sortinghat_rp | 06 [evening of March 30th]

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06 [evening of March 30th]

Thank God the egg hunt thing is over with. Don't get me wrong. It looked like everyone who was participating was having a lot of fun... when they managed to stay the right shape, size, and species... but I just couldn't get anywhere near those things. After everything that happened with the snakes last month, I think I might still have some latent egg-related trauma. If someone told me I turn beet red or get the thousand-yard stare when big plates of boiled eggs are served at mealtimes, I probably wouldn't be surprised.

It all worked out for the best in the end, though. Avoiding the hunt gave me lots of time to study and practice Apparition. With any luck, I won't be splinching myself when the Trace gets lifted from me tomorrow. Easter just had to fall on my birthday this year, didn't it?

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Must have been but it's probably forgotten by all but the Founders. As a place to observe, as an escape route, there are many things it could have been back in the day. The fact that it remains could be an homage to tradition or perhaps its still used for its intended purpose now. Unrelated note but are you allergic to dogs?

Er... no? I rather like them, actually. But what does that have to do with anything?

Nothing. Just noticed the shack was rather..doggy.. last I was there. All kinds of animals probably take refuge in the shack from time to time. Just making sure. I did check and it should be unoccupied.

[He lead the way to the building, holding the door open for John as they finally reached the shack.]

[John nodded his thanks to Sherlock as he entered the building. It was certainly creepy in the way that old, dilapidated shacks tended to be, but somehow it seemed much more haunted from the outside. Still, he craned his way this way and that, looking at what the shack had to offer.]

I suppose you're right. Hell, maybe they're somehow the ones that make all the noise this place is famous for. I mean, it doesn't really feel haunted. Like when there are ghosts around back at the castle; you can usually feel them in the atmosphere.

I still don't see how they'd get in here, but if I was a dog dead set on getting out of the Scotland damp, I'd probably make figuring that out priority one.

Well, there's always the front door.

[Sherlock went to the boarded up windows, peeking out at the town outside.]

It is nearly Easter but I don't think they'll be expecting runaway students and more than normal.

Yeah, because dogs are so well known for their ability to work doorknobs.

[John moved over and joined him, peering down at Hogsmeade.]

You really think we can sneak in and get away with it?

These people don't work for the school, they work for themselves. I am a paying customer willing to tip handsomely for their cooperation and silence. You think they care more about our age than they do the galleons in my pocket?

[Sherlock smirks at John. Because he is right and this is going to be fantastic.]

You might not be hungry but a few butterbeers and a plate of pastries to celebrate shouldn't sour your stomach, I should think.

[John drummed his fingers on the windowsill. That plus the general fidgeting he was doing implied that he was having an uphill battle with the notion that he really ought to be discouraging the rule-breaking behavior and the fact that every other cell in him was very loudly scoffing and saying, 'Sod that.'

Finally he licked his lips, which he was having a very hard time keeping from breaking out into a full grin.]

It would be pretty damn rude to completely shut down someone's attempt to provide a very good and memorable almost-birthday experience, wouldn't it?

You wouldn't have let me take you this far if you ever really planned to.

[Sherlock dusted off the last of the dirt from his suit then, seeing that the coast was clear, opened the front door and walked upright rather than snuck towards the gate. Always best to act as though one has every right to be where they are no matter the circumstances.]

[John followed, trying to match Sherlock's scheme of looking casual. He was still a bit awkward and stiff about it; definitely a sign that he was overthinking the odds of anyone thinking they were out of place.]

True. I would've at least shouted you down in the journal system or - if things got REALLY out of hand - tried to catch you in a headlock and actually drag you back to the castle if I was really opposed.

You couldn't get me in a headlock.

[Sherlock rolled his eyes at the very thought, jumping the gate at the bottom rather than opening it.]

I said try.

[Unlike certain people with their stupid long legs, John had to climb over the gate instead of just jumping, but at least he managed.]

But I bet I could if I wanted to enough.

Then I suppose we'll just have to wait and see next year when I suggest the Forbidden Forest. Last chance, after all.

[Sherlock waited for him to climb is with a smirk, his point more or less made in the differences of their heights he suspected. He lead the way again towards the Three Broomsticks Inn.]

The Forbidden Forest?!

[That came out a bit louder than he liked, so he lowered his voice to a hush for the ensuing reprimand.]

Look, Sherlock, I have less of a problem with what we're doing now because at least it's not potentially fatal. Can't say I can say the same about the forest.

Don't tell me you don't want to see what's inside there. Certainly promised danger and excitement. Death is only a possibility.

Whether or not I want to see what's in there doesn't really hold a candle to the fact that what I really don't want to see is my guts strewn out in the middle of a goddamned forest. The same goes for your guts.

Only a possibility of gut strunage. Think of all the interesting things they could be hiding in there?

[Sherlock held the door to the inn open for John.]

[John enters through the held-open door. He crosses his arms and gives Sherlock a knowing look.]

Why do I get the feeling that you're already putting together a wish list of things to look for in this probably-not-very-hypothetical-at-all forest trip?

Because you're moderately clever.

[Sherlock smiled at him and found them a nice table in a corner.]

This will do, I think. Sit, sit. I'll get everything. Still several hours out until your birthday but we'll make do here until closing time.

[John sat. Even with all the talk about the Forbidden Forest, he couldn't help but get a rather amused little grin on his face. He hadn't really hung out properly with Sherlock since the post-Valentine's fallout. He'd missed Sherlock's company.]

Yeah, well. Moderately clever and moderately pleased that you actually brought this up instead of just sending me a message in the journal system to the tune of "John, I'm about one mile into the Forbidden Forest. Come find me."

Oh, now there's an idea. I'll remember that one.

[Sherlock got them both their beverages and took a seat in the chair opposite. It was good that things seemed.. normal. Like they had been. Before. Sometimes it felt impossible to forget but now, even if they both remembered, it didn't seem to really make a difference. He was very glad for that. John was important to him regardless of the connection.]

Ah, no. I might - [He wagged a finger at Sherlock, a very 'now you listen to me' gesture.] might - agree to go in with you, but if you wander in on your own like an idiot, you'd better be prepared to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to get your own arse out.

[He accepted the drink Sherlock offered.] Thanks.

You wouldn't let me drown myself, I'm rather assured you wouldn't let me stay in the Forbidden Forest alone, either. But we'll see. For now, it's simply the relatively safe enjoyment of a night out.

[John sighed.]

It's true I'm not going to let you get yourself hurt if I can help it, but that sure doesn't mean you can knowingly charge into shit hoping to exploit that. Do that and as soon as whatever horrors we escape from in the forest, you'd have my righteous fury to contend with.

I have every reason to believe that your righteous fury is by far the more terrifying option.

[He drinks from his tanker, wiping the foam from his upper lip.]

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