wise to pick a fight?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione raise her hand again. The look on her face was one of pure determination, and Harry knew it well. It was the same expression she wore when talking about house-elves: a dogged determination to right the injustice she saw in front of her.

Harry sighed, and raised his hand too, in loyalty to his friend.

Umbridge's smirk turned ugly as she turned to face Harry. "Yes, dear? Do you have a question?"

Harry gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his tone level and polite. "Isn't the whole point of learning Defense Against the Dark Arts to be able to defend yourself against the dark arts in the real world?"

Umbridge's voice took on a condescending tone "There in nothing, I repeat _nothing_ to defend yourself from in the real world. The spells you learn in this class are used by the precious few in our society who become Aurors. The rest of you have no need to worry about these things in your everyday life."

Her eyes took on a challenging gleam, and Harry recognized this for what it was: a trap. She _wanted _him to speak up against her. She wanted Harry to give her an excuse to punish him so she could show everyone what happened to those who spoke against the ministry and spread undesirable stories. It was a trap, and he knew it, and he was still going to walk right into it. Because despite the fact that he had finally learned to value his life and self-preservation, he couldn't ignore injustice when it was staring him straight in the face.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was meant to help prepare students for all the bad things out there. It's purpose was to allow these children, his friends, who had never really experienced any real evil, to be able to walk the wizarding world with confidence, free of fear, with the knowledge that they were able to protect themselves. This teacher didn't care about that, though, she was misusing her power as a teacher to gain political leverage or whatever else it was she hoped to achieve by preventing students from learning to defend themselves, and Harry couldn't stand it.

So Harry took a big breath and spoke his mind. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are there for a reason, and being able to defend yourself is a right every student should have. Not to mention Voldemort! Did the ministry even make any inquiries about whether or not I was speaking the truth last summer, or did you just straight away assume that I must be lying because it was more convenient? Because if you're denying us the right to learn to defend ourselves just because you're scared of facing the truth, that's…. well…. It's just plain despicable is what it is!"

It wasn't the most articulate speech ever made, but it was certainly enough to turn Umbridge's face red with rage.

"Detention Potter! Every evening this week at seven, starting tonight! Now get out of my sight!" Her face was twisted with rage and hatred, but there was an odd sense of smugness and triumph when she announced his detention.

Harry sent her his most venomous look before grabbing his books and leaving the class.

Five minutes later, back in the common room, he cursed himself softly for letting his emotions get the better of him. He lay in the cushy chair in front of the fire, moping, till Ron and Hermione came back from the lesson.

The hug Hermione gave him upon returning, though, cheered him up slightly, and he was smiling as he headed upstairs to see if he had a message from Sherlock.

* * *

Tom wiped the sweat off his face, and unbuttoned another button in his shirt. He had removed his robes long ago, after they had had a hole the size of a dinner plate seared through them during his fight with the army of fire-breathing tarantulas. Merlin knows how the crazy old man had managed to breed those. Now he was only wearing a pair of dark pants, and a half-opened button down shirt that was quickly becoming stained by his sweat.

Tom was currently in the building that contained the biggest and most extensive library of magical books in the whole world. It contained the rarest of books, including those that had been banned for years because of the dark magic described in them. If there was anywhere Tom was to find an answer to his horcrux problem, this was it.

Unfortunately, the man who had created the library, a compulsive-obsessive hermit who's only love in life was books, had died some 80 years ago. In his will, he wrote that he refused to pass his precious library on to anyone else, in the fear that they might not treat his books right, and so, was protecting his library with so many protective enchantments that no wizard would ever be able to break through them and gain access to his library.

Obviously Tom was no ordinary wizard, but even he found himself challenged to the very extent of his wits during his struggle the last couple of hours to get through all the enchantments.

He had been forced to remember dark and obscure magics that had long since been forgotten by most of the world, he had been forced to shed his blood numerous times in order to complete rituals that would nullify the powerful wards the bloody wizard had put at every turn, and he had just had to fight about two dozen fire-breathing giant tarantulas that should by all rights have been long dead after 80 years stuck under that bloody trapdoor.

Tom completed the last incantation to the long and complicated spell that would undo the severe locking charm on the next door he faced.

Finally, the door made a clicking noise as it unlocked, and Tom cautiously pushed the door open, wand at the ready for the next thing that was surely poised to attack him the second he entered the room.

To his surprise, the room seemed empty. He edged into it slowly, wand at the ready, and slowly advanced to a table in the center of the room.

To his surprise, there was a piece of parchment lying there, looking innocent. Tom leaned over it carefully to read what it said.

_Greetings!_

_To you, dear person, who has made it this far._

_This letter may have come as a surprise to you, since I know I have left the impression in my will that I do not wish anyone to ever enter this library again. That was a lie on my part. What good would my lovely books be if they sat around gathering dust til the end of time? Books were meant to be read._

_I didn't want just anyone to read my books though. I didn't want this library to fall into the hands of someone who would only find value in my books by selling them, or worse, for it to fall into the hands of the government!_

_So I designed a series of tests and obstacles, meant to deter anyone who was unworthy of my library. You have had to use many ancient and obscure spells during your quest here, spells you could only have known if you had traveled to the ends of the earth in search of such knowledge. Only a person who loves reading and knowledge as much as I do, would know such spells. In such a way, I have insured that only someone of whom I approve would inherit my library after my death._

_You have only one more test you must pass in order to gain access to my library. Quite an easy test too. Up until now, you have been tested on your knowledge of magic. This last test is a test of your knowledge of muggle literature. You see, I can't stand the thought that my library will fall into the hands of some bigoted pureblood who would throw away half of my books simply because they are muggle. All my first editions that I have worked on collecting for years and years!_

_So, I will ask you one very simple question. If you are even vaguely familiar with muggle literature, the question will pose no challenge to you. The door to the library is password-activated, so utter the answer to this question out loud, and the door will open._

_I warn you, if you utter the wrong answer, you won't like the consequences- I happen to be muggle-born, and I loathe close-minded, elitist purebloods._

_The password is the name of Juliet's lover in the famous Shakespearian play. Anyone with even an ounce of respect towards muggle literature should know the answer._

_Good luck!_

Oh dear.

He didn't know the answer to that one.

He didn't want to turn back.

He really really didn't want to turn back after all this effort.

Well, there was a solution- he had the piece of parchment that was connected to Sherlock and Harry's parchments in a shrunken bag that he had hung around his waist. Originally, he had brought it so that if his quest to break into the library took longer than expected, he could give Harry instructions to pass on to his followers. It seemed, though, that it wasn't Harry, but rather Sherlock that he would be contacting.

* * *

Sherlock entered his room in a huff, and dumped the huge and heavy box he was carrying on his bed. He had spent the past hour and a half collecting different poisonous mushrooms from Mrs. Two-Doors-Down's huge greenhouse. Now was time for the fun part- the experiments.

Suddenly, his ever-observant eye caught a movement from across the room. A closer look revealed that it was black ink which was snaking across the page that was magically connected to Harry's and Tom's.

_Sherlock? Are you there? It's Tom. I need your help ASAP. In the famous Shakespearian play, what was the name of Juliet's lover?_

Oh dear, trivia? If he ever had known he must have long since deleted it. Still, it seemed important to Tom, so he made his way over to the computer downstairs, and typed in 'Shakespeare, Juliet'.

Clicking on the first option (Wikipedia) and scrolled down to 'Synopsis'. Ah! There it was: "Count Paris talks to Capulet about marrying his daughter". Hurrying upstairs he scribbled the answer to Tom, along with an enquiry about why he needed the information, and was about to return to his poisons when he saw familiarly messy handwriting appear on the paper.

_Sherlock, you knob, I've never read Shakespeare in my life, and even I know that Juliet's lover was Romeo, they're the most famous couple in the world! Of course, you not knowing such basic things is already old news, what I'm more interested in is why Tom needs to know. Are you participating in a pub quiz? Tom?_

There was a long pause, and Sherlock almost thought that Tom had gone away when the handwriting returned. Shaky, this time, and much less elegant.

_I need your help. The answer to the question I asked you was the password to a room I was trying to get into. Saying the wrong password must have activated some sort of trap, because the walls started closing in on me. I was nearly crushed into a pulp, but managed to erect a shield that keeps out all physical objects within a certain radius, but I'm stuck in a ridiculously small hole with no food or water._

The answer from Harry was instantaneous.

_What can I do?_

_You need to come break me out, my position is too vulnerable for me to trust my Death Eaters with this. The walls around me seem to be resistant to any blasting spells, but I know of a ritual that can turn them into dust. Unfortunately, I don't have room in here to conduct the ritual properly. You need to come and do it for me. Most of the magic will be way over your head, but I'll talk you through it. _

_The place I'm at is a rather large house that's on the outskirts of a town called Guilford, and it's rather isolated, so you don't need to worry about appearing through magical transport. The address is 713, Loneman's Lane. Contact me when you get there and I'll give you further instruction. Thanks, Harry, I owe you!_

Well, to hell with that! Harry was skipping school to gallivant off in the muggle world and he wouldn't be a part of it? No way! Finally, Sherlock was involved in something interesting! He ran downstairs, grabbed the car keys off the counter, and stopping only to take a brief glance at the map in the glove compartment, sped off.

* * *

**End of chapter 9. I hope that the conversation in the first scene wasn't too confusing when it came to who was saying what. If I get enough reviews telling me it was, I'll make each side of the conversation a different font or something so that it'll be more clear, but I found the different fonts distracting, so I'll only do it if most people were confused.**

**Review please, and have a nice day!**


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10. Later than planned, but better late than never!

Enjoy!

* * *

**A Study in Friendship**

**Chapter Ten**

_Thanks, Harry, I owe you!_

Tom grimaced as he put down his quill. How humiliating, needing to ask Harry for help! Well, it was far better than asking any of his Death Eaters, Tom cringed at the thought.

Sighing, he put the roll of parchment down, and leaned his head against the cold stone wall in back of him. He was thankful that he had managed to cast the spell designed to keep all physical objects out before the walls closing in on him had crushed him to death, but he couldn't help thinking that if only he had cast the spell a few seconds sooner, before the ceiling had descended so low, he would have been able to stand instead of sitting in such a cramped style. And he was liable to have to keep this position for a couple of hours to come.

Even after Harry came to this place, he wouldn't be able to just break the walls down with a 'Bombarda'. These walls were under very heavy enchantments, and resistant to almost any magic. He'd have to talk a fifth-year student through a highly complex magical ritual, and it would probably take quite a long time.

He couldn't even call his house-elf, because the old wizard who used to own the house had set up not only anti-apparition and anti-portkey charms, he had also set up charms that prevented house-elves from popping in. It was quite a shame, as most wizards always forgot to put up those types of charms, house-elves were easy to overlook.

Come to think of it, had he put up anti-house-elf charms around the traps on his Horcruxes? He probably had, he would be foolish not to. But three of his Horcruxes had been hidden by himself in one of his periods of insanity. His insane alter-ego tended to make stupid mistakes when overcome by anger or fear. He had trusted Lucius Malfoy with one of his Horcruxes for crying out loud! He really did need to remember to get that Horcrux sometime and find somewhere safer to hide it….

Tom pulled an empty piece of parchment out of his bag, and stated writing down a list of things he needed to do, which quickly degraded to a game of tic-tac-toe with himself as he became more and more bored. Finally, after about an hour and a half of waiting, and just as Tom was slipping into sleep, his eye caught the movement of new writing being scribbled onto an empty space in the parchment.

_Okay, Tom, I'm here. At least I think I am. We're pretty sure that this is the right place, because I'm seeing a house, but Sherlock's seeing waste-management factory. Oh yeah, Sherlock's here too. He said he didn't want to miss out on an adventure if this ended up being one._

_Anyways, we need to know where in the house you are_

Tom rolled his eyes, but grinned.

Then, feeling a bit silly he cast the illusion spell that made him look like his 16-year-old self again. He was quite glad for the closed space he was in at the moment, which meant that no one witnessed how vain he was being.

Now feeling ready to be seen, he bent back over the parchment and wrote his reply.

_Sherlock might well end up getting his adventure. Who knows what booby traps the crazy old man put in here, even if you do manage to break down the wall._

_What crazy old man? _This time, it was Sherlock's spiky handwriting.

_I'll explain later. Right now, let's get a move on, my legs are seriously cramping. Now, as far as I can guess, I'm in the northern corner of the house. So go there first thing. Tell me when you get there._

Less than a minute later, writing appeared again on the parchment_._

_We're there._

Now came the difficult part, mused Tom.

_ Okay, now the next ritual depends on the angle of the sun in the sky, so I need you to measure the shadow that the wall is casting on the ground, and the angle of that shadow. Now there's a very simple spell for determining the length, I'll teach it to you in just a minute, but getting the angle is a bit more complicated. Have you learned any Arithmancy in school? Because that will really help._

_Actually, Tom, _read the parchment in Harry's handwriting again _before you start with all the instructions, there's just one thing I need to ask you: You have some kind of shield up that prevents any solid object from entering, right?_

_Yes, Harry _he replied _but that's hardly relevant now since_

That was as far a he got before an enormous crash sounded to his right, and pieces of debris started flying all around him. None, thankfully, entering through his shield.

Once the little pieces of brick stopped flying around his head, and the dust settled a bit, he looked up to see one of the weirdest pieces of machinery he had ever seen. It was yellow, and reminded him a bit of carriages in that it had wheels, but it was all the wrong shape. In addition, it had something like a huge arm with a shovel attached to the end of it. Sitting inside this vehicle were Harry and Sherlock who were both whooping with excitement.

"Man, what a rush!" cried Harry "Did you see that? Two seconds, and we decimate a building that must have taken months to build, how cool is _that_?" he leaned out of the vehicle and looked down at Tom. "Are you okay?"

"You didn't use the ritual" muttered Tom vaguely, still a bit stunned.

Harry's gaze turned sheepish. "Yeah, well, the way you described it made it sound like hard work, and there was a house just down the road that was undergoing construction, and Sherlock saw the bulldozer… Oh, and you're going to need to cast a couple of Obliviates once this is done, by the way."

"It was resistant to all that magic, but never safeguarded against physical blows?" Tom was half incredulous at the prospect that the wizard, with all his great protections, never thought of protecting it against bulldozers, and half incredulous that he hadn't thought of trying that before resorting to magical enchantments.

"It was my idea." Said Sherlock smugly "I've observed that wizards are usually so dependent on their magic, that they will usually only look for the magical solution to things, without once thinking about muggle means that are just as useful. It's an inherent flaw in all of you. My theory is that your lack of common sense is genetic, and it's nature's way of not giving you too much of an edge against muggles."

Tom wasn't sure if Sherlock seriously meant that or was only taunting him, but he nodded seriously, and tried to stand up, only to fall back down with a yelp at the pins and needles running through his legs. Sherlock snickered, and Harry elbowed him, and went down to help Tom, but Tom noticed his lips twitching as well.

He scowled at them both. "It's your fault my legs are like this, do you know how long they've been cramped up? What took you so long?"

"Well," answered Harry "First I needed to figure out a damn spell that would make my face looked different, since after all the articles last year, I wouldn't be able to catch the Knight Bus without being recognized, wait for the hallway that has the opening to the secret passage out of school would be empty, and then I needed to sneak out of Honeydukes unseen, which is much harder when it's not packed with Hogwarts students, and then, there were about five passengers before me on the Knight Bus who needed to get off. So I think all thing considered you should be thanking me. Do you know what I endured to get here? That bus is a bloody nightmare! I have a huge bump on my head from when it jerked to a sudden stop and threw me against the window!" and he lifted his fringe to reveal a rather nasty-looking bruise forming on his forehead.

Tom rolled his eyes, but touched his wand gently to the bruise and healed it. "Why didn't you apparate?"

"I don't know how" replied Harry, scowling "I'm only fifteen."

"I can teach you" suggested Tom "It's really not that hard, and as long as you don't splinch yourself, the chances of you getting caught without a license are infinitesimal."

Harry looked excited at the suggestion, but Sherlock scowled, unhappy about being left out.

"Sorry, Sherlock" said Tom "I'd teach you too if it were possible."

Sherlock waved his hand as if to show that it didn't matter, and instead proceeded to ask Tom how he had gotten stuck in his current situation.

"Well," said Tom slowly "I suppose I can tell you two, I trust you to a certain extent, and even if you did tell anyone else, which you can't, I don't see what harm it can do. I'm looking for a way to move a Horcrux from one vessel to another."

"Horcrux?" interrupted Harry.

"That's what my safeguards against mortality are called. They're objects in which you put a bit of your soul using a certain ritual. The piece of soul links you to this world, so you don't pass on even after you die. The problem with them is that if they're destroyed, you become mortal again. Unfortunately, I put my Horcruxes in rather obvious and significant objects, and I want to move them to something innocuous and less likely to be discovered."

Harry nodded his understanding, while Sherlock impatiently prodded Tom for the rest of the story. Tom proceeded to tell them about looking for a book for answers, and finally resorting to breaking into the most well-guarded collection of books in the whole of Britain.

Sherlock questioned Tom on the different traps that Tom had had to overcome in order to reach the library, and then taken great delight in pointing out much simpler and less magical ways that would have gotten Tom through as well.

Harry was more interested in the spell Tom had used at the end, to block the walls from closing in on him. "I've never even heard of it! You think it'd be useful enough that it would be taught in Defense, but I've never seen it in any book, and I researched _a lot_ of Defense spells last year for the Triwizard Tournament."

"I'm not at all surprised," answered Tom "it's quite a useful spell, but it does have one serious disadvantage. The second you cast the shield spell, you can't cast anymore spells without the shield falling. Since magical duels usually use spells, and this shield only blocks solid objects, this makes it rather useless in most duels.

"For these reasons, the spell fell out of practice many years ago, and it's not taught at Hogwarts. I myself learned it from an African witch doctor during my travels around the world in my twenties. He used to use the spell to keep away dangerous animals when they attacked the village." Tom cracked a smile "He was a very interesting individual. He used to live in the magical world, but left it so that he could live with this muggle tribe, where he was viewed as a god and given free reign at all their women."

Harry chuckled at that, but Tom saw Sherlock grimace in distaste.

Tom turned to look at the ruins of the manor he had just escaped, and felt his mood sink. All he could see was rubble, and beyond that, empty grey rooms. No library. The library must be ensconced in a magically guarded area, not reachable by muggle means. With the wizarding ability to manipulate space, any on of the small shards of rock in front of them could contain the whole library in it. He was never going to find it!

All that work to get to the damn library, and for nothing! And now, he was also feeling stupid after Sherlock and Harry had gotten to him so quickly, using only common sense. Maybe Sherlock was right about wizards not being able to think sensibly. It didn't matter though, decided Tom, next time he needed to get through some extremely complicated trap, he could just bring Sherlock along to think of all the easy ways to solve the problem. Speaking of which, maybe he'd be able to find a solution for this.

He turned to Sherlock who had followed his gaze, and was now staring at the ruins of the empty house contemplatively. "Any ideas on how to find the library?"

"A couple," answered Sherlock "but they're all a bit of a long shot. Let's start with the one most likely to work. Summon a gramophone, or whatever wizarding equivalent you have, and just should 'Romeo' and see if the password opens any portholes to the right room."

Tom tapped his throat and quickly cast the _Sonorus_ spell. Feeling a bit foolish he looked out at the rubble in front of him and called out "Romeo!"

Several pieces of the rubble lying on the floor vanished, and were replaced with glimpses of a lit-up room that had lots of books in the background. Unfortunately, the big rock that had obviously held the entrance to the room had shattered and was scattered all over the ground, causing the room that was revealed to look like a jigsaw puzzle scattered on the ground, not forming a complete picture.

Tom approached the nearest piece of room he could find, and then signaled Harry and Sherlock to follow him. Once they had neared him, and they were all standing around the piece of rock through a glimpse of a bookshelf could be seen, Tom pulled out his wand, and without warning, wordlessly performed the shrinking spell on Harry and Sherlock. He then turned the wand on himself, and shrunk himself down as well.

He looked around to see Sherlock examining himself in fascination, and Harry, who's face was still blank in surprised, and then back to the opening he was facing. An opening he was now small enough to enter through.

He stepped into the lighted room, only to find himself falling sideways and landing painfully on his arm. He got up groaning, and a second later saw Harry and Sherlock fall from somewhere near the middle of the doorway down to the floor. They all laid there for a second as they caught their breaths and stopped groaning, and then finally Tom got up and cast the enlargement spell on himself and on Harry and Sherlock.

Looking around, they finally had the time to take the place in. It was _amazing_. Tom had absolutely no trouble believing that this was the largest store of magical books in the world. Shelved upon shelves lined the walls, and the spiraling staircase in the corner indicated that this certainly wasn't the only floor in the library.

Tom loved books. True, the first thing he loved was power, and knowledge was power, but he also loved books in their own right. Every book was an opportunity to learn something new. Something exciting and interesting that he had never known before, and this library was filled with thousands and thousands of these opportunities. He felt a delighted grin spread across his face.

He turned to look at his friends. Harry was looking around him with an expression of awe, though he didn't seem nearly as delighted as Tom was, but Sherlock was looking less than impressed. "What's the name of this book you're looking for?" he prodded "In a library of this size, finding it can take quite a considerable amount of time."

"Can't you take a break from criticizing me for a second " Tom growled "to admire this amazing library? Stop raining on my Quidditch field!"

"I can't." replied Sherlock "I'm much too practical."

Harry laughed, and Tom suppressed a grin.

"Well, I don't think finding the book can be _that_ difficult. The shelves must be divided by subject, we just need to find the right shelf and start looking through it till we find a promising title."

Harry yawned at the prospect, but agreed good-naturedly to help. Sherlock said he'd also help if he got to take home any book that he thought looked interesting. Cheered at the prospect of having company while sorting through the huge library, Tom approached the first shelf he saw, and started digging.

As Tom had expected, Harry was the first to lose patience with the task. About an hour into their search, he flopped down on the floor near the shelf next to the one Tom had been sorting through. They had lost Sherlock around twenty minutes ago to a book about the greatest wizarding criminals of the Nineteenth Century. He had sat down and begun to read, ignoring all requests from Harry and Tom that he continue to help them look.

"That's it!" said Harry "I can't go through anymore shelves, I'm tired, my neck hurts, and I feel like we've been at it for at least four hours!"

Tom glanced at his watch. "Only one hour, actually, it's half past six now."

Harry sighed. "I need to start coming up with an excuse to tell Ron and Hermione about where I've been these past hours, so I should probably head back anyways."

Suddenly, he sat up, looking very pale. "Oh god! I forgot! I have detention with Umbridge tonight at seven! I'll never get there in time, I'm screwed!"

Tom's lips twitched "Detention? On the first day of school? What did you do?"

Harry groaned "Shouted at her. Don't look at me like that, you'd shout at her too if you'd been there. God, she's despicable."

Tom raised his eyebrows.

"Don't ask." Replied Harry to his unspoken question "If you ever meet her, you'll understand what I mean."

"Well," said Tom "I can apparate you back to Hogsmeade, that'll save you time. You might even get to the detention in time if we leave right now. Come!"

Harry looked back "I should probably go tell Sherlock."

"You don't really have the time." replied Tom "You'll barely make it as it is. Sherlock's too absorbed in his book to notice you're gone, I'll go back and explain to him once I'm through."

Harry shook his head "I won't be seeing him again till Christmas break, I'll just say goodbye really quickly."

Tom rolled his eyes, but went back with Harry to call Sherlock and explain that they needed to leave.

It really was sweet, how close they were, mused Tom, watching them hug, even as he mimed tapping his watch at Harry, telling him that his time was running out.

Exiting the library was a disorienting experience, as they both stumbled out of different pieces of rubble into the ground, and Tom quickly wrapped his arms around Harry, and disapparated to the Cellar of Honeydukes.

He nodded when Harry thanked him quickly, and watched as Harry rushed off as if he were being chased by a dragon.

That teacher of his must be quite strict, mused Tom, apparating back to the library, to sort out the mess they had made getting into it.

* * *

Sherlock lay on his bed, bouncing a rubber ball off his ceiling, as he waited for Harry to reply to the message he had just written him.

It had been two days since their mini-adventure with the hidden library, and Sherlock hadn't written till now because it seemed redundant to write to Harry so soon after he had seen him.

Two days had passed, though, and Sherlock deemed that long enough of a wait. He wasn't sure what news Harry could possibly have to report so soon after having seen him, but the truth was that he didn't care. He simply missed Harry. It really was ridiculous, this little crush he had on Harry, and Sherlock hoped that it would pass soon.

Meanwhile, he impatiently waited for Harry to answer his short message asking about his day. Sherlock knew that Harry had detention that night from seven, and, having decided that three hours was the maximum length of time a reasonable detention should take, had waited till ten until writing to Harry. He expected to get an answer at any second.

As it turned out, Harry's answer only came a short while after midnight. Sherlock was playing on his violin when his sharp eyes caught the movement of ink over parchment as Harry penned his reply.

It was a short greeting, and a friendly inquiry about Sherlock's day. What bothered Sherlock was the handwriting in which it was penned. Harry's handwriting was messy and hard to decipher at best, but now it seemed more shaky than messy. As if Harry was in pain.

Sherlock asked Harry what he had been made to do during the detention, and received the short answer: _She had me writing lines. I don't really want to talk about it._

That explained much. Writing lines wasn't too bad of a detention, but that awful teacher had had him writing since seven. After five hours, Harry's arm was bound to be painful, tired and shaky.

It also explained why Harry didn't want to talk about it- writing more was probably the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. Sherlock decided that as Harry's friend it was his duty to do most of the talking tonight, and try to entertain Harry after what must have been five hours of mind-numbing boredom.

He selected one of the most interesting and exciting serial killer cases he had read about, and related it to Harry in great detail, pointing out hints and clues that lead to the killer along the way. The exciting conclusion of the story earned him a badly drawn smiley face from Harry, but as Sherlock bid him goodnight and tried to settle down and go to sleep, he couldn't help but feel like there was still something wrong.

* * *

Harry heaved a deep sigh, and sank into the big couch in front of the fireplace in Gryffindor common room.

He stared at his hand morosely. The words _I must not tell lies_ flashed in front of his eyes, and he once again felt his anger bubbling up at the injustice of it all. How he hated Umbridge! He hated the condescending way she spoke, the way her tone overflowed with honey while she made him carve his hand open, and he hated how helpless he was against her.

The scars on his hand had not faded this time. In all the previous nights he had had detention, the scars had faded in the time it had taken him to go back to his dormitory, but not this time. The scars were still there, and that somehow made everything worse.

It felt as if now that the scars weren't leaving, he could no longer ignore and forget what he was going through. The scars were a humiliating reminder of what his teacher was making him do to himself, and he hated that they hadn't faded away yet.

A sudden pop startled Harry. He got up from the chair he had sunk into, and looked around trying to locate the source of the noise.

There, in front of the fireplace, was Dobby, standing with his back to Harry, but still recognizable through the tea-cozy on his head.

"Dobby!" cried Harry, cheered by the colorful sight of his friend.

Dobby spun around, and a huge grin broke out on his face as he saw Harry. "Harry Potter sir! Dobby is being very happy to see Sir! Sir has not come to visit Dobby since school began, but Dobby was hoping to meet Harry Potter Sir sooner or later, that is why Dobby volunteered to clean Gryffindor common room!"

Harry's face fell. "Sorry for not visiting you, Dobby, I've been having detention for hours and hours every night, and then needing to stay up till really late to do my homework, I really didn't have any time to visit you."

"Dobby does not mind, Sir, Dobby gets to see Harry Potter now! Maybe Dobby can help Harry Potter Sir with his work?"

"I don't think so," answered Harry "but thanks anyways, Dobby. How are you doing?"

Dobby beamed "Dobby is doing fireplace, Sir, and then cleaning floor. After that, Dobby has permission from Headmaster Dumbledore to leave castle, and Dobby will go visit Dobby's friend Yorry!"

"You're meeting up with Yorry?" asked Harry, grinning "Are you sure she's your friend and not something more?"

"Dobby is be trying to win Miss Yorry's heart, Harry Potter Sir, Yorry is pretty elf, and she think Dobby interesting for wanting to be free." Dobby was smiling, and his ears waggled in excitement.

Harry smiled "I'm rooting for you Dobby! Good luck!" after a second's pause he added "Actually, maybe there is something you could do for me."

"Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter Sir!" the elf exclaimed emphatically.

Harry laughed. "I don't think this should be too much trouble for you. Back during the summer, Yorry transported Sherlock and I to Malfoy Manor. Can you also transport people from one place to another?"

Dobby nodded enthusiastically "Yes, Sir! Dobby can be doing this Harry Potter Sir!"

"Great!" grinned Harry "Because things have been kind of awful lately here at school, and I think I could handle all the stress and those damn detentions if I could just see Sherlock once in a while and talk to him."

Dobby's face fell. "Dobby does not think he can be doing that, Harry Potter Sir. In summer, when little wizzies not learning at Hogwarts, Dobby can go away and do whatever Dobby likes, but after the students be coming back, Dobby must ask Headmaster Dumbledore Sir for permission before leaving school. When Dobby say he want to leave to visit pretty elf friend, Headmaster Dumbledore Sir smile and wink at Dobby and say yes to Dobby leaving, but if Dobby say he want to take Harry Potter Sir out of school, Dobby don't think Headmaster will be smiling and winking." Dobby hung his head sadly. After a few moments' contemplation he slowly said "Maybe Dobby will take Harry Potter without telling Headmaster Dumbledore Sir, he would only need to punish himself after…"

"No!" Harry yelped "Don't punish yourself! Don't do anything that would make you feel compelled to punish yourself! Forget I said anything, Dobby. It doesn't matter."

Dobby looked torn between relief at not needing to disobey Dumbledore, and the desire to help Harry "But Dobby does want to help Harry Potter Sir, if he can. Harry Potter Sir has been great friend to Dobby, and Dobby wants to help him. Maybe Dobby can help with something else?" he asked hopefully "Harry Potter Sir say things in school have been awful, maybe Dobby can do something to fix that?"

"It's just Professor Umbridge." said Harry "She's making me do this to myself during detentions" he showed Dobby the scars on his hand "but I don't think there's anything you can do about it. You're not allowed to do anything to teachers, are you?"

Dobby took Harry's hand carefully in his, and examined the scar. His huge eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head mournfully. "Dobby may not do anything against teacher's wishes. Dobby cannot even heal scars for Harry Potter Sir. Dobby is sorry!"

"It's not you fault, Dobby." sighed Harry, and patted the elf, who had meanwhile started sniffling, on the shoulder. Dobby's sniffles became more hysteric, and before Harry knew it, they had turned into sobs.

"It's really okay!" insisted Harry earnestly, hoping fervently that Dobby would stop crying "I'm fine, it's not that bad, I'm actually really touched you care this much Dobby, but try not to worry about it."

Dobby's sobs became wails, and he flung his arms around Harry's middle, before disappearing with a pop.

Feeling slightly bewildered but touched at how distressed his friend was, Harry headed up to bed.

* * *

Dobby popped into existence just outside the house in which he knew Yorry's master resided, and took a moment to compose himself. Dobby was quite the intelligent elf, he always had been, though he often let his emotions cloud his mind.

There was a downside to being more intelligent than most elves, Dobby knew, and it was that he could look beyond the desires of his master, and see the bigger picture. Most elves never bothered thinking about anything but what their masters told them to do, they obeyed their orders, and took pleasure in feeling useful and needed.

Dobby, though, had always been able to see beyond the fact that Lucius Malfoy was his master, and understand the fact that he was also a bad man, and that following his orders caused bad things.

When he was a little elf, Dobby had always thought that this was a curse. While the other elves he had known had been blissfully happy just going about their day and serving their masters, Dobby could not feel happy. Dobby liked to help, but he did not want to help the evil Lucius Malfoy. Serving Mr. Malfoy had made him feel frustrated and sad.

Many times, Dobby used to wish that he could be as simple and stupid as the other elves, simply happy to do what he was told. Now, though, after the last few years, Dobby was happy for being a smart and independent elf. He was free, he got to pick his master, and he picked the best master he could have to serve, and he even had a human friend! Such a kind and great human friend, too!

Harry Potter was his superior in intelligence, as all humans were, but he still treated Dobby as a friend, and despite Dobby's inborn loyalty to his master, Dobby was even more loyal to Harry Potter.

So though Dobby knew that the great Headmaster Dumbledore probably wouldn't be too happy about what Dobby was doing, Dobby knew that it would make Harry Potter happy, so Dobby would do it.

House-elves were born with the ability to sense the desires of humans, the better to serve them. Many times, Dobby anticipated what Lucius Malfoy wanted before he had even said anything, and preparing things to his master's satisfaction before his master even asked, had saved him many punishments and beatings.

So Dobby knew what Harry Potter desired, though Harry Potter might not even know it himself. Harry Potter wanted his friend Sherlock. That wasn't the only thing he desired, there was another desire, clouded a bit by self-doubt and confusion, but Dobby could still sense it. Harry Potter also held the desire for Yorry's master.

And Yorry's master wanted Harry Potter back. It wasn't the same kind of desire Dobby usually sensed- the desire for food, drink, or physical comfort. It felt different: deep, and beautiful, and it made Dobby very sad and very happy at the same time.

Dobby had occasionally felt this desire from Lucius Malfoy when he looked at his wife, and during those moments Dobby found that he couldn't truly hate Lucius Malfoy, despite his evilness.

So Dobby would use this knowledge to make his friend Harry Potter happy. It could be Dobby's secret present for Harry Potter- a small reward for what Harry Potter had done for Dobby by freeing him.

It took some considerable effort, and using every single bit of cunning Dobby possessed, but in half an hour's time, Dobby had come up with a brilliant plan.

Straightening himself out, Dobby started by sorting out his appearence. Dobby had been quite upset at what awful things Harry Potter had to do to himself in detention, and he had felt quite helpless, and there were still dried tears of sadness and frustration on his face. Now that he had a plan in action to help Harry Potter, Dobby felt much better, but since looking upset was vital to his plan, Dobby needed to start crying again. Dobby pinched himself as hard as he could until tears of pain appeared in his eyes, and then directed his magic to pop him into existence by Yorry's side.

He stumbled a bit upon landing, but once he had gotten his bearings, Dobby looked around. Yorry was walking around a big room with bookshelves, a fireplace, and a couch, and was dusting the books. Her master was reclining on the couch, reading something from a scroll of parchment.

Dobby gave a little sob, and arranged his face into the most heartbroken expression he could manage.

"Dobby!" cried Yorry, as she caught a glimpse of Dobby's tear-streaked face and distressed expression, then she quickly glanced at her master, scared of angering him with the disturbance.

The master merely looked curious, though. "Harry Potter's elf?" he smirked "Is that the visitor you asked permission to see? You are excused, Yorry, the bookshelves don't need dusting all that much. Go do whatever you want, and don't bother me."

Oh no! Dobby was hoping to have some private time with Yorry later, but first, he needed the master to be there so he could put his plan into action.

Thinking quickly, Dobby flung himself onto the carpet, and started wailing. He caught Yorry's master's face twitch with irritation before burying his face in the carpet.

"Dobby come!" Yorry sounded distinctly panicked now "You is disturbing Master! Yorry and Dobby must go somewhere else, and there Yorry will try to help Dobby, but first you must go, before you get Master angry!"

"Oh, poor Harry Potter!" sobbed Dobby dramatically "Poor, poor, Master Harry!"

Sneakily peaking at Yorry's master, Dobby saw him sit up tensely.

"What's wrong with Harry?" he demanded.

"Poor Master Harry!" cried Dobby "Is being forced to punish himself over and over, and Dobby is not being allowed to help. Dobby must stand by while poor master Harry punishes himself, and has no friend in the world to help! Master Sherlock is not being able to come help master Harry, and poor Master is alone with no friend, only pain!"

Yorry's master had risen from the couch and was standing directly over Dobby. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded.

Dobby allowed his sobs to slowly subside, and Yorry's master awkwardly patted him on the shoulder to calm him down. Dobby could sense his impatience, though. At that moment, his greatest desire was to hear what had happened to Dobby's friend Harry Potter and help. Perfect.

Dobby slowly raised himself into a seated position, and wiped stray tears from his eyes, hiccupping.

"Master Harry is be having lots of detentions and Professor Toady is be making Harry Potter Sir hurt himself in detention. Master Harry is sad and wants to see his friends, but Dobby is not being allowed to bring him friends without Headmaster Dumbledore's saying he can, and Headmaster Dumbledore will never be letting Dobby bring Harry Potter's friends into Hogwarts to visit him! Poor Master Harry, all alone and in pain, and Dobby can do nothing to help!" he finished tragically.

"Well," said Yorry's master slowly "luckily for Harry, my elf isn't required to ask Albus Dumbledore for permission before doing anything. Go spend time with Yorry, Dobby, and stop worrying about Harry. Just leave it to me."

Dobby nodded gratefully, took Yorry's offered hand, and allowed her to pop him to her own personal quarters.

It was a small room with a bed and a bathroom and not much else.

Yorry and Dobby sat down side by side on the bed, and Yorry patted Dobby on the back comfortingly. "It is being okay, Dobby. My Master Lord is going to be helping, and he is very smart Master. Yorry knows that he can help."

"Dobby knows so too." replied Dobby "That is why Dobby pretended to cry, so that Yorry's Master will decide to help Dobby's friend Harry Potter."

Yorry stopped rubbing Dobby's back, and gaped at him. "Dobby! You is such a bad elf!" she giggled, her face a mixture of awe at Dobby's audacity and terror at the thought of being so cheeky.

"Dobby will show Yorry just how bad an elf Dobby can be!" announced Dobby, daringly taking hold of Yorry's hand.

"Oh, Dobby!" Yorry giggled.

* * *

Another tragically un-betaed chapter! I really appreciate reviews pointing out mistakes and offering constructive criticism. Obviously I appreciate review telling me you love the story even more, but both are welcome.

Have a nice day!


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Harry Potter, Sherlock, Adventure, Friendship