The Whomping Willow

The last few weeks of the holidays were the least boring Sherlock had ever had. The first night John stayed over; they spent the afternoon pushing an extra bed into Sherlock's spacious bedroom only to construct a crude blanket fort in the corner between the two beds. Throughout the weeks it was there that they stashed various snacks and treats pilfered from the kitchen. Most nights, John slept like a log, while Sherlock found himself wide awake beside him, staring up at the deep blue ceiling of their little fort.

At last, after weeks of playing childish tricks on Mycroft whenever he was in, Sherlock decided that he was ready to go back to Hogwarts. He missed being allowed to do magic. The night before they were due to leave everything went smoothly. Everything was packed and ready to go. Mycroft sent them to bed a little earlier than usual, as Sherlock had a tendency to oversleep (when he slept).

Sherlock had managed to force himself to sleep when something disturbed from his barely unconscious state. He blinked awake and felt John writhing in his sleep beside him. Propping himself up on his elbow he looked down at John's fear-creased face, eyeballs flicking this way and that underneath their lids, and groaning softly. He put his other hand to John's shoulder to try and rouse him but, as soon as he touched his palm to the fabric pyjamas darkness pressed down over his eyes- he was blind! It twisted itself into all of his senses until he could no longer tell where he was, feeling and seeing nothing but John beneath his fingers and a dull, ominous hissing in his ears.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. His sight cleared and he fell backwards onto his own pile of blankets and cushions. John remained as he was, whimpering and tangled in the bedclothes. Sherlock quietly crawled out of the fort, threw a silk dressing gown around his shoulders and crept from the room.

Later, John awoke, breathing heavily, and sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As the drowsiness seeped from his body, he realised he was drenched in sweat and suddenly felt very sticky and dirty, so he climbed out of the fort (getting somewhat entangled as he went) and walked slowly to the bathroom, where he splashed water across his face. The water dripped into the pristine white sink and John heard music reverberating off the tiles. It was sweet but mournful so he followed the sound, seeing that it was almost dawn as he passed a window. He came to a large, almost bare room with the opposite wall almost completely made of glass. The meagre light from outside silhouetted Sherlock and the instrument he held in his hand.

'You play violin?' John said quietly. Sherlock ended his song with a flourish of the bow.

'It helps me think,' he murmured without looking away from the window. John lowered himself to the ground and hugged his knees, leaning against the wall. Sherlock started playing again and John felt his eyelids droop.

'What are you thinking about?'

Sherlock stared out of the window, not particularly concentrating on his music.

'Many things, I suppose,' he mumbled, but John didn't hear him, having fallen asleep where he sat. Which was just as well, Sherlock supposed. He had been reminded of the night he and Castiel had met the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest and it just so happened that he was thinking of the prophecy they'd told them about. But he couldn't tell John, he wasn't ready yet. But when would he be? Could what had happened earlier that night be that 'connection' they'd mentioned? Sherlock's gaze softened as he saw how small John looked in this room and took off his dressing gown so that he could drape it over John to keep him warm.

When the sun had risen, John woke again to find an empty room and the sun shining in his eyes. Stumbling down the stairs, he found Sherlock and Mycroft, fully dressed, in the kitchen.

'Good morning,' Sherlock said, handing him a steaming cup of tea.

'Everything's already been loaded into the car, ready to go whenever you are, John,' Mycroft told him.

About an hour later, John set down his empty mug and went back upstairs to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Outside a sleek, black car was waiting for them with miniature Ministry flags attached to the bonnet with everything already packed into the boot, their trunks included.

'How does everything fit in the boot?' John asked, enjoying the feeling of the supple leather seats as he climbed into the back of the car.

'Undetectable Extension Charm,' Sherlock said. 'Pretty self-explanatory.'

They arrived at King's Cross in good time and bumped into Gabriel and Castiel, who was limping, carrying a large cage containing Grace.

'What happened to your leg?' John asked him.

'Not my leg, my foot. I dropped my trunk on it.'

They grabbed trollies for their trunks and walked into the station.

'This is where I leave you, Sherlock. I trust you can get all of your things on the train?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes in place of a reply, pushed his trolley at the barrier between platforms nine and ten and disappeared in the blink of an eye. John went next, followed by Castiel and, finally, Gabriel. The train was already half full and they found Hermione in a compartment on her own about a third of the way up the train. Gabriel headed off down the carriage with both his and Castiel's trunks to find his friend. Castiel curled up in a corner, placed Grace carefully down, wrapped himself in his coat and drew a glossy, new copy of 'Holidays with Hags' from his coat pocket. Hermione followed suit and Sherlock lay himself across the seats on one side of the compartment and stared at the ceiling.

'Sherlock, are you okay?' John asked concernedly, sitting down beside Hermione.

'Fine, why?'

'Well, you didn't get much sleep last night-'

'I can go a while without sleep.'

John shrugged and sat back in his seat. He looked out of the window and saw a clock, which read ten fifty-five.

'Hey, have any of you seen Harry and the Weasley's yet?' John asked. Hermione looked up from her book, shook her head, and frowned.

'They're cutting it a bit fine, don't you think?'

Sherlock shrugged.

'They'll be here.'

An uncomfortable feeling filled John's stomach. He felt like pacing around the compartment but it lacked the room to pace in. Finally, the train's whistle blew and it slowly began to pull out of the slowly began to pull out of the station.

'I think they may have missed the train,' John said.

'But how will they get to school?' Hermione worried, biting her lip.

'By doing something unbelievably idiotic, I should imagine,' Sherlock muttered.

'Sherlock,' John chastised.

'Well, it is Ron.'

'Perhaps we ought to send a letter to Hogwarts,' Hermione broke in. 'May we borrow Grace, Castiel?'

'Of course,' he said, undoing the catch on her cage. She flapped out and waited obediently on the top of the cage until Hermione was done writing her letter. She opened the window and put Grace carefully out of it. Castiel put his book down and gingerly removed his shiny, black shoe and peeled off his sock to reveal a swollen, purple and blue bruised mess of a foot. John whistled sympathetically. It looked so sore that he could practically see it throbbing.

'Looks broken to me,' he said. Castiel poked it with his wand.

'Fractured,' he grimaced.

'Ouch. Does anyone have any bandages or anything?'

Castiel shook his head and waved his wand.

'Ferula,' he said calmly. Bandages wrapped themselves tightly around his foot. He rubbed it with his hand and, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, went back to his book. The kindly old witch that pushed the lunch trolley came and went, none of them buying anything. John's eyelids began to droop and he had just about nodded off until he heard the compartment door slide open and Sherlock tut impatiently. He opened his eyes and saw Anderson and Donovan standing in the doorway.

'What do you want?' John asked warily.

'What's up, Watson, we were just wondering who you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is,' said Donovan.

'Well, it's quite clearly a witch, considering nearly the entire booklist is Lockhart books-'

'Oh don't talk out loud, Anderson, you'll lower the IQ of the entire train,' Sherlock interrupted.

'Well then, who do you think it is, freak?'

'Don't call him that, Donovan,' John scowled.

'Why not, he is.'

'Just leave it, Sally, we won't get anywhere with his guard dog around, anyway,' Anderson said, dragging Donovan away.

'Well that was weird,' John said. Sherlock dismissed it with a grunt. The sun had reached its midday peak a long while ago and was now starting to sink in the sky. John got up, stuck his head out of the window and looked straight up in the sky but saw nothing but clouds.

'What are you looking at?' Hermione asked him.

'Nothing,' he said, pulling his head back in. 'Good book?' he added to Castiel.

'This Gilderoy Lockhart seems to be very good,' he mumbled.

'Please, have you read his autobiography?' Sherlock scoffed. 'It's more inconsistent than Mycroft's relationship with food.'

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Sherlock over the top of the book.

'You're just jealous, Sherlock,' Hermione sniffed.

'Of what?'

'That he's seen and done so much more than you.'

'Come on, Hermione, just because you fancy him-'

'I do not!'

John laughed so hard he fell off his seat. His laughter was infectious and soon Hermione was laughing too, Sherlock was grinning to himself and Castiel's shoulders were shaking from silent giggles. All too soon, though. Hermione was buried in her book again and Sherlock was back to having a staring contest with the ceiling, leaving John to lament sitting with a group of people that enjoy silence and wonder where Harry and Ron were. He didn't notice he'd fallen asleep until he felt Sherlock shaking him awake. It was dark outside and he was the only one not in his robes yet.

'Hurry up and get changed, we're almost there,' Sherlock said. John threw his cloak over his head and was just tying his crimson tie when the train began to slow. Hermione and Castiel packed away their books away and waited patiently for the train to slide to a stop.

With a squeal of brakes the Hogwarts Express stopped at Hogsmeade station, accompanied by the scrapes and thunks of all the students grabbing their luggage. Castiel clutched Grace's cage tightly to his chest and made his way through the crush of bodies, desperate to find his brother and his luggage. He'd lost the others far back along the corridor and managed to be one of the first off the train. He breathed in the night air and loosened his claw like grip on the metal bars of the cage. People suddenly began to jostle him and stars danced in front of his eyes as someone stepped on his injured foot and making his head spin further when the same person dragged their trunk over it.

'You are so carrying your own luggage next time- hey, are you okay?'

Gabriel's face swam into view and he nodded slightly.

'Right, I totally believe you. Is it your foot?'

He nodded again.

'Can you walk?'

He took a cautious step forward, winced, but found it could take his weight. For now.

'Where are your friends?'

'Gabriel, I'm fine,' he said, taking hold of his trunk.

'Yeah, you tell me that when you're not hopping worse than a one-legged pigeon. Come on.'

Gabriel made to take back the trunk but Castiel wouldn't let go.

'I'm fine.'

Just then John tripped over to him.

'Hey there you are. We don't go across the lake this year, we go in carriages. Come on, we saved a seat for you.

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

'All right, just make sure you go to Madam Pomfrey as soon as you can.'

John led him away to the carriages. Sherlock was fascinated by them, as they seemed to be pulling themselves. He couldn't wait to find out what kind of magic it was.

'Found him,' John said as he pulled himself up into the carriage. Sherlock looked over and Castiel seemed to be staring at the space between the carriage shafts, his eyes wide.

'What is it?' Sherlock asked. He tore his eyes away and climbed up without a word.

The carriages trundled up the track and the winged boars of the castle gates came into view. All four of them were pleased to see it. It was cool but not uncomfortably so as they filed into the Entrance hall.

'It'll be weird watching the Sorting this year,' John commented in an attempt to break the silence between them.

'I suppose it'll be rather odd,' Hermione agreed.

Sherlock and Castiel attempted to sit at the Gryffindor table in the hopes that the new Head Boy and Girl wouldn't notice, but Mycroft had already fully briefed them and all the Prefects. Instead, they found themselves sat firmly between the two Ravenclaw Prefects. John and Hermione sat down and found Fred, George and Percy along the table.

'Fred, George!' John called. 'Where're Harry and Ron?'

They looked around.

'Dunno, we thought they were with you!' Fred said in surprise.

'They'll turn up,' George reassured.

'Hey! Hey, Watson!'

John turned his head towards the voice.

'Where's Potter? Did he decide he wasn't fit to be around real wizards?' Malfoy said from the Slytherin table. John didn't bother to provide an answer. He and Hermione sat listening to the conversation around them. They heard one boy describing how he'd driven a Muggle car all around a field by his house.

'So, what did you get up to over the summer, Hermione?' John asked, grateful for the opportunity to talk to her without a book blocking her face.

'Well, I read this really fascinating book about early wizards and when they started to differentiate between hexes and curses.'

John smiled to himself. She was enthusiastic to say the least.

'Where do you think they are?' she asked, biting her lip.

'They can't be far,' John said reassuringly.

Sherlock found himself sliding further and further down on the bench. Why do feasts have to be so boring? He looked at Castiel, who seemed to be in a world of his own and rubbing his foot absent-mindedly. At last, the hall fell silent as Professor McGonagall placed a rickety old, three-legged stool at the front before the high table, and put the tattered and frayed Sorting Hat on top of it. She left and, after a few minutes, returned with a crowd of frightened first-years. A few of them gasped as the hat opened the rip near its brim and started talking.

The sight of me may not be nice

But do not avert your eyes…

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. The Sorting Hat's song was so boring now that he wasn't in the ceremony. Now, if it went into explicit detail on the proper method of jinx casting, it might stand a chance of being interesting. Castiel nudged him gently.

'I'm worried about Harry and Ron,' he whispered. Sherlock groaned and sat up straight, ruffling his hair.

'Don't worry, Castiel, even if it wasn't Harry, you would still be able to spot Ron's hair from miles away. Someone will find them.'

At last, the Sorting Hat was finished with its song and Professor McGonagall pulled out a scroll and unfurled it. Sherlock glared at Snape, spotting him exiting the room quietly through a side door.

'He's up to something,' Sherlock said to Castiel.

'You're always so suspicious of him.'

'Well, he's a suspicious man.'

'You suspected him of attempting to murder a student and trying to bring You-Know-Who back to power.'

'Yes, and?'

'And you were wrong. Leave it alone.'

'Creevey, Colin,' Professor McGonagall announced. A mousy-haired, little boy wobbled up to the stool and sat down. They all got a glimpse of his painfully excited expression before the hat slipped over his eyes. It hesitated for a moment before, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as the year's first new student became one of their own. John and Hermione clapped along with them.

'Doyle, Hannah.'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

It was the Hufflepuffs' turn to cheer now, Gabriel among them with his gleaming new, yellow Prefect's badge.

'Georgia Fenn.'

'GRYFFINDOR!'

This girl walked confidently to the table as if she'd been expecting this her whole life and John supposed she probably had. He sighed and gazed at his empty plate longingly, regretting not having eaten on the train. He looked back up at the first-years and groaned at how many of them were still left.

'Lovegood, Luna.'

A girl with long, dirty-blonde hair skipped up to the Sorting Hat and gently put it on her head. The hat looked like it was chuckling quietly to itself before, 'RAVENCLAW!'

She thanked the hat and put it back on the stool. John watched her skip to the Ravenclaw table and gaze dreamily at her goblet.

'Moriarty, James.'

John's head snapped back round to look at the boy strolling casually up to the three-legged stool. Something in the name caught his attention, though he wished it hadn't. This James Moriarty had the most revolting smile on his face that seemed to freeze John in place.

'SLYTHERIN!'

Naturally, John thought. His horrible expression had not shifted at all and as he made his way over to the Slytherin table, he caught John's eye. Suddenly, he felt slightly queasy and tore his eyes away just in time to catch the next Sorting.

'Morstan, Mary.'

John closed his eyes and attempted to rid himself of the awful feeling that had accumulated in his gut.

'SLYTHERIN!'

He forced himself to look back at has plate and try to coax back the appetite that, moments before, had been filling his mind with thoughts of food, but was now completely gone. The line of first-years dwindled to the last two.

'Vickery, Jasmine,' was sorted into Ravenclaw and finally, Ron's sister, Ginny.

'Weasley, Ginevra,' Professor McGonagall called. Ginny stepped up, her flaming hair visible from all sides.

If it had eyes, the hat probably would have rolled them.

'GRYFFINDOR!' it said almost lazily.

As soon as Ginny took her place beside Hermione, Dumbledore stood up to greet them.

'Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!' he announced cheerfully. 'Or your first! Before we begin our fantastic feast, there are a few words I would like to say, and they are: dactylion, squid, rubber.

'You may begin!'

All the gold dishes and goblets filled with delicious food and drink. It was clearly meant to distract people from Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore exiting the room the way Snape had gone, his face briefly appearing around the door. John nudged Hermione and nodded towards the door. She caught them just as they were closing it.

'I think it's safe to say they found Harry and Ron,' he said.

'Looks like it,' she grimaced. John looked across and Sherlock and Castiel to see if they'd noticed and with Sherlock's sharp gaze fixed firmly on the door, John thought it was possible that he had. The feast passed at a sluggish pace, though Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore soon returned, with Snape looking particularly sour. John picked forlornly at some cabbage while Hermione kept glancing at the main door, waiting for Harry and Ron to come in. Sherlock caught John's eye with a questioning look, which he countered with a nod towards Castiel, who had put his head in his hands and was not even touching his food. The pain emanating from his foot was now beginning to overwhelm him with sharp stabs shooting up his leg. The main course vanished and was replaced by sweet-smelling puddings which the Prefects either side of them eagerly dug into. Castiel removed his shoe and sock again and unwound the bandage discreetly under the table. He put a hand on it and he could feel it radiating heat. The bruise had spread and turned his toes and ankle a mottled pink, green and purple. He sighed resignedly, pointed his wand and whispered 'Ferula'. Fresh bandages wound around his foot, while he stuffed the old ones into his pocket- followed by his sock and shoe- and he looked up right into Sherlock's face. At that, the puddings too disappeared and they waited patiently for Dumbledore to make his start-of-term speech warning the first-years against the Forbidden Forest and reminding all students of banned items.

The noise in the hall heightened as people began to make their way out to the entrance hall. Sherlock pushed through the crowds and found John and Hermione outside. Castiel had disappeared into the crowd. Fred and George came up behind them and one of them tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

'Hey, we talked to some first-years and apparently they saw a flying car while they were crossing the lake,' said Fred.

'What and you think Ron and Harry were the ones flying it?' Hermione said sceptically. 'That's ridiculous.'

'Well, there's also this,' George said, whipping out a copy of the Evening Prophet. The headline read: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTEFIES MUGGLES.

'"Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower…",' George read out. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'There's no way they haven't been expelled for this.'

'Come on, they couldn't possibly be that stupid-'

'Oh, they could,' Sherlock interrupted.

'Even if they weren't, I'm pretty sure we own the only flying Ford Anglia,' Fred pointed out. 'Oh well, we'll find out soon enough. The password's 'wattlebird' by the way, see you later.'

Fred and George said goodbye and hurried off up the marble staircase.

'Did either of you see where Castiel went?' Sherlock asked.

'No.'

Sherlock shrugged.

'He's probably gone to get his foot mended. I'll see you tomorrow,' and he too left for his dormitory.

Hermione and John lingered in the Entrance hall until it was all but empty.

'Maybe they're already up there,' John suggested. Hermione reluctantly agreed, so they climbed the stairs in silence. They reached the flight just before the portrait of the Fat Lady and found Harry and Ron standing outside. Hermione and John glanced at each other briefly before running up the rest of the stairs towards them.

'There you are!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumours- Fred and George said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car.'

'Well, we haven't been expelled,' Harry assured them.

'You're not telling me you did fly here?'

John started laughing beside her but stopped at the stern look she gave him.

'Don't encourage them!' she said. 'They could have gotten in serious trouble!'

'Skip the lecture and tell us the password,' Ron said impatiently.

'It's 'wattlebird',' Hermione said, 'but that's not the point-'

She was cut short by a storm of applause that burst through the portrait hole. It looked as if the entire Gryffindor house had crowded into the common room to wait for them to arrive. They were pulled into the room by outstretched arms, forcing Hermione and John to squeeze their way in behind them.

'Brilliant!' yelled Lee Jordan. 'Inspired! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people'll be talking about that one for years!'

Hermione rolled her eyes and tutted irritably.

'Come one, Hermione, lighten up. They weren't expelled or hurt- well except that cut on Ron's face- it could have been worse,' John said good-naturedly. She shook her head and folded her arms. John grinned and followed Harry and Ron as they escaped up to the dormitory, making their excuses. Their trunks had been brought up for them and John entered the room just as they were having their spectacular entrance praised by Dean, Seamus and Neville.

'A flying car? Really?' John laughed. Harry grinned sheepishly and they stayed up late into the night, describing exactly what had happened.

Ok prepare for a really long AN

First of all, thanks to Welcome to My Mad House, TS17isme, children of prophecies, mossfire, mightyBookworm, The403yearold, SethMaxwell06, Guest and Darren-Gleek for the lovely reviews, I really appreciate it guys :)

Another big thank you to ScazzaGrace my amazing beta and Fandomcrazyor who did some beautiful fanart, which you can find here art/Superpotterlock-Chapter1-430806065

So did everybody catch Sherlock? What did you think? I thought it was amazing, I really loved how emotive Sherlock was this series. But the first episode got me thinking cos it was like ship city over there, so what's everybody's ships? Doesn't have to be Sherlock, let me know on the Supernatural front too :3

Also we found out some things about minor character e.g Anderson's real first name is Phillip and Sherlock's parents. Does anyone mind if I leave things the way they are? It's been proven to not be canon anymore but I like it.

Have a good day everyone :D