Striding past the ornate gates, John gazed up at Hogwarts and marveled once more at how untouched it appeared. Perhaps some of the towers looked slightly newer, the structure of the greenhouses slightly askew, but it was a far cry from the near-ruin it had been two years prior.

It had been a year since he had deliberately set foot in the Wizarding world, and his unease was betrayed by the tremor in his left hand. His wand hand. Perhaps it was the memories of what he had seen – what he had done. Or perhaps it was the ghost of a longing for a life not half-lived, though his life had been more than full enough of late.

Steeling himself, John made his way slowly across the grounds. He came to a stop before the lake. There, lay the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore – and in front of it, resplendent in the afternoon sun, the Wall. It was not much taller than John, but it spanned at least twelve feet. As he sat before the Wall, head lowered, he turned his attention to the names inscribed upon it. Muggleborns, Halfbloods, and Purebloods. Muggles. Children and adults. Death Eaters, Aurors, and Order members.

Marlene McKinnon. His mother. Henry Watson. His father. Malcolm Proudfoot. His mentor.

Those who had died at the hands of a madman who cared only for his own impossible immortality.

John Watson sat before the Wall of the Fallen until the setting sun roused him from his contemplation. It was time to meet with the Headmistress.

The Headmistress' office had changed since he had last seen it. It still housed the portraits of former Headmasters, and the desk that had been used by at least seven previous ones. Gone were Dumbledore's delicate and mysterious trinkets, replaced only with a vase of flowers, and some Wizarding pictures. It was an altogether more down to earth place, and John was instantly comforted.

Minerva rose to greet him with a quick embrace before they both settled in the armchairs by the fireplace. A moment of easy silence followed before John broke it.

"It's good to see you, Minerva."

"It has been far too long! I know that you wanted to live with muggles, but no contact for close to a year – really, John!"

"You know I went to try and clear my head. To get away from being an Auror. From the killing."

Minerva quieted, her indignation fading. "I know. We all did what we had to, after." Her hands shook slightly as she looked away. "We lost so much."

"We did," he agreed, "but we're strong. We're rebuilding – and recovering."

"There were so many lost. Your sister… last I heard she isn't doing so well."

John sighed sadly. "I know, Minerva. I went to see her. She doesn't want my help. She feels so responsible for the deaths on her team. She can't get past it."

Silence reigned once more as they thought of her, Harriet Watson. She was once bright, vital. Jokingly nicknamed 'Harry' for her tendency to storm in and rescue members of her auror team that were in peril, it had stuck with her through the war. Most of her team had been decimated in a surprise attack against the Ministry itself. She had survived, but she certainly lived no more, drowning her guilt and sorrow in Ogden's finest, convinced that had she done something differently, she could have saved them all.

"Like you said, we all did what we had to, after."

"John, I - "

"You were there for her at the beginning Minerva, just like I was. That's what matters."

"I can't help but think of your parents. Your mother would be so disappointed in me, leaving her only daughter adrift."

"I think that guiding us through school and magic would make her happy enough, Minerva. You did what you could for us, as a godmother, and later as a friend. Don't agonize over it."

"Thank you, John."

And with that, they tried once more to put the past behind them, to muffle the screams and tears in their minds, and think of the future. Minerva laughed with John as she learned of his curious muggle roommate (he would be a strange one, even for a Ravenclaw, I think), and scolded him when she learned of their work (left to get away from being an Auror, my foot!).

In the end, as Minerva and John parted with promises to see each other more often, their hearts held a lightness that had been missing. The future would bring letters by owl and by muggle post, photos of the antics of students and of Sherlock, and a true sense of family and belonging. The future held the promise of love and recovery, and John knew that Minerva and Sherlock would both be there, even if one of them didn't quite know as much as he thought.

Because wasn't that a thought, Sherlock learning about the Wizarding world? The logical fallacies would drive him absolutely mad! He may drive the Wizarding world round the bend with him. John laughed to himself.

No, some things were best kept secret.