Let Us All Make History

No One Should Sit Alone

    It wasn't long until Sherlock took John's place at the scales, to which the old man simply took his wand and asked him about the maker, the wood, the length and the core. They were rather difficult questions, simply because Sherlock did more nodding than answering. This old man seemed to know everything there was to be known about wands, and with just a small examination he told Sherlock everything he needed to know about his wand's makeup and function. Al he had to do was nod, and soon his wand had produced the same obnoxious bangs and he was told to stand back where he had been standing before. It was supposed to be a ceremony; however Sherlock felt like it was more tedious wand work than anything. John and Sebastian were already being lined up in the empty apart of the classroom, facing a man with a camera who must have snuck in while Sherlock's wand was being inspected. Rita was arranging the boys in such a way to make them look tough and impressive, a job that wasn't all too difficult until skinny little Sherlock showed up, looking more like he wanted to hide than compete in such a tournament. The photographer looked almost as if he was about to laugh as Sherlock was placed next to Sebastian, a boy whose chest was probably twice as broad as Sherlock's, even John with his short stature looked more intimating. Well at least Sherlock was the most beautiful in the room, which was most always a common occurrence. After a couple of photographs Rita Skeeter began taking them out the door to interview them one by one, and so this time Sherlock was stuck sitting with Sebastian on the old desks in the back while John was taking his turn getting interviewed. Sebastian really wasn't a chatty boy; however he was talking a little bit about his friend Jim and what he might be doing right now. Jim must be the scary one; however Sebastian talked of him very highly, almost as if he admired the boy more than anything. Sherlock was quiet, listening with very little interest as Sebastian's deep Scandinavian accent lolled his ear drums into a rather miserable strain.
"You have a pretty friend; Jim said he noticed that you keep yourself in attractive company." Sebastian observed finally, bringing Sherlock back into reality as soon as the conversation switched to him.
"Oh yes, well, Beauxbatons girls are always quite pretty. They say they're just bred beautiful, and while Molly has dark hair she still fits the stereotype." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. Sebastian nodded, looking quite confused as to what Sherlock was talking about.
"I was not talking about the girl." Sebastian said finally, to which Sherlock blinked quickly. Did that mean he was talking about Victor? Before Sherlock even had the chance to question Sebastian on his sexuality John was taken back from the hallway, looking a little bit exasperated while he left Rita Skeeter at the door, going back to join the boys on the desks and gesturing for Sherlock to join the woman at the door. Sherlock took a deep breath; quite nervous as to what awaited him with that woman, however he walked towards the door and let her corral him out into the hallway. McGonagall was looking quite apprehensive, almost as if she didn't trust Rita Skeeter the slightest; however she was busying herself making small talk with the camera man and didn't seem brave enough to interfere.
"And you must be Sherlock Holmes, the champion from Beauxbatons!" Rita Skeeter said excitedly, leading him down to what appeared to be a broom cupboard, entering first and seating herself on an overturned bucket while Sherlock had the pleasure of sitting on a container of cleaning supplies. The room was dark and yet she still closed the door, illuminating the room with a quick charm while she took a long roll of parchment from her crocodile skin handbag, setting a large, obnoxious looking feather pen up on its tip as if expecting it to balance there all by itself.
"You don't mind if I use a quick notes quill, do you?" she wondered in a small voice, and Sherlock could only shake his head, for he had no idea what that was and why it would be worth such a question.
"Lovely." Rita said happily, and suddenly the quill began to write on its own, scribbling all over the page so as to get some observations down before the interviewing began.
"Now Sherlock, from what I've heard your selection wasn't as predicted as your other champions were, in fact I heard that it was quite the upset. What are your feelings on being selected, were you happy for the chance to prove yourself or were you somewhat daunted in the face of such a task?" Rita wondered, sitting forward and staring at Sherlock intensely through her glasses, studying every aspect of his face as if there were other questions to ask hidden away in his bone structure.
"Well I'm, I'm happy to be chosen of course. I'm just as surprised as everyone else is though, I don't really know what sets me apart from all the rest." Sherlock admitted, remembering quickly what John had advised him to say before they were taken back. Don't get too personal, and stick to the questions that were asked. Well that would be difficult, for Sherlock loved to talk about himself, however the way this quill was writing he was sure that some of these quotes would be longer than he was saying them, for even his quick responses were being turned into a good fifteen seconds of constant scribbling.
"Now Sherlock, what is it like to face competition such as John Watson and Sebastian Moran? Terrifying, I must imagine, considering their body shapes. You're a twig and they're trees." Rita observed with a teasing little laugh, to which Sherlock just looked around a bit apprehensively, not all that keen on continuing with the wooden metaphors she was going for.
"They're nice boys, they'll prove to be good competition and I just hope that they won't completely disregard me as a challenger." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. This took the quill quite a long time to write, for it seemed as though Sherlock had said exactly what Rita had been hoping to get out of him. Her eyes were sparkling excitedly; all the while Sherlock was squirming a bit apprehensively on the crate. He never liked it when his words were twisted, especially when they were to be displayed publically.
"And your friends, Sherlock, how are they reacting to this? Are they supportive, or are they jealous that you get the spotlight?" Rita wondered, sounding almost as if she had done her research on Sherlock's friends and their quarrels a couple of weeks prior.
"I'm...well ya. They're supportive, of course they are." Sherlock agreed, to which Rita just nodded with a small look of disappointment, almost as if she had been hoping for some more scandal in the midst of foreign friend groups. That seemed to be all she wanted, for as soon as her quill stilled itself she got to her feet with a large smile, holding out a bejeweled hand to shake and starting her way out of the broom cabinet without so much as a formal goodbye to go and collect the next champion she would have under interrogation. When Sherlock traded places with Sebastian he couldn't help but look at him curiously, for despite all that had happened since their small little conversation the boy's comment still struck Sherlock as quite out of character. He liked to boast about his gaydar, simply because it takes one to know one, however he would never have pegged Sebastian to be gay. He seemed much too husky and manly to even consider such a thing, now Jim his devilish companion seemed entirely more likely. Was it true that they both had interest in victor, or was this just some sort of huge misconception? Where they talking about Mary maybe, and not Molly? But no, he had phrased it as 'the girl' as if it didn't matter who Sherlock had been alluding to. Either way Sherlock managed to look him over very quickly, forcing a smile and wondering just how many of these champions would end up being a homosexual. If he got John on his arm for the Yule Ball then that might make all three, oh what a wonderful accomplishment that would be!
"I hope you didn't tell her anything, that was quick, that's good for you." John murmured, still sitting on the desk and swinging his legs with a smile. The bell to end forth block had long since rung, in fact Sherlock was almost sure dinner had been concluded by now, for the sun was in the process of setting and the castle had settled.
"She didn't ask much, and I didn't tell her much. Anyway, I don't think I'm really the champion of interest around here." Sherlock admitted with a truthful little shrug.
"Oh stop that Sherlock, you say that as if you don't have a chance!" John scolded, shaking his head as if that was just a preposterous accusation.
"You're blinded because you're too optimistic, just like Molly. You'll see though, eventually, just how much of a weak link I can turn out to be. That trophy is yours John, you just have to reach out and take it." Sherlock assured with a shrug.
"You're thinking too low of yourself, cheer up Sherlock, put a smile on that face." John advised, beaming as if trying to demonstrate to Sherlock just how to look happy. Sherlock couldn't help it, of course, for his love for John was much too overwhelming in the face of his pessimism. It was impossible not to smile at that boy, and so here he was, smiling like an idiot, his cheeks blushing and his hands twisting nervously.
"that's the spirit. Now let's go get some dinner, I'm sure they won't mind if we leave now, especially since dinner is just about over." John grumbled, looking at his watch miserably as he hopped down to the ground and started towards the door. Sherlock followed obediently, standing near John's side apprehensively as he called over to McGonagall to ask her permission to leave. The old man with the scales had long since disappeared, and now it seemed as though McGonagall and the camera man had run out of things to talk about, for they were both standing awkwardly. She was looking out the window while the camera man fiddled with his rolls of film, and however reluctant McGonagall seemed about letting them leave her alone with him she bid them goodnight, for she knew that they had to eat sometime. Sherlock followed John with an exciting feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling based primarily on the fact that he and John were most likely to remain alone for the entirety of their dinner. Most all the students had gone up to their common rooms to do homework, so the Great Hall was sure to be empty. Maybe this could end up being their first unofficial date, considering it would be the two of them, just eating and chatting and enjoying each other's company. When they arrived at the Great Hall Sherlock was rather disappointed to see that there were still kids speckling around the tables, most of them eating alone and quickly, while others seemed to have lost track of what they were supposed to be doing, for they had their homework spread about with their golden plate pushed needlessly to the side.
"Do you have someone to sit with Sherlock?" John wondered politely, looking over to the near empty Ravenclaw table, which hosted a couple of younger Ravenclaws and yet was completely deprived of all Beauxbatons students.
"No I suppose not, but I'll be fine, I'm kind of used to..."
"Oh that's rubbish Sherlock, come on and sit with me. I've been told the Gryffindor table has the best food anyway, since the house elves like us best." John boasted, grabbing ahold of Sherlock's arm and pulling him over to the Gryffindor table as if he had every right to break whatever rules were in place about sitting at your house table. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to complain, in fact that was precisely what he had hoped John would do, and so he let himself get dragged along and sat heavily down on the bench while John swung around the other side so as to sit across from Sherlock. This really was shaping out to be a date, considering there were no other Gryffindors for at least ten seats on either side of them both, putting them into a state of almost complete isolation. Now as exciting as this proximity was it was also very awkward, for Sherlock had nothing to look at except John, and he had no one else to talk to but John. What would he do if the conversation veered into territory he didn't like, or even worse, what if he began to blush and couldn't stop? What more would John have to look at but his flaming cheeks, alight and flushed with the emotions he simply couldn't hide? However Sherlock decided he ought to just go with it, whatever happened, happened, that was for sure, and he really couldn't go on living his life avoiding those he fell in love with. There was only one way to actually get a boyfriend, wasn't there? Interaction, stepping out of your comfort zone? Well Sherlock was certainly out of his comfort zone, in all honesty he had left that back in France, everything here was so nerve wracking, so new! And if this trip proved to provide him with the love of his life, his soulmate, well then obviously Sherlock would be happy to have taken the leap.
"So how have you been then? Other than the whole champion thing, how are you liking Hogwarts?" John wondered politely, loading up his plate with mashed potatoes and some sort of meat pie.
"Oh it's lovely, yes it's amazing actually. Beauxbatons is so...unlively compared to this place." Sherlock said honestly, looking about at the Great Hall almost as if he looking for examples to provide.
"That's good; well I'm happy to have been here for a tournament. It was at Durmstrang five years ago, and I was too young to attend. However it's wonderful that it's here, because all your foreign kids can come and we can all intermingle, it's wonderful to meet people from so far away." John admitted with a smile. Sherlock felt his cheeks almost begin to heat, however he held them back by focusing instead on the food that was before him. He picked some chicken, some green beans, all sorts of food that he recognized just so that he could keep his trembling hands occupied. In all reality he was sure he wouldn't be able to eat any of this, his stomach was twisting into a ball and he was sure it wouldn't be able to hold much at all.
"It's nice to meet you as well." Sherlock agreed in something of a quiet voice, with a very vague understanding that John was smiling at him from above.
"Do you talk much to Mary Morstan?" John wondered, making Sherlock go immediately into jealous mode, suddenly all flustered feelings were gone as he suddenly contorted his face into a scowl.
"No of course not, ever since the selection she's wanted my head, I'm sure of it." Sherlock muttered with a bit of a shiver.
"Your head? As in she wanted you dead?" John clarified with a bit of a shocked expression. Sherlock nodded gravely, however John still looked as if he didn't think that was very characteristic of her. Of course then he really didn't know her, did he? He had only met the side of Mary that flirted with everything that moved, for she was always so nice with boys she fancied.
"Oh yes, she was quite positive for the longest time that it would be her name they pulled from that Goblet, and so when I was called...well she flung eggs into my hair at breakfast the other day!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Oh so that's why Victor dumped syrup on her head! I had wondered what provoked him, but then again, I guess I don't know him well enough either." John admitted with a shrug.
"We French are very mystérieux." Sherlock teased, to which John only looked at him in some confusion before nodding along.
"Mysterious?" he guessed.
"Indeed." Sherlock agreed. "No but if you can stay away from Mary I do recommend it, she may appear to be nice but she's a vile girl."
"Well I can't imagine she's all that bad, I mean she's nice to me." John admitted.
"That's because you're attractive, and all girls are...well I mean that in a very general way. Not that I find you attractive, of course, I'm just saying it from the standpoint of a girl. You know, I hang out with Molly a lot so I know that sort of stuff." Sherlock said quickly, for he immediately noticed the error in his words.
"It's alright Sherlock, I knew what you meant." John assured with a little laugh. Sherlock nodded, his cheeks glowing so red now that he almost felt like he needed to put on sunscreen.
"Oh, good." Sherlock murmured. John just smiled at him, a smile that almost seemed suggestive, as if he was trying to point something out to Sherlock nonverbally, as if he wanted him to come to some sort of conclusion. Sherlock was lost, however, and so whatever John was trying to tell him was lost in the space between them.