"This is pathetic." Greg muttered to John so that they couldn't hear.
"We drag them to quidditch; they drag us to the library." John defended.
"Ya well, the library is more painful."
"You didn't break a leg and pass out though did you?" John pointed out as they walked through the doors into the empty, sunlight illuminated library.
"No, but I might here." Greg sighed. Mycroft went over to look at the muggle section, he claimed that he had stayed up all night solving the entire math book and was looking for, what he called, 'Calcutaltus', the oblivious wizard way of saying calculous. Sherlock went to some other section, looking for who knows what, so naturally Greg followed Mycroft and John followed Sherlock.
"What are you looking for?" John asked as Sherlock poked around the shelves and pulled numerous books out into a stack.
"Spells for holding secrets."
"From who?"
"I have a feeling Umbridge will catch up to us, and I don't want to spill when she gives us a truth serum." Sherlock admitted. John leaned up against the wooden separator, frowning slightly.
"You think she'll drug us?" he asked.
"Oh definitely, you and me probably break more rules in this school than anyone else, we're the book of secrets really, she gets us she's got a whole lot." Sherlock pointed out, sitting in a wooden chair and flipping through the first book.
"So there are spells to keep secrets then?" John asked.
"No, but there are methods to keep yourself calm and collected, to ignore the pain." Sherlock pointed out.
"That's cool, I guess." John shrugged. He moved over to sit in the chair next to Sherlock, straining his neck to see just what he was reading. From this distance the tiny print all blurred together and was unreadable, but Sherlock seemed to be doing just fine.
"I think you might be taking this too seriously." John decided as he shut the book with an aggressive snap, moving to the next on the pile. This went on for who knows how long, much too long in John's opinion, but obviously he didn't have an input on how Sherlock spends his free time. He flipped lazily through the pages of some monster book someone left on the table, a real armature one too; he could identify most all of the creatures that moved around on the pages. John ended up lying face down on the table, breathing in the smell of wood and books until he felt like he was going to pass out.
"Are you almost done?" he groaned, looking up to see Sherlock still intrigued in one of the books.
"No of course not." He said simply.
"Have you found anything?" John asked again.
"Not much, no. But there has to be something, there just has to be." Sherlock sighed, shutting yet another book. John groaned, not physically prepared for yet another hour of almost falling asleep on the table. But it came anyway, Sherlock getting up when John thought he had already pored through every single book in the library and coming back with six or seven more, stacked high on his arms. The only positive was Sherlock's adorable concentrated face, looking really frustrated with his eyebrows fused together and his eyes moving feverishly around the pages. John smiled, flipping up one of Sherlock's curls that was hanging down near his eyes. Sherlock stopped, looking at John with half amusement and half annoyance.
"What was that for?" he asked, shaking his head slightly to let it fall back down.
"Boop." John muttered, flipping the curl up once again. Sherlock smiled with confusion, but just went on to read more. "I am so bored." John groaned, lying flat on the table.
"Well I'm so sorry, but I'm working."
"It has to be at least," John checked his watch, "Oh my god it's already four o'clock."
"Time flies when you're having fun." Sherlock sighed, shutting yet another book.
"It feels like four decades."
"Obviously you're not having very much fun." He decided.
"What was your first clue?" John asked.
"Well, you're probably in luck, because this bloody library has nothing on anything I'm looking for." Sherlock decided, throwing the book back in the discarded pile, now grown so large it almost fell off the table.
"Thank god!" John exclaimed, jumping to his feet. Sherlock didn't bother picking up after himself; he just went to search the aisles for the other two they had lost along the way. It felt so good to actually get up and walk, his muscles felt like they were going to shrivel up from underuse.
"Find anything on what you were looking for?" Mycroft's voice out from another set of shelves. John followed the source to find the three of them talking, Greg sitting on the windowsill, Mycroft in a chair, and Sherlock frowning in the middle of the aisle.
"No of course not, this library is too small." He sighed.
"Too small? We've been here for four hours!" John exclaimed.
"What have you been doing all that time?" Mycroft asked.
"Nothing, literally." John sighed. It was already getting dark out; they wasted an entire day in this stupid place. He might as well be watching them play their millionth game of chess.
"Well then, mine as well go, we have some robbing to do." Greg said with a smile.
"You do that, I don't want to get expelled." Sherlock decided.
"There are no guards, it's so easy I'm surprise not everyone does it, the house elves in there wait on your every need." Greg shrugged.
"I don't like the idea of elf slavery." Sherlock muttered, but Mycroft just rolled his eyes.
"Without them half of Hogwarts wouldn't be running smoothly." John pointed out.
"Still, they have the right to be free."
"Oh stop and let's go, I'm not in the mood to discuss civil rights." Greg decided, hoping down from the window sill and walking out of the library without them. It's not like John would complain, walking out of there was probably the highlight of his day so far.
"Should we eat dinner?" John asked, wondering if their meal would just be snack foods.
"I don't think it's necessary really." Sherlock shrugged.
"Well you're, you." John pointed out.
"Really, I had no idea?" Sherlock sighed. Greg led them to a corridor John had never been to before, near the Great Hall but not the potions hallway. There was only one picture, a large painting of a bowl of fruit, for some reason not moving.
"This is the kitchen?" John asked, doubting Greg's sincerity.
"Of course, come on." He assured, walking up to the portrait and tickling the pear on the painting, an odd thing to do. But the pear sprang to life, laughing as the picture swung open to reveal the Hogwarts kitchens. John had never seen anything so normal in Hogwarts; it looked like a muggle kitchen might have been. White and black checkered floors, stone and white walls, a fire place, metal tables and cooking appliances of all kinds. It could've been in the local McDonalds if it wasn't so huge and had small elves running around, doing everything to prepare the platters for dinner.
"Oh wow." Mycroft muttered as an elf came scrambling up to them, bowing so low that its pointed nose pressed against the floor.
"How may I serve young masters?" it asked in a squeaky voice. The four of them looked at each other with confusion, but Greg told them their order, sandwiches, butterbeers, potato chips, and assorted candy. The elves ran around so that only their pointy ears appeared over the counters, which was actually really hilarious. They were soon toting around the whole of the order, thanking the elves ten times each for the quick service. The elves seemed thrilled to make more food though, waving and trying to offer them assorted biscuits on a silver platter, asking that they come back soon.
"You're right, that was too easy." John decided, making sure he didn't spill the individually wrapped sandwiches balanced in his arms.
"They love to give you whatever you want, it's like they enjoy it." Greg shrugged. "PIG SNOUT ." The portrait hole opened and they all stepped through, Sherlock letting all of the bottles of butterbeer dump onto one of the armchairs.
"I'll get blankets and pillows, I'm sure the guys won't mind." Greg decided, running up to the dorms. Sherlock sighed, sitting on the floor and frowning slightly at the fire, which was still burning as bright as it had been a couple hours before.
"I'm hungry." John decided, taking a sandwich from the pile, unwrapping the saran-wrap, crumpling it in a ball and throwing it at Sherlock. He wolfed the sandwich down in almost four minutes while Mycroft picked at a couple of chips.
"Don't kill yourself." Sherlock advised as he reached for another one.
"I'm hungry!" John defended. Greg came down stairs, carrying a pile of pillows and blankets so big that you couldn't tell there was a human carrying it all.
"Bloody Hell Greg, what's all that for?" Mycroft asked.
"Blanket tent!" he said simply.
"If that catches fire we're all burning." Sherlock pointed out, master of optimism.
"That's brilliant, thank you Sherlock." John sighed. Greg threw it all on the floor, moving the armchairs around to make room.
"If you think I'm sleeping like sardines with you idiots then you're wrong." Sherlock pointed out, scooting back in warning.
"We'll be spaced out; it'll be just like when I was a kid." Greg insisted.
"Nothing has changed then." John decided.
"Of course it hasn't, look at me now." Greg pointed out, tying one of the ends of the ling white sheet to the end of a chair. He tied off all of the corners so that it floated above the floor with the tension.
"Ta-da!" Greg said proudly. John had to admit, it looked pretty fun, waking the excited five year old inside of him.
"Pretty cool." John decided.
"Childish." Sherlock sighed, but John could hear a little bit of happiness, maybe, in his voice.
"Oh be quiet, it's lovely." Mycroft snapped, going from annoyed big brother to caring boyfriend mid-sentence. John crawled underneath, dragging a pillow and pretending to sleep under there, which was actually quite cozy.
"Greg you should eat before Sherlock eats everything. He decided, crawling back out and smiling sarcastically at Sherlock.
"Yes, I can hardly contain myself." He sighed, jolting his head so that the curls shook out of his eyes. John smiled; he loved it when he did that.
"I'll get all the muggle candy." He decided, running up the steps to the dorms. He grabbed the big bag, wondering how a medium sized owl could carry the whole thing for miles, and ran back down stairs. He sat against the closest armchair to the fire, digging around in the bag and grabbing the box of Sweetarts, throwing them to Sherlock.
"Try those, I bet you'll like them." He insisted. Sherlock nodded, opening the flap on the side which made John cringe. Bloody purebloods can't open movie theater boxes of candy apparently. He popped three into his mouth and John could almost see the lights glow in his eyes.
"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, crawling closer to John to see what else was in the big bag of miracles. Mycroft and Greg came poking around as well, hearing that there was food in the mix now.
"What are these?" Sherlock asked, pulling a box of assorted Tastykakes.
"Oh, if you haven't tried those, you haven't lived." John decided, pulling out a Krimpet and tearing the wrapper open. Sherlock watched with slight confusion as John ate it, his favorite childhood (and teen hood apparently) snack. He gave the other half to Sherlock, who seems to now have a new addiction.
"What is it with you and muggle foods?" Mycroft asked, coming closer as if asking for one as well.
"They perfect the simple things, wizards perfect the complex." Sherlock decided.
"Oh, thanks." John muttered.
"And I prefer the simple to be honest." He added, making John smile thankfully. Why did Greg and Mycroft also have to be here, why couldn't they go somewhere else and let John and Sherlock enjoy some time alone? Maybe later he could try to get Greg out, and then work on Mycroft if he doesn't follow.
"So, we've got all night, I'm sure you want to talk about crushes and girls and quidditch." Sherlock sighed.
"Well the first two are crossed off." Mycroft decided.
"Quidditch is on the table though." John decided. Sherlock rolled his eyes, not the biggest fan of the best sport in the world, at least in John's opinion.
"How about the whole rebellion, do you think people are in for it or will they forget over break?" Greg asked.
"Maybe, but once they come back to home sweet Umbridge they'll want blood." Mycroft assured.
"Probably." John agreed.
"And we're sure she doesn't know?" Sherlock asked.
"If she did she'd be at our throats don't you think?" Greg assured.
"She couldn't know it was us, we didn't put names on." John pointed out.
"Doesn't mean there isn't a tattle tale out there." Mycroft sighed.
"Well it's the risk we have to take apparently." John shrugged. They were all quiet for a while, the only sound was Sherlock crunching off the last bits of his Sweetarts.
"Let's cheer up a bit." Greg decided. "Who wants a butterbeer?" Everyone, even Sherlock, raised their
hands. Greg tossed them around, still warm with some miracle, and everyone popped the tabs.
"To everything but Umbridge!" Greg said, raising the bottles for a toast.
"To everything but Umbridge!" they all agreed in unison, clinking the bottles together and drinking deeply. The butterbeer was a gift from god, so nice with a fireside chat sort of thing. In the end everyone had a nice time talking, eating, and drinking bottles of butterbeer and cans of root beer sent from Mrs. Watson. As the time continued on Mycroft grabbed a pillow and went to sleep, not much of a party person, and Greg was nodding off where he sat, his head falling onto the couch with a half-eaten slice of beef jerky in his hand. Sherlock was wide awake, of course, he didn't seem to sleep ever, and John was just staying awake so that maybe they could have a bit of a moment. UBo5UY8