"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on

finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls, which made Harry begin to wonder if it hd been some old security measure. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was beginning to what else had been animated within this place.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a

trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" Considering Harry outgrew this sort of thing a long time ago, it was rather irritating.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

Classes at least were much more interesting. Magic was much more then just waving wands and silly words, as some of the muggle-borns seemed to have thought. The spells were all rooted in latin, which Mycroft and Sherlock always insisted he learn at least some. His pronunciation was impressive for his age and the wand movements were easy enough to mimic.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Sherlock claimed knowledge of the solar system was useless, but he did decent enough and some of it was interesting. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a plumper witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of multiple varieties of flora, and found out what they were used for. Some he knew from his fascination with potions, but some he was learning about for the first time, which was exciting.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. It was fortunate most of what he taught could be found in the texts and books found in the library, and within the the books that they bought from Diagon Alley.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Harry was growing more and more used to the reactions and antics surrounding his name at this point, but that had been an almost humorous reaction. Though Flitwick didn't hide his sadness the hat changed its mind last minute when it almost put him in Ravenclaw. No one had heard of the hat doing that before.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Harry and Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave them each a rare smile. Harry felt quite pleased, and excitedly wrote to Sherlock and John, telling them he was one of two people who came even close to getting the assignment done properly.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was at the top of his class along side Hermione. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start. people were quite impressed that the best witch and wizard in their year both came from muggle families.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them -- we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall favoured us, " said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before. Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig mostly brought him letters fro John and Sherlock. He got a couple from Mrs. Hudson, one or two from Mycroft, who was beginning to take a larger interest in the magical community since Harry was revealed to be a larger part in it then they had imagined. He even got a letter from Lestrade, passed through by John of course. Would have given Greg a great shock if he learned Harry could only receive mail by owl. Hedwig sometimes didn't have any mail for him, but flew in anyways to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled "Yes, please, see you later" on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be far from as fun as he originally hoped. It was somewhat disappointing considering it was his favourite subject when reading the books. However he wasn't going to let Snape ruin it.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth.They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had y caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

This speech had Harry enraptured. Despite's Snape's detest, Harry only grew more excited to learn everything he could about Potion making.

More silence followed this little speech. Ron sent him a look with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death." Harry said without hesitation, catching Snape off guard. "A potion that brings on a deep, deathlike sleep that can last indefinitely."

"Hm... were you cheating?" Snape asked accusatorially.

"Why would I bother with something so idiotic at cheating. I finished the reading we were given long before the semester started. Since potions requires very little actual magic that could be traced such as with wands, it was the one class I could get a good start with. After all, Potions and chemistry have a lot in common." Harry said with a shrug.

"There's something else though, in your sentence. Makes me wonder..." He led off, having a hunch.

"Of what?"

"Why that question? We don't start learning about the Draught of Living Death until sixth year. Either you were trying to trip me up with a question most first years wouldn't understand, or you're trying to say something, perhaps both?"

"Don't be so arrogant Mr. Potter." Snape lashed.

"Victorian flower language." Harry stated.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry stood up

"A goat's stomach. Asphodel is a Lily, is it not?"

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Nothing, they're the exact same plant, also known as aconite. My mother's name was Lily, was it not?" Harry noticed something in the man's eyes. a twinkle of sadness mixed into the swimming rage.

"My fame doesn't bother you one bit, does it Professor? Fame is nothing. It is fleeting and unimportant in the long run. You didn't like me the second you saw me, and without seeing my scar, the only way you would be able to recognize me is if you recognized someone I look like." Harry stated. Snape opened his mouth to interrupt but Harry kept going. "Now I'm often told I look like my father, but as you're not likely an avid reader of muggle newspapers, I'm sure you hardly know who Sherlock Holmes is, no, but you know, I didn't really know much about my birth parents until recently. And then I finally learned about them. I've seen photographs now, and I look just like him, don't I. I look like James Potter." Harry added smugly.

"It explains why people recognized me so easily, but that just leads to me wondering. You must have hated my father in order to hate me just from my face, without knowing me personally. You see me, and it dredges up all those awful memories, doesn't it? Especially when he got the woman you loved." The class was silent, clinging to his words in shock. "Do you think Lily would be impressed, Hating her son, trying to make him look like an idiot in front of his peers on his first day? Mocking him so blatantly?" Harry stated, smirking as Snape's face became nearly unreadable. Harry had a knack for this soft of thing.

"You bitterly regret my mother's death." Harry said calmly, sitting back down.

"You're as disrespectful as your father."

"My father is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Respect is something earned, not expected. You lost mine when you put your hatred above your duties as a teacher. We are products of how we were raised. Our genetics have as much influence on us as Pluto has on the length of a day. So how about you get to the lesson and stop wasting my time."

"Detention, Mr Potter."

"Lovely Professor, then we can continue this discussion outside of class hours and stop disrupting the students." Harry smirked.

"Fine, ten points from Gryffindor then." Snape sounded exasperated and frustrated.

Snape said nothing more to Harry for the rest of the day. Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

He just managed to stop Neville from adding the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the heat, which surely would have caused a huge problem for Neville, who already seemed terrified of Snape.

"Thanks Harry, can't imagine what would happen if I screwed that up." Neville said.

"You likely would have melted Seamus's cauldron, splashed the potion all over you, which would have resulted in the formation of painful boils and holes being burned both through your skin and through the floor where it would have touched. Essentially it would have become an insanely dangerous acid. Could have it's uses though I suppose." Harry said thoughtfully. Neville's eyes widened at what Harry said, and Harry just patted his back.

"However, I think we can all be glad that didn't happen."

"I think my cauldron would be pretty happy too." Seamus joked, before Snape told them all off.

The other Gryffindors had mixed reactions with Harry's conversation with Snape, some were upset he lost points, but he reminded them he gained points in Transfiguration, and it would likely be pretty easy to earn the rest back. Others were impressed and told him he was a true Gryffindor, standing up to Snape like that.

"That was bloody brilliant Harry!" Ron said as they finally climbed out of the potions classroom. "How did you figure all that out."

"Simple deduction Ron." Harry said smiling a bit. "Plus over the course of this week I did a bit more digging in my magical past, looking at old school records and such. Seems Snape's affections for my mother were commonly known." Harry explained. "That combined with the fact I picked up on a little victorian flower language from some cases I did-"

"Cases?"

"Oh, before Hogwarts, my father, Sherlock, was training me to be a detective, like him. I took on a few small cases he didn't want to bother with, since they were boring or easy. One involved Victorian Flower language. Dad, John, and I ended up spending days figuring out what each flower meant and how to compose sentences out of flowers. Then we started sending my uncle Mycroft weird bouquets meaning different things. He had no idea what they meant, and we told him we got a gift certificate from a florist." Harry snickered. Ron chuckled and seemed interested in the weird antics that he ended up part of.

"Can I come with you to meet with Hagrid?"

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door. When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang -- back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot — great with animals."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

He was about to ask Hagrid about it, when he thought about it more. He and Hagrid went to that vault. They had emptied it, if you could call that emptying, anyways. He decided to test his theory before jumping to anything.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!" Harry said with false ignorance.

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for? He was growing more and more curious what Hagrid's "official Hogwarts business" had been.

As Harry and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse. Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

Harry had figured out about Snape and his mother, perhaps it boiled down to that, but there was something, an annoying something, that made him feel more was going on then he could even begin to imagine. He was pretty happy he was doing well in school. He needed to take some time and examine everyone. Someone was up to something, and Snape may or may not be involved, but he needed more information first.

_______________

Hey guys, so I really hope you like this chapter. This was a chapter I had the most fun writing, and I really hoped you enjoyed. I changed a lot of the first interaction Harry had with Snape, but there's no way I could leave it as it was. Harry's analysis may also have been slightly inspired by a movie I saw a long time ago. I think it was Freaky Friday with Lindsay Lohan. Also sorry for the new chapter being up so late. I had a job interview, got the job, then had to get a background check for this job. It's a nice easy part time job so hopefully it won't eat into my work too much.

If you're feeling generous, I am accepting donations (or tips, as I've decided to call them) over at ko-fi.com/locketangel

Tippers will be entered in a draw to win your name or a name of your choice for a side character within this series in the future, as well as thanked in the next chapter.

The comment of the week this week didn't actually come from the chapter before. It was very relevant to this chapter, so I couldn't resist.

This week's comment of the week is: Wanderlust-21 with "Oh my god! My new favorite thing is Harry analyzing everyone he meets like Sherlock does!"

I hope you enjoy this chapter and the analysis within it.

I would also like to give a shout out to TheSkyElf and Veronikitty2001, who were already commenters of the week, but both gave me word suggestions. I ended up going with a Study in Potions, to play to the original Sherlock name "A Study in Scarlet" and the BBC version "A Study in Pink"

This week's question of the week is:

What is your favourite aspect of my version of Harry? And what do you not want me to change from the original?"

I hop you enjoyed and I'll see you guys next week!