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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Late 19th Century

Everyone knew Lock Holmes.

This was not to say that everyone liked Lock Holmes. Even his most fervent admirers and friends had to admit that the Ravenclaw boy's rather arrogant demeanor and habit of making everyone around him feel like dunces could be a tad...frustrating...at times. At other times, it was downright infuriating.

But everyone knew him. It was impossible to go to Hogwarts and not have some idea about who he was. With his blond, blue-eyed good looks to charm the girls and his position as Chaser on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team to impress the boys, he was sure to have been a popular student. But with his exceptional marks for academics, astonishing even for a Ravenclaw, he had been catapulted out of the 'popular' tag and into the 'legend' one.

Some wouldn't say this was an improvement.

The opinion of his fellow students couldn't have mattered less to Lock at the moment. He was safely hidden in a darkened hidden nook of the library, safe from both fawning admirers and angry enemies looking to settle scores. A ball of light hung right over the book he was reading, shedding a cold steady illumination.

He put the book down with a sigh, fighting a sneeze as the action threw dust into the air. He stifled the sound, knowing that noise would attract the attention of stern Master Gibeon, head librarian. And he really did not need to deal with that grumpy old man right now....

Suddenly he banged his fists on the table in front of him, throwing up yet another cloud of dust and this time sneezing. The action, curiously wild for the self-restrained boy, was prompted by sheer frustration. He had been looking for it for nearly two years now...and he'd found a trail leading him further than he had ever gotten before, and he had followed it...only to be deadended yet again. He'd just wasted two months of hard work, sleepless nights and headaches. He let his head drop onto the table, ignoring the now-useless book next to his face.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" He looked up, fighting to restrain a scowl. He _hated_ it when people used his real first name - he'd refused to answer to anything but 'Lock' (a nickname he'd decided for himself, not liking Mycroft's name for him) or Holmes in his first year. Here his teachers' habit of referring to all students by their last names came in handy, and now practically no one knew his name was Sherlock. And he liked it that way.

But of course old Gibby would have to go and ruin that, wouldn't he? You'd think a librarian would like a student who spent practically every moment he could in the library, but no. Gibby seemed to think that he was secretly plotting to set fire to the Restricted Section, or walk off with half the library's inventory or something. Just because he'd gained a _slight_ reputation for being a little cunning....

He glanced around, checking to see if anyone had overheard Gibby using his real name. Thankfully, it was nearing suppertime and the library was empty. He offered a silent thanks to whoever was listening Up There before looking at the balding man standing over him.

"Yes, sir?" Gibeon's eyes narrowed. That Holmes boy was always polite, even when he was a second-year and the rest of his cheeky little classmates had had a contest going on as to who could make Gibeon come out of the library. But somehow his quiet replies grated on Gibeon's nerves worse than all the pranking of all the little monsters put together. There was always this...undertone...to it....

"Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, boy."

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Dad home. Demanding I get off the PC. Must leave. (sigh) Am depressed due to basketball team losing to archrivals. Wrote this chapter to cheer self up. Any screams about how Sherlock would not consent to be called 'Lock' or how he is horribly OOC?