Seen and Unforeseen

Dean was delighted when Cas appeared for dinner on the Monday night after their Valentine's Day date. Despite his fear of leaving the castle, he'd dealt with it remarkably well so far. He looked uncomfortable, and didn't eat much, but he smiled at Dean and held his hand under the table.

'Oh, I forgot to ask you,' Hermione said to Harry, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, 'what happened on your date with Cho? How come you were back so early?'

'Er… well, it was a complete fiasco, now that you mention it.'

'Oh no, what happened?'

'Well, I told her that you wanted me to meet you at the Three Broomsticks and that it didn't matter if she came too, but then she started going on about Roger Davies asking her out, then she started talking about Cedric. She asked if he mentioned her before he died.'

Dean cringed.

'She started crying again, and shouting about how I obviously wanted to see you more than me. So then she jumps up, right, and says, "I'll see you around, Harry", and runs out of the place! I mean, what was all that about?'

Dean bit his lip, holding back his amusement.

'Oh, Harry,' Hermione said sadly. 'Well, I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless.'

'Me, tactless?' said Harry, outraged. 'One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid teashop-'

'Kinda feel like we missed out on a show,' Dean muttered in Cas's ear, who pressed his lips tightly together. 'Maybe we should have gone to the teashop after all.'

'- How was I supposed to feel about that?' Harry continued.

'Well, you see, you shouldn't have told her that you wanted to meet me halfway through your date.'

'But - but -' spluttered Harry, 'but - you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her?'

'You should have told her differently,' said Hermione. 'You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you and hopefully you'd get away more quickly. And it might have been a good idea to mention how ugly you think I am, too,' Hermione added as an afterthought.

'But I don't think you're ugly,' said Harry, bemused.

Hermione laughed.

'Harry, you're worse than Ron… well, no you're not,' she sighed, as Ron himself came stumping into the Hall, splattered with mud, looking grumpy, and followed in by equally muddy and disgruntled Ginny and John. 'Look - you upset Cho when you said you were going to meet me, so she tried to make you jealous. It was her way of trying to find out how much you liked her.'

'Is that what she was doing?' said Harry, as Ron, John and Ginny dropped onto the bench opposite them and started grabbing any food they could get their hands on. 'Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?'

'Girls don't often ask questions like that,' said Hermione.

'Well, they should!' said Harry forcefully, and Dean couldn't hold himself together any longer.

Dean burst out laughing. 'I'm sorry,' he said breathlessly. 'I've totally been there, man, but wow.'

'Dean,' Cas chastised quietly, though he too struggled to contain his amusement.

Dean took a gulp of his pumpkin juice to calm himself down.

'If she'd asked, I could have just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have got herself all worked up again about Cedric dying,' Harry said.

'I'm not saying what she did was sensible,' said Hermione. 'I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time.'

'You should write a book,' Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, 'translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them.'

'Yeah,' Harry said fervently. 'So… how was Quidditch practice?'

'It was a nightmare,' said Ron in a surly voice.

'Oh, come on,' said Hermione, looking at Ginny, 'I'm sure it wasn't that-'

'Yes, it was,' said Ginny. 'It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it.'

Hermione looked at John, who just shrugged tiredly.

Ron, Ginny and John went off for baths after dinner, and the rest of them made their way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Cas dawdled and held Dean back from the others.

'What's up?' Dean asked, concerned.

'I didn't realise we'd left so early on Saturday,' Cas said nervously. 'I'm sorry I was such a bad date.'

Dean's eyebrows shot up. 'Are you kidding? It was perfect.'

'I don't understand.'

Dean smiled and put his arm around Cas's shoulders, squeezing gently. 'I don't have to be out with you to have a good time. We had fun with the house-elves, didn't we? And then you totally kicked my ass at chess after, and you told me all that cool stuff about Uranus.'

Cas smiled, relieved.

'Speaking of,' Dean said, starting up the stairs again. 'I've got some Astronomy homework that I could do with your help on.'

Cas's eyes lit up. 'I can do that.'

They joined Harry and Hermione in the busy common room, each with their own pile of homework. Dean dithered between pairs of glasses, but decided he would wear a more normal pair, saving the fluorescent orange pair he had for the next time he had a lesson with Umbridge. He found it easy to fill out the positions of stars and planets, but many of them had such outlandish names that he struggled to spell any of them right, even with his glasses. He was glad of a distraction in the form of Fred and George, when they came over about half an hour later.

'Ron and Ginny not here?' asked Fred, looking around for them as he pulled up a chair. 'Good,' he said when Harry shook his head. 'We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us.'

'Come on, John and Ginny aren't bad,' George said fairly. 'I mean, John's no us, but he's not bad. Actually, I dunno how Ginny got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us.'

'She's been breaking into your broom shed since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking,' said Hermione, from behind her teetering pile of books.

'Oh,' said George, looking mildly impressed. 'Well that'd explain it.'

'Has Ron saved a goal yet?' Hermione asked, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.

'Well, he can do it if he thinks no one's watching,' said Fed, rolling his eyes. 'So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk amongst themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.' He got up and walked around restlessly. 'You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for.'

Hermione cast him a stern look. 'You've got exams coming!'

'Told you already, we're not fussed about NEWTs,' said Fred. 'The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of Murtlap essence - thanks, Cas.'

George yawned widely and looked out at the cloudy night sky. 'I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us, I might have to kill myself.'

'Kill him, more like,' Fred said firmly.

'That's the trouble with Quidditch,' said Hermione absent-mindedly, once again bent over her homework, 'it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the houses.'

'I dunno, I think that Smith guy does that all on his own,' Dean said.

Hermione looked up from her homework and caught Fred, George and Harry all staring at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces. 'Well, it does!' she said impatiently. 'It's only a game, isn't it? You agree with me, right, Cas?'

Cas shrugged. It was true, he wasn't particularly competitive about it, and mostly played for the thrill of flying, but he was unwilling to get in the middle of this disagreement.

'Hermione,' said Harry, shaking his head, 'you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand Quidditch.'

'Maybe,' she said, returning to her homework, 'but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability.'

Dean glanced at Cas again, who still looked uncomfortable. He hadn't yet had to play against Gryffindor and Dean could tell that he was already feeling conflicted about it.

The very best thing they could say about that match the following Saturday, was that they only had to endure twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was; Ron's fourteenth failed save, Kirke shrieking and falling backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle, or John shooting back and forth across the pitch, nearly tearing his hair out in frustration as he tried to keep up with both Bludgers, after Kirke all but gave up. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points; Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.

'Good catch,' Harry told Ginny back in the common room, where the atmosphere resembled that of a particularly dismal funeral.

'I was lucky,' she shrugged. 'It wasn't a very fast Snitch and Summerby's got a cold. He sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team-'

'Ginny, I've got a lifelong ban.'

'You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school,' Ginny corrected him. 'There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll try for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year, and I prefer goal scoring to Seeking. Plus, I'd like to take on Cas,' she grinned.

Cas smiled. 'I'm sure you'd put up a good fight.'

As for Ron, he was hunched over in a corner, staring at his knees, a bottle of Butterbeer clutched in his hand. John, too, was curled up on one of the sofas, completely exhausted, but he managed a smile when Sherlock came in.

'Hi,' he said, making room for Sherlock to sit next to him.

'That was quite a match,' Sherlock said, stroking John's head.

'That's one way of putting it,' John mumbled, shifting so that he was resting against Sherlock. 'It was nice to have something else to focus on, though.' He closed his eyes to the rising tide of colours and strands swirling around him as more people crowded into the room.

'I thought you played well.'

John smiled again. 'Thanks. I wish Kirke had helped though.'

'Please. After that shot from Smith, he was useless.'

Then John felt something shift, and he opened one eye to look at Harry. 'His dreams are getting worse,' he muttered. 'He should practice with Cas more… His Quibbler article will be out tomorrow and-' John cut himself off at a sudden wave of nausea, clutching Sherlock's hand until it receded.

'You can tell him later. I think you should go to bed.'

'Mm, you're right.' John got unsteadily to his feet. 'You stay here and have fun,' he said, bending slightly to kiss Sherlock softly. 'I think I just want a minute alone.'

Sherlock's brow furrowed. 'All right. You know where I am if you need me.'

'Of course.' John kissed him again, making sure to impress upon Sherlock warmth and comfort, to reassure him that he was just overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room. It seemed to work, and the tightness Sherlock felt at worrying he'd done something wrong disappeared. 'You're an idiot,' John whispered, then climbed the stairs up to the dormitory. He was the first one up, but he didn't have long before Ron came up to pretend to be asleep.

He sat down on his bed, revelling in the peace of the dormitory. Even though he could still hear everyone downstairs, the muffled quality of their voices was comforting. Though he still couldn't quite get rid of the uneasy churning in his stomach, lying down in the dark and quiet helped.

It was still there when he woke up the next morning. He could see new coloured threads swirling around Harry, and he couldn't work out where they were coming from, at least until the got to the Great Hall for breakfast. The post owls swooped in just as they sat down, and a flock of them landed in front of Harry.

'Who are you all for?' he said, bewildered, the whole Gryffindor table leaning forward to see what was going on, as several more owls fluttered down, vying for space.

'Harry!' said Hermione, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl carrying a long, cylindrical package. 'I think I know what this means - open this one first!'

Harry ripped off the brown packaging and out rolled a tightly furled copy of the March edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly from the front cover. In large red letters across the this picture were the words:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN.

'It's good, isn't it?' said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and squeezed herself between Fred and Ron. 'It came out yesterday. I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these,' she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table, 'are letters from readers.'

'That's what I thought,' said Hermione eagerly. 'D'you mind if we-?'

'Help yourself,' said Harry.

John went first, collecting all the letters together so the owls could leave, and split them into piles as more owls continued to land on the table. 'Okay, these are from people that are being nice to you,' he said, pushing that pile towards Harry and Hermione, 'and these… not so much.' He passed that pile to Fred and George, who thoroughly insulted each letter-writer.

'What is going on here?' said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

They looked up, hands full of envelopes.

Umbridge was standing behind Fred, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry.

'Why have you got all these letters, Mr Potter?' she asked slowly.

'Is that a crime now?' said Fred loudly. 'Getting mail?'

'Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall put you in detention,' said Umbridge. 'Well, Mr Potter?'

Harry hesitated, but said, 'People have written to me because I gave an interview about what happened to me last June.'

John struggled to contain a gasp. As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, the air around Umbridge had turned a violent, sugary pink.

'An interview?' said Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,' said Harry. 'Here-' He threw the copy of The Quibbler to her.

She caught it and stared down at the cover. 'When did you do this?' she asked, her voice trembling slightly.'

Pink slowly leached into everything else the angrier she got, and John began to feel dizzy, the brightness of the colour hurting his eyes.

She looked at Harry, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. 'There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr Potter,' she whispered. 'How you dare… how you could…' she took a deep breath. 'I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detention.'

It was too much for John. He jumped to his feet, scrambling to get away from her as quickly as he could, hurrying out of the Great Hall. He was aiming to go outside and get some fresh air, but as soon as he jumped down the steps, he bumped into Cas.

'Ah, Cas!' John said, shielding his eyes from the dazzling light. 'Stop doing that?'

'Stop doing what?' Cas said, puzzled.

'You're glowing.'

'I am not,' he said indignantly.

John rubbed his eyes. 'Eurgh, I feel sick.' He sunk down to sit on the bottom step, his eyes still squeezed shut.

'Are you all right?' Cas said, sitting next to him, his soothing energy washing over John.

John nodded. 'Yeah, sorry. Umbridge.'

'Right.'

John looked up at him, the light subsiding. 'I appreciate you asking,' he smiled. 'How's Quidditch practice been for you? Not nearly as awful as ours, I imagine.'

The corner of Cas's mouth twitched up. 'I'm not supposed to tell spies about it.'

John snorted. 'Come on, Cas, you know I'd be able to see it if I wanted to. I'm asking you because you're my friend. Besides, everyone already knows we're awful, what difference will it make?'

Cas rolled his eyes. 'It's been fun,' he said. 'Roger wants the other Chasers to have more contact with the Quaffle, so I'm supposed to hang back until the other team starts to gain ground.'

John frowned. 'That doesn't sound good.'

'Oh, no I don't mind at all,' Cas said brightly. 'I love to fly, and this way I get to do it with less pressure.'

'As long as you're enjoying it,' John smiled. 'Should we go? We'll be late for lessons.'

'Uh, we're all still protesting,' Cas said, blushing from embarrassment.

'Oh yeah, of course you are,' John laughed. 'Just me then. See you later?'

'Sure. Have a good day, John.'

John wandered back inside, only just making it to Charms on time. It was quiet, with the missing Ravenclaws leaving the room half empty. He reached out for Sherlock and found him in an empty classroom with the other Ravenclaws, teaching them the charms he'd invented. He smiled fondly.

I miss you, he whispered in Sherlock's head, and felt Sherlock blush. He turned away from Sherlock, and attempted to focus on the lesson at hand, but without Sherlock in the room to help him it proved very difficult to do, especially with the sense of foreboding he could feel gathering throughout the castle.

The source was the huge notices that Umbridge had put up by mid-morning, not just on the house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms as well.

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor.

John made the mistake of touching one of the notices and felt exactly how furious Umbridge was. He struggled not to throw up, and his vision was tinged pink for the rest of the day.

Hermione, however, beamed at the notices every time she saw one.

'What exactly are you so happy about?' Harry asked her.

'Oh, Harry, don't you see?' said Hermione. 'If she could have done one thing to make sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!'

And it seemed that Hermione was right. John never saw so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere, but he could feel it changing people's minds all over the school.

Umbridge stalked around the school, stopping students at random and ordering them to turn out their books and pockets. She was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.

The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning the interview, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice into his hands after Charms; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.

It was a very dramatic outburst, but John didn't find it quite as amusing as he usually would have. Clearly, Umbridge had taken issue with this statement, and the look on her face made John shudder.

John felt worse and worse throughout the day, skipping dinner altogether and going straight to Gryffindor Tower. Sherlock was waiting for him there, but the common room was filled with people, and the room strung up with banners for Harry. John grabbed hold of Sherlock and dragged him upstairs, sweating and nauseous.

'Slow down,' Sherlock said gently. 'You can do it.'

John nodded. He knew something was coming, but he still felt some modicum of control over it.

'Who is it?' Sherlock prompted.

John took a shuddering breath. 'Voldemort,' he said in a shaky voice, another wave of nausea hitting him.

Sherlock flinched but contained himself. 'All right, follow it, as you've done before.'

John's heart flipped. 'I don't want to,' he said.

'I know,' Sherlock said softly, cupping John's cheek, 'but you know that it'll only get worse if you don't.'

'I know, I know,' John said, rubbing his face. 'All right.' He sat up straight, cross-legged, and closed his eyes. He reluctantly followed the vision that was making him feel sick, until he came face to face with Voldemort himself. He almost lost it, but steadied himself.

Voldemort was standing in a dark, curtained room, long, bony white fingers clutching the back of a chair. John tore himself away from Voldemort, and looked around the room.

Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast by some hanging candles, knelt a man in black robes.

'I have been badly advised, it seems,' said Voldemort, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger and, again, almost threw John out of the vision.

'Master, I crave your pardon,' croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He was trembling.

'I do not blame you, Rookwood,' said Voldemort.

He relinquished his grip on the chair and walked around, closer to the man on the floor, towering over him. 'You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?'

'Yes, my Lord, yes… I used to work in the Department…'

'Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it.'

'Bode could never have taken it, Master… Bode would have known he could not… undoubtedly, that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse…'

'Stand up, Rookwood,' whispered Voldemort.

The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey.

'You have done well to tell me this,' said Voldemort. 'Very well… I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems… but no matter… we begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood…'

'My Lord… yes, My Lord,' gasped Rookwood, his voice hoarse with relief.

'I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me.'

'Of course, My Lord, of course… anything…'

'Very well… you may go. Send Avery to me.'

Rookwood scurried backwards, bowing and disappearing through the door.

As soon as the door slammed shut, John lost his grip and snapped back to the dormitory, breathing heavily, tasting bile in his mouth.

'He - he's got some - some new information,' John stammered, sipping the water that Sherlock had conjured for him. 'We should go to Dumbledore.' He swung his legs back around the side of the bed, but had to stop and catch his breath.

'John, wait,' Sherlock said, a hand on his shoulder. 'You do realise what you've just done, right?'

'What do you mean?' John asked, puzzled.

'You almost had complete control over it just then!' Sherlock said excitedly. 'You're doing it!'

John thought about it and smiled. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Yeah, I suppose I am. Help me up?'

Sherlock held on to John while he stood up. He was unsteady on his feet, but took small steps towards the door.

'So now he has better information on how to get to the weapon, whatever it is,' Sherlock said.

'Yeah, but if we let them know now, maybe they can change the protection around it,' John reasoned, shaking out his hands in an attempt to pull himself together. 'It seems like it has some sort of defensive spells around it that would stop people from touching it, right?'

Sherlock smiled. 'Yes, that's right. Rookwood will know what they are, so perhaps some forewarning would help.'

John nodded, and started on the stairs down to the common room. They walked past Harry, and John winced as he could tell that Harry's scar was hurting, and no wonder. Voldemort seemed to be very angry.

It took much longer to arrive at Dumbledore's office than John had hoped, and he hesitated outside, not wanting to disturb Dumbledore.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave the password. 'It's fine,' he said, 'Dumbledore barely sleeps anyway.'

They rode the staircase up to his office, and knocked tentatively on the door.

It only took a moment for the door to swing open.

'Good evening,' Dumbledore said from behind his desk. 'What can I do for you?'

'Erm - could I -?' John gestured at a chair in front of the desk, still feeling quite weak.

'Of course, take a seat.'

John dropped into the chair with a sigh, and Sherlock stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. 'I - er - I had a vision,' he said nervously, and Dumbledore leaned forwards, watching him through his half-moon spectacles. 'Erm - you know Rookwood, one of the Death Eaters that escaped Azkaban?'

'I know him, yes,' Dumbledore said, slightly amused.

'Well, he knows how to get to that - that weapon or whatever it is you've got in the Department of Mysteries, and I saw him telling Voldemort that he's been trying to break in the wrong way. That - that Bode wouldn't have been able to touch it…' John trailed off under Dumbledore's gaze.

'We're concerned that Voldemort will now know how to access it, so we thought it may be prudent to change the protection around it,' Sherlock continued.

Dumbledore nodded. 'I thank you for your efforts,' he said, 'but you have nothing to worry about, it's perfectly safe.'

'But-' John began.

'I assure you, it is all in hand,' Dumbledore said. 'You may go.'

John got to his feet, slightly hurt, and began the gruelling journey back upstairs.

Sherlock made no secret of the fact that he was furious as they made their way up the stairs.

'What's wrong?' John asked as they took a break on the fourth floor.

'He was so rude to you!' Sherlock burst out. 'You were only trying to help.'

John's eyebrows shot up. 'Why do you care? You're rude to people all the time.'

'I don't like it when people are rude to you.'

John smiled at him. 'That's sweet of you, come here.' He pulled Sherlock closer by the waist and kissed him.

Stop calling me sweet.

John chuckled, but kept kissing him, his curls tickling John's head. He eventually pulled away with a sigh and leaned against the wall.

'I'm never getting all the way back up there,' he said, his head swimming again.

Sherlock took his hand. 'Come on, the Room of Requirement is closer, we'll just sleep there.'

John let Sherlock lead him to the Room and waited while he told it what he wanted.

Inside was a cosy bedroom with an en-suite bathroom.

The bed had thick, warm blankets and was big enough for both of them, without having to rely on the many Extension Charms Sherlock cast on his bed in Gryffindor Tower. A small fire danced in a charming stone fireplace, and two sets of pajamas were folded on a small two-seater sofa to the side of the room.

They got changed and crawled into bed together, and John was asleep within moments.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt different. With the rest of the school blocked out from the Room of Requirement, there was almost nothing plaguing his dreams. It took him a moment to realise that the difference was he felt well-rested for the first time in a long time.

Sherlock was already awake, sitting on the sofa with a violin in his hands. He looked up and smiled at John. 'Good morning,' he said, plucking the strings quietly.

'Morning,' John replied. By the way Sherlock moved, John could tell that he too had slept well. 'Breakfast?' he said, hopping out of bed and grabbing his clothes. 'We should sleep in here more often.'

Sherlock smiled indulgently. 'It was nice,' he agreed, reaching for his own clothes.

They quickly got dressed, but John suddenly stopped when he reached for the door handle.

'What?' said Sherlock.

John shook his head. 'When I open this door, it'll all come back,' he mumbled.

Sherlock clasped his other hand. 'I'm right here,' he murmured.

John steeled himself, taking a deep breath, but it didn't matter how much he tried, he would never be ready for the onslaught of sounds and colours and thoughts that jumped on him the moment he left the room.

He grabbed his head and doubled over, groaning loudly. Several students stared at him as they walked past, but he barely noticed them, sinking to his knees.

'Control it, John,' Sherlock murmured. 'Don't let it take hold of you, push it back. You can do it.'

John gasped, his eyes streaming, but he reached out for Sherlock. 'I can do it,' he repeated. He took several more calming breaths, pushing everything away until it was an acceptable distance from him, and he could at least think again. 'Okay,' he whispered. 'I'm okay.' He climbed back to his feet, holding onto Sherlock tightly. 'Maybe we - maybe we shouldn't sleep in there more often,' he said breathlessly.

By now, they had missed breakfast and were already late to lessons.

'All right, let's go,' John said, moving down the corridor.

'Not without something to eat,' Sherlock insisted. 'We'll go to the kitchen.'

'Sherlock, we're already late-'

'You have Hagrid first, I'm sure he'll understand,' Sherlock insisted.

In the end, John was grateful for the food, but he knew that no matter how understanding Hagrid was, Umbridge, who continued to inspect his lessons, would not be.

Over the coming weeks, John couldn't shake off the building sense of anticipation, and the chaos he could sense in the corners of the castle. John watched his friends as best he could. Harry's dreams continued, over and over again staring at that same door in the Department of Mysteries, Dean held worry in his heart, for Cas especially, and Cas himself was up and down. One moment, John could feel the rising tide of light straining to release itself from Cas, but then the next it was gone. As time went on, John found himself becoming restless and easily startled, and he knew that something was coming, if only he could see what.

John was watching Harry in his Occlumency lesson one evening. Everyone else was at dinner, but John hadn't been hungry enough to join them. He was amusing himself by watching Harry cast a Shield Charm against Snape, when something else caught his eye. A pink cloud had descended over the Entrance Hall, and John swore. He'd been focusing on his friends so much that he hadn't been watching Umbridge. He got up from the comfortable chair he'd been sitting in and raced all the way downstairs. His heart flipped as he heard a scream, and he forced himself to run faster.

When he reached the bottom, he found the Entrance Hall packed with students that had flooded out of the Great Hall. John pushed himself through a tight group of Hufflepuffs and saw that the students had formed a great ring around the Hall. Some of the onlookers looked shocked, others frightened even.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with her wand in one hand and a bottle of sherry in the other. Her hair was sticking up, her glasses were lopsided and her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing from her shoulders. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside-down, looking very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her.

'Professor!' John cried, pushing through more students and running to her side. 'Professor, are you all right?'

'This cannot be happening!' she shrieked. 'It cannot… I refuse to accept it!'

'You didn't realise this was coming?' said a high, girlish voice, sounding callously amused.

John turned and saw Umbridge standing opposite them, and his blood boiled.

'Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?'

John ground his teeth. 'There's no need to insult her like that,' he spat at Umbridge.

'This doesn't concern you, Watson, get away from her, please.'

'No,' John said definitely. 'She's not going anywhere.'

John's heart pumped in his ears, fully aware of everyone staring at him. Something deep in his mind was telling him that Trelawney must not leave the castle, no matter what he had to do, he had to keep her there.

'You c - can't sack me!' Trelawney howled. 'I've b - been here sixteen years! H - Hogwarts is m - my h - home!'

'It was your home,' said Umbridge, and John was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching across her toadlike face as she watched Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, on to one of her trunks, 'until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order for Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this Hall. You are embarrassing us.'

'I said she's not going anywhere,' John shouted. 'You can sack her all you like, but she's staying here. Come on, Professor, let's get you back upstairs.'

'Take another step and that's a week's detention,' Umbridge barked, but John paid her no heed, instead just picking up one of Trelawney's trunks for her. 'This woman has been an abysmal influence on you children, she will be expelled from these grounds, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

Before John could even think, his wand was in his hand and aimed at Umbridge. A frightened gasp rippled around the Entrance Hall, and Dean and Sherlock extricated themselves from the crowd.

'Come on, man, put that down,' Dean said.

'It's all right, John, just calm down,' Sherlock murmured.

John didn't lower his wand, but a sharp pain radiated from behind his eyes to his temples. 'You - you can't - she has to stay.'

'John, stop,' Sherlock said, grabbing his shoulders.

John's hands trembled uncontrollably, and the pain got worse. 'Just stop,' he breathed, 'she can't-' He lost grip of his wand, and it clattered to the ground. Blood dripped from his nose, but he refused to be sucked into the vision, not until Trelawney was safely back in her tower.

'Everyone, calm down immediately,' Professor McGonagall said, her voice silencing everyone in the Hall. She marched up to Trelawney, and handed both her and John a handkerchief each. 'Sybill, you are not going to have to leave Hogwarts…'

'Oh really, Professor McGonagall?' said Umbridge. 'And your authority for that statement is…?

'That would be mine,' said a deep voice.

The front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Leaving the doors wide open behind him, he strode through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney.

'Yours, Professor Dumbledore?' said Umbridge, with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. 'I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here - ' she pulled a parchment scroll from within her powder pink robes '- an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she - that is to say, I - feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.'

'You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge,' Dumbledore smiled. 'As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.'

At this, Trelawney gave a wild laugh.

'No - no, I'll g - go, Dumbledore! I sh - shall - leave Hogwarts and s - seek my fortune, elsewhere - '

'No,' John and Dumbledore said at once.

'It is my wish that you remain, Sybill.' He turned to Professor McGonagall. 'Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?'

'Of course. Up you get, Sybill…'

Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and they each grabbed one of Trelawney's arms. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwich went scurrying after them, levitating Trelawney's trunks along with them.

Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore. 'And what are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?'

'Oh, that won't be a problem,' said Dumbledore pleasantly. 'You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.'

'You've found -?' said Umbridge shrilly. 'You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty-two-'

'The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if - and only if - the Headmaster is unable to find one,' said Dumbledore. 'On this occasion, I am happy to say that I have succeeded. May I introduce you?'

He turned to face the open front doors. There was a shocked murmur around the Hall as the sound of hooves met their ears, and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.

White-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

'This is Firenze,' said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. 'I think you'll find him suitable.'

It was all too much for John; the vision that had been threatening to take him since he'd entered the Hall, the surge of fury that emanated from Umbridge the moment she saw Firenze, and the energy of the Forest that had followed him through the door. It assaulted his senses, and his already weakened mind. He couldn't fight it, and he collapsed into Sherlock's arms.

Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Morgan Tara Befan for the review! See you again next time :)