Welcome back! Thank you everyone who has followed and favorited this story, it means a lot! So sorry about the lack of updating for the past couple months, but I am afraid I am not a particularly fast updater, especially since I am like a magpie in the respect that all new ideas grab my attention quite effectively (oh, shiny!). Currently, the idea gripping me now is a Merlin/Harry Potter oneshot taking place during the 2nd Task. Anyone interested in that?

I have also become obsessed with the boy that is now my profile picture. He is N from Pokémon; Black and White. I am not in the fandom, but my sister had me watch the N arc in the anime, and I played Pokémon Black, and now I am in love with the boy. He's so caring, naïve, extremely cute, selfless and so going to get himself killed by trying to end a Pokémon battle. Honestly.

Okay, so the story. I'm just going to say now that I have moved up the Harry Potter timeline to now, simply because I have no idea what was prominent in pop culture during the 80's and 90's. So sorry, but all my references will be from this decade. Also, this chapter had very little variation from canon (compared to other chapters), because not much happens in chapter 11 of the actual book. Don't worry though; next chapter is Christmas, and I have been looking forward to that chapter for ages now because *SPOILER*.

I think that's it for now, so enjoy!

The Sorting of Sherlock Holmes - Part Eight

October slid into November, and the weather started to take a turn for the worse. Morning dew was replaced with frost, and Hagrid could be seen in the morning melting off Quidditch equipment that had been left outside overnight. Quidditch season had began, and the first game of the year was quickly approaching.

Without a word from any of the four boys, Hermione became a part of their group, something that Sherlock didn't mind like he thought he would if it was anyone else. Hermione was actually able to listen to Professor Binns lectures, and while she wouldn't outright give them the answers, seemingly innocent questioning and some subtle wheedling made sure that Sherlock obtained the specific answers he required, and allowed him to pass them on to John, Harry, and Ron.

But even better, Hermione was a Muggleborn that was extremely knowledgable about the Muggle world. Books had been some of her only compainions before Hogwarts, and she had retained much of the knowledge from them, and was happy to share it with Sherlock. John and Harry contributed whenever they could, and soon a bond based on the disscusion of Muggle technology and culture had been forged.

"So this Iron Man - how does his suit work?" Sherlock questioned, eyes light up with a rare gleam of wonder as the disscusion turned to popular figures in Muggle society over breakfast.

Hermione stifled a giggle. "Iron Man doesnt actually exist, Sherlock. He's a character in comic books and movies."

"Movies are the moving pictures, right?" Sherlock asked for conformation, which Harry gave.

"But can the suit be created in the real world?" He persisted.

John shook his head. "I'm sure people are trying, but it would take a lot of power to run something like that, and we don't have anything that could power something like that for long periods of time that would also be convient. In the comics, Tony Stark used an arc reacter, but we have no idea how to build anything similar."

Sherlock pouted slightly. He had been quite enthralled by the tales of a man in a flying suit that could shoot energy beams and other Muggle weapons.

"Could magic be used a power source?" He asked, not to be deterred.

This actually gave the three Muggleborns (or Muggle-raised, in Harry's case) pause for thought.

"I'm not sure." Hermione eventually answered. "You would still have to be able to create all the components of the suit, and find some way for the electronic wires to accept magic as a power source. Right now, magic and electronic parts don't mix."

"Why not?" Sherlock questioned. "They're both sources of energy, surely there's a way to combine them, or at least convert one to the other." Sherlock's mind began whirling. If he could find a way to use magic to power Muggle artifacts - why, the possibilities were endless! Light bulbs, for example, would be a great help. And cars and planes instead of Floo and brooms, and telephones and computers . . .

"- we haven't found one yet." Sherlock caught the tail end of Hermione's sentence.

"Then that shall be my next project!" Sherlock announced. Already, he started brainstorming ways to combine technology and magic. Maybe magic-conductive materials and some kind of magical battery? Yes, that may work!

"Hermione, I need you to explain exactly how a battery works. Oh, and I need every resource you can find on Iron Man and energy transfer and Muggle electronic technology in general." Sherlock spewed out rapidly, Hermione blinking at the long list of requests. Sherlock began flying through the sections in the school library, wondering where he could find a book about magic and Muggle electronics. Then again, that was a relatively recent development by Wizarding standards, so he might have to owl-order from Flourish and Blotts . . .

"Oh boy." John muttered under his breath.

Ron was less subtle, letting loose a loud drawn-out groan and banging his head against the table.

"Ronald!" Hermione reflexively snapped.

"You've been jabbering on about this for ages!" Ron complained. "And now you're encouraging Holmes to blow us all up with crazy Muggle stuff!"

"Rest assured, Ronald, I will endeavor to live through my experimentation. Now Hermione, can you get those things? I'll lend you Redbeard and money if you need them." Sherlock offered. Said owl, enjoying handouts from Gryffindors who had become familiar with the exotic bird, looked up at his name and gave a soft hoot of acceptance.

Hermione bit her lip as she thought. "I can ask my parents to get printouts from the Internet, so there's no need to give me money, Sherlock." She assured. "And yes, I would love to use Redbeard. Just let me write up a letter first."

"Can we go now?" Ron moaned.

"Yes, Ron, we're done here." Hermione sniffed slightly disdainfully at the ginger's impatience. "We still have time before Charms, so let's go over the assignment one more time."

The look on Ron's face could only be described as pure horror at what he had gotten himself into.

Correspondence

From: Hermione Granger

To: Mr. and Mrs. Granger

Dear Mum and Dad,

So much has happened since the last time I wrote! I have made four new friends, all in one night! See, on Halloween, a troll had gotten into the school (still no one knows how, or at least they haven't told us students) and cornered me in the girls loo, and four boys in my house came to my rescue. Their names are Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes.

I think I've mentioned Harry and Sherlock before, haven't I? Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived, practically the Savior of the Wizarding World, but he's really nice and polite and not at all stuck up about it. In fact, I would say he was embarrassed by all the attention. He grew up in the Muggle world like me, so I guess he wouldn't be used to all the attention.

Sherlock is the boy who's ahead of me in every class. He's really brilliant, but he's so aloof most of the time, unless he's talking to John or with us (meaning Harry, John and I) about the Muggle World. He's what's known as a Pureblood, descended from an all-wizard family, and so he's had very little in-depth contact with our world. He's extremely curious about it, though, and loves listening to Harry, John and me explain things about it. Ron, also a Pureblood, isn't anywhere near as fascinated (how could he not, though? Surely the Muggle World to him is like the Wizarding World is for me?).

This actually brings me to a request. We were talking about Iron Man, and Sherlock inquired about the suit. When we broke it to him that Tony Stark and his inventions were fiction, he immediately began asking if it was possible for Muggles to build one, and then if magic could be used as a power source. He's asked me for information on how a battery works, Muggle electronic technology, energy transfer, and Iron Man. I think he wants to try to make the suit, or at least a power source for it!

Muggle electronics and magic don't mix; magic fries circuits. Yet Sherlock wants to try to figure out how to get around that problem. The funny thing is, I think he could get it done! He's that smart! So if you could get some information, I'm sure he would really appreciate it.

On another note, my grades are still very high. I love all my classes, but if I had to pick a favorite, I would have to say Transfiguration. It's taught by my Head of House, Professor McGonagall (you remember her, right?), and it's such a fascinating subject! Turning one object into another, causing objects to vanish and appear, it's just like my old picture books. Charms is also amazing, we've learned how to make objects float!

Enclosed is my finished Muggle homework, I'm ready for the next batch. I'll see you at Christmas holiday.

Love,

Hermione

The day before Harry's first Quidditch match found the quintet in a corner of the entrance courtyard. Harry's position as Gryffindor had been kept a secret from everyone not on a need-to-know basis, so naturally, the whole school knew by now. Students passing by the Boy-Who-Lived made comments on his expected performance, ranging from how he would be absolutely brilliant to how the hospital wing was ready for him. In an effort to get some peace from the masses the day before the Quidditch match, Harry had asked if they could go outside, where most students were reluctant to brave the chilling cold.

Hermione had demonstrated her advanced studying skills and produced a small flame that could be safely carried in a jam jar (helpfully provided by John). Huddled with their backs to the fire, the five Gryffindors were kept warm while keeping the might-be-rule-breaking fire.

Hermione, John, and Ron were engaged with an essay due in Transfiguration Monday, debating points where their research disagreed. Harry had borrowed Quidditch Through the Ages from the library at Hermione's recommendation, and was now thoroughly absorbed by the book. Sherlock had managed to get a folder full of Internet printouts on batteries, electricity, and the concept of energy from the Grangers the day before (they were now ranking above his own parents in his list of tolerated people), and was now pouring over the mound of information, recording and storing as much of it as he could into a new room in his mind palace, while also jotting down notes and connections on a pad of Muggle paper with a pen borrowed from John.

(Yet another reason he was in love with Muggle tech. The pen and paper pad - infinitely more effectient than parchment, quill and ink. No endlessly dipping into ink bottles, no annoying splotches on the parchment, a firm back to write on that was also portable - Sherlock could go on and on about the new method of taking notes (and in fact he had when John had first given him the supplies, clearing out the common room in record time).)

The part about conduction moving energy from one place to another was fascinating. If he could find a way to control conducting magic to make its energy fuel the pieces it was required to, then he could conceivable make something similar to a circuit, and use that circuit to power something. What conducted magic? The cores of wands were made to conduct their personal magic and amplified its effect and power, and all cores derived from pieces of magical creatures. Hmm . . . Perhaps a book on wandology was required for this task.

Their relative peace was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Snape marching as quickly as he could across the cobblestones. This march was impeded by a limp that not even Weasley could have missed. Sherlock took in the implications. Snape developing a limp a week after being spotted headed towards the third floor corridor. So he must have been injured by the Cerberus. Why had he actually gone into the corridor? To check on the protections? Or to use the troll as a diversion to get in? If just checking the protections, then Snape suspected someone of going after the stone? He had been among the three teachers that had responded to them taking down the troll, so was one of the other three a suspect (Quirrell or McGonagall), or had Snape been forced away from the scene?

There were too many possibilities, too many variables. It was impossible to make even a hypothesis.

Something on their faces must have given Snape pause, because after catching them in his peripheral vision, he came marching towards them.

A quick whispered word from Hermione caused the fire behind them to go out. By the time Snape had reached the knot of students, there was nothing in sight to suggest any rule breaking. Of course, this didn't stop Snape from taking points from Gryffindor.

"What have you got, Potter?" He sneered.

Harry showed the professor the Quidditch book.

"Library books are not to be taken from the school. 5 points from Gryffindor." Snape barked as he snatched the book away.

"He made that rule up!" Harry growled as soon as the professor was out of earshot.

"Of course he did, but it's not worth arguing over." John stated matter-of-factly.

"Wonder what's wrong with his leg?" Harry muttered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was completely obvious what was wrong with Snape's leg, but if Harry couldn't figure it out himself, then Sherlock wasn't going to tell him.

"I don't know, but I hope it's really hurting him." Weasley wished.

As it turned out, Harry found out later that very same day.

Sherlock and Ron were just about to begin a chess match (something Sherlock had been looking forward to since he had learned of Ron's surprising skill at the game) when Harry came bursting through the portrait hole, panting wildly.

"Get your book back, mate?" Ron asked, surprised at the state of his best friend.

"No, but listen. I walked in on Snape and Professor Flitwick - Flitwick was treating a wound on Snape's leg." Harry rushed.

"Well, obviously." Sherlock sighed. Harry and Ron trained their twin expressions of shock on him. "Obviously, Snape was in the third corridor with the dog on Halloween."

"You knew?" Harry asked.

"How could I not? We all saw Snape heading that way on Halloween, and just after he starts limping? Dear God, what is it like in those funny little brains of yours?" Sherlock genuinely asked.

"Well, then that means that whatever is down there, Snape is after it."

"Maybe." Sherlock hummed. "Maybe not."

"Well, what else could he have been doing there?" Ron threw his hands up.

"Perhaps trying to make sure that no one else was going to make a bid for it. That night was a golden opportunity with the troll distracting all of the teachers and students. We already determined that there was no way a troll could get into the school on it's own; someone had to have let it in."

"Maybe." Harry didn't seem that convinced. "But that doesn't mean Snape isn't after it."

"I never said it did." Sherlock replied coolly. "All I am saying is that an open mind needs to be kept in regards to Snape and his motives. For all we know, anyone in this school could be after the prize."

The next day dawned clear and bitterly cold. The entire school was buzzing in the Great Hall about the Quidditch match just an hour away as John, Harry, and Ron met Hermione and Sherlock at the Gryffindor table.

The table was full of breakfast items, but Harry picked at his food, nerves obviously filling his stomach. "I'm not hungry, Hermione." He proclaimed.

"Come on, Harry, you need to eat something." Hermione pleaded.

"I'm fine, Hermione, I just don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast, Harry?" John offered, dumping said food onto Harry's plate.

"Ah, so now you're feeding Harry as well?" Sherlock questioned, nibbling at a muffin (also courtesy of John).

"It's your own faults." John answered unapologetically. "You would avoid eating until you passed out if I didn't make you, and I don't want Harry falling off his broom because he didn't bother to even eat some toast." This last part was accompanied with a glare in Harry's direction.

"He's right, Harry, you need your strength." said Seamus Finnigan. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Yes, thank you for your input in a conversation you have no part in, Finnigan." Sherlock drawled. Finnigan looked slightly put out as he poured ketchup onto his sausages (a combination that turned Sherlock's stomach).

But Harry conceded either way, and managed to choke down toast and an apple before it was time to head to the pitch.

Harry joined the Gryffindor team as it left the Great Hall, leaving John, Ron, Sherlock, and Hermione to make their own way to the Quidditch field.

The field was about the size of a Muggle rugby field, perhaps a bit longer and narrower. The stands were raised about 25 feet above the pitch, allowing the spectators to view the action from a decent vantage point. Several towers were positioned at regular intervals in the stands, and inside one of them sat the professors, commentator and scorekeeper, and Headmaster. Presumably, the other towers were for special guests, but as of right now, they were unoccupied.

The four settled into front row seats along with Neville, Seamus, and Dean (who happened to be a fan of a Muggle football team), and Ron and Hermione conferred quickly with the other first years. A few minutes before the match began, they pulled out a bed sheet with the words "Potter for President" painted on them, and a reasonably well-drawn lion underneath. Hermione whipped her wand, and the paint began to flash different colors.

"What is that even supposed to mean? Harry's not running for president, he's just playing Quidditch." Sherlock complained.

"Hush." John muttered. "It's supportive. Look supportive." He nudged.

"If I must." Sherlock sighed woefully. Truth be told, while he did enjoy flying itself, he did not see the point of the sport Quidditch. The Seeker was the only player with any real value; the Chasers almost never scored enough points to make catching the Snitch a moot point, so even if every other player sucked, as long as the Seeker was decent, the team could win. It didn't seem fair to Sherlock that the Chasers and Keepers went to all that trouble for basically nothing. Now, if each goal was worth 50 points, now it would be different. 3 goals would be equal to a Snitch, and strategy would play a larger role in when the Snitch was caught. It would also lend more purpose to the other players. If Sherlock didn't think he would get lynched for doing so, he would suggest such a change to the rules.

But, Harry was someone he got along with, and John was his friend and Harry's friend, so Sherlock would do his best to try to look interested in the game and supportive.

The two teams walked onto the pitch and took the air, Keepers heading to their goalposts, Chasers and Beaters ringing the toss-up circle (Sherlock could just make out the two fiery orange heads belonging to the Beaters Weasley and Weasley), and Harry and the Slytherin Seeker hovering above all of that where they would have the best vantage point of the pitch. Madame Hooch flew only a few feet off the ground, and after saying a few words to the 14 players (her focus on the Slytherin captain in particular), she tossed the Quaffle up, and the game began!

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor-" announced the commentator, a friend of the Weasley twins by the name of Lee Jordan "- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too -"

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall roared.

"Sorry, Professor." Jordan apologized, not sounding sorry at all. "And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve - back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes -"

Sherlock irrationally felt his heart speed up as the green-robed figure streaked up the field towards the goal. What was wrong with him? Was he having a heart attack?

"- Flint flying like an eagle up there - he's going to sc-no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood -" Sherlock allowed himself to smile at this news, and the return of a normal heartbeat, "- and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle - that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and - OUCH - that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger -" Sherlock winced at the crack of the Bludger connecting with the back of Bell's head. Jordan was right. That had to have hurt, quite painfully. But the girl waved off the referee, continuing a circuit around the field. Sherlock rolled. Gryffindors and their bull-headed recklessness.

"Quaffle taken by the Slytherins - that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger - sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which - nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes - she's really flying - dodges a speeding Bludger - the goal posts are ahead - come on, now, Angelina - Keeper Bletchley dives - misses - GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

3/4ths of the stadium burst into cheers and applause, while the green-scarfed children managed to work up a loud enough moan to be heard against the overwhelming noise. Sherlock settled for clapping his hands appreciatively for his House.

"Budge up there, move along "

"Hagrid!" Ron and Hermione, and John and Sherlock, squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them in between the two pairs.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope, " said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outta trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid somewhat ominously, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. A Bludger was shot his way, and for a brief moment, Sherlock sucked in a breath, thinking that the hit would connect, but Harry deftly maneuvered out of the way of the heavy ball. Suddenly -

"Wait a moment - was that the Snitch?" Jordan asked rhetorically. The Slytherin Chaser Pucey dropped the Quaffle as his eyes followed the glint of gold that was buzzing around him. Harry shot towards the Snitch, but the Slytherin Seeker was hot on his trail, and they were drawing neck-and-neck as they drew closer and closer to the small golden ball. All the Chasers seemed to forget that they had another job to be doing and froze as they watched the pair race for the gold.

Harry was slowly pulling ahead, aided by the better quality broom he flew, and stretched out his hand for the Snitch -

WHAM! Marcus Flint had rammed into Harry, sending Harry clinging to his broom as he spun out of control, and the Snitch being lost in the confusion.

The air was filled with screams of outrage for the Gryffindor Seeker, and while Sherlock wasn't surprised that John, Hermione, and Ron were vocal among them, he was surprised that his own voice had taken a life of its own, and was protesting about the dirty move, while his stomach did backflips at what could possibly have happened. Harry could have been knocked off his broom! At this height, he would have been severely injured, if he hadn't died! (And when had Sherlock grown to care so much, he wondered.)

Hooch blew her whistle, and after a few angry minutes of arguing with the offender, awarded a free penalty goal to Gryffindor.

"Send him off, ref! Red card!" Dean Thomas was yelling. John was nodding violently along, an out-of-place scowl curling on his lips.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" John began to explain furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!" Dean's head was bobbing up and down like a bobblehead.

"But this isn't soccer, John." Ron reminded the two Muggleborns.

Hagrid was on their side, though. "They oughta change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air."

Sherlock growled. "Harry would have almost certainly have been killed if he had fallen off his broom, unless someone was quick enough to apply a Cushioning Charm or slow his descent, but I doubt that there would have been enough time to do so. I don't think changing the rules would have stopped Flint from risking it, though." He added darkly.

On the magical megaphone, Jordan seemed to be following their own lines of thought in the commentary. "So - after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating -"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul -"

"Jordan, I'm warning you -"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Only minutes later, though, as Harry dodged a Bludger, something else life threatening endangered the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, pointing up at the Gryffindor Seeker. His broom was bucking up and down at incredible speeds, shaking side-to-side and doing flips and abrupt turns. Sherlock couldn't help but compare the brooms motions to a bucking horse trying to throw off its rider.

All around the stadium, others were noticing Harry's problem, and were pointing and shrieking. The Weasley twins attempted to get close enough to pull him off his broom, but every time they got within 10 feet, the broom shot up higher and higher into the sky. Finally, the twins began circling below, hoping to catch the Seeker if he should fall - and with the increasing erratic movements, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus Finnigan whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic - no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand."

Sherlock took in a sharp breath. Of course. How could he be so stupid? He snatched Hagrid's binoculars from the giant man's hands, and focused them in on the teachers box. There! Professor Snape was muttering something, eyes unblinking, but the raven-haired Gryffindor couldn't tell what exactly the man was saying. It wasn't English, that much Sherlock was sure of. A spell, then. But was it the curse, or a countercurse? Sherlock scanned the rest of the teachers, and found that only Quirrell, in the front row with his back to the rest of the box, was both speaking and not blinking. One had to be doing the cursing, and the other must have been trying to save Harry. For now it was apparent that Harry would have fallen off long ago had he been unassisted by magic.

"Hermione." Sherlock said sharply, the Muggleborn almost in frantic tears as she turned to look at him. "Snape and Quirrell are both spelling the broom, but I can't tell what either of them are saying."

Hermione's mouth set in a determined frown. "Leave it to me." She said quickly, ducking behind him to the stands staircase and tearing off into a run.

Sherlock refocused his attention on the teachers box, cursing that the binoculars Hagrid had bought were not strong enough to clearly see the two professors lip movements. Otherwise, he could have told exactly which one was the enemy. The crowd gasped, and Sherlock swung his gaze back to Harry, his own breath being forcibly removed from his body as he saw Harry was now only hanging onto his broom by his fingers.

"Come on, Hermione." Sherlock breathed.

As if she had heard his plea, Hermione chose that exact moment to act. Whispering a spell, she managed to set Snape's robes on fire, causing the professor to flail and knock Quirrell down from his seat. Harry's broom calmed, docile as a kitten as it floated in the air, and, after making sure that the Nimbus would not suddenly try to buck him again, Harry clambered back on.

"Thank God." John sighed.

"That was close." Ron agreed. "Neville, you can look now."

The pudgy boy, who had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last few minutes, looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see that Harry was, in fact, no longer in danger of being bucked off his broom.

But he was, Sherlock thought angrily (considering hexing the boy himself), in danger from his complete Gryffindor disregard for self-preservation, for only moments after recovering from his potential brush with death, Harry dove straight down towards the ground, clasping his hands over his mouth like he was about to be sick. He landed on all fours on the pitch, and spat out of his mouth the Golden Snitch.

"I've got the Snitch!" Harry shouted to the referee, waving the golden ball in his hand, ending the game with a Gryffindor win in complete and total confusion.

The Slytherins tried to protest the fact that Harry hadn't caught the ball, he had nearly swallowed it, but as there was no rules that the Snitch had to be caught with the Seekers hands, Lee Jordan gleefully announced that Gryffindor had stomped Slytherin 170 to 60.

Back at Hagrid's, Harry was being made a strong cup of tea.

"It was Snape!" Ron proclaimed to Harry.

"Or Quirrell." Sherlock repeated for what felt like the hundredth time (why did he associate with morons like Ron Weasley again? Right, John and the troll incident.). "I saw both of them using magic, but I couldn't tell which one was cursing the broom and which one was trying to save Harry."

"It was Snape." Ron said firmly. "Why would Quirrell want to kill Harry? Snape's got motive; he hates Harry and Harry saw that bite on his leg. This was him trying to off Harry before he could say anything!"

"Quirrell is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Sherlock." Hermione said hesitantly. "If he noticed that Harry's broom was being cursed, surely he would do something about it."

"According to Harry, Flitwick was treating the leg, and Snape was telling him how he got the bite from that Cerberus in the forbidden corridor. Yet, Flitwick seems just fine. Anyway, if Snape had wanted to kill Harry, surely he could have rigged a Potions accident easily enough?" Sherlock retaliated.

"Cerberus?" Hagrid interjected. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

The five children turned to Hagrid.

"Fluffy?" John echoed. "That thing is called Fluffy?"

"Yeah - he's mine - bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year - I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -"

"Yes?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But someone's trying to steal it!" John said. "Most likely Snape." He sent an apologetic glance to Sherlock, who huffed and looked away. "We saw him headed to the forbidden corridor on Halloween."

"Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort." Hagrid said firmly.

"A Hogwarts teacher just tried to kill Harry." Sherlock said icily. "You said it yourself; no child here could have jinxed Harry's broom midgame, and I saw with my own eyes Snape and Quirrell fighting for control. What we need to determine is which one is truly loyal and who is after the object in the corridor."

Hagrid was sheepish, but still plowed on. "I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but neither Snape or Quirrell would try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all five of yeh - yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel - "

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Sherlock's heart stopped. Nicolas Flamel. The only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone. A substance that turned lead into gold and created the Elixir of Life. And that very substance was now currently residing inside the school. It took Sherlock a minute to remember to breathe. The Sorcerer's Stone was being held in the school - in a school, full of innocent children, when someone had already proven that they were ready to go to any lengths to gain it by breaking into Gringotts! Was Dumbledore insane?! This reeked of bad idea, especially since half the school was probably aware of the vicious dog that resided on the third floor (Sherlock was under no illusions that he and John were the only people in the school curious enough to ignore the Headmasters warning of death - he knew for a fact the Weasley twins had already popped in to check out the forbidden wing), and it surely could not be that hard to figure out a Cerberus' weakness. Sherlock could only pray that the other defenses in place were more effective.

But another part of him was marveling at the discovery. A Sorcerer's Stone in the same building as him! The deepest secret of alchemy, known only to one, just sitting there! Sherlock was half-tempted to go after the Stone himself to study it. Think of the breakthroughs! And yet another part of him wanted to rush down to the hiding place so he could destroy the Stone. If someone like Voldemort, or Malfoy, or any of his family members, now that he thought about, got their grubby paws on the Stone, it would spell disaster on a global scale. Unlimited gold to fund a rampage or bribe politicians to change laws. The Elixir of Life, preventing one from ever dying of old age, maybe even granting immortality from spells (though that was currently unknown).

The ultimate source of power in existence, and it was sitting inside a school stuffed to the gills with nosey schoolchildren that could double as hostages if Snape/Quirrell so chose.

Sherlock had a very bad feeling about the coming months.

And there you have it! Sherlock now knows that the package from Gringotts is the Sorcerers Stone (and I know that it's technically Philosopher's Stone, but I'm American, so I say Sorcerer's Stone).

I'm struggling to not completely end the main plot before it even starts, but I can't imagine Sherlock being convinced that Snape is the culprit, so hopefully I'm doing okay there (though I think I might be drawing too much from King of Serpents, an Artemis Fowl/Harry Potter crossover I am a huge fan of, but I'm trying my best to be original).

So you know the deal. Anything or anyone you want to see Sherlock interact with? What did you like/dislike about this chapter? Review please!

Next time, Christmas! And since Sherlock is free for the holidays . . . *smile*

Have a fantastic day/night!

-Blue