Chance Encounters

Summary: An odd yet comforting acquaintance starts between Harry Potter and a Slytherin outcast one year below him: Sherlock Holmes.

A/N: So, this could become a multi-chapter fic if people decide they like it. Oh, my God, I'm actually already planning out following chapters. Now I just hope people will actually want them.

Spoilers for pretty much everything that exists now, if I ever finish this. HP spoilers for books 1 to 7, and Sherlock spoilers for everything until The Reichenbach Fall. In this chapter, though, only spoilers for the PS and CoS.

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and bullying.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. I do own my Bunny Of Plot. I think he hates me.

1.

Harry Potter sat upon the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a quiet place, and none of the teacher ever bothered to check there for students during the day. Over the past month, it had become one of Harry's favourite places in the castle.

One month. That was how long ago the rumours had started in earnest. One month ago, Harry had showed the entire school that he could talk to snakes. He had saved a fellow student's life, but no one remembered that part. No one remembered that the conjured snake had laid down on the floor after Harry had told it off. No one realised that Harry would be the last to go around attacking muggleborns. No one ever really thought!

As such, Harry found solace in the isolation of the Astronomy Tower. He wouldn't be missed for a while longer; Hermione would be doing homework, of course, and Ron was probably sitting next to her in the library pretending to do homework, while secretly reading a Quidditch magazine hidden in his Potions book. People wouldn't really talk to them anymore due to their association with Harry, but they refused to abandon him. Still, sometimes he just needed some peace and quiet.

Harry stared across the Hogwarts grounds, letting his mind wander. There didn't seem to be anything he could do about his situation, other than wait it out. In the meantime he would try to defend himself as well as he could; just because arguing hadn't had any results yet didn't mean he could just lie down and take it! He'd done that often enough with his relatives in the past.

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming up the staircase. He cursed himself for leaving his invisibility cloak behind and grabbed his wand, just in case. When he saw who had come up, he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or wary.

The good news was that the boy, carrying a book and his wand, was a first year. He couldn't be older than Harry, and if he'd been a second year, Harry would have recognised him. The bad news was that the boy was a Slytherin.

It was quiet for a few seconds. Both boys had their wands drawn, neither fired a spell. Harry suddenly realised that, with his back to the window, he was at a dangerous tactical disadvantage. If he blew the other boy backwards, he'd fall down the stairs. If Harry was thrown backwards, he'd plummet to his death outside. He couldn't help but think this typical, and had to restrain himself not to roll his eyes.

Finally the other boy huffed, sat down against the wall, opened the book he'd been holding and started to read. Harry noticed he never put away his wand, but then, who would? He let his arm drop and, after a few seconds of indecisiveness, sat down against the wall a few feet away from the boy, and resumed his staring outside.

About an hour later, he heard a book snap shut behind him. When he looked, he saw the Slytherin sitting cross-legged, hands under his chin, fingers interlaced, staring back at him.

Harry blinked. "Uhm..."

The other boy barely seemed to notice he'd been discovered. Harry decided that, if he was being rudely stared at, he might as well stare back. The boy was skinny, his hair was curly, as black as Harry's, and appeared almost as untameable. His eyes were a pale grey-blue, and Harry got the impression it was the kind of colour that changes with the light. Prominent cheekbones stood out sharply from the boy's slightly too-thin face. It was eerily similar to staring in the mirror, except when Harry looked in the mirror he never consciously thought: 'That kid needs to eat more.'

"My eating habits are just fine, thank you," the boy snapped. "So you can stop rubbing your stomach and licking your lips now, I'm trying to figure you out." Surprised, Harry looked back carefully. He'd licked his lips maybe twice since noticing the Slytherin's skinny frame, more often than usual, but not out of the ordinary enough to stand out. And his hand had indeed moved to his stomach, which was reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, but it was lying almost completely still. Tiny observations, and it was like the boy had read his thoughts. Just who was this kid? And, hold on...

"What do you mean, trying to figure me out?" The Slytherin grimaced.

"You'd be amazed how hard it is to observe you without being noticed, Potter." Ah, so the boy did know who he was. Harry had started to wonder. "You'd think, you're the local celebrity," Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Everyone would be staring at you, wouldn't they? But as it turns out, as soon as someone as much as glances in your direction, people start giving their opinion. It's awful, I try to get an idea about you, and immediately people descend from all sides, either to gush over how amazing you are, or to tell me to 'Leave him alone, you filthy Slytherin scum!' if they notice the colour of my tie! And when I get back to the common room, the older Slytherins start making their opinion known. You probably know Draco Malfoy hates you, but were you aware the same goes for Tracy Davies? She's just more vocal among her own. Though lately I don't need to go to the Slytherin common room anymore to hear slander about you." Harry remained mostly unsurprised, though he felt his eyebrows raise at the Tracy Davies comment. She'd always appeared moderately civil in the past. Then he realised what the other boy was actually telling him.

"Wait, you're... actually trying to get accurate information about me, rather than relying on the rumour mill?" He asked hopefully. The boy rolled his eyes.

"Obviously. It didn't take me long to find out the Hogwarts rumour mill is notoriously inaccurate. If I want to know who to stay away from until this place becomes safe again, I'll need accurate information." Harry snorted.

"That's new," he said. "Usually people just want to know the most spectacular stories, regardless of what might keep them alive. It's really very annoying when they think they know all about me when they really haven't got a clue."

Somehow, after that, a staring match ensued. For a long time Harry focused on the other boy's nearly expressionless face. Then the younger boy smirked.

"I do know all about you. And what I know is accurate. Is that really any better?"

Harry though about it. Leaving aside the Slytherin's knowledge and how he would have acquired it, what would he really feel if everyone knew the truth about his life so far? The answer was easy.

"It is better. I would hate it with everything I've got, but it would be better than the vicious lies going on right now. So what do you think you know?"

"Are you sure you want to hear?" The boy sounded almost robotic as he asked, and Harry wondered what emotion he was trying to hide.

"I won't if you're right," Harry said honestly. "But if you're wrong I want to correct you now, before it's too late. You said you wanted accurate information. I take it that that's because I'm the current 'lead suspect' in the whole Heir of Slytherin business?"

"Yes, but obviously you're not. Or maybe you are, but you are not behind the attacks. You clearly genuinely care about Granger, so I don't understand why people even bother." Harry smiled in relief. Finally, common sense! It was about time.

"You want to hear, then?" Harry swallowed nervously and nodded. He knew he was going to regret it the moment he saw the smug look on the Slytherin's face.

"The bare facts are, of course, that when you were one, a terrorist who called himself 'Lord Voldemort'" Harry already found himself impressed, "broke into your house, killed your parents, gave you that lighting-shaped scar, and hasn't been seen since or, according to the rumour mill, until last year." Harry winced at the reminder. "So that story holds some grain of truth, then. Interesting. Anyway, when Voldemort disappeared, so did you. There have been sightings all over, so I will ignore those, as they can't possibly all be accurate and I won't work with skewed data.

"You grew up in the most boring suburban area one can possibly imagine, maybe even worse than that, judging by your complete amazement at everything even slightly out of the ordinary, even if muggles do it too. Yes, I've been observing you since before today, you already knew that, don't be dull. As I was saying, boring suburb, muggle, obviously, with relatives, because that is the only reason you would not have been adopted by a wizarding family instead; God knows they would all desperately have wanted to. Your relatives neglected and, to an extent, even abused you. They have a child, older than you, and grotesquely fat, whose clothes you've always worn, judging by the way you handle your robes, as if they should be too big and wide, even though they fit perfectly, and your shoes, which are good quality, but very old and not your size - buy new ones, you've got the money - clearly cast-offs from a more favoured child. You're thin, not too thin, but thin enough that one can tell you've never been able to eat as much as you want. You can tell that from your eating habits as well; you cling to basic etiquette, as if pain will follow if you don't, and you always go for high-calorie foods first, but never eat much because your stomach can't handle it. My advise is many small portions every day, if you insist on eating a normal amount.

"Judging by the way you always seem to prefer open spaces, you were often locked up, probably in a dark cupboard, and possibly even slept there, though that has changed since you became aware of magic. Judging by your almost compulsive neatness whenever you are the one who has to clean up the mess, and complete acceptance of others dumping cleaning work on you – yes, I've seen Weasley at the breakfast table, don't bother, someone else cleans up and they don't mind, nor will they notice the difference - you often did housework for your relatives, and have from a very young age. Am. I. Wrong?"

About halfway through the younger boy's speech Harry had started shivering and closed his eyes. That was more than he had ever wanted to hear about his life from a stranger's mouth. He opened his eyes and looked at the boy staring past him, onto the Hogwarts grounds. He breathed out to calm himself.

"You were right. Everything you said was true. I wish it wasn't, of course, but I did ask for it." The Slytherin's perpetually blank face now seemed almost surprised.

"What, no insults? No 'You must have cheated' and threats to my life? That's what I usually get when I do that." Harry smiled tiredly.

"I can imagine why, being reminded of all that was... unpleasant, at the least. But you've told me how you know, so I know you didn't cheat, and if you put it like that it really is obvious to anyone who knows what to look at. I'm more curious how you learned to do that. And why would I insult or threaten you? Though that might come from being a victim of both a bit too often," he finished bitterly. The Slytherin sneered.

"Oh come off it," he snapped. Harry stared at him in shock. "Yeah, your life sucks, boo-hoo, honestly! You're twelve, you're not supposed to really get into that puberty angst thing until you're about fifteen. Now I'm not going to say you've had a walk in the park, but you realise that some people actually have reason to be jealous of you, don't you? From what I've read, you will never have to worry about money in your life, you at least have a place to go home to in summer, even if you hate it there and they hate you, and people seem to automatically like you!" The first two points the boy made sounded almost bored, but the last part was hissed as if the boy would much rather have yelled. Suddenly, Harry realised something.

"You're a muggleborn," he said. "Why else would you be worried about the Monster of Slytherin? You're a Slytherin yourself! A muggleborn in Slytherin... And unbelievably intelligent too, if what I just heard is any indication. But bad at social interaction, because in case you hadn't realised, you've been incredibly rude so far." The boy shrugged, and Harry thought he really hadn't realised. "Everyone is going to think you're a bigot by the colour of your tie, all the purebloods who know in your own house have a free pass to be bigoted against you! At the same time, everyone is going to be scared because you're smarter than they, and you don't know how to connect to people after you've accidentally scared them away! You're right, my problems will blow over, but you, well..." He really wasn't sure how to end that sentence without sounding either pitying or smug.

"They don't know I'm muggleborn, and it would be much appreciated if you didn't tell them," the boy glared, rather impressively for such a small child. Harry nodded quickly. "I don't need people I can confide in, I've never had friends, and I don't want any. Now, thank you for your time, I'm leaving." With that, he picked up his book, put his wand in his pocket, stood up and started to walk away.

"Wait," Harry called out. The boy didn't turn back, but he did stop walking. "Err, thanks for that. I needed to hear it." The first-year stood still for a moment, then nodded once before walking down the stairs.

Harry listened to the footsteps leaving the Astronomy Tower. Something in him felt relaxed, he thought, staring outside once again. Yeah, he had problems. But he hadn't lost the support of anyone he cared about, or anyone who he believed cared about him. He still had his friends. He blinked, friends who were doing (or pretending to be doing) Potions homework right now. Homework that was due the next day, and he hadn't even started yet! With a muffled curse, he jumped up and rushed down the stairs. If he hurried, maybe skipped dinner, he might get it done in time. If not... He grinned to himself. If not, he could always ask Hermione.

It was only that night, lying in bed, after Hermione had helped him with his homework so he wouldn't have to miss dinner again, that he realised he still didn't know the Slytherin's name.

R&R! If people like this, more conversations are to follow for the next years, so please tell me if you want those. Thanks!