Mayhem at the Ministry

John awoke the next morning to Sherlock shaking his shoulder. He sat up blearily and swayed. He groaned, feeling extremely dizzy and as if he hadn't slept at all. He didn't have the energy to get dressed, so he ended up being the only one is his pyjamas with a coat thrown over the top.

Mr Weasley packed all their tents away by magic and they left the campsite, passing a dazed Mr Roberts on the way.

They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys were, and when they reached it, they found a crowd of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys. Mr Weasley had a hurried discussion with him, and they were able to take an old tyre back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had properly risen. They walked back down the hill to The Burrow, with many breaks for John and taking turns carrying his bag for him, thinking longingly of breakfast. They rounded a corner, and as The Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the damp lane.

'Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!' Mrs Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running towards them, a screwed up copy of The Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. 'Arthur – I've been so worried – so worried-' She flung her arms around Mr Weasley's neck and the paper fell out of her had. As it fell, the headline became visible: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling, black and white photograph of the Dark Mark hanging over the tree-tops.

John felt his legs beginning to give way and Sherlock's arms wrapped around him once again.

'Let's get you inside,' Sherlock murmured.

They went past Mrs Weasley fiercely hugging Fred and George, into the living room, where John collapsed on the sofa, with Sherlock sat on the edge.

'You haven't slept,' John said to Sherlock as he got comfortable.

'I don't need to,' Sherlock said softly. 'I'll be right here while you rest.'

Everyone else came in and crammed into the living room, except Hermione, who went to make Mrs Weasley a strong cup of tea. Mr Weasley insisted on adding a shot of firewhiskey to it. Bill then handed Mr Weasley the newspaper, which he scanned with Percy looking over his shoulder.

'I knew it,' Mr Weasley said heavily. 'Ministry blunders… culprits not apprehended... lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace… Who wrote this? Ah… of course… Rita Skeeter.'

'That woman's got it in for the Ministry!' said Percy furiously. 'Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires. As if it wasn't specifically stated in the paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans-'

'Do us a favour, Perce,' yawned Bill, 'and shut up.'

'I'm mentioned,' said Mr Weasley as he reached the bottom of the article.

'Where?' spluttered Mrs Weasley. 'If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!'

'Not by name,' said Mr Weasley. 'Listen to this: "If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the woods expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, yet two boys had been spotted carrying another from the woods only minutes beforehand-'

'Sorry,' said John.

'Don't be daft,' said Mr Weasley, waving a hand. '"Whether this will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later remains to be seen.'" Oh, really. Nobody was hurt, what was I supposed to say? Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods… Well, there certainly will be rumours now she's printed that.' He heaved a great sigh. 'Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office, this is going to take some smoothing over.'

'I'll go with you, Father,' Percy said importantly. 'Mr Crouch will need all hands on deck, and I can give him my cauldron report in person.

'Don't forget to send me a copy of that,' Cas said as he left the room.

'Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday!' Mrs Weasley said. 'This hasn't got anything to do with your office, surely they can handle this without you?'

'I've got to go, Molly. I've made things worse. I'll just change my robes and I'll be off…'

Mr Weasley rushed off. Fred, George and Ginny went to raid the kitchen, and Bill and Charlie went to de-gnome the garden.

'Mrs Weasley,' said Harry, 'Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?'

'Hedwig, dear?' Mrs Weasley said distractedly. 'No…no, there hasn't been any post at all…' She then went into the kitchen to stop the twins and Ginny eating everything.

'What's up?' Ron asked Harry.

'There's something I haven't told you,' Harry said. 'On Sunday morning, I woke up and my scar was hurting again.

Immediately Hermione launched into suggestions of who he should talk to, and Cas went digging through his pockets for something useful. Sherlock sat up straight and Ron went white.

'What are we missing?' Dean whispered to Sam

'No idea,' Sam whispered back. 'Some kind of curse scar, maybe?'

'But – he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who?' Ron stuttered nervously. 'I mean – last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?'

'Oh, okay, I get it,' Sam whispered. 'His scar hurts when he's close to Voldemort.'

'Right. Makes sense.'

'I'm sure he wasn't in Privet Drive,' said Harry. 'But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter – you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone.'

Suddenly, John propped himself up on his elbow to listen.

'It was only a dream,' said Ron bracingly. 'Just a nightmare.'

'Maybe not,' said John. 'You said Voldemort was here-'

'Don't – say – his – name-' Ron hissed.

'Sorry. You-Know-Who was there, and Wormtail. Was anyone else there, like an old man?'

'There was, actually. I think his name was Frank.'

John grimaced. 'I saw that too. Unfortunately quite real.' John caught Harry's eye and he looked away. He clearly knew exactly who Voldemort wanted to kill, but he had decided against making the others panic.

'Why were you asking if Hedwig had come?' Hermione asked after a moment's silence. 'Are you expecting a letter?'

'I told Sirius about my scar hurting,' said Harry. 'I'm waiting for an answer.'

'Good thinking,' said Ron. 'I bet Sirius'll know what to do.'

'I hoped he'd get back tome quickly.'

'But we don't know where Sirius is. He could be hiding somewhere in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?' Hermione said reasonably. 'Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days.'

'Yeah, I know.'

Just then, there was a knock on the front door.

'I wonder who that could be,' said Mrs Weasley as she came out of the kitchen. She opened the front door and they heard a familiar voice.

'Are you Mrs Weasley?'

'I am. How can I help you?'

'I'm looking for my brother Castiel. A house-elf told me he might be here.'

'Oh, yes, he is. Come in, dear.'

'I'm Gabriel, by the way.'

Gabriel came in, went straight over to Castiel and pulled him into a hug. 'You just love making me worry, don't you? Are you okay?' He pulled away and looked him over.

'I'm fine, Gabriel.'

'He's got a cut or something on his back that keeps bleeding,' Dean butted in.

'Dean-'

'What?' Gabriel turned him around to look at it.

'I'm fine, really. It doesn't hurt.'

'We'll fix it when we get home.' He looked up as Fred and George came in, grinning. 'How's everyone doing? I heard what happened at the match.'

'We're all fine, no one got hurt,' said Fred.

'Hey, Mum, did you know Gabriel's the new Head Boy?' George said.

'Is he really?'

'I sure am,' Gabriel smiled.

'Well then, I'm sure I can count on you to keep these two focused on their N.E. rather than this ridiculous joke shop?'

Gabriel hesitated, looking between the twins and Mrs Weasley. 'Mrs Weasley, your boys really do have incredible minds, which I'm sure you'll agree.'

Mrs Weasley nodded.

'The thing about incredible minds is that they're not always conventional,' he continued. 'Take Sherlock over here. No one would argue that he's not brilliant, especially not himself, but would anyone call him anything close to conventional? Just something to consider.'

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips.

'Don't worry, Ma'am, I won't let them do anything too dangerous,' he said to appease her, flashing a charming smile. 'You two have looked better,' he added, catching sight of John and Sherlock's exhausted faces.

'I dunno, we probably look better than that time you found us out in the hall back in first year,' John chuckled.

'Oh yeah, and my sister put Sherlock in the Full-Body Bind. Good times.'

'She did what?' said Cas.

'Not important,' said Gabriel. 'Just Lucy being Lucy.'

'Oh, Gabe,' Dean said suddenly. 'This is my brother Sam. He starts Hogwarts this year.'

'Nice to meet you, Sam. If you ever need anything, you can always ask me.'

'Thanks,' said Sam.

Gabriel flung an arm around Cas's shoulders. 'Okay, kiddo, you ready to go?'

Cas nodded stiffly and picked up his bag and coat. He said goodbye and left.

'See you guys at school,' said Gabriel, following him out.

John had expended too much energy talking to Harry and Gabriel, so quickly fell asleep. Mrs Weasley passed Sherlock and pillow and a blanket, which he carefully arranged so John would be comfortable.

'He's very tired,' Sherlock said. 'Mrs Weasley, would it be all right to stay until he's recovered?'

'Of course, dear,' Mrs Weasley smiled.

Afterwards, the Weasley children, Harry and Hermione went outside to play Quidditch. Sam and Dean stayed inside, more than happy to help Mrs Weasley clean and cook lunch. Sherlock did not leave John's side occasionally waking him to eat and drink.

It wasn't until the next morning that John felt well enough to walk across the village, and only after he'd eaten a large bowl of porridge.

'Thanks for your help, Mrs Weasley,' said John as he, Sherlock, Sam and Dean gathered up their things.

'It's not trouble,' she smiled.

Together they walked back to Sherlock's house, where they found Melly waiting. This time, Sam did not object to her taking his things and went off to explore the house.

'Oh my God,' said John, only just noticing the deep purple shadows around Sherlock's eyes. 'Have you slept at all?'

'I told you, I don't need to.'

'You might have needed me.'

John smiled at him. 'That's very nice of you, but you can't not sleep.'

'But what if-'

'Sherlock, I'm going to be having these visions for the rest of my life. You have to sleep sometime, now go to bed.'

'I-'

'I said go!'

Sherlock didn't offer any further protest, and finally allowed himself to rest.

The rest of the week was quiet. They eventually received a note from Dumbledore that only said he wane to see them in person, and they were back at The Burrow for the last night of the holidays.

Mr Weasley was late for dinner, as it appeared he had been all week, and was still looking exhausted.

'Well, the fat's really in the fire now,' he told Mrs Weasley, as he sat in the armchair by the fire. 'Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow.'

John was caught by surprise at her name, and dropped his cup of tea as her screams again echoed around his head. He muttered angrily under his breath and waited for it to pass. Fortunately it didn't last as long this time. When he came out of it, Mrs Weasley had already cleaned up his tea, and Hermione and Percy were having a heated argument.

'Now, look here, Hermione!' said Percy. 'A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants-'

'His slave, you mean!' Hermione said shrilly. 'Because he didn't pay Winky, did he?'

'I think you'd all better check you've packed everything and get ready for bed!' said Mrs Weasley, breaking up the argument. 'Come on, now, all of you…'

Sam positively bounded up the stairs, followed by a grinning Dean. John and Sherlock were left downstairs with Mrs Weasley, while she set up a camp bed in the living room. She left them plenty of blankets and bid them goodnight, putting out the lights.

Sherlock took the camp bed and John the sofa. The only light left to see by was a single stream of moonlight.

A familiar, but uncomfortable fluttering in John's stomach made him squirm and chew his lip. He looked down at Sherlock, acutely aware of how well his hair framed his face, and took a deep breath. 'Sherlock?' he murmured.

'Yes?'

'I-I- ' But he lost his nerve. 'Nothing. Never mind.' He turned over, so he was facing the back of the sofa, to both avoid looking at Sherlock and to cover up his burning cheeks. Sherlock didn't question him any further, and he forced himself to sleep.

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