Amortentia

Chapter 21

When John’s eyes opened the sun was up, but most of the other boys weren’t. He lay in bed until they started stirring, marking the time for him to get up and get ready for Hogsmeade. He decided that he won’t wear robes, obviously Sherlock doesn’t  like wizard robes and to be honest he didn’t either, thankfully he had a white shirt and a black sweater vest thing with the Gryffindor house badge on it, casual but dressy. He brushed his hair to perfection, even put on a little bit of cologne for the occasion. Once he though he looked suitable he put money and his wand in his pocket and went down to the common room where his friends were waiting for him. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be, John was nervous about his first official date with Sherlock. They had already spent a lot of time together, kissed even, so what was he so worried about? Sara gave him a thumbs up as he approached, making him roll his eyes but smile appreciatively.
“Someone’s dressed up.” Greg commented.
“How do I look?” John asked, spinning, feeling like one of those models on muggle TV.
“You look fine,” Mike sniffed the air, “Even put on cologne, you’re a big boy now.”
“Let’s go then.” John decided. They climbed out of the portrait hole, the Fat Lady had her friend Violet over from another picture, so they were talking loudly and laughing at stupid jokes, probably drunk, which was weird to think paintings get drunk. When they got down to the Great Hall, everyone was eating quickly and there was already a steady line of people walking out the doors to Hogsmeade. While his friends chowed down, John picked at his food halfheartedly, his stomach twisting in a knot.
“What’s wrong John?” Greg asked as he buttered a pancake.
“I’m nervous.” John admitted.
“Why, it’s not like it’s your first time together.” Sara pointed out.
“I don’t know why I’m nervous, I just am!” John groaned.
“You’ll be fine mate, he likes you, remember that, I could even go as far as saying he loves you.” Mike assured. John faked a smile and ate a bite of sausage to pretend that he was actually eating. Sherlock wasn’t at the staff table, which complicated things, but to his relief Snape was there, and he had just arrived so he wouldn’t be around when John went to get Sherlock. When the breakfast was done, John and his friends got up and exchanged goodbyes and good lucks as John went down to the dungeons without them. The dungeons seemed to go on forever until he finally knocked on the wooden door to the potions classroom. He doubted that Sherlock would hear, but the moment his hand dropped back to his side, the door swung open and Sherlock was standing in the door way, in his purple shirt and coat again, his hair perfect and he also smelled nice, more Amortentia probably. He looked nervous as well, probably the same mysterious nerves John was feeling at the moment, but when he was worried he was still one hundred percent gorgeous, and John probably looked like a hedgehog that hadn’t been transfigured into a pin cushion properly.
“Ready for Hogsmeade?” John asked.
“Yep.” Sherlock agreed.
“How’s the cut?” John asked.
“Better, much better, I made a potion that sped the healing process up, it’s barely a scar now.”
“That’s good.” John said, letting Sherlock out of the classroom. Instead of walking out though, Sherlock pulled out his wand and flicked it, and from the tip of the wand came a bouquet of roses.
“Uh, here, these are for you.” Sherlock said awkwardly, blushing so much he looked painted red.
“Oh, thank you.” John said, laughing in his head even though he was blushing almost as much as Sherlock. He obviously had no idea what to do, roses were usually a thing for a girl, and although John was flattered, it was still pretty awkward. He had no idea what to do with them, it’s not like he had a vase, and he didn’t want to carry them all around Hogsmeade, but he held onto them, trying not to prick his fingers with any of the thorns. John smiled awkwardly at Sherlock, who looked proud of himself because John accepted the flowers. He felt a rush of love for him, knowing that he was obviously so new and lost with the whole relationship thing.
“Um, let’s go then.” John decided. Sherlock nodded and they both walked down to the entrance hall, where there were still people walking down to the village. John wanted to hide the flowers from their view, considering McGonagall had told him not to make it too public, and he didn’t have all of the daring he had before in the common room when he got in that fight, so it was a bit awkward.
“Um, I’ll go drop these off at the common room I guess, I’ll only be a second.” John promised, not waiting for a response as he sprinted up the steps three at a time, which was an accomplishment considering he was so short. When he got to the portrait hole he was out of breath, gasping the password at the drunken fat lady and Violet. When he got in the common room he grabbed a paper cup from the bathroom, filled it up with cold water, and put the roses on the windowsill, hoping they wouldn’t fall over and spill all over the floor. When he got back to Sherlock, he was leaning against the wall, lost in thought apparently.
“Sorry that took so long; it’s hard to find a vase in the Gryffindor common room.” John apologized.
“It’s fine.” Sherlock muttered. They both walked through the doors, into the fresh morning air. It was chillier than John would’ve liked, the trees in the forbidden forest were all turning orange and yellow, and fall was coming apparently. They were one of the last people down to the village, down the stone path and through the gates. Hogsmeade is the only pure Wizarding town in the world, and it had a ton of brilliant shops, like Zonko’s Joke Shop, Honeydukes Sweet Shop, and The Three Broomsticks, home of the world famous butterbeer, aka heaven in a mug. The shops looked like a Christmas village, without the snow for now. The cobblestone streets were packed with students from Hogwarts, spending all of their spare change for their first visit. John and Sherlock joined the pack, trying their best not to lose each other, which wasn’t hard for John because Sherlock was so tall.
“Where do you want to go first?” Sherlock asked him when they got in a little gap.
“I don’t know, the Three Broomsticks will be packed right now, so will all of the other places, where do you want to go?” John asked.
“I need some new quills, so we could go down to that shop, I don’t know what it’s called.” Sherlock asked.
“Okay, fine with me.” John agreed. They turned onto a less populated street to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. When they opened the door a little bell chimed on the door, letting the little man behind the counter know they were coming in. The walls were lined with quill of every size and feather you could want; from a robin to a parrot they had it. There were also invisible quills, Quick Quotes Quill, floating quills, candy quills, everything. The store smelled very nice, like ink and parchment. Sherlock led the pair to the Eagle Feather Quills, which were very beautiful, but kind of expensive, two Galleons for one quill. Sherlock picked out one, which was brown with black sprinkled around, it was very nice looking.
“How about this one?” Sherlock asked, holding it for John to see.
“It’s beautiful.” John agreed, nodding his head once. Sherlock set it down for a moment and dug out his money, pulling out two galleons and walking over to the cash register.
“Is that all?” the man asked. Sherlock nodded and waited for him to cask out, and they left the shop for the street. There were some people trying to get into the store, so John and Sherlock got out of the way as quickly as possible, being polite as usual. John still felt a little bit awkward, and he was sure Sherlock felt the same way, first date and all. He thought it was adorable though, the roses and all, he had gotten it so mixed up.
“Do you want to go to Spintwitches?” John asked hopefully.
“What’s that?” Sherlock asked.
“It’s the quidditch shop!” John said.
“Oh, I’ve never been there, sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” John asked. Sherlock shrugged, he didn’t know either. “So, do you want to go then?”
“Ya, fine, okay.” Sherlock agreed. John smiled at him, and he smiled back, which seemed to make the chilly wind warmer. They went to the shop, which was crowded with all of the Hogwarts students anxious to get some new stuff for Quidditch. The shop was full of everything from the latest broom model to broom repair kits. It smelled like leather and wood, the best smell in the world to John, it smelled like quidditch. Sherlock look one look around and frowned, fighting the crowds to keep up with John, who was already weaving through to the gloves. He needed a new pair, his old pair had lasted a lot longer than he expected, but they were now falling apart. He tried on a couple of pairs, looking for the best fit for the new season. Finally a nice pair of red leather fit, and they were in his price range. He turned to ask Sherlock his opinion, but he couldn’t find him anywhere. He was probably in the back room or something. The line was reasonable, although he would much rather had spent the time talking to Sherlock, he still hadn’t shown up yet. When it was finally his turn to check out, he handed the cashier his gloves and dug around in his pockets for the money, placing it on the counter for them to count. When they gave him the gloves in a small paper bag, stamped with the store’s logo, the name with a broom flying over top, he went outside the store, thinking Sherlock must be out there. He saw he was right, the Professor was sitting in one of the benches alone, watching the people pass and looking rather sulky, which John couldn’t stand. No one that beautiful should look so sad.
“What’s wrong Sherlock?” He asked, walking up and sitting next to him on the bench.
“Nothing’s wrong, I was just waiting for you, what did you get?” Sherlock asked all signs of the sulkiness gone now.
“Just a new pair of quidditch gloves.” John shrugged.
“It was too crowded in there, and it smelled weird.” Sherlock commented, making John laugh a little bit to himself.
“Not like it’s not crowded out here.”
“Well, they aren’t exactly in my way here, so it’s better.”
“Oh, well, I would offer to get a butterbeer, but it’s always crowded in The Three Broomsticks so that might not be the best option right now.” John sighed, hoping Sherlock would sense the sarcasm.
“No, its fine, I’ll go.” Sherlock assured, to John’s relief. He looked at Sherlock for a moment, just a moment, but made eye contact, and he was lost in the green eyes of the assistant professor. He couldn’t quite tell whether Sherlock’s eyes were completely blue, because they turned green in some areas, and it took John a couple of seconds to finally realize where he was and what he was doing. He blinked and got up, hoping no one saw that little episode. Sherlock got up too, but he looked more disappointed than embarrassed, as if John’s eyes were half as beautiful as his. They walked the cobblestone streets to the Three Broomsticks, John trying to scan the crowds for his friends, who were nowhere to be found. The small pub was packed, as they expected, almost all of the tables were filled and the line stretched to the door. There were people pushing past them to get out, people carrying mugs and jugs of Butterbeer over to their friends, people sitting on tables or standing around. The place was loud, extremely loud; everyone was talking and laughing as if volume wasn’t an issue. Madam Rosmerta was running around behind the wooden counter, doing the best she could to fill all of the orders, but the line kept growing.  John got in line, Sherlock reluctantly followed, but he looked tense, he looked nervous, as if someone was going to jump out and stun him.
“What do you want?” John asked as loud as he politely could. Sherlock didn’t answer; his eyes were scanning the pub at fifty miles per hour, his ears straining to hear everyone’s conversations at once, his fists were clenched, mind palace overflowing.
“John could we leave?” He muttered hopefully.
“What?” John asked, louder.
“I said can we please leave?” Sherlock repeated.
“Sure, of course, are you okay?” John asked, following Sherlock out of the door, pushing past a group of students arguing over who would pay for the drinks. When they got out into the street Sherlock didn’t stop walking, he kept going up the main road, walking quickly. John was worried about him, what was wrong in the pub? Was there someone there that he knew, that he was afraid of, was Snape there? John struggled to catch up; Sherlock walked fast and had a long stride.
“Are you okay?” John asked again. Sherlock just nodded. The crowd thinned, and John didn’t have to weave through and apologize every time he bumped into someone. The gates leading to Hogwarts were drawing nearer, and John hoped Sherlock wasn’t going back to the castle, not yet at least. Instead, he turned on a little dirt path, with a sign saying, This way to the Shrieking Shack. John wondered why he was taking them to the Shrieking Shack, the most haunted building in the world, residents say there are evil spirits that scream during the night, and only the bravest wizards would even go near it. Instead of shops they were walking through trees, the air was cooler in the shade, and smelled like grass and leaves, a beautiful fall scent. There was an overlook on a hill above the Shack, which Sherlock stopped at, sitting in one of the benches. There was no one else there, but students will come in a little bit, it was a last stop destination. The Shack stood below the hill, made completely of rotting wood; it looked so unstable that it might be blown over by the wind. John shivered just looking at it, it truly terrified him, but never the less he sat down beside Sherlock, looking up at him. Sherlock was staring at the Shack blankly, not seeming to notice the world around him.
“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” John asked. Sherlock blinked a couple of times and looked back down at John, sighing.
“It was too crowded in there, too many people, and way too loud.” He admitted.
“And why did you escape to the Shrieking Shack?”
“Because I knew there wouldn’t be anyone up here for a little while.” Sherlock said obviously. John nodded, but he didn’t see why they had to go all the way up here just to sit. He sighed, leaning back a little in the bench, enjoying the view, which was actually quite pretty. Behind the Shack, the mountains rose up against the pale blue sky, and the hills before that were still green. Sherlock seemed stressed out, for unknown reasons, but even so John felt bad for him. Sherlock’s hand rested on the bench beside him, so John put his hand on top of it, trying to calm him down. He could feel Sherlock tense up with surprise, and then relax, as if realizing there was no danger. They sat like that for a short while, looking at the view of the Shack, and then Sherlock twisted his hand so he was holding onto John’s hand also. John looked up at him, and he was looking back, the sadness in his eyes became relevant the more they looked at each other, as if he was exposing his true side to John. He must have had a painful past, which didn’t seem to unlikely, a genius muggleborn that didn’t have any friends would be an easy target for bullies. John felt sorry for him, someone so beautiful shouldn’t look so sad, so he did the logical thing, he leaned in a kissed him softly, just to say that he cared. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but he treasured them, Sherlock’s soft lips on his, making his problems and the world around him disappear; it was almost like flying, but better. Sherlock looked at him more, and John had no doubt that he wanted to continue as much as he did, their faces less than an inch apart, John could smell the Amortentia more than ever now. Sherlock was just about to kiss John, closing the gap so that their noses brushed each other, when there was a call from behind them. Immediately they jumped apart, their hands separating, moving to the opposite ends of the bench. John swerved around to see McGonagall, almost blushing as much as they were, and at the moment John hated her. Why in the world was she out here, stalking them, near the Shrieking Shack? At least it wasn’t Snape.
“All students to the common room, all staff to the staff room, there has been another attack.” She muttered, obviously embarrassed for witnessing the almost kiss.
“Who was it?” Sherlock asked.
“Amy Smith.” McGonagall said with pity. John wanted to point out that he recognized the name; it was the girl who had tried out for quidditch, the fourth year that came up to him in breakfast on Tuesday, but his throat seemed to close with embarrassment. McGonagall hurried off, trying to avoid conversation with them. John cleared his throat, getting up from the bench awkwardly.
“We should probably, you know, go.” He muttered. Sherlock got up too, keeping the distance between them, much to John’s dislike. John took one last look at the view, and walked with Sherlock through the path, holding his quidditch bag tight, as if he loosened his grip on the handle McGonagall would come take it away too. They were silent as they walked up to the castle, all of the students walking as fast as they could, trying to get to the false safety of the common rooms. No one even glanced at them as they joined the pack, but John and Sherlock both knew that Hogsmeade was safer. John tried his best to stay with Sherlock, who was walking at full speed now; he didn’t want to let him out of his sight, just in case this beast was still out there. When they got to the entrance hall, they were forced to separate, saying a quick goodbye through the crowd of people, John going up to the Gryffindor Portrait hole and Sherlock going up the opposite stairs to the staff room. There were a lot of students jamming their way into the stairs, now they were practically running, talking, John even thought he heard some crying from the girls friends. It was mass panic, behind so short he was practically trampled by all of the people. When he finally joined only Gryffindors into the portrait hole, which was still open from the previous people, he found his friends sitting in the corner again, waving him desperately over.
“What happened?” Greg asked urgently.
“Someone got paralyzed, that girl who came up to me during breakfast to ask about quidditch, Amy Smith.” John said, catching his breath and collapsed into a chair.
“How do you know?” Mike asked.
“Because McGonagall was the one that got us, and Sherlock asked who it was.”
“Where were you guys?” Sara asked, her mischievous smile returning.
“By the Shrieking Shack.” John said.
“Well?” Mike asked.
“Well what?” John asked, even though he knew what they were looking for.
“Did you kiss?” Sara said, a bit louder than she should have, but no one was paying them much attention, everyone was too busy comforting the girl’s friends and family or looking around as if the monster was lurking in the common room.
“There is a girl paralyzed and you’re worried about Sherlock and me kissing?” John asked, pretending to be annoyed, but personally he’d rather be back up on that hill at the moment, despite the circumstances. They looked at him, knowing he knew the answer to that question.
“Yes, we did, happy?” John admitted.
“Oh god did McGonagall disrupt everything?” Greg asked with horror.
“Ya, I pretty much hated her then.” John said.
“Oh my god, what was happening, were you two like, getting into it a lot?” Sara asked.
“No! God no, technically we didn’t actually kiss when she was there; we were just about to when she walked in.”
“Aw, sorry mate, next time.” Greg said, slapping his back a bit harder than he should have.
“Do you guys know where the girl was found?” John asked, trying to change the subject.
“I didn’t hear anything, we were herded up to the common room, and we were in Honeydukes.” Mike explained.
“I didn’t get to go to many places, Sherlock bought a quill, I bought some quidditch gloves, and he disappeared in there, he went outside to get some air or something, he was sitting on a bench when I got there. Then we went into the Three Broomsticks and stood in the line, but he had a panic attack or something and needed to leave, so we went up to the hill by the Shrieking Shack.” John explained.
“Is he okay?” Greg asked.
“He’s fine now, he was pretty embarrassed when McGonagall came though.”
“Well duh, I would be too!” Sara said.
“Not to mention the, complicated relationship between you two.” Mike agreed.
“I’m happy it wasn’t someone else, she was the one staff member that knew, if it were someone like Snape or something, we’d be thrown into the Shrieking Shack.” John pointed out.
“That would have sucked if it were Snape, imagine the look on his face!” Sara said, shivering with the thought.
“I hope I never see Snape as furious as he was when he called the three of in his office ever again.” Greg said.
“You said he threatened Sherlock?” Mike asked.
“Ya, but he was way to calm to be normal, that must have ticked Snape off even more.” John said.
“I’ve never seen him furious, but he’s gotten mad at other kids, just not me.” Sara said with relief.
“Speaking of Snape, when could he have petrified the student?” Greg asked.
“When everyone else was at Hogsmeade.” Mike said obviously.
“Why would he go after her though, if he’s trying to frame us why her?” John asked.
“You said she asked you about tryouts, did she make it?”
“Ya, substitute for me, Seeker.” John said.
“And maybe you didn’t want any competition, so you set your evil monster to go paralyze her, perfect!” Greg said, piecing together the clues.
“So the clues are pointing to me then?” John asked.
“Apparently, Snape has a lot against you, especially this year.” Mike pointed out.
“What are we supposed to do, we know who the actual heir is, should we go to Dumbledore?” John asked.
“Why would Dumbledore believe us? We don’t have any proof, real evidence.” Greg said.
“Well, you’re the detective.” Sara agreed.
“Not yet I’m not!” Greg defended.
“What proof do we need?” Mike asked.
“I’m not going to stalk Snape around.” John decided.
“Well, if we could find the Chamber that would be the best option.” Greg said.
“How are we going to do that?” Mike asked.
“I don’t know, keep our eyes peeled I guess.” Sara shrugged.
“That sounds difficult.” John decided. Over what little noise there was, they could hear the portrait hole open, which was odd because everyone was supposed to be in here by now. They all stopped to look who it was, and to John’s embarrassment it was McGonagall. He tried to hide his face as best he could, slink back into the shadowy corner, but she wasn’t looking for him anyway.
“Attention! Could I have your attention please?” She shouted, not really a question. The common room was silent now; everyone was watching and waiting for McGonagall to say. “As you all know, a student has been paralyzed, Amy Smith. She is expected to live; we need mature mandrakes in order to revive the paralyzed students.” There were curious whispers, no one except the students that repotted the mandrakes had any idea what a mandrake was. “Please stay inside your house common room until further notice.” McGonagall nodded to say she was finished and turned to leave.
“What’s paralyzing them?” a student called from the back of the room. John couldn’t see who spoke, but McGonagall froze.
“Some type of monster.” She said, and walked out of the portrait hole without another word.
“Well we already guessed that.” Sara muttered.
“But at least we know for sure we’re right.” Greg pointed out.
“We need to find that Chamber, Sherlock can help.” John said.
“Of course he can help, but right now we’re not allowed out of the common room, so it can wait don’t you think?” Mike said.
“And while we’re waiting people out in the hallways could be getting paralyzed!” John pointed out.
“No, the monster isn’t that stupid, they’ll be on the lookout for it.” Mike said.
“The heir might be that stupid though!”
“Snape would think of that, please, John, stay here, there won’t be any more attacks tonight.” Greg assured. John still had his doubts, but he nodded as if he would be an obedient student and rested his head in his arms on the table.
“It should be lunch now, are we going to get food or not?” Mike complained.
“I’m not hungry.” John muttered, wishing he was still on the bench above the Shrieking Shack, that McGonagall had forgotten to check there, that they had gone in the woods or something. They spent the rest of the day sitting around the common room, bored out of their minds. John did as much of his homework as he could do without feeling like his brain was being torn apart.
“Do you think Sherlock is okay?” John asked nervously, at about five o’clock. There still hadn’t been any food for them, and even though he wasn’t hungry during lunch he was starving at the moment.
“He’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Sara assured.
“I hope so.” John groaned, setting his quill back down on his paper. He looked at the portrait hole, hoping it would open and someone with food would come or something, but that moment didn’t come until eight o’clock, and at that point he could swear some of the students were eying their friends, considering cannibalism. A Professor he didn’t recognize dropped off a heaping plate of sandwiches and pitchers of pumpkin juice, still seeming to be enough food, but in 0.5 seconds they all found out that the plate refilled itself, since everyone had taken food the moment the tray had been set down. John had eaten four sandwiches and three cups off pumpkin juice before he couldn’t eat anymore, and then, sitting back in his chair he sighed, now exhausted.
“I’m going to bed.” John decided.
“You’re crazy mate; it’s only like eight thirty!” Greg pointed out.
“I’m beat, and we don’t have anything else to do, so I’m going to bed.” John defended, and with that he got up and went up to the dorms, were the roses sat in the cup on the windowsill, brightening the room up a bit, and bringing a small smile to John’s face as he climbed into bed. When he blew out the candle and the room was darkened, he fell into a deep sleep he didn’t know was possible at this time of night.