W.S.S.H.

The Prince and the Frog

I woke up that morning to the alarm clock ringing with a loud, shrill shrieking. I crushed it with my fist, crawling out of bed and changing quickly. I buried the book once more in my covers just in case, going out to the dining room where mom was out cooking breakfast.

"Good morning dear." She said pleasantly. Thinking about what I had told Sherlock yesterday I just nodded, slinking into the chair and frowning slightly at the stack of waffles in front of me.

"Harry get up! You need to start packing young lady!" Mom yelled loudly. I heard two groans, one from dad, who had been asleep in his arm chair surrounded by empty bottles, and one from Harry, who was no doubt pretending that she didn't exist to get some extra hours of sleep.

"You look grumpy, everything okay?" Mom asked, sitting in the chair opposite of me but not eating anything.

"Me? Oh, ya I'm fine, tired." I muttered, taking only one waffle and pouring some syrup over it.

"How can you be tired? You slept forever." she pointed out. Uh, no, I was frolicking around Hogwarts with my hopeful magical boyfriend.

"Ya well, it seems like you can't get enough sleep I guess." I shrugged, and she just nodded.

"Apparently." Mom agreed. I finished my waffles in silence, trying to give her the hint to leave me alone, but she sat there and watched me eat as if it was fascinating. When I was finished I grabbed the book and my bag, noticing that there was now rain falling outside, so I threw on a rain jacket and stuffing the book protectively in my bag.

"I'm out, see you guys later!" I called.

"Bye sweetie!" Mom replied.

"Shut up!" Harry added. I closed the door behind me and threw my hood up, huddling underneath it and running to the bus stop across the puddle laden yard. I saw a couple of huddling figures down the road, one no doubly Greg, but I couldn't be sure which one from here. The big yellow torture machine came rolling up, letting everyone on one by one, shaking out their umbrellas and jackets, joining the rest of the kids on the steaming hot bus. I sat with Greg once again, sighing with annoyance and trying to shake the rain drops out of my hair.

"Good morning." Greg yawned.

"Miserable morning." I debated.

"Ya." He agreed. "Didn't really think you'd be prancing with sunflowers today."

"I'm tired, and irritated." I admitted. And I wanted to go back with Sherlock.

"The last thing I need is to be wandering around the halls of school, I can say that much."

"It's only, what eight hours? Ugh... eight hours." I groaned.

"That's as long as I'm asleep for!"

"That means you get double the sleep then!" I said sarcastically. Greg just rolled his eyes, leaning against the bus window and groaning as the vibrations shook his head up and down. When I got to math class I sat in the back once again, taking the book out and making sure there wasn't any water on it or anything, which, thankfully there wasn't. I ran my finger gently over the golden engraving, the initials, his initials, the letters that represented the most amazing person on earth. I didn't know what his first name was, the W, but I had to guess one of the S's stood for Sherlock, since that's what he goes by. I opened the book, probably looking quite creepy since I was practically stroking some old leather book, and got out a pencil.

I'm back. How lovely. I guess so. I'd rather not be in math right now. It's better than potions. I'd be willing to bet potions is more exciting though. Not with Snape it's not. Who? Never mind. He's a dull professor with a big nose. Oh, so just like you? I really don't care what you say, but don't ever compare me to Snape. He's like that Mrs. Fletcher of yours but sooo much worse. Ugh, sounds bad. Oh, you have no idea. He's the one that pretty much assured that I got expelled; he's head of Slytherin house so my fate was in his hands. Unfortunately he had been looking for a reason to get me out of there, so I guess he saw an opportunity and took it. Sorry to hear that, only because it meant getting stuck at miserable muggle school. Yes, quite a bad change. I wish I could just come there, it's getting to the point where I'd rather be pronounced dead here to spend my life there. Oh Mr. Watson, I don't think you're quite ready for that. It gets quite lonely here. I'll be with you. You'll get bored of only seeing me all day though. You claim you're not funny but there you go telling a joke... Shouldn't you be learning at the moment? You are at school. I looked up to see that, indeed, the teacher was up there talking about properties or something. Oh yay, time to put Sherlock away and actually learn.

You're right, see you later. I closed the book and stuffed it back in my bag, listening with boredom to the teacher drone on. When I got through the first two classes I was free to escape to lunch, where Greg and I sat alone, eating our lunches and talking about boring topics. I knew he'd want to know all about my feels for Mary and who changed them around, and part of me wanted to tell him, but the other part was practically screaming not to. Sherlock was my secret, and if he knew he might want to steal him from me, and I couldn't have that, not now, when I wanted Sherlock the most. When lunch was over we were back to Mrs. Fletcher, who went on for fifteen minutes about why she hates drive through windows, as if we cared at all. She was just that type of teacher who liked to complain about all of their problems as if it was somehow our fault they were miserable. I managed to make it through the whole rest of the day without caving in, I wanted to talk to Sherlock so badly and was considering leaving class to go to the bathroom and just talk to him for a couple minutes. If only. Thankfully the bus ride wasn't long, and, telling Greg that my mom was taking me shopping for new jeans, I hopped off of the bus and almost ran to my bedroom. I told mom that I was neck deep in homework and not to bother me, shutting and locking the door and collapsing on the bed. My heart was pounding as I opened the book again; it was like I was back home finally.

Let me in. I scribbled simply.

Give me one second Mr. Watson. I groaned, wondering what on earth he could be doing that was more important than letting me come and say hi. But after a little while the book started to glow again, seeping in from the center. I closed my eyes, letting the book take my soul and when I opened them again I had no idea where I was. It was a lot darker than the parts of the castle I had explored, at least in the day time. It seemed to be under ground, thin rays of light seeping in through the windows at the very top of the walls. I looked around to see Sherlock sitting on top of a desk on a raised platform, with what looked like record player. There were desks and big witches pots, cauldrons I think, but they were all moved up against the wall, making a large, clear space in the middle of the room. What light wasn't supplied by the windows was made up with candles, flickering on the desks and windowsills, making it look disturbingly romantic.

"What's all this?" I asked with confusion.

"Well, after yesterday, I thought we should have some more bonding time. To be honest I thought you'd be a bit later, but I guess I won't argue." Sherlock shrugged.

"Bonding time?" I asked suspiciously.

"Do you know how to dance Mr. Watson?" he asked with a slight smile. I laughed, trying to tell if he was being serious or not, but he actually looked a bit hurt at my amusement.

"Sorry, no, I don't, not really a skill I thought I'd need."

"Until now." Sherlock pointed out, swinging his feet against the desk like a little kid.

"Apparently." I agreed. He swung the needle on the record player over and soft violin music started to play, slow and sweet, like stuff in romantic movies. I didn't know whether to jump for joy or start running, but I guess Sherlock had his mind set on this sort of date thing. He hoped off the desk, now I knew what those dancing shoes he wore were for. Walking towards me slowly, he seemed to sway to the music, and on most cases I would peg him as a complete gay loser, but I guess at the moment I was heading down that path as well, so I just decided not to judge. As much as I thought it was odd, he seemed so in sync and so graceful that it made me hate myself and my clumsy nature. When he got closer he stooped over in a bow, taking my hand in his and pressing it ever so slightly to his lips, like princes and princesses in those Disney cartoons. Once again the feel of his lips on my skin made my entire body seem to glow, unfairly soft and pleasing.

"May I have this dance?" he asked in a low voice, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Of course." I agreed, my heart lurching.