The Firebolt

Harry went back through Honeydukes while the rest of them walked silently back to the castle.

'That's mental, that is,' Ron said after a while.

'You can say that again,' Dean said with a slight nervous chuckle.

'Nothing we didn't already know, though,' John grimaced.

'What are you talking about?' said Dean, stopping to look at him and causing the rest of them to stop with him.

'We- we heard McGonagall talking about it with Dumbledore, remember? That night with the Fat Lady,' John said haltingly.

'That's not-'

Sherlock held a hand up to shush him. 'That was just you and I,' he said quickly. 'No one else heard.'

'Yeah but we told everyone after, didn't we?'

'We didn't think it would be wise to let Harry know while Black is after him.'

'Oh. Okay.'

'We should go if we want to make it back in time for dinner.'

John shrugged. 'All right.' He moved forward and Sherlock let out a small sigh of relief, catching Castiel's eye briefly before continuing on.'

After dinner, Dean coughed his way through the common room in which Fred and George had let off half a dozen dung bombs, to make sure all of his things were packed. On his way down, he stopped in to check on Harry, who had hidden himself away in the dormitory, and found John putting on his pyjamas.

'He's asleep,' John said, gesturing at Harry's bed, curtains closed.

'What are you doing?'

'Oh, I've just got a headache. Those dung bombs did not help. Might as well try to sleep it off.'

'Yeah.'

John considered him for a moment. 'You ever get the feeling that something bad's going to happen?'

'Sure, but I call that anxiety.'

'So you think everything's fine?'

'Yeah, why wouldn't it be?'

'I don't know, I just…'

'Can't shake the feeling?'

John nodded.

'Well, not much advice I can give you but get some sleep. You look like you need it.'

'Great, thanks,' John said sarcastically.

'Sorry, man,' Dean snorted. 'All right, well I'll see you after Christmas then. Have a good one.'

John smiled at him as he left and tried to ignore the sense of foreboding collecting in the back of his head.

John woke up early the next morning and bedecked himself in as many layers as possible so that he could sit by the peaceful lake. He didn't feel particularly hungry, so he watched the giant squid drift around under the thin surface ice while everyone else had breakfast. He was still there when all the students going home for the holidays streamed out of the castle, and didn't move when Sherlock sat down beside him. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, feeling Sherlock's warmth against his shoulder.

'I could ask you the same question.'

'I feel funny.'

'In what way?'

He sighed and leaned into Sherlock. 'It's like I'm in a dream. Everything's misty.'

They stayed that way for a while, keeping each other warm until they heard a flutter of wings. They looked up and saw an owl with a letter in its beak gliding over their heads.

'Isn't that Greg?' said John, squinting.

He dropped the letter on Sherlock's head.

'It's from Mycroft,' Sherlock said.

John sat up as he heard Sherlock suck in a shocked gasp. 'What is it?' he asked.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. 'Buckbeak has been sentenced to death. Mycroft was unable to block it. It seems he's not quite as influential as he might like.'

John's heart sank. 'Hagrid'll be devastated.'

'There will be an appeal, but it's unlikely to succeed. Mycroft says that Lucius Malfoy is pressing the issue.'

'Of course he is. Come on, we should go check on Hagrid. He'll have heard by now.'

They arrived at Hagrid's and found Harry, Ron and Hermione already there, attempting to comfort him. They sat down quietly while Ron made a pot of tea.

Hagrid blew his nose on a tablecloth-sized handkerchief. 'I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together,' he was saying. 'I've not bin meself lately. Worried about Buckbeak, an' no one likin' me lessons-'

He was cut off by sounds of protest.

'We like them!' Hermione insisted.

'Yeah, er, how are the Flobberworms?' said Ron, attempting enthusiasm.

'Dead,' Hagrid said gloomily. 'Too much lettuce.'

'Oh no!' said Ron, lip twitching.

Hagrid was quiet for a moment. 'Thought o' jus' letting Buckbeak go an' try ter make him fly away, but how d'yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it's gotta go inter hidin'? Besides I'm- I'm scared o' breaking the law…' He looked up at them. 'I don' ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.'

The next day was spent rifling through stacks of books in the common room, trying to find anything that might help Hagrid. Sherlock paced the room, muttering and waving his hands around.

'What's he doing?' said Ron.

'He's in his mind palace,' John said, without looking up.

'His what?'

'It's a memory trick… nothing in this book.' He put it aside and picked up another one. 'I thought you were going home, Hermione.'

She shrugged. 'I couldn't leave, not after Buckbeak's sentence.'

'Right.'

Their efforts were fruitless however, and by Christmas Eve, the cooking smells coming from the kitchens were distracting them far too much to be able to continue.

John woke up on Christmas morning with Sherlock's elbow in his face. 'Get off,' he grunted shoving Sherlock away. He sat up and saw that Harry and Ron were already unwrapping their presents.

They each got a knitted jumper, mince pies, Christmas cake, and peanut brittle from Mrs Weasley, as well as an assortment of Honeydukes sweets from Castiel.

John and Sherlock exchanged gifts; an expandable brass spyglass with five different zoom settings for Sherlock, and an ugly old cap for John.

'It's got a charm on it that's supposed to help you sleep. You don't need to wear it to bed, you can just leave it out on your bedside table,' Sherlock explained when John looked at him questioningly.

'Oh, nice. Thanks.'

Just then, Harry pulled out a long, thin package.

'What's that?' said Ron, stuffing his mouth with mince pies.

Harry opened it and Harry gasped as a sleek, gleaming broomstick rolled out.

'I don't believe it,' Ron said hoarsely. 'A Firebolt!'

'I saw that in Diagon Alley,' said John. 'Isn't it-'

'The best broom in the world,' Ron said in a hushed voice. 'Who sent it to you?'

'Look and see if there's a card,' said Harry.

Ron ripped apart the wrappings, but there was nothing. As he and Harry debated on who might have sent it, John sat very still, staring at the broom. He heard Sherlock's voice, muffled, beside him. 'What?'

'I said, do you have any ideas?'

'N-no.'

'You don't sound very sure of that.'

'No. No ideas.'

Hermione then came in in her dressing gown, carrying Crookshanks.

'Don't bring him in here!' said Ron, snatching Scabbers up from the bed.

'Oh, Harry, who sent you that?' she said, ignoring Ron and dropping Crookshanks on Seamus's empty bed.

'No idea,' said Harry. 'There wasn't a car or anything with it.'

'What's the matter?' said Ron, as her face fell.

Before Hermione could answer, Crookshanks sprang from Seamus's bed, right at the Scabbers-shaped lump in Ron's pocket.

'GET-HIM-OUT-OF-HERE.' Ron bellowed, aiming a kick at Crookshanks.

Hermione grabbed Crookshanks and strode indignantly out of the room, while Ron cradled Scabbers in his hands.

John looked at him with an overwhelming sense of disgust. His fur was patchy and he was skinnier than he'd ever been.

'It's not contagious, you know,' Ron frowned, catching John's expression.

'Sorry.'

At lunchtime, they went down to the Great Hall to find the house tables had once again been waved against the walls. A single table set for twelve stood in the middle of the room, with Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick, as well as Filch, sat along it. The only other student was an extremely nervous-looking first-year.

'Merry Christmas!' said Dumbledore as they approached the table. 'As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the house tables… Sit down, sit down!'

They all sat along the table, facing the teachers.

'Crackers!' Dumbledore said enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver one to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged.

The crackers went off and when they were all done, the dinner was served.

As John was pouring a liberal amount of gravy onto his plate, the doors of the Great Hall opened and Professor Trelawney glided in.

'Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise,' said Dumbledore, standing up.

'I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster,' she said in her mistiest, most faraway voice, 'and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you forgive my lateness…'

'Certainly, certainly,' said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. 'Let me draw you up a chair-'

He did indeed draw a chair in mid-air with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud, across the table from John.

Professor Trelawney did not, however, sit down. Her magnified eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream. 'I dare not, Headmaster! If I join you at the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine, the first to rise will be the first to die!'

'We'll risk it, Sybill,' Professor McGonagall said impatiently. 'Do sit down, the turkey's getting cold.'

Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table.

'Tripe, Sybill?' said Professor McGonagall.

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Opening her eyes, she looked around the table once more and said, 'But where is dear Professor Lupin?'

'I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again,' said Dumbledore, indicating to everyone that they should continue serving themselves. 'Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.'

'But surely you already knew that, Sybill?' said Professor McGonagall, eyebrows raised.

Professor Trelawney gave her a very cold look. 'Certainly I knew, Minerva,' she said quietly. 'But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous.'

'That explains a great deal,' Professor McGonagall said tartly.

Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. 'If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal-gaze for him-'

'Imagine that,' Professor McGonagall said drily.

'I doubt,' said Dumbledore, in a cheery but slightly raised voice, putting an end to the conversation, 'that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you made the Potion for him again?'

'Yes, Headmaster,' said Snape.

'Good,' said Dumbledore. 'Then he should be up and about in no time… How are you getting on, John? I don't believe we've spoken in a while.'

'Oh, er, yeah, I'm getting on all right,' John said, clearing his throat. 'A few weird moments of déjà vu lately, but nothing too serious.'

'That's just a side effect of being a Seer, dear,' said Professor Trelawney. 'It happens to me quite often.'

Sherlock choked on a slice of turkey.

'Excuse me?' said John.

'John, can I speak to you outside?' Sherlock said quickly.

'Goodness, my boy, were you not aware of your powers? I've been sensing your presence since ever since you set foot in the castle.'

'John.'

John stared at her a moment, then a smile spread across his face. 'I get it, this is a joke. Good one, Professor.'

Professor Trelawney looked highly offended. 'Having the Sight is no joke!' she said. 'It is a great gift and burden. You would do well to hone your skills, especially at your level of power.'

'Yeah, okay.'

'John!'

'What, Sherlock?'

'I need to speak to you. Outside. Now.'

'Okay, okay, keep your hair on.'

They rose from the table and Professor Trelawney shrieked loudly. 'My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?'

John looked at her, bewildered.

'I doubt it will make much difference,' said McGonagall coldly. 'Unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione sniggered while Sherlock and John slipped out of the doors.

'Do you believe that?' John said, chuckling. 'The woman's mad.' He caught sight of Sherlock's serious expression. 'You don't believe her, do you?'

'Well-'

'Oh, come on, Sherlock, she's obviously lost the plot. She's been telling Harry he's going to die a horrible death all term.

'Yes, however that doesn't necessarily mean that she is wrong. About you.'

'I'm not playing this game, Sherlock,' John said, losing his temper. 'Stop messing me about. I'm not a bloody Seer.'

Just then, Harry and Ron came out.

'Finished?' said John.

'Yeah. Hermione's talking to McGonagall. Probably trying to see if she can take more classes,' said Ron. 'Let's go upstairs. I've had about enough of Trelawney.'

They moved towards the stairs and John turned to Sherlock. 'Are you coming, or shall I check my crystal ball first?' he smirked, rolling his eyes.

It was quiet upstairs until Hermione entered the room, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Harry was admiring the gleaming Firebolt by the light of the fireplace and Professor McGonagall eyed it suspiciously. 'So that's it, is it?' she said, approaching him. 'Miss Granger has informed me you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.'

They all turned to look at Hermione, who had hidden behind an upside-down book.

'May I?' said Professor McGonagall, pulling the broom out of Harry's hands and examining it carefully. 'Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?'

'No,' said Harry.

'I see… Well I'm afraid I'll have to take this, Potter.'

'W-what? Why?'

'It will need to be checked for jinxes,' Professor McGonagall told them. 'Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down-'

'Strip it down!' Ron exclaimed.

'It shouldn't take more than a few weeks,' said Professor McGonagall. 'You will have it back if we are sure it's jinx-free.'

'There's nothing wrong with it, honestly, Professor!' said Harry.

'You can't know that, Potter,' she said kindly, 'not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.' She turned on her heel, exiting through the portrait hole with the Firebolt in hand.

Ron rounded on Hermione. 'What did you go running to McGonagall for?'

Hermione threw her book aside, pink in the face, and faced Ron defiantly. 'Because – and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!'

Welcome back everyone and thanks to Tacosaurus for the review :) I'm in the process of writing the next chapter to so I hope to see you all soon.