Padfoot Returns

Though the Second Task was over, John's feelings of unease did not subside as they entered wind-swept March. His dreams of the Dark Mark became more frequent, and spent much of his time avoiding going to bed, preferring to spend the time after lessons taking a nap. At least that way, he wouldn't keep waking everyone up with his nightmares.

The post was delayed by the strong winds, and Harry didn't get a reply from Sirius until the Friday before the Hogsmeade weekend. The brown owl that delivered it tumbled from the air, and fluttered off as soon as Harry released the letter from its leg.

Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish & Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can, Harry read out.

'He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?' Ron said incredulously.

'It looks like it, doesn't it?' said Hermione.

'I can't believe him,' Harry said tensely. 'If he's caught…'

'Made it so far, though, hasn't he?' said Ron. 'And it's not like the place is swarming with Dementors anymore.'

John grabbed the letter, and felt cold and discomfort, as well as an overwhelming, gnawing hunger. He shook his head, and gave Harry back the letter. 'He seems fine,' John said. 'Hungry though.'

'It's so weird how you can do that,' Ron said.

'Thanks.' John grabbed a couple more slices of toast before the Gryffindors all made their way down to the dungeons.

Once they reached Snape's classroom, they saw a gaggle of Slytherins crowded closely together around the door, and John could feel the delight radiating from them. 'Heads up,' he muttered to the others.

'There they are!' Pansy Parkinson giggled a the group broke apart. She had a copy of Witch Weekly in her hands. 'You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!' she said loudly, throwing the magazine at her. At that moment, the dungeon doors opened and Snape beckoned them inside.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and John headed for a table at the back if the class, as usual, and Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine, while Snape's back was turned.

They found what they were looking for in the centre page under a colour photograph of Harry and the headline: HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE:

A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last Quidditch World Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has 'never felt this way about any other girl'.

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms which has captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

'She's really ugly,' says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, 'but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it.'

Love Potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.

John bit back his laughter.

'If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch,' Hermione said, giggling slightly as she threw the copy of Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. 'What a pile of old rubbish.' She looked over at Slytherins, who were all watching to see if they were upset by the article, and gave them a sarcastic smile and waved.

'There's something funny, though,' Hermione said ten minutes later, holding her pestle over a bowl of scarab beetles. 'How could she have know…?'

'Known what?' Ron said quickly. 'You haven't been mixing Love Potions, have you?'

'Don't be stupid,' Hermione snapped, starting to pound her beetles. 'No, it's just… how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?'

'What?' said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.

'He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake,' Hermione muttered. 'After he got rid of the shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort if pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to - ?'

'And what did you say?' said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was staring at Hermione.

'And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else,' Hermione went on, 'but how could Rita have heard him? She wasn't there… or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak, maybe she snuck into the grounds to watch the second task…'

'And what did you say?' Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk, and John raised his eyebrows.

'Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to-'

'Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger,' said an icy voice right behind them, 'I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.' Snape had glided over to their desk while they had been talking. 'Ah… reading magazines under the table as well?' Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. 'A further ten points from Gryffindor… oh, but of course…' Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. 'Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings…'

The dungeon rang with the Slytherin's laughter, an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth, and he began reading the article aloud. He paused at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. 'How very touching,' Snape sneered once he was finished, and rolled up the magazine. 'Well, I think I had better separate the four of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Watson by Malfoy here. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now.'

John sighed and moved his ingredients to Malfoy's table.

'Don't sit too close to me, Mudblood,' Malfoy hissed, scooting as far to the edge of his seat as possible.

John rolled his eyes and began preparing his ingredients. Snape swept up to the front of the class, and John scratched at an itch on his left arm. He tried to focus on his potion, but he couldn't get rid of the itch on his arm, and his eyes kept flickering up to Snape. He squirmed in his seat, itching his arm. He had to restart chopping his ginger roots twice before they were good enough to put in his potion, and the itch in his arm grew stronger and stronger with every passing minute. John jumped at a knock on the door and spilled his armadillo bile everywhere, much to Malfoy's disgust.

'Enter,' Snape said.

The class looked around as Professor Karkaroff came in. He walked up to Snape's desk, twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

John's arm burned as Karkaroff walked past, and he clutched at it, a whimper escaping past his lips. Snape was too distracted by Karkaroff to hear John making noise, but that was the least of his problems now. He felt the familiar tug in the back of his mind, but refused to allow it to tear him away from the dungeons, not while he was sat next to Malfoy. He went back to grinding up his own scarab beetles, focusing hard on each movement. He entered an odd state of dissociation, neither seeing his vision, nor remaining in the present potions classroom. It pressed against him from all sides but he refused to acknowledge it, but was stuck until he heard a loud 'John!' reverberate around his head. The vision receded and the dungeon swam back into view, and he caught himself before he hit his head on the table. He could feel Sherlock's concern emanating from the greenhouses across the castle. He ignored it and tried to ground himself back in the lesson, but his arm still burned an itched. He went to scratch it again, but his fingers touched something wet. Whilst stuck between his two states, he had scratched his arm hard enough to draw blood. He rolled up his sleeve to see an angry red rash spread up the inside of his forearm. He pushed his sleeve back down, hissing through his teeth as the fabric of his robes dragging over the grazes in his skin.

Karkaroff waited behind Snape's desk for the rest of the lesson, as though determined not to let Snape slip away, but John didn't wait around to see what he wanted. His arm continued to itch through the entire lesson, though he refrained from scratching it, and he left the dungeons the moment the bell rang.

Sherlock was, of course, already waiting for him outside, with a very confused-looking Castiel.

'Food,' John said, holding his hand up to Sherlock when he opened his mouth. 'Food first.' He led them both to the Great Hall, and piled dinner onto his plate before he would let Cas gingerly roll up his sleeve.

'What happened?' Cas asked, examining the scratches closely.

John shrugged, eating his dinner with his other hand. 'Weird vision,' he said thickly. 'I think.'

'You think?'

'I didn't actually see anything.'

'Because you forced it back,' Sherlock said sharply, disapproval clear in his voice.

'Don't give me that; you would have too if you were sitting next to Malfoy.'

Cas dabbed some potion he'd pulled out of his robes onto John's arm.

It stung, but Cas held his arm tightly, and he stuffed some potatoes in his mouth to distract himself. 'I didn't know you could force it back,' Cas said, bending over John's arm.

'Not well,' John said. 'Not at all if it's strong. And my arm still itches.'

'Strange,' Cas murmured. 'I've healed it, but this rash won't go away.'

John looked down at it, and the food on his fork dropped back onto his plate as he realised the rash on his arm had taken the shape of the Dark Mark. He pulled his arm away and hastily rolled his sleeve down.

Sherlock too had noticed it.

Castiel looked between them, but decided not to question it. 'Try not to scratch it again,' he said, before turning his attention back to his own dinner, consisting of one single potato and half a sausage.

'Why does it look like that?' John whispered to Sherlock.

'Snape and Karkaroff have both been accused of being Death Eaters. Perhaps it has something to do with that,' Sherlock whispered back. 'If you hadn't blocked the vision, we might have a better idea of what this is about.'

'Well, I suppose we'll never know.'

'Cas!'

They looked up and saw Dean approaching them at the table with a big smile on his face.

The tension in Castiel's forehead relaxed as he saw Dean.

'How you doing?'

'Better, thank you,' Cas said, though still slightly bewildered by Dean's continued interest in his well being.

'Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?'

'No. Hagrid is introducing me to some unicorns this weekend. I missed the lesson when I-' He cut himself off, but Dean didn't chase up the subject.

'Can I come?'

'What? Why?'

Dean shrugged. 'Unicorns are great.'

'I - yes, I'm sure Hagrid won't mind.'

'Awesome.'

'I should go,' Cas said, pocketing his potion, and mumbled something about Madam Pomfrey. He stumbled getting away from his seat and hurried from the room.

Dean frowned, looking down at Cas's food, of which he had taken a few bites. 'You think he's okay?' he asked. 'Did either of you see him eat breakfast this morning?'

John and Sherlock glanced at each other.

'What?' Dean said.

'Nothing,' John and Sherlock said in unison, John hiding his smirk behind his hand, but Sherlock not bothering to conceal his.

Dean blushed. 'Shut up,' he snapped, getting abruptly to his feet and leaving the way Cas had gone.

John and Sherlock burst into a fit of giggles.

'Do you think they'll ever work it out?' Sherlock said. 'Maybe I should tell them.'

'Oh, don't, they'll talk about it when they're ready,' John chuckled.

'When will that be?'

'I don't actually know everything, Sherlock. I thought that was your job.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and gave John a quick peck on the lips.

'Besides, we can't really say much. It took us long enough.'

'There were extenuating circumstances.'

John thought about Castiel's mysterious glowing, and his laughter subsided. 'Yeah…' He quite suddenly lost his appetite and put his knife and fork down. 'I don't think I'll go to Hogsmeade tomorrow.'

'Why not?'

'I want to try and find out what's happening with Cas.'

'Without me?' Sherlock said in mock horror

'I am allowed to go places without you, you know.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'If I go, I can see Sirius and find out if there are any more clues as to what's going on with Harry and the tournament.'

'Ah, I see. Excellent idea.'

Sherlock squeezed his hand under the table.

Sherlock left the castle with Harry, Ron and Hermione at noon the next day, kissing John goodbye at the gates.

John sighed once they were gone, but was grateful for the silence in the grounds. He stood still and closed his eyes, feeling a pull from four different directions.

One was the Forest. It pulled at John as it always did, but always stronger when he was outside. Two were connected - Cas and Dean at Hagrid's hut; and the hospital wing. Both felt strongly of Cas, but John didn't want to disturb them at Hagrid's. Interestingly, the fourth was the North Tower, specifically the Divination classroom. He considered where to start first, and eventually decided on the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey was remaking all the beds when John arrived. 'Are you all right, Watson?' she asked when she saw him.

'Actually, I was hoping you could help me,' John said, stepping into the room.

Madam Pomfrey straightened, frowning. 'Take a seat,' she said, pulling a chair out for him.

'I wanted to ask about Cas,' John said, sitting.

'What about him?'

John searched for the right words. 'There's something wrong with him,' he said. 'Do you know what it is?'

'There's nothing wrong with him,' Madam Pomfrey said.

'But you do know what it is?'

'It's not for me to talk about.'

'I know, but he won't tell us. Is there at least anything we can do to help?'

'Yes. Give him his space. If I know anything about Castiel, it's that he's slow to trust.'

John sighed. 'I want to help. We all do.'

'Perhaps there is a way.'

John perked up.

'Castiel talks about you a lot, and about what you can do.'

'He does?'

'Absolutely. He considers you a good friend.'

'Oh,' John smiled, pleased.

'His brother helps him. It might be a comfort to him if he knew where Gabriel was when he needs him.'

John nodded slowly, understanding what Madam Pomfrey was suggesting. 'Let me try it.' He had never honed in on Gabriel before, and wasn't sure he could. He had been getting better at finding people, but only those he was close with. He found that he was familiar enough with Gabriel for it to still work, and faintly sensed him in the library. 'Yeah, okay, I can do that.' He checked on Cas while he was at it, and found no trace of the erratic whiteness that had permeated the aura around him before. 'Thanks,' John said to Madam Pomfrey. He stood up too quickly and his head spun, but it was over as soon as it started.

Once out of the hospital wing, John dawdled around. He could still feel a pull towards Cas and Dean, but still unwilling to interrupt, he turned his attention to the North Tower.

He was surprised to see the classroom open when he got there, and the ladder hanging down from the trapdoor. He hesitated for a moment, but climbed it.

It was just as heady and warm as it always was, but seemed a lot more mystical now that it was empty.

'Hello, dear.' Professor Trelawney emerged from a shadowy corner.

'Hello,' John said apprehensively.

'Why have you come all the way up here?' Her many necklaces clacked against each other when she moved.

'I'm not sure.' John looked around the room. The curtains were drawn, and a fire blazed.

Trelawney sat down in her large chair by the fire, waiting patiently while John's eyes travelled around. 'Many Seers find more of a connection with one method over others,' she said. 'I myself am often drawn to the Orb.'

John made a noncommittal noise.

'It would certainly help your Divination work if you learned to focus. If I recall, you seemed proficient with tea leaves.'

John frowned. 'They're just not all that accurate.'

'Divination is never entirely accurate,' Trelawney said. 'Dear boy, you almost sound as though you haven't been paying attention.'

John quickly avoided the subject. 'How do I find what works best for me?'

'That is up to you. You must be attuned to your senses and feel what you are drawn to the most. Perhaps fire omens?'

'No,' John said. 'I never really see anything in fire.'

'By all means, take your time,' Trelawney said. 'Everything in this room is available for use. Try anything you like.'

John nodded, taking a deep breath, and wandered around the room. He felt Sherlock's curiosity in the back of his mind, but pushed it away, impressing on Sherlock the need for quiet at this moment.

At the back of the room were shelves and shelves of objects which could be used for Divining. Holding an impression of Castiel in his mind, he approached a pack of Tarot cards first, his hand hovering over them. Eyes closed, he reached out with his senses rather than staring at them. The cards held no energy and too much energy at once, having been handled by so many students. The cards themselves seemed confused, so John moved on.

A bowl of crystals held his attention for a while, but they were cloudy and unyielding. Then something hidden right at the back caught his eye. He pushed everything out of the way and reached across the shelf to pull out a small, perfectly smooth crystal ball. It was old and small, but it was warm beneath John's fingers. He stepped back, away from the other objects, and focused on Castiel, but as soon as he turned it over in his hands, energy shot through him, and he dropped the ball on the floor. It cracked almost in half and John reeled backwards. 'Sorry, Professor,' he said, crouching next to the ball.

'Not to worry, dear, I have plenty of them.'

He didn't want to touch it again, and Trelawney saved him from having to by sweeping it up with a dustpan she conjured.

What was that? came Sherlock's voice. John vaguely sensed the other Gryffindors in the background.

Nothing, John sent back, along with an image of the broken crystal ball. It was odd, but despite it being broken, John still felt drawn to the crystal ball. The heat and perfume of the room was suddenly suffocating, so John hurried down the ladder.

He breathed the fresh air deeply, leaning against the cool stone walls. 'Damn,' he muttered. 'Get a grip, John.' He glanced back up at the trapdoor, and sighed. He knew what he needed now; the question was whether or not he would be able to handle it.

Across the grounds, Cas and Dean left Hagrid's hut, so John made his way back through the castle and out into the grounds to meet them. They appeared to be having a disagreement, so John approached them carefully.

'You're being obsessive, Dean,' Cas said, voice sharp.

'I am not! I just worry about you.'

'How many times have I told you not to?'

'When do I ever do what people tell me to do?'

'You may benefit from listening to others,' Cas said, folding his arms.

'You're impossible.'

'You're ridiculous.'

Dean threw his hands up in frustration, but as he did so, Cas's arms flew to cover his face and he recoiled from Dean. He, Cas and John all froze, and silence fell between them.

'Cas?' Dean said quietly.

Cas slowly lowered his arms, eyes darting around in confusion.

'Are you okay?'

'I don't-' He stared at the ground.

Dean reached out to him, but he took a step away. 'Cas, come on…'

'Don't,' Cas said, sounding immensely tired. 'Just leave me be. Please.' He turned around and walked up to the castle alone.

Dean rubbed his face. 'What just happened?' he asked John.

'Don't look at me, I just got here.'

'He'll be fine in the hospital wing, right?'

John nodded. 'Madam Pomfrey will look after him.'

'I'm real worried, John,' Dean admitted.

'Me too.'

'You still can't see anything?'

'No,' John said miserably. 'It seems to be a theme.'

Sherlock's presence grew stronger behind him, and John turned to see him, Harry, Ron and Hermione walking back through the gates into the castle grounds.

'Come on, let's see what Sirius said.'

Dean gave one last look up at the castle, the followed John across the grounds.

Before anything else, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, deeply relieved that he was back.

'Are you all right?' Sherlock asked, rubbing his back.

John nodded. 'How was Sirius?'

'He's been better,' Harry said.

'Did you find anything out?'

'Yes, Mr Crouch is a worse person than we thought he was,' Hermione said angrily. 'He's horrid to house-elves and he sent his own son to Azkaban.'

'His own son?' John said, shocked.

'He was caught with a group of Death Eaters,' Sherlock said thoughtfully. 'The question is whether or not he was a Death Eater himself, or if he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

John felt himself being overtaken but not quickly enough to force it back. Pain exploded in his head and in front of his eyes. His screams rent the air, but he was too far in it to feel himself hit the ground.

It took him a while to recognise what he was feeling. It was the same as when he had seen Bertha Jorkins, only a thousand times worse. Once he had identified it, however, he moved to push through it. It was slow going, waves of pain racking his body, but he was finally able to make out some hazy images. A couple being tortured, four shadowy figures, and so many flashes of bright red light that it almost looked like fireworks. John's muscles all clenched at another wave of pain and, though he didn't hear it, felt the screams tearing at his throat. He grit his teeth and forced himself up to try and identify the figures at the very least. He moved closer, agonisingly slowly, but when he got too close, he was pressed up against a barrier, behind which the four shadowy figures hid. It was the same barrier that had been frustrating him all year, and it was the presence of this very same barrier that snapped John back to the present.

He was lying on the ground, drenched in sweat and shaking. Pain still shot through him and he screamed again, this time his own, ragged voice reverberating in his own ears. He scrunched up the grass beneath his fingers, desperately trying to connect himself to the real world.

Sherlock's hands were cool against his skin, cupping the back of his neck and tracing the shape of his cheeks.

He gulped in air and was mostly numb, but for the wet feeling on his face. Things around him took a moment to come back into focus. Sherlock was first, leaning over him, biting his lip and tears leaking from his eyes. John opened his mouth, but found his voice would no longer come, and his throat felt raw.

'You couldn't hear me,' Sherlock mumbled, sniffing. 'You couldn't hear me.'

John could feel Sherlock attempting to suppress his fear and tried to chase it with reassurance. It didn't work very well, but he was sure that Sherlock got the message.

The other Gryffindors eventually came back too, all of them looking alarmed and upset.

John tried to relieve the throbbing headache forming behind his eyes, but his limbs refused to move. Leadened and still mostly numb, he just lay in the grass, not moving or speaking.

'What should we do?' Ron said, his voice slightly higher than normal.

'I'll get Hagrid,' Harry said. 'He can carry John up to Madam Pomfrey.'

With a great effort, John slightly shook his head.

'Not the hospital wing?' Sherlock said, the only one to catch the small movement. 'Gryffindor Tower?'

John closed his eyes in response.

'Cas is in the hospital wing,' Dean said. 'He wanted some space.'

'Surely this is more important?' said Hermione.

'There's nothing Madam Pomfrey can do for him,' Sherlock said, forehead still creased in concern. 'He'll be more comfortable in his own bed.'

'I'll get Hagrid,' Harry said, running off to Hagrid's hut.

Sherlock picked up, John's hand, but he could barely feel it. He showed Sherlock what little remained of his vision until pain surged through him again.

Sherlock nodded, understanding, but didn't say anything out loud.

When Harry came back with Hagrid, John still couldn't feel most of his body, but for the occasional jolt of pain that curled his toes and fingers.

Hagrid held him gently as they walked through the castle, past the Great Hall, where dinner was in full swing. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dean all went in to get something to eat, but neither Sherlock, nor John were hungry.

'Thank you, Hagrid,' Sherlock said, once he had placed John down on his bed.

'Yeh sure yeh don' want ter see Madam Pomfrey?' Hagrid said uncertainly.

'He'll be fine.'

Hagrid left them alone, and Sherlock sighed, sinking to the floor next to John's bed. He brushed John's hair out of his face.

'I think you saw Mr Crouch's son and whichever Death Eaters he was with,' Sherlock said. 'Fairly obvious what they were doing.'

John jolted again and closed his eyes. His mouth was dry, his head hurt, and his throat scratched with every breath he took.

'Water?' Sherlock said. 'Accio.' A jug of water and a goblet flew into his hands, and he poured a cup for John. 'Carefully,' he murmured, helping John drink, holding up his head for him. 'You'll be all right.' It was more to convince himself than anything else.

'I know.' John forced the words out, stinging his sore throat to produce no more than a cracked whisper. 'I have you.'

What's up everyone, thanks to VegasGranny for the review!

Sorry it's been so long since the last update, I kinda got stuck in a pit of writer's block and a near death experience, but I'm back and here we are.

Also, I realise that this is like the third or fourth John going off on his own tangent but I really enjoy writing him so idk, I hope you like it.

I definitely won't take as long with the next update, so I'll see you all next time!