The Third Task

When they arrived back at Gryffindor Tower, Hermione, Ron and Castiel were waiting for them.

Cas immediately went to Harry and felt his head. 'Warm,' he said, 'but not too hot.'

'Thanks, I suppose,' said Harry, sitting down. He launched into an explanation of what they had seen in the Pensieve, while John fell asleep in an armchair.

John didn't sleep for long, and woke up a few hours later after again dreaming of the Dark Mark. Sherlock was still deliberating with the other Gryffindors when he woke, but John's eye went to Cas, who looked agitated and kept glancing over at him.

John rose from his seat. 'I'm going to get some fresh air,' he said loudly and deliberately, planting a kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

He pushed his way out of the portrait hole and wandered down to the courtyard, avoiding the teachers and Filch on patrol, smiling to himself at finding at least one positive use for his powers.

The cool night air washed over him as he snuck outside, and sat on the stone steps. He looked up at the clear sky. The constellations were easy to pick out, but just as they were beginning to show him something, the Dark Mark flashed into the sky, and John closed his eyes, heart in his mouth.

He felt a soothing energy behind him and smiled, assuming it was Sherlock, but when he opened his eyes, it was Cas standing there instead.

'John,' Cas said quietly, rubbing his arm.

'Cas,' said John. 'Take a seat - or a step.'

Cas sat down next to John but didn't say anything. John waited, but Cas stared straight ahead.

'Something on your mind, Cas?' John gently prompted. He could see Cas's hands shaking.

'I - um - could I ask you something?' Cas mumbled.

'Of course.'

Cas took a deep breath. 'You - your powers… do you ever worry you'll hurt someone?'

John blinked in surprise. 'All the time,' he admitted.

'How do you deal with that?'

John shrugged. 'It can't be helped for the most part, but I try to help more than I harm.'

'Does it ever go away?'

'Not so far,' John grimaced.

Cas sighed and hung his head.

'It helps that I have someone to share it with,' John said slowly, carefully choosing his words. 'Someone I can talk to if I'm having a bad day.'

Cas muttered something about Gabriel.

John stopped talking and let Cas take his time.

'You and Sherlock…' he said eventually.

'Mm?'

'Have you always - I mean, do you…?' he trailed off, embarrassed.

John smiled. 'Cas, are you asking me if I'm gay?' he said, amused.

Cas gave him a horrified look. 'I'm sorry, that's personal-'

'Cas, it's okay,' John said, holding out a placating hand. 'That's a good question, actually.'

'You mean, you don't know?' Cas asked, shocked.

'I've never really thought about it,' John shrugged. 'I never thought about anyone that way until Sherlock.'

'We were all very young when we met,' said Cas.

'That's true.'

Cas shifted uncomfortably. 'I am,' he said, so quietly John almost didn't hear him.

'Yeah.'

'You already knew.'

'Sorry.'

'Is it obvious?' he said anxiously. 'Harry and Ron…'

'Harry and Ron?' John laughed. 'Please, those two are the least observant people I've ever met. I'm not even sure they've noticed that Sherlock and I are together.'

Cas twitched.

'But to answer your question; no, it isn't obvious.'

You can tell him that I am, Sherlock's voice whispered, and John's eyebrows rose.

You are?

I've thought about it a lot and weighed the options. I've come to the conclusion that I find boys more pleasing than girls.

John snorted. 'Sherlock would like me to tell you that he is as well, and you can talk to him if you want to, but that would be a bad decision and you probably shouldn't.'

For the first time that night, John managed to pull a small smile from Castiel.

'Tell him thank you.'

Cas fell silent again, and John waited patiently for him to speak again.

'Does your mother know?' he asked, and John gaped at him.

'Someone's feeling brave today,' John chuckled.

'I can stop.'

'It's fine,' John smiled. 'No, she doesn't know yet.'

'Would she - would she disagree with it?' Cas asked apprehensively.

'No, not at all,' John reassured. 'She loves my sister's girlfriend. I would just rather tell her in person than by owl.'

Cas nodded. 'What is she like?'

'Who, my mum?'

Cas bit his lip and looked at the floor.

'Oh, Cas,' John breathed. 'I don't know what to say.' He looked up at the sky again as Cas reached into his robes for his necklace. 'I'm sure she's up there. Watching you,' John said. 'She'd be proud of you.'

Cas gave a short, bitter laugh. 'I'm not so sure of that.'

'Of course she would be,' John said firmly. 'Of course she would.'

Cas looked back up at John. 'Your father would think the same of you, I'm certain.'

'Thanks,' John smiled, though his stomach twisted at the mention of his father. 'What's brought all this on, Cas?'

'Madam Pomfrey says I ought to talk to my friends more,' Cas said. 'You're very easy to talk to.'

John smiled. 'Surely there are other people easier to talk to than me,' John hinted. 'Someone like, I dunno, Dean maybe?

Cas frowned. 'Dean is… I find him very strange,' he confessed. 'I don't always understand him.'

'It's all a front, you know,' John said. 'All that bravado, it's not real.'

'What do you mean?'

John scratched his chin. 'You both are more similar than you think,' he said thoughtfully. 'He lost his mum too, the only difference is he covers it up with false confidence. I think if you were to try and see past it all, you might find you understand him better.'

'I think I could do that.'

John smiled at him, but saw apprehension creep back into Cas's face. 'Is there something else?' he asked.

Cas rubbed his arm. 'Could I - could I ask you about your father?'

John sucked in a breath. 'You could.'

'He was a soldier?'

'Yeah.'

'Are you still angry with him?'

John didn't answer for a while, caught off guard by the question. 'Yeah,' he said eventually. 'Yeah I am.'

Cas scuffed his feet against the stone floor. 'What was he like before…?'

'He was great before,' John smiled sadly. 'That's what makes it so... when he…'

'Would he have preferred it if you kept the good memories in your mind, rather than the bad?'

'He definitely would. But when you… go like that, you don't get to choose.'

'But you miss him?'

'All the time.' John cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. 'What about you, what's your dad like?'

The effect was instantaneous. Cas's jaw clenched and his shoulders tensed. He stared at the ground and clasped his hands together, to hide their shaking. He shook his head.

'He's not the same since Mother died,' he said in a low, halting voice.

'In what way?'

Cas got abruptly to his feet, brushing himself down. 'Thank you for being so candid, John,' he said without looking at John.

'Er, you're welcome, I suppose. Are you all right?'

'Yes. Fine. Thank you.'

'Cas, wait-'

But Cas hurried away.

You saw that? John asked Sherlock.

Of course.

What do we know about Cas's family?

Three siblings, two of which he doesn't speak to. Dead mother. Doesn't talk about his father much.

Why not?

Perhaps he's more like my father. Not around very often. I can see Castiel not handling it well after the loss of his mother.

If he didn't know what Lucy was doing either, that might make things difficult. John saw several images of Castiel being blown up flash through his mind as Sherlock remembered the incidents from first year.

I'll ask Mycroft what he knows about Carver Edlund, Sherlock thought eventually.

John nodded and sighed, rubbing his eyes. All the energy had dropped out of his body, and he looked the way Cas had gone. The soothing energy had gone with him.

Have you ever noticed that before? He asked Sherlock.

No. It's a new development.

A headache was forming in John's temples, so he wandered back up to the common room in the hopes of getting a few hours of sleep before lessons.

The lot of them were supposed to be revising for their exams, which would finish on the day of the third task, but they had decided that helping Harry prepare for the task was more important.

Dean taught them a few more spells, including the Impediment Jinx and the Reductor Curse, as well as the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione's which would make the wand point due north.

Castiel still brought his books with him when they were practicing, as he never participated with offensive spells. After each lunchtime, Cas would quietly try to convince Dean to study for his O. W. Ls, but each time he was brushed off.

Cas continued to use his Shield Charm, and spent more and more time in the Great Hall and in the Gryffindor common room.

'How is he doing that?' Dean muttered to John one evening, as he watched Cas leave the common room and shock Seamus when he got too close.

'What?' John said.

'His Shield Charm. It's only supposed to last maybe a minute max, but he's been holding it for hours.'

'He's a powerful wizard, we already know that,' John reasoned.

'Yeah, but there's powerful wizard and then there's whatever that is.'

Just then, Sherlock came through the portrait hole holding a letter.

'I'm of the opinion that Castiel has some sort of power that allows him to manipulate spells at will,' he said, sitting down with John and Dean.

Dean looked between them, slightly unsettled. 'Wait, did you just hear what I said to him?'

'Yes, that's correct,' said Sherlock.

'You guys are so weird,' Dean frowned. 'What kind of power do you think he has?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock confessed. 'Nothing I've seen or heard of.'

'That's not helpful.'

'It's hardly my fault there aren't any books on it in the library.'

'How would you know?'

'I've read all the books in the library.'

Liar, John smiled.

I've read all the relevant books.

'Is that from Mycroft?' John said out loud, pointing at the letter in Sherlock's hand.

'Yes. Not much to go on,' Sherlock told them. 'Aside from the occasional letter to Michael, no one's seen or heard from Carver Edlund in almost ten years.'

'Cas's dad?' Dean said.

'How can that be?' frowned John.

'How does your brother know what letters Michael gets?' Dean asked.

'He's Head of the Department of Mysteries. He has access to a lot of information.'

'Wait, wait,' said John. 'Ten years, isn't that when his mum died?'

'Interesting.'

'Guys, what's going on?'

'Does Cas ever talk to you about his dad?' John asked Dean.

Dean thought about it for a moment. 'No, he's never mentioned him.'

John twisted in his chair to look back Hermione hunched over her homework behind them. 'Hermione?'

She looked up.

'Has Cas spoken to you about his dad?'

Hermione frowned and shook her head, then went back to her homework.

'Our working theory is that Castiel's father is absent,' Sherlock explained as John turned back to him and Dean, 'but he can't talk about it.'

'Why not?'

'That remains to be seen,' said Sherlock.

'Well, where is he? I'll go ask him.'

John shook his head. 'That's a no-go. I asked him the other day, and he just got up and walked away.'

Dean nodded thoughtfully. 'Okay, well I'll go see if he wants to talk, then. I saw him studying earlier, so the library?'

'Yeah, but-'

'Thanks, John.' Dean walked towards the portrait hole

'Dean, wait,' John got up and ran over to him. 'Look, I talked to him the other day. He's doing a lot better but…'

'But what?'

John glanced back at Sherlock, who shrugged.

'Okay, he said he finds you confusing.'

'Me?'

'Yeah, you're too much for him. Try a bit of vulnerability every now and again.'

Dean thought about it. 'So… Now?'

John sighed, gave in, and checked on Cas. 'Not now,' he said, coming back to Dean slightly dazed. 'He's busy now. Transfiguration.'

'Ugh, why?' Sherlock said. 'He's fine at Transfiguration, why waste more time on it?'

'Because some of us like to be prepared for our exams.'

Sherlock groaned dramatically.

'Right, and that's why you're studying so hard right now?' Dean snarked.

'Yeah, same as you,' John shot back.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. 'You got me there,' he laughed. He again looked at the portrait hole, but sat down in front of the fire instead.

They all became more and more nervous the closer they got to the third task.

The week of the exams, John jumped at any small movement, and dreamed of the Dark Mark every night.

Their first exam was a written paper for Transfiguration, and John sat in front of it, staring at it. He didn't move and just read the first question over and over again, not knowing the answer. He sighed and prepared himself to make something up, but when he touched the parchment, the answer flashed in front of his eyes. He sat completely still, not sure what was happening. He hoped it was a fluke, but when he moved on to the next question, the same thing happened. He bit his lip and looked around the room.

It's not cheating, Sherlock's voice murmured in his mind, it's just your power

How is it not cheating?

But Sherlock didn't have a good answer.

John raised his hand, and Professor McGonagall frowned at him.

'Yes, Watson?' she whispered, coming over to him.

'Professor, I can't take this exam,' he whispered back, trying not to distract anyone else.

'Whyever not?'

'I - it's hard to explain.'

'I suggest you try.'

'The parchment is sort of - showing me the answers,' he mumbled.

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. 'You'd better come with me, then.'

He got up and followed her out of the room.

'Sorry,' he murmured once outside.

'Nonsense, Watson,' Professor McGonagall said briskly. 'Ten points to Gryffindor, for your honesty.'

'Oh! Thank you, Professor.'

'Wait here.'

She walked off, and returned with Colin Creevey in tow.

'Hi, John!' Colin said excitedly.

'Hello, Colin.'

'Creevey will help you with your exam. He will read out the questions to you, and you will tell him what to write. Do not touch the parchment. You may not speak except to ask the question and to answer it. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Professor,' they both said.

'You can work in the next classroom, and I will restart your time. Good luck, Watson.'

Apart from having to remind Colin not to talk, John felt he did well enough. Afterwards, Professor McGonagall told him that Colin would be assisting him with all his written exams, and she had informed the other teachers.

Sherlock, meanwhile, finished his exams as quickly as possible, using the minimum amount of brainpower, so he could spend the evenings pacing around the Gryffindor common room.

The rash shaped like the Dark Mark reappeared on John's arm. He resisted scratching it, but it got redder and angrier as the week went on.

'What are we missing?' Sherlock muttered the night before the third task.

John was curled up on the sofa, not speaking much, and unable to control his nervous shivering.

'You can't see the third task?' Sherlock asked.

'For the l-last time, no,' John grumbled. 'I can't see tomorrow at all.'

'No tasks, no Barty Crouch…' Sherlock paced some more, then stopped in his tracks.

'What?'

Sherlock glanced around the room, at all the people still revising for their exams in the common room. Who can you see torturing the Longbottoms?

John winced. I don't know.

Sherlock knelt in front of him. 'Can you look at it again?'

John's stomach flipped and shook his head. 'I don't want to.'

'Please?' Sherlock murmured, stroking his cheek.

Dread filled John, and he took a few, short breaths. 'Okay,' he said reluctantly, sitting up straight.

'Try and see which one is blocked from you. You know what they all look like now.'

John nodded. 'Okay. Okay.' He gripped Sherlock's hand and closed his eyes, thinking of the Longbottoms.

It didn't take long for the scene to appear before him. The four figures surrounded Frank Longbottom. Their voices were muffled to the point that John couldn't understand them, so he ignored the words. Instead, he moved closer to the figures, one at a time, until they came into view.

The first one was easy, as the only woman, John recognised her as Bellatrix Lestrange. Before he could move on to another, the curses began, painting the entire scene bright crimson.

Frank's screams shattered the quiet, and John smacked his hands over his ears.

Keep going, Sherlock's voice broke in.

John dragged himself away from Frank, and towards the two men closest to Bellatrix. Neither of them were blocked from him, and recognised them as Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. It became too hard to block out the screams, and he was forced back to the common room. 'Sorry,' he gasped as Sherlock's face came back into view. 'I can't…' He bunched up the front of Sherlock's robes in his fist, fighting off the pain.

'Why are you sorry?' Sherlock said. 'You saw them.'

'But I didn't see the last one.'

'Were any of the other three blocked from you?'

'No.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Then by process of elimination, the last one would have been. You did it.'

'I - I did?'

'Who was left?'

'Barty Crouch Jr.'

Sherlock adjusted himself on the sofa so that John could rest his head against his shoulder.

'Mr Crouch was blocked from you too,' Sherlock mused. 'But it can't be his doing. He's too much of a stickler for the rules, he'd never enter Harry in the Tournament.'

'Maybe he was forced into it. Maybe his son made him do it.'

'Barty Crouch Jr is dead.'

'Oh yeah.'

'It must mean something, though.'

'Most likely,' John mumbled, his eyelids drooping.

'Would you like to go to bed?' Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. 'I won't be asleep that long.' He curled up in Sherlock's lap and left him to think.

John woke up a few hours later, shaking and breathing heavily from hazy nightmares, and found himself unable to get back to sleep. He stayed in front of the fire with Sherlock, shivering and nauseous, until the rest of the Gryffindors began making their way down to breakfast.

John merely picked at his breakfast, and he wasn't the only one. Harry looked pale and sat quietly next to John. The louder than usual chattering was beginning to get to Castiel, whose Shield Charm slowly expanded, forcing people further and further away from him.

A screech owl arrived for Hermione opposite them, carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.

'What?' Harry and Ron said together, all of them staring at her.

'Nothing,' Hermione said quickly, trying to stuff the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it.

He stared at the headline and said, 'No way. Not today. That old cow.'

'What?' said Harry. 'Rita Skeeter again?'

'No,' said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.

'It's about me, isn't it?' said Harry.

'No,' said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone.

But before Harry could demand to see the paper, Malfoy shouted across the Hall from the Slytherin table.

'Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?'

Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, and Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see his reaction.

'Let me see it,' Harry said to Ron. 'Give it here.'

Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and he and John found themselves staring at a picture of Harry under the headline:

HARRY POTTER 'DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS'

The boy who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behaviour, which casts doubt upon his suitability to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts school.

Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard complaining of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, mid-way through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witness Potter storming from class in the company of friend John Watson, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.

'Uh-oh,' said John at the mention of his own name.

It is possible, say top experts at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potter's brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that his scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion.

'He might even be pretending,' said one specialist, 'this could be a plea for attention.'

The frequency of these 'attacks' has increased in recent weeks, which Rita Skeeter believes to be connected to the performance of friend John Watson.

Watson's status as a Seer has been called into question, as he has not been known to make a single prophecy as of yet.

Mycroft Holmes, Head of the Department of Mysteries, has been approached to speak on the rumours of the Hall of Prophecy within the department, but was unavailable for comment.

As the brother of Sherlock Holmes, best friend to John Watson, is Mr Holmes covering for the both of them? Could this be setting a worrying precedent for the future of the Ministry, and what exactly are the Holmes brothers and Watson trying to hide?

'Best friend?' Sherlock laughed.

'This is why I don't like to tell people about my powers,' John said, rolling his eyes.

Watson could well be pretending to have special powers, but the question is whether or not Potter is threatened by him stealing attention away.

Not only that, but the Daily Prophet has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public.

'Potter can speak Parseltongue,' reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth-year. 'There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a Duelling Club, and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power.'

Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue 'as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evil-doers.' Similarly, 'anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence.'

Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the Tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening.

'Gone off me a bit, hasn't she?' Harry said lightly, folding up the paper.

'How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?' Ron said. 'There's no way she was there, there's no way she could've heard-'

'The window was open,' said Harry. 'I opened it to breathe.'

'You were at the top of North Tower!' Hermione said. 'Your voice couldn't have carried all the way to the grounds!'

'Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging!' said Harry. 'You tell me how you did it!'

'I've been trying!' said Hermione. 'But I… but…'

An odd, dreamy expression came over Hermione's face. She slowly raised a hand, and ran her fingers through her hair again, and then held her hand up to her mouth, as though speaking to an invisible walkie-talkie. 'I've had an idea,' she said, gazing into space. 'I think I know… because then no one would be able to see… even Moody… and she'd have been able to get on the window ledge… but she's not allowed… she's definitely not allowed… I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library - just to make sure!'

With that, Hermione seized her schoolbag, and dashed out of the Great Hall.

'Oi!' Ron called after her. 'We've got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes! Blimey,' he said, turning back to them, 'she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam.'

Just then, Professor McGonagall came walking along the Gryffindor table towards them.

'Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast,' she said.

'But the task's not 'til tonight!' said Harry.

'I'm aware of that, Potter,' she said. 'The champions' families are invited to watch the final task. This is simply a chance to greet them.'

She moved away, and Harry gaped after her.

'She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?' he asked.

'Dunno,' said Ron. 'We'd better go, we're going to be late for Binns.'

John, Sherlock and Ron all got to their feet and left the Great Hall.

'You've got Arithmancy right?' John asked Sherlock once outsight.

'Yes, and you've Divination after History of Magic?'

John nodded. 'Yeah. Meet back here before the task, best friend?' he sniggered.

'I'll give you best friend,' Sherlock smiled, bending down to kiss him.

John kissed him back, but suddenly felt himself being held up by Sherlock as the Entrance Hall spun around him. His legs turned to jelly and he was extremely light-headed. It only lasted a moment before he regained his footing, though with Sherlock still holding him tightly.

'What was that?' Sherlock asked.

John rubbed his temples. 'No idea,' he said. He was still nauseous and anxious, but no worse than he had been before breakfast. 'I have to go. See you later.'

He went with Ron up to Professor Binns' classroom, but met Colin outside and followed him to another room, where his exam was waiting.

It was slow going, dizzy spells and light-headedness hitting him at random intervals, but he managed to finish just as the timer ran out.

He said goodbye to Colin and forced down some lunch before his Divination exam.

He climbed the stairs of the North Tower, stopping every so often to still his spinning head.

Trelawney called everyone in one at a time, and John waited outside until he was the only one left.

As usual, Trelawney's room cleared his head and eased his nausea. He sat down at the table in front of Trelawney. A crystal ball sat on the table, as well as a deck of tarot cards, several empty charts, and a single teacup.

'Hello,' John smiled, though he couldn't take his eyes off the crystal ball.

'For this exam, I would like you to try and predict the year ahead for myself,' Trelawney said. 'You may use any instruments you like.'

'Right.'

John started with the charts, filling them in quickly, and examining them for patterns. The crystal ball kept catching his eye, but he avoided it, remembering how he had broken the last one he'd touched.

Throughout the exam he could feel it calling to him, and though he tried his best to ignore it, towards the end, he felt something slip in his mind, and finally looked into its misty depths. The shape of an eye floated to the surface and John gasped, pushing himself away from the table. There was no trace of the stinging energy that had stopped him from using it before.

'Wait a minute,' he muttered.

'What is it?' asked Trelawney, but John didn't respond.

'It can't be.' He closed his eyes and quickly looked forward to the third task. He braced himself for the block he always bounced off, but it never appeared. He saw the maze in the Quidditch pitch, and all four of the champions standing before it. He opened his eyes again, pulse rising in excitement. 'I have to go,' he said to Trelawney, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his bag and hesitated. 'Can I borrow this?' he asked, pointing at the crystal ball.

'By all means,' Trelawney said, mystified, 'but your exam is still in progress.'

'I know, I'm sorry, but I really have to go.' He packed away the crystal ball and made for the trap door, but stopped, turning back to Trelawney. 'Er - I would avoid seafood next Thursday, if I were you.'

He hurried as fast as he could down the ladder, then ran to the greenhouses where Sherlock was having his Herbology exam. Hurry up, he complained, trying to impress upon Sherlock the urgency of the situation.

Sherlock responded with a brief acknowledgement, and John could feel Sherlock was just as anxious to leave as he was. As soon as he left the greenhouse, he almost barrelled into John outside, leaving Castiel behind.

'It's gone!' John exclaimed. 'The curse, it's gone!'

'How?'

'Does that matter right now? I need somewhere quiet to focus, where do you suggest?'

Sherlock thought for a moment, eyes roving over the grounds and castle. 'Hagrid's cabin,' he said. 'Everyone will be at dinner, and it's close to the Forest. You're strongest there.'

'Agreed.'

They raced down to Hagrid's. He wasn't there, but they let themselves in anyway, assuming that Hagrid wouldn't mind.

John sat down on the sofa and set the crystal ball in front of him, while Sherlock went around closing all the curtains and setting a fire in the fireplace. He waved his wand and filled the room with the same perfume as Trelawney's room, which helped John relax.

'I saw an eye in this before,' he said. 'What does that mean?'

'Try not to worry about that now. Try and look at the third task. Harry was entered in the Tournament for a reason. This is the last chance for it to happen and we need to see what it is.'

John nodded and closed his eyes. He followed Harry through the maze, watching for anything amiss. He watched Harry pass a Boggart and fight off a Blast-Ended Skrewt. The vision then attempted to split, following both Harry and Viktor Krum, but it only resulted in John jumping back to the cabin.

'Try again,' Sherlock said, pouring cups of water.

John shook his hands, and took a look at the crystal ball. It showed him the eye again, and then a trophy. 'Parchment,' he muttered. 'I need parchment.'

Sherlock yanked some out of his bag, along with a quill, and shoved it into John's hand.

He drew the trophy he saw and showed Sherlock. 'That mean anything to you?'

'That's the Triwizard Cup,' Sherlock frowned. 'Keep going, focus on that.'

John followed the Cup, and saw it in the centre of the maze. He kept watching it for a while, but nothing happened. He was just about to turn away, but stopped himself when he saw Cedric running towards it. He heard someone yell, and turned to see an Acromantula guarding the Cup.

He watched Cedric battle against it, then Harry rushing in to help him. They took it down together, and both stared at the Cup.

They argued about which one of them should take the Cup, each one pointed out when the other had helped them throughout the Tournament.

Harry's leg appeared to be injured, so didn't move, but when they decided to take the Cup together, Cedric pulled him up and supported him to the Cup.

John smiled to himself. Despite the stress of the whole event, he was glad it was a Hogwarts win. He decided to stay for a little longer, being one of the few people that would be able to see this exact moment. Harry and Cedric reached for the Cup, and then they disappeared.

It took a moment for John to react, taken aback by the sudden empty space.

'What?' Sherlock asked as he came back to the cabin.

'I think - I think the Cup is a Portkey.'

'A Portkey?' Sherlock said.

'Yeah. You touch a thing a you disappear?'

'Somewhat lacking in description, but you are essentially correct. Where does it go?'

'Erm… let me see…'

John went back to the empty space where the Cup had been, then back a little bit further, just in time to watch Harry and Cedric disappear again. This time, he managed to follow them to their destination. It was very faint and hazy at first, but something about it felt very familiar. Soon, the scene came into focus, and he found himself stood in a dark, overgrown graveyard with Harry and Cedric.

'Someone's coming,' Harry said suddenly.

Harry and Cedric both raised their wands.

A figure walked steadily towards them between the graves, carrying something in its arms. Harry and Cedric didn't move, but John stepped towards the figure, so he could see who it was.

The figure was shrouded by a large hood, but John's blood turned to ice as he recognised the bundle the man was carrying.

He forced himself back to the cabin, gasping for breath, heart racing. 'We have to go,' he said, jumping to his feet.

'Why, what did you see?'

'It's him - it's Voldemort. We have to stop the task, now!'

'You're bleeding.'

'There's no time, Sherlock, let's go!'

They didn't even stop to grab their bags, and just sprinted as fast as they could to the Quidditch pitch.

'Oh, it's already started,' John groaned.

They shoved through the crowd, not caring much if they hit someone with an elbow, or stood on the odd foot.

'Professor!' John shouted as they reached the judges' panel.

All three of the Heads were there, as well as Ludo Bagman and Cornelius.

'John,' said Dumbledore, mildly surprised.

'You have to stop the task!' he said. 'You have to stop it now, and get them all out!'

'Why on earth would we do that?' Fudge said incredulously.

'It's a set-up,' John told them.

'That's ridiculous,' said Bagman, 'there's no way we're stopping this now.'

'Please!' John said desperately. 'It's all wrong, you have to get the champions out right now!'

'Preposterous!' cried Karkaroff. 'Why should I pull my champion out now when he is so close to securing Durmstrang the Tournament!'

All of the judges protested loudly and began arguing with each other.

'We don't have time for this!' John shouted, but no one paid him any attention. He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, biting his lip and wiping his nose. He looked at Sherlock, and they both had the same thought.

At the same moment, they both ran away from the judges table, vaulted over the railings of the stands, and sprinted into the maze before anyone could stop them.

As soon as they were inside, the hedges muffled all the sound coming from the surrounding stands. They didn't stop to take it in, and just ran through, lighting their wands as they went.

'Which way is it?' John said as they came to a fork.

'Doesn't matter,' said Sherlock. He pointed his wand at the hedges. 'Reducto!' he cried, blowing a hole in the hedge and climbing through.

They did this several more times, and more accurately as John was able to pinpoint where the Cup was.

They were just climbing through another hole when John saw a movement to his right.

'Oh, God!' John stumbled backwards and fell as a huge, ten-foot long Skrewt bore down upon them.

Its huge sting curled over its back, and its thick armour glinted in the light from their wands.

Sherlock dropped to the ground, aimed his wand at the Skrewt's soft underbelly, and shouted 'Impedimenta!'

The Skrewt froze where it stood.

Sherlock got up and pulled John to his feet.

'How did you know to do that?' John said incredulously.

'You've seen it before.'

'I have?'

'Let's go.'

They continued on, in a straight path towards the Cup, blasting their way through hedges as they went, and John couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on him.

Soon, John could feel that they were close, and all the hairs on his arms stood on end. They carried on running, until they encountered a sphinx, and Sherlock stopped.

She was pacing back and forth, blocking their path.

'We could just blast through that side,' John whispered.

'She's a lot smarter than a Skrewt,' Sherlock murmured back. 'She might attack.'

'What do we do?'

'She most likely has a riddle for us to solve.' Sherlock stepped forward. 'If I answer your riddle, will you let us pass?'

'Yes,' she said in a deep, hoarse voice.

'Sherlock, we're running out of time,' John hissed.

'This is the quickest way through without risking her attacking us. Trust me.'

John nodded. 'Okay.'

'May we hear the riddle?'

The sphinx smiled, sat down in the very centre of the path, and recited:

'First think of a person who lives in disguise,

Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.

Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,

The middle of middle and end of end?

And finally give me a sound often heard

During the search for a hard to find word.

Now string them together, and answer me this,

Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?'

John gaped at her with not even the slightest idea.

Sherlock, however, thought for a moment, then smiled. 'A spider,' he answered.

The sphinx smiled widely, stretched out her front legs, then moved aside for them.

'Amazing,' John muttered, then they sprinted past her.

John led them through the next few turns and another hole in the hedge, until they were running down a path with a light at the end.

John ran as hard as he could towards Harry and Cedric, who were limping to the Cup. 'HARRY!' he bellowed, but he was too late.

Harry and Cedric grabbed the Cup by one handle each and disappeared, leaving John and Sherlock in dread-filled silence.


Welcome back everyone! Thanks to VegasGranny and Frida521 for the reviews! I hope everyone's exams went well, and I'll see you again next time!