The Rambunctious Ravenclaw

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Sherlock inwardly winced. Yes, in all honesty, it was, the name of his great grandfather, but he didn’t think it was all that uncommon (admittedly, he reflected, he’d never met anyone else by that or his brother’s name). ”Yes,” he said a little bit quieter than he had been speaking. ”I assume your parents wanted a son.”

He couldn’t be serious. That couldn’t be a serious question. Her eyes widened. “It’s short for Francine?” She clarified. “Sometimes people call me Frenchie. It’s just a nickname. Don’t you have one, with a name like that?” She smiled. “But still, nice name. It’s unusual. At least no one could ever mistake you for anyone else. Though, if your aiming to become a serial killer, I’d recommend getting it changed promptly.” An awful joke, but those were more her style anyway. She liked Sherlock. He was interesting, very quick for his age, and it was always something when she could meet someone who she could talk to like a normal person.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk at the serial killer joke, if only the tiniest amount. ”No, I don’t have a nickname.” At least not one someone other than those idiots at school call me. The only house that seemed not to bear any malice towards him as an absolute were the Hufflepuffs, and they mostly just avoided him. Even other Ravenclaws tended to shun him for his semi-unstudiousness, obsessive behaviour, and the fact that he tended to treat everyone else like he was above them. Even the Quidditch team simply tolerated him. ”Besides, I doubt very much people could mistake me for someone else if they barely knew me.”

"Good point. You do have that whole angular face thing going on. You look like a fairy." It wasn’t meant to be offensive, just an observation. "Well, that’s not true, fairies can look like whatever the hell they want. But that’s a different matter entirely." She almost rolled her eyes at herself. "So, Sherlock. What do you know about witches?" She’d been curious to ask since she saw him reading the book. Wouldn’t hurt to know who she was dealing with.

Veela, not fairy, Sherlock mentally corrected, and only one-sixteenth. He relaxed a little and decided to pretend his knowledge of the wizarding world was that of a second or third generation Squib. "Well, they're all born with magical talent. Some come from long lines of magic, some come out of nowhere." Sherlock continued as if reading from a book. "There's light and dark magic, though most falls on the light side. The dark magic is usually reserved for the power-hungry and the desperate."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Sherlock inwardly winced. Yes, in all honesty, it was, the name of his great grandfather, but he didn’t think it was all that uncommon (admittedly, he reflected, he’d never met anyone else by that or his brother’s name). ”Yes,” he said a little bit quieter than he had been speaking. ”I assume your parents wanted a son.”

He couldn’t be serious. That couldn’t be a serious question. Her eyes widened. “It’s short for Francine?” She clarified. “Sometimes people call me Frenchie. It’s just a nickname. Don’t you have one, with a name like that?” She smiled. “But still, nice name. It’s unusual. At least no one could ever mistake you for anyone else. Though, if your aiming to become a serial killer, I’d recommend getting it changed promptly.” An awful joke, but those were more her style anyway. She liked Sherlock. He was interesting, very quick for his age, and it was always something when she could meet someone who she could talk to like a normal person.

Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the serial killer joke, if only the tiniest amount. "No, I don't have a nickname." At least not one someone other than those idiots at school call me. The only house that seemed not to bear any malice towards him as an absolute were the Hufflepuffs, and they mostly just avoided him. Even other Ravenclaws tended to shun him for his semi-unstudiousness, obsessive behaviour, and the fact that he tended to treat everyone else like he was above them. Even the Quidditch team simply tolerated him. "Besides, I doubt very much people could mistake me for someone else if they barely knew me."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

"Just because you’re twice my age doesn’t mean you have twice my experience, twice my wisdom, twice my intellect, or twice my ability to know what the hell I’m doing." If it seemed like a nerve had been touched, it had. Sherlock was always being demeaned, always being put down, seen as a bit of a nuisance who had more brains than wisdom and tended to trip over his own ego. He was definitely not his brother.

Frankie laughed. “Okay, slow your roll there, Poindexter. No one ever said that so don’t go getting all Second Son on me.” She didn’t know him well enough to tell if he’d been in the same situation as her, but growing up as a child to witches and then as a hunter had left her with little left to see. But maybe he was in a similar position.

She folded her hands. “I don’t know your life, and if I’m gonna be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me in the long run.” She shrugged. “But try not to go around getting all uppity with people who only take you at face value. It only reinforces their beliefs that you’re just a kid, because every kid says the things you just did. Every single one. Just ignore them. After all, only you know yourself, right? Who else matters?”

"One moment you’re passing judgement on me, the next you’re assuming the wise neighbour role," Sherlock groaned. "Yes, I’ll concede that practically every teenager goes through the I’m right and you’re wrong stage, but suffice it to say there are worse people in the world than anyone using dark magic. Why not take up a vendetta against them? Against rapists, murderers, and abusers?”

"I don’t pass judgement, I just talk. I can’t afford to judge anyone." And that much was true. Enemies could become friends and vice versa in a matter of moments. She rolled her eyes. "I know not everyone who does magic is bad. It’s my job to know. But if you want to know why I don’t fight that fight, it’s because I’ve got bigger fish to fry than the diseased human population. Things that hurt people in entirely different ways, rapists, murderers and abusers of an entirely different caliber.” She stopped herself before she could give him too many details. Sighing, she looked around for a bit. “I’m Frankie. What’s your name, little man?”

Sherlock stood up to his full height, just under six feet. ”It’s not little,” he replied with clear scathing. ”Sherlock,” he said, leaving out the last name as she’d done. Muggles seemed to have the strangest naming conventions. Wasn’t Frankie the name for a man, not a woman? Still, at least it wasn’t Robert or Ignatius.

"It’s just an expression. God, what, did you grow up under a dictionary or something?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Nice to meet you then Sherlock. That’s a pretty weird name. What, is that like a family name or something?”

Sherlock inwardly winced. Yes, in all honesty, it was, the name of his great grandfather, but he didn't think it was all that uncommon (admittedly, he reflected, he'd never met anyone else by that or his brother's name). "Yes," he said a little bit quieter than he had been speaking. "I assume your parents wanted a son."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

"Just because you’re twice my age doesn’t mean you have twice my experience, twice my wisdom, twice my intellect, or twice my ability to know what the hell I’m doing." If it seemed like a nerve had been touched, it had. Sherlock was always being demeaned, always being put down, seen as a bit of a nuisance who had more brains than wisdom and tended to trip over his own ego. He was definitely not his brother.

Frankie laughed. “Okay, slow your roll there, Poindexter. No one ever said that so don’t go getting all Second Son on me.” She didn’t know him well enough to tell if he’d been in the same situation as her, but growing up as a child to witches and then as a hunter had left her with little left to see. But maybe he was in a similar position.

She folded her hands. “I don’t know your life, and if I’m gonna be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me in the long run.” She shrugged. “But try not to go around getting all uppity with people who only take you at face value. It only reinforces their beliefs that you’re just a kid, because every kid says the things you just did. Every single one. Just ignore them. After all, only you know yourself, right? Who else matters?”

"One moment you’re passing judgement on me, the next you’re assuming the wise neighbour role," Sherlock groaned. "Yes, I’ll concede that practically every teenager goes through the I’m right and you’re wrong stage, but suffice it to say there are worse people in the world than anyone using dark magic. Why not take up a vendetta against them? Against rapists, murderers, and abusers?”

"I don’t pass judgement, I just talk. I can’t afford to judge anyone." And that much was true. Enemies could become friends and vice versa in a matter of moments. She rolled her eyes. "I know not everyone who does magic is bad. It’s my job to know. But if you want to know why I don’t fight that fight, it’s because I’ve got bigger fish to fry than the diseased human population. Things that hurt people in entirely different ways, rapists, murderers and abusers of an entirely different caliber.” She stopped herself before she could give him too many details. Sighing, she looked around for a bit. “I’m Frankie. What’s your name, little man?”

Sherlock stood up to his full height, just under six feet. "It's not little," he replied with clear scathing. "Sherlock," he said, leaving out the last name as she'd done. Muggles seemed to have the strangest naming conventions. Wasn't Frankie the name for a man, not a woman? Still, at least it wasn't Robert or Ignatius.

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

"Just because you’re twice my age doesn’t mean you have twice my experience, twice my wisdom, twice my intellect, or twice my ability to know what the hell I’m doing." If it seemed like a nerve had been touched, it had. Sherlock was always being demeaned, always being put down, seen as a bit of a nuisance who had more brains than wisdom and tended to trip over his own ego. He was definitely not his brother.

Frankie laughed. “Okay, slow your roll there, Poindexter. No one ever said that so don’t go getting all Second Son on me.” She didn’t know him well enough to tell if he’d been in the same situation as her, but growing up as a child to witches and then as a hunter had left her with little left to see. But maybe he was in a similar position.

She folded her hands. “I don’t know your life, and if I’m gonna be honest, it doesn’t really matter to me in the long run.” She shrugged. “But try not to go around getting all uppity with people who only take you at face value. It only reinforces their beliefs that you’re just a kid, because every kid says the things you just did. Every single one. Just ignore them. After all, only you know yourself, right? Who else matters?”

"One moment you're passing judgement on me, the next you're assuming the wise neighbour role," Sherlock groaned. "Yes, I'll concede that practically every teenager goes through the I'm right and you're wrong stage, but suffice it to say there are worse people in the world than anyone using dark magic. Why not take up a vendetta against them? Against rapists, murderers, and abusers?"

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Oh, fantastic. This must have been one of those muggles who assumed all magic was dark magic and that it would lead to death and damnation and eternal hellfire. His nostrils flared at the way she was speaking to him, too, like he was a boy half his age. ”It’s not a game. It’s a study. No different than ancient Latin and just as useful.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “It’s an expression, sheesh. And look, yeah, I get it, it’s a study, it’s interesting. But I’ve been around that block and paid for it in blood.” Not her blood, but blood none the less. “So study all you want. Just keep away from actually doing anything with it. Wouldn’t want you to end up like m—” She stopped herself. This was a boy. A child. And sure, she liked kids well enough, but trying to deal with one so obviously gung ho on learning probably wouldn’t do much. He didn’t know what was out there, of all the monsters that went bump in the night. He hopefully never would if he kept this interest in magic down to a mild curiosity.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. So. She’d had some dealings with actual dark wizards, then. Of the violent and malicious sort. Possibly of the Death Eater sort. ”Run into users of dark magic, then, and lived to tell the tale? Either you have a very fanciful imagination or there’s more to my studies than meets the eye.”

Frankie snorted. “Kid, I’m thirty. I’ve seen a lot. Lived a lot. And I haven’t just had run in’s. It’s been a long, long life.” She eyed the book wearily. “I’m thinking your studies go a bit deeper than you can imagine. But to answer your question, yeah, I’ve met witches. Lots of witches. Some were friends. Some were family. But that’s the past.” She didn’t make any mention of having been one her self, of being a warlock now. No use getting him dragged into her never ending mess. If someone found him they could very well ask him if he’d seen her, and she didn’t go around trusting curious teenagers. Too risky, too sloppy, and her hunter friends would think she was an idiot.

"Just because you're twice my age doesn't mean you have twice my experience, twice my wisdom, twice my intellect, or twice my ability to know what the hell I'm doing." If it seemed like a nerve had been touched, it had. Sherlock was always being demeaned, always being put down, seen as a bit of a nuisance who had more brains than wisdom and tended to trip over his own ego. He was definitely not his brother.

booksandhermione found you in Diagon Alley

It wasn't hard to work out who it was the fifteen year old had crashed into on his way into Flourish and Blott's. For all his willing ignorance of celebrity, the trio who helped thwart the most famous dark wizard of recent years had come to his attention. And this was one of them. "Oh," he said simply, after confirming that she was who he thought she was.

#booksandhermione

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Oh, fantastic. This must have been one of those muggles who assumed all magic was dark magic and that it would lead to death and damnation and eternal hellfire. His nostrils flared at the way she was speaking to him, too, like he was a boy half his age. ”It’s not a game. It’s a study. No different than ancient Latin and just as useful.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “It’s an expression, sheesh. And look, yeah, I get it, it’s a study, it’s interesting. But I’ve been around that block and paid for it in blood.” Not her blood, but blood none the less. “So study all you want. Just keep away from actually doing anything with it. Wouldn’t want you to end up like m—” She stopped herself. This was a boy. A child. And sure, she liked kids well enough, but trying to deal with one so obviously gung ho on learning probably wouldn’t do much. He didn’t know what was out there, of all the monsters that went bump in the night. He hopefully never would if he kept this interest in magic down to a mild curiosity.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. So. She'd had some dealings with actual dark wizards, then. Of the violent and malicious sort. Possibly of the Death Eater sort. "Run into users of dark magic, then, and lived to tell the tale? Either you have a very fanciful imagination or there's more to my studies than meets the eye."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

"Don’t be an idiot," the teenager replied. Theoretically, anyone who noticed his Adam’s Apple would be able to tell he was no witch. He was a wizard. Admittedly, his elderly grandmother kept forgetting during the periods she didn’t see him and frequently asked Where’s Shirley and who is this young man? when she came to visit.

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “So if you’re studying spellcasting, magic… and you’re not a witch, then what exactly are you?” Was this some sort of new craze going around with the younger generation today? She supposed it could be; All the fans of vampires and werewolves had that movie series that had come out, and zombie fanatics had a multitude of video games to play. It was only a matter of time before the witches got some sort of modern day commemoration that the 21st century could latch on to.

She vaguely wondered if rugaru’s would be next.

Sherlock dared not complete the correction—I’m a wizard—just in case, not to mention the whole exposure of the wizarding world. Instead, he opted for crossing his arms and offering something a bit more low-key. ”I like to study things. Magic just happens to be my subject of the week.”

So then it seemed she was right. Frankie sighed and glanced at the boy, a sad smile on her face. “Figured it might have been something like this. You look like a bright kid. And I’m not your mom or anything but trust me, magic isn’t the most fun of games to play.” The most she had to do with it were the hex bags she’d placed on herself and her car to avoid being found by anyone. “It’s some pretty dark stuff. Bad mojo and all that.”

#malaipsanova #((I'm sort of picturing them like a morality swap version of the Halliwells from Charmed))

Oh, fantastic. This must have been one of those muggles who assumed all magic was dark magic and that it would lead to death and damnation and eternal hellfire. His nostrils flared at the way she was speaking to him, too, like he was a boy half his age. "It's not a game. It's a study. No different than ancient Latin and just as useful."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

"Don’t be an idiot," the teenager replied. Theoretically, anyone who noticed his Adam’s Apple would be able to tell he was no witch. He was a wizard. Admittedly, his elderly grandmother kept forgetting during the periods she didn’t see him and frequently asked Where’s Shirley and who is this young man? when she came to visit.

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “So if you’re studying spellcasting, magic… and you’re not a witch, then what exactly are you?” Was this some sort of new craze going around with the younger generation today? She supposed it could be; All the fans of vampires and werewolves had that movie series that had come out, and zombie fanatics had a multitude of video games to play. It was only a matter of time before the witches got some sort of modern day commemoration that the 21st century could latch on to.

She vaguely wondered if rugaru’s would be next.

#malaipsanova #((thought it might be something like that))#((which is technically true then because Sherlock dabbles in dark magic.))#((don't tell anyone))#((sorry it's short))#((dad's vacuuming))

Sherlock dared not complete the correction--I'm a wizard--just in case, not to mention the whole exposure of the wizarding world. Instead, he opted for crossing his arms and offering something a bit more low-key. "I like to study things. Magic just happens to be my subject of the week."

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Sherlock looked up from the book he’d been studying outside the Muggle side of The Leaky Cauldron. To any Muggle, he hoped, he just looked like an odd teenager with an interest in the occult. ”Something you want?”

Frankie smiled down at the boy in front of her. “Yeah. Hey, sorry, I was just looking at your book. It’s… interesting.” She couldn’t not notice it, things relating to magic stuck out at her more than she liked. But instead of walking by and hiding her head like she would have normally done, she approached cautiously and decided to strike up a conversation. Maybe this boy wasn’t a witch. Perhaps he was just an interested youth. She hoped so, since if the witching community got wind of her now she’d have to do her best to shake their trail again.

"What a coincidence, so was I," Sherlock replied sarcastically. He sighed and put a marker in it, a small piece of blue silk woven into an intricate design. "I’m studying the art of spellcasting," he explained, true enough, as that had been one subject that had given him a bit of trouble, simply out of disinterest.

Ignoring the blatant sarcasm for what he said afterwards, Frankie paused. “Oh, are you now?” She tried to make the question sound as casual as possible. “So… you’re a witch then?” She didn’t want to have to make a run for it; she was tired, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he was skilled in magic anyhow. She didn’t want to have to rely on her own dormant abilities either.

#malaipsanova #((because I figure trans*wizards/witches could just magic the change))

"Don't be an idiot," the teenager replied. Theoretically, anyone who noticed his Adam's Apple would be able to tell he was no witch. He was a wizard. Admittedly, his elderly grandmother kept forgetting during the periods she didn't see him and frequently asked Where's Shirley and who is this young man? when she came to visit.

malaipsanova found you in Diagon Alley

Sherlock looked up from the book he’d been studying outside the Muggle side of The Leaky Cauldron. To any Muggle, he hoped, he just looked like an odd teenager with an interest in the occult. ”Something you want?”

Frankie smiled down at the boy in front of her. “Yeah. Hey, sorry, I was just looking at your book. It’s… interesting.” She couldn’t not notice it, things relating to magic stuck out at her more than she liked. But instead of walking by and hiding her head like she would have normally done, she approached cautiously and decided to strike up a conversation. Maybe this boy wasn’t a witch. Perhaps he was just an interested youth. She hoped so, since if the witching community got wind of her now she’d have to do her best to shake their trail again.

"What a coincidence, so was I," Sherlock replied sarcastically. He sighed and put a marker in it, a small piece of blue silk woven into an intricate design. "I'm studying the art of spellcasting," he explained, true enough, as that had been one subject that had given him a bit of trouble, simply out of disinterest.

#my things #bookmarks

morsofnoxcircus

The Circus is in Town || Sherlock and Miss Nox

"Human," Sherlock replied cautiously. He’d still not broken any wizarding laws, and if he spoke up about that aspect of his life, he undoubtedly would. He really had no wish to have Howlers set on him any more than usual. "You?"

morsofnoxcircus

"I’m a demon of the circus. Mors?" Miss Nox sighed deeply. “I was human, now I do not know. I might just be a vessel for the Circus, the host of a parasite or simply a pawn in it’s game. I’ve lived far too long. I’ve seen countless empires fall. I might be dead, I’m fairly sure I am.” She hoped that might be enough for him, the child was obviously not a normal human, considering how the Circus had reacted to him. "You are not really human are you, Child?"