It was the first morning of the new school year.
While everyone ate breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry told Ron about their meeting with Hagrid the night before.
"Er—"
At the news that Hagrid was getting along splendidly with his half-brother Grawp and that he even meant to train the giant up as his assistant one day—Ron's expression became impossible to describe.
He was just opening his mouth to say something when Lavender came bounding over, full of excitement.
Ron shut his mouth instantly, and Harry, seeing this, wisely changed the subject.
"Hagrid said last night that he wants us there early for our first lesson after lunch today."
"He can't seriously think we're still going to take Care of Magical Creatures!"
Ron blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Apparently he does."
Harry looked more pained than anyone, since it was through his own introduction that Hagrid had come to know the rest of their little group in the first place.
"The truth is, none of us have exactly shown—well, you know what I mean—shown any enthusiasm for the subject..." Hermione looked a little embarrassed herself, and glanced over at Lavender. "You're not planning on taking it either, are you?"
Lavender didn't bother being subtle about it. She gave a small scornful snort.
"It's because you're all friends with Hagrid that you work so hard in his class and he goes and thinks you actually love the stupid subject, doesn't he?
"Honestly, if it were Professor Grubbly-Plank teaching it, maybe people really would show up.
But with him teaching it? Who on earth is going to sign up for the N.E.W.T. class?"
"Lavender, don't talk about Hagrid like that!" Hermione frowned.
"Am I wrong, though?" Lavender tightened her grip on Ron's arm and shot back, put out. "Won-Won, tell them."
Ron turned to look at her. "Are you telling me what to think now?"
"No, that's not—" Lavender said quickly.
"Don't you ever badmouth my friends in front of me again."
"That's exactly what I love about you—if only there were more people in this world like you!"
Listening to the two of them, Sherlock's expression didn't change in the slightest.
Harry and Hermione, on the other hand, both had to put a hand over their faces.
It was…genuinely unbearable to listen to.
And then, ten minutes later, when Hagrid got up from the staff table and waved at them cheerfully on his way out, they felt even more mortified.
"Sherlock, what do you make of it?"
"Let the world say what it likes; I'll walk my own road."
"Typical you."
Once breakfast was over, they didn't leave their seats right away, but waited for their Head of House to come down from the staff table.
For first through fifth years, handing out timetables was a simple business but this term was different.
Professor McGonagall first had to confirm that each student's O.W.L. results actually met the requirements before letting them go on to the N.E.W.T. class of her choosing. In other words, starting this term, every course had become a two-way selection.
If a fifth-year student failed to earn even a single O.W.L. certificate, they would, regrettably, have no choice but to leave the school. Fortunately, no one in Gryffindor found themselves in that position even the poorest performers had still managed to scrape together three or four certificates.
For subjects like History of Magic or Astronomy, which didn't require any wandwork, even a bare pass was enough to carry on into the N.E.W.T. class.
That fact turned out to be a lifeline for a fair number of weaker students.
Whatever else you could say, graduating in seventh year still sounded a great deal better than dropping out in fifth.
Sherlock's course selection was settled almost instantly.
Although he'd earned all eleven O.W.L. certificates, and every single one with an Outstanding, he chose not to continue on in all of those subjects.
He picked Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.
Astronomy, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies he dropped without a moment's hesitation.
Hermione had earned ten certificates, and after thinking it over for a moment, ended up making exactly the same choices as Sherlock.
The rest of the group exchanged knowing smiles at that.
When it came to Neville's turn, though, there was a bit of a snag.
"Your Herbology O.W.L. was an Outstanding—Professor Sprout already mentioned it to me, and she's delighted to have you back.
Your Defence Against the Dark Arts was an Exceeds Expectations, so you're qualified to continue that as well.
The trouble is Transfiguration."
Professor McGonagall looked up from Neville's form and peered at him over her square spectacles.
"Longbottom, you did earn a certificate in this subject, but your result was a mere Acceptable.
So, I can't let you go on to N.E.W.T. Transfiguration—I'm afraid you'd fall behind.
What I don't understand is why you'd even want to continue with Transfiguration in the first place. If I recall, you never much cared for the subject."
At that, Neville looked thoroughly downcast, and muttered under his breath, "My gran wants me to. She says I'm a Gryffindor prefect."
"Hm?"
Professor McGonagall's eyes sharpened.
"Well then. It seems your grandmother has finally learned to be proud of her grandson, instead of forever insisting he ought to be better than he is—especially now that you've become a prefect."
Neville's face turned as red as Ron's hair on the spot.
Ron gave him a hearty elbow in the ribs.
Because, as it happened, Professor McGonagall had never once praised Neville before in his life.
"I'm sorry, Neville, but I can't let you into my N.E.W.T. class—this is for your own good, you understand."
Professor McGonagall shifted naturally to using his name. "Though I do see your Charms result was an Exceeds Expectations—so why not apply for N.E.W.T. Charms instead?"
"My gran thinks taking Charms is the easy way out," Neville mumbled again.
"Hmph. You'll take Charms."
Professor McGonagall said it firmly.
"I'll write to Augusta myself and remind her that just because her own Charms O.W.L. happened to be a Poor, that hardly means the subject isn't worth studying."
"R-really?" Disbelieving delight spread across Neville's face.
"Yes. Leave it with me."
With that, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank timetable with her wand and handed it to Neville, already filled in with every course he'd be taking this term.
There was no question about it—Professor McGonagall was a meticulous, dedicated teacher.
She treated every one of her students with the same seriousness, and, as she had just done for Neville, was always willing to offer her own advice.
When it was Harry's turn, the smile on Professor McGonagall's face grew even warmer.
"Very good, Potter. Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration—all fine.
I must say, I'm very pleased with your Transfiguration result. Very pleased indeed!
But why haven't you applied to continue Potions? Didn't you tell me once that you wanted to become an Auror?"
Harry snuck a glance at Sherlock—he really had forgotten to add Potions to his list.
All he could say at this point was:
"Yes, but Professor—you told me before that I'd need an Outstanding in my Potions O.W.L. to get into the N.E.W.T. class."
"That was Professor Snape's requirement," Professor McGonagall said with a smile. "Professor Slughorn is quite happy to accept students with an Exceeds Expectations into his N.E.W.T. class."
As for Dumbledore's decision to bring in Professor Slughorn to teach Potions—giving more students the chance to move up into the advanced class, Professor McGonagall seemed rather pleased about that herself.
"So—will you be continuing with Potions, then?"
"Of course, I will—only I haven't bought the textbook or any of the ingredients..."
"Not to worry. I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be happy to lend you some."
Professor McGonagall understood perfectly well that getting Harry into N.E.W.T. Potions was one of Dumbledore's own goals, and so naturally cleared every obstacle from his path.
"There you are, then—here's your timetable. Oh, and by the way, twenty students have already signed up for the Quidditch team. I'll have the list sent to you shortly, so find time to arrange the try-outs."
"Blimey, if McGonagall hadn't mentioned it, I'd have completely forgotten you're Quidditch Captain now!"
Once everyone's schedules were sorted, Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and said this.
"But Professor Dumbledore didn't make Harry a prefect before, precisely because he didn't want to give him any extra burden so why, when it comes to Quidditch Captain—"
Hermione asked, a little puzzled.
"Maybe being Quidditch Captain doesn't take nearly as much out of a person as being a prefect does," Harry offered, thinking it over.
"Not only that with the new Minister for Magic now in office, and the hunt for the Horcruxes going smoothly, everything is moving in a better direction," Sherlock said quietly. "Besides, compared to a prefect's day-to-day duties, Harry likes Quidditch better anyway, doesn't he?"
"Oh—yeah, that's true enough..." Harry nodded, almost without thinking.
"I believe this is where we part ways for the moment."
Sherlock lifted his own timetable—his and Hermione's were identical, and they were off to Ancient Runes now.
Harry and Ron's timetables matched too—free now, free during the mid-morning break, and free again after lunch. Ron leapt up in excitement.
Ancient Runes had always ranked, alongside Arithmancy, as one of the two hardest subjects at Hogwarts.
Transfiguration wasn't easy either, of course, but its demands on logic and mathematics were considerably lower which happened to be exactly the kind of ability many wizards lacked. And once you reached the N.E.W.T. level, the difficulty of Ancient Runes shot up sharply.
Even a swot like Hermione had to focus every scrap of attention just to keep up, never mind anyone else.
Sherlock, as ever, seemed perfectly at ease with it all.
After all, for someone fluent in four languages already, it was really nothing more than picking up one more.
Especially since the skill would prove useful for the detective work he meant to take up someday which meant he genuinely enjoyed himself.
After class, the rest of the students came out grumbling.
Because Bathsheda Babbling had assigned not only a fifteen-inch essay, but two translations on top of it, and had demanded that everyone finish the assigned reading list by Wednesday.
"Good thing we didn't take that class."
Hearing Hermione's complaints, Harry said with no small relief.
They were on their way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom at the time.
"My dear Harry, I imagine the professors of every other subject will be assigning no shortage of homework themselves."
Sherlock said this with a smile, then asked:
"How are preparations for the Quidditch try-outs coming along?"
"While the rest of you were in class, I ran into Katie Bell in the common room."
At that, Harry found himself falling into memory.
He thought back to the year when, encouraged by Sherlock, he'd stepped forward on his own to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Oliver Wood, the sunny, cheerful boy who was Gryffindor's Captain at the time, had taken one look at Harry play and, without a second thought, wanted him on the team right then.
He'd even gone straight to Professor McGonagall to petition for a first-year to be allowed onto the team against the usual rules and threatened to go to Dumbledore himself if she refused. Professor McGonagall, who was still smarting over Gryffindor's crushing defeat to Slytherin the year before, had agreed to the idea.
And so, Harry had become the youngest Seeker in a century.
But it wasn't until his third year that Gryffindor finally lifted the Quidditch Cup.
Last year, under their new Captain, Angelina Johnson, they'd won it again.
Because the Triwizard Tournament had suspended the Quidditch Cup for a year, Gryffindor had successfully defended their title without a break.
Now, with time having moved on, the Weasley twins who'd played Beater, along with Chasers Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, had all graduated this year.
"She's the only player left from the Gryffindor team I first joined back in first year."
At Harry's words, Hermione said, with some emoptions of her own, "Yeah... time really does fly..."
"Sherlock, will you come along for the try-outs?"
"My dear Harry, you know perfectly well I'm not about to join the Quidditch team."
"I mean you could help me keep an eye on things," Harry said, sounding a little uncertain of himself. "I've just got this feeling the try-outs won't go entirely smoothly..."
"The Chosen One's famous sixth sense?"
Sherlock gave a soft laugh, then nodded. "In that case, I'd be delighted to keep you company."
By the time they'd finished talking, they had already reached the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, where a number of young lions and young snakes were already lined up outside.
"So who d'you reckon's teaching us first lesson?" Ron couldn't help wondering aloud.
"Not Umbridge, at any rate," Harry said, none too pleased. "She's still only teaching first-years, I'd have thought."
"It'd be brilliant if it were Mad-Eye," Seamus put in, overhearing them. "His lessons had a lot more kick to them than Professor Lupin's, even."
"If you ask me, so long as it's not Sn—"
Dean never got to finish. The classroom door swung open.
And at that very moment, the one person the young lions least wanted to see—Severus Snape stepped out into the corridor.
He looked just as he always did, his greasy black hair hanging down on either side, framing that sallow face of his.
The line fell silent at once.
Dean even ducked his head, plainly hoping to avoid being noticed.
Fortunately, Snape didn't seem to have caught what they'd just been saying. He simply swept his eyes over the queue of waiting students, then said coldly:
"In."
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