"It would be nice if chaos and trouble could all just take a break for a while," Sherlock observed casually, biting the head off of what had to be his tenth chocolate frog. Collins had immediately gone to bed once the three boys returned to the castle (with just under a minute to spare, which meant they had to sprint back to their dorms to avoid detention); Sherlock, however, had joined John in the Gryffindor common room-it was slightly closer, and he figured John had a much more impressive supply of chocolate.

"Mhm," John agreed through a mouthful of Honeyduke's chocolate.

After scrambling through the portrait hole, the boys had not spoken a word, but had ignored the curious and concerned looks from the Gryffindors, gathered all of the chocolate they could find, and settled down on the couch closest to the fire that was still burning away pleasantly.

"I do want to know who Nevamann was talking to, though," John observed, swallowing the last of his chocolate.

"Are you sure it was Nevamann?" Sherlock said, throwing aside the chocolate wrapper and stretching out his legs.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that he could have gone in any direction once he entered the forest, and the chances of us managing to wander in exactly the same direction are very slim."

"But what are the chances that there were two other people, neither of them Nevamann, that were in the Forbidden Forest at that time, in that general area?"

Sherlock shrugged fairly. "It's possible. I mean, it's a fairly good meeting place if you want to be secretive."

"Okay," conceded John, knowing better than to argue with his friend, "but that still raises the question-what was Nevamann doing in the forest in the first place?"

Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eyes. "There's a chance it was something completely innocent."

"But you don't think so," John said, practically snorting at the suggestion.

"No," Sherlock said, frowning. "I don't."

Sherlock skipped breakfast the next morning, in order to get changed into his school robes and gather his things from Ravenclaw Tower before going to Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was the one downside of having slept on the couch in the Gryffindor common room the night before, besides the dirty looks Donovan cast at him the next morning. Then again, anything that caused her annoyance couldn't really be much of a con.

Normally, missing the meal would have been perfectly fine with him-normal, even, as he used to never eat in the mornings. But since he had started joining John in the Great Hall, he had gotten used to eating before his morning classes-the food was right there in front of him, so why not partake?

The consequences of this, therefore, were that when he sat down between John and Collins in D.A.D.A., his stomach was already convulsing with hunger pains. Sherlock ignored the grin John gave him when his stomach gave a particularly loud growl, and instead focused on what Nevamann was saying, trying to control the waves of mistrust and dislike he was sure were pulsating from him.

It was just his luck, really, that they were starting the chapter on dementors today. They had, of course, come up in previous years, but only briefly. Sherlock couldn't remember spending any more than a class studying them.

Of course, he had certainly read about them before, and knew most of what Nevamann was now informing the class. But he had never actually cast a Patronus before, and something told him he wouldn't be particularly good at it…

"…very presence of a dementor causes all sense of happiness to be drained from those in the vicinity; dementors feed and thrive upon hopelessness and despair, and are most likely to be found in places where such emotions are most prominent…"

Sherlock scratched down notes on his parchment, barely realizing his quill had long since run out of ink-he was having a hard time focusing.

"Now," began Nevamann in a crisp voice. Jerked back to himself, Sherlock hastily dipped his quill in the inkwell and wrote over the notes he thought he had been taking, following the scratches in the parchment. "Knowing this about the nature of dementors," Nevamann continued, "who can tell me what is required when conjuring a Patronus Charm, which is used in repelling them?"

Sherlock's hand went into the air much more slowly than usual-in fact, by the time it was halfway there, John's had already hit the air.

"Yes?" Nevamann said, nodding to John.

Sherlock put his hand down a bit quicker once his friend began to reply. "Happiness," he said simply. "You need to try to regain thoughts of happiness."

"Very good, ten points to Gryffindor. Yes, a Patronus is, essentially, the embodiment of happiness. Therefore, it can only be successfully cast if the user is fully and completely absorbed in a happy memory. The happier the memory, the stronger the Patronus charm. A corporeal Patronus is the strongest, and most difficult to produce, and is unique to the wizard who conjures it…"

Sherlock's attention wandered again as Nevamann continued on. He was reliving the adventures of the previous night, thinking back to all the silvery light that had surrounded them. Had John's Patronus been corporeal? He didn't see anything other than silver light, but then, he hadn't been looking properly. Actually, if it hadn't been corporeal, Sherlock doubted that it would have been enough to drive away the two dementors.

I wonder what his Patronus is, Sherlock wondered to himself, and got lost in thoughts of swirling silver light until the bell rang.

"You okay, Sherlock?" Jack asked, frowning at him while the Ravenclaw stuffed his notes and quill into his bag. "You seemed a bit out of it."

"Fine," Sherlock said, trying and failing not to snap. "Just tired. Last night drained me."

"I know what you mean," Jack said, nodding solemnly.

"We should get a start on the homework," John suggested, joining the two. "We have a free period, Sherlock-library?"

He wanted very dearly to refuse, to come up with some excuse to go to Ravenclaw tower and collapse in his four-poster until lunch; but then John would be concerned and start asking him questions like Collins did, and for some reason it really upset Sherlock when someone asked him if he was okay.

Maybe, he mused as he brushed a stray piece of dark hair out of his face, it's because I'm finding it harder and harder to lie.

A/N: Sorry this chapter was so short, guys, but I wanted to make up for the long stretch of time when I didn't post anything and make sure you're all getting something a bit more regularly now. This was kind of a filler chapter, but I also think it was a bit important…the next one will be more interesting. Thanks for the continued support, it means the world.