Mudbloods and Murmurs

Friday came at last and John sat quietly in Charms watching feathers flying around the room. They were recapping what they'd learnt last year. Professor Flitwick considered it of the utmost importance that they remembered how to cast the Hover Charm and had everyone practice it. Sherlock had already grown bored and was making sparks dance around his feather, challenging himself to not set it on fire. The practical part of the lesson was put to an end, however, when Ron's malfunctioning wand shot out of his hand and hit Professor Flitwick right between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

Harry had been spending a lot of time avoiding Gilderoy Lockhart, who popped up in the strangest of places- and he wasn't the only one. Colin Creevey seemed to have memorised Harry's timetable, and nothing gave him a bigger thrill than to say, 'All right, Harry?' five or six times a day, and hear, 'Hullo, Colin' back. At least Castiel's healing lessons had started again, so they had an excuse to hide in the hospital wing.

Harry was planning on taking everyone to see Hagrid on Saturday morning, but he was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked. It was Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

'Whassgoinon?' Harry said groggily

'Quidditch practice,' said Wood. 'Come on!'

Harry squinted out of the window at the dusky pink line on the horizon.

'Oliver, it's the crack of dawn,' Harry croaked.

'Exactly!'

A mad determination had entered his eyes.

'It's part of our new training programme. I've been working on it all summer,' he said forcefully. 'Now, grab your broom and let's go! None of the other teams have started training yet, so we're going to be first off the mark.'

Harry groaned and tumbled out of bed to try and find his Quidditch robes.

'Good man,' said Wood. 'I'll meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes.'

He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left the dormitory.

Harry scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and once he'd found his scarlet Quidditch robes, he threw his cloak over his shoulders for warmth. He scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he'd gone and descended the stairs to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had almost reached the portrait hole when it opened in front of him and John tumbled in. His eyes were half closed and his pajamas were torn in some places. There was a clatter from behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the stairs behind him.

'Hiya, Harry!' he exclaimed excitedly.

'Hullo, Colin,' Harry said. John swayed gently on the spot.

'John, are you all right?' Harry asked. Colin waved a hand in front of John's face.

'I think he's sleepwalking,' Colin said. 'My little brother sleepwalks. This one time he got into the fridge and starting eating this massive-'

'That's great, Colin,' Harry interrupted. He grabbed hold of John and shook him lightly by the shoulder.

'I don't think you should do that, Harry. You 're not supposed to wake sleepwalkers.'

But Harry ignored him.

'John, wake up,' he said loudly. John twitched but remained asleep.

'Here, try this,' said Colin. He grabbed a jug of water and threw it all over John. John's eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly.

'Colin!' Harry exclaimed. 'What happened to 'you shouldn't wake them up'?'

'What's going on?' John gasped, lurching to the side and bumping sharply into the sofa. 'Where am I? Why- why am I wet?'

He wiped his eyes.

'You were sleepwalking,' said Colin. 'I woke you up with a jug of water.'

John shook his head in confusion, struggling to understand the situation.

'Am I- in the common room?'

'Yeah, you are,' said Harry. He guided John and sat him down on the sofa. 'Listen, John, I have to go, but Ron and Hermione will be up soon.'

'Where are you going?'

'Just Quidditch practice.'

'Can I come?'

Harry hesitated.

'I think you should probably get dressed first,' he smiled.

'Oh. Ok I'll see you later.'

Harry climbed through the portrait hole, closely followed by Colin.

'Wait for me! I've never watched a Quidditch game before!'

John watched them go and could hear Colin asking several more questions as they walked down the corridor.

A spot of dirt on the back of his hand caught his eye and he rubbed it, vaguely wondering how it had got there. As his mind cleared he saw other little anomalies that hadn't been there the night before. A rip on the cuff of his sleeve, dark smudges on his knees- even a small twig in his hair. He climbed the stairs to the dormitory and slowly got dressed. Questions began to buzz around in his head. How had he managed to cause so much damage to his pajamas in his sleep? Where had he been? How often had he taken night-time strolls and not remembered any of it? He could answer none of these questions, however, so decided to wake Ron.

Ron grumbled irritable, but brightened up when he saw he still had a Chocolate Frog on his bedside table. Hermione was waiting for them in the common room by the time John had managed to drag Ron downstairs.

'Morning,' John said.

Ron merely stuffed the frog whole into his mouth by way of greeting.

'Harry not up yet?' Hermione asked.

'He's just gone to Quidditch practice.'

'This early?'

John shrugged. Ron finished chewing on his frog and fished the card out of the wrappings.

'Hey, this one's new,' he informed them. 'Yeah, look at this-'

He turned the card towards them. It showed a grim-looking man with dark hair and a scarred leather jacket.

John Winchester, currently and Auror for the Magical Congress of the United States of America.

Considered to be one of the best Aurors of his generation, John Winchester

is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard

Azazel in 1991, and for his invention of the first magical firearms.

John Winchester has two sons and is still tracking down all of

Azazel's affiliates and allies.

'He sounds interesting,' said Hermione.

'I dunno,' John frowned. 'Muggle firearms aren't particularly fun at the best of times.'

'He can't be that good. I've ever even heard of Azazel, so he can't have been too tough to beat,' said Ron, tucking the card into his cloak. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'Honsetly, Ron, don't you pay attention to the news?'

'No.'

'I don't know who he is either,' said John. They crossed the room and exited through the portrait hole.

'Well, obviously, he's a dark wizard, like it says on the card. Mostly he was a threat to the United States, so our Ministry didn't get involved,' Hermione explained.

'So how come he was so bad?' John asked. Hermione pursed her lips in disgust.

'He believed that the gates of Hell would one day be opened and the Devil would be released into the world, so he kidnapped children as soon as they started to show signs of being magical and raised them to be part of his army.'

Sherlock and Castiel emerged from behind a painting of a silver swan, Castiel clutching Wanderings with Werewolves in one hand.

'Who are you talking about?' Sherlock asked as they reached them.

'Azazel,' said Hermione.

Castiel flinched at the sound of his name.

'Why?' Sherlock said. Ron pulled the card out of his cloak.

'He's been defeated, apparently. By this man called John Winchester.'

He handed Sherlock the card, which he studied carefully.

'So where's Azazel now?'

'He's dead,' Castiel said stiffly. He walked off down the stairs and everyone followed after him.

'What's the matter?' Sherlock asked John as they were walking.

'What do you mean?' said John, surprised.

'You look tired, and you have a specific facial expression when you're troubled. And you have a- leaf in your hair.'

Sherlock reached out and brushed the foliage away. 'Sleepwalking?'

'Yeah… We're going to Quidditch practice, want to come?'

'I'm in the middle of an investigation.'

'Lockhart can wait, Sherlock, come on.'

Sherlock reluctantly agreed to accompany them on the condition that afterwards, John help him sort through newspapers in the library.

It was a chilly day outside and John wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. They walked out onto the pitch, expecting to see crimson blurs in the air, but instead saw the entire Gryffindor team on the ground, Captain Wood glaring furiously at the opposing team of green and silver. Amidst the Slytherin team, a blond head shone in the sun that was unmistakeably Draco Malfoy's.

'What's going on?' Ron asked them. 'What's he doing here?'

He poked a finger at Malfoy dressed in Slytherin robes.

'I'm the new Seeker, Weasley,' Malfoy said.

Sherlock snorted, imagining Malfoy flailing around in the air.

'Think it's funny do you, Holmes? I'd like to see you do better- oh wait, you can't. You're scared of heights, aren't you?' Malfoy sneered. John opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock beat him to it.

'Don't think your family name makes you superior to me. My family are wealthier and more influential by far. Though we choose to deal in knowledge rather than currency, it doesn't mean we can't,' he said coldly. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and turned his attention back to Ron, knowing he was beat when it came to Sherlock.

'We were just admiring Father's gift, Weasley. Do you like them?'

He shoved the handle of his shiny new broom in Ron's face. Ron's mouth dropped open and even John, who knew nothing about brooms, could tell they were good.

'Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones!' Ron gasped.

'Good, aren't they?' Malfoy continued. 'But I suppose the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold to get new brooms too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them.'

The Slytherins howled with laughter.

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' Hermione said sharply. 'They got in on pure talent.'

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,' he spat.

John was buffeted backwards by the force of the outrage that burst from the Gryffindors, and winced as Castiel dropped his book on his foot. Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin team, had to push Malfoy behind him to protect him from the abuse that was being hurled at him. John had never seen Sherlock so angry- his bunched up fists were shaking with rage. Ron whipped out his wand.

'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy,' Ron yelled. He pointed his wand under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

A loud bang echoed across the stadium, a jet of green light burst from the wrong end of Ron's wand and hit him in the stomach, sending him flying across the grass. He hit the ground with a thump and they ran over to him. Castiel and Hermione were the first to reach him.

'Ron! Ron, are you all right?' Hermione squeaked. The Slytherins were now all breathless laughter and when Ron coughed up several, live slugs, they had to cling to their brooms for support. The Gryffindors clustered around him, watching him belch slugs all over himself. No one seemed willing to touch him, except Castiel, who hauled Ron to his feet with a strength surprising for his size.

'Help me get him to Hagrid's, it's closest,' he grunted. Harry quickly took some of Ron's weight to help Castiel support him.

'What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can't you?' Colin had run down from his seat in the stands and was now dancing alongside them as they left the pitch. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

'Oooh,' said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. 'Can you hold him still, Harry?'

'Get out of the way, Colin!' said Harry angrily. He and Castiel helped Ron out of the stadium.

Despite Castiel's initial strength, he tired quickly from half-dragging Ron across the grounds and had to transfer his support to John half way there. Hermione followed closely behind them and Sherlock brought up the rear from a ways behind.

'Nearly there, Ron,' Hermione said encouragingly as Hagrid's cabin came into view. 'You'll be all right in a minute… almost there…'

About twenty feet from the hut they saw the front door open, but instead of Hagrid, it was Gilderoy Lockhart who emerged. John made a small noise of disgust at the mauve robes he was wearing, but didn't have a chance to comment on it as Harry dragged them behind a nearby bush. Sherlock and Hermione darted behind it as well, but Castiel was too slow.

'It's a simple matter if you know what you're doing!' Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. 'If you need help, you know where I am! I'll let you have a copy of my book- I'm surprised you haven't already got one. I'll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, goodbye!'

He turned away from the cabin and saw Castiel standing in his path.

'Ah, Castiel!' he grinned. 'One of my favourite students! Though, strictly speaking I'm not supposed to have favourites, so let's just keep that between us.'

He winked and John rolled his eyes.

'Go away,' he muttered and was quickly silenced by a jab in the ribs from Hermione. Lockhart kept talking, seemingly oblivious to the look of awe and fear paralysed on Castiel's face.

'So, what are you down here, looking for me?'

Castiel stuttered incoherently.

'Just visiting Hagrid? Well then , enjoy your afternoon.'

He strode back up to the castle, leaving Castiel standing dazed.

They waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid's front door. Hagrid appeared at once when they knocked, he looked grumpy but his face brightened when he saw who it was.

'Bin wonderin' when you'd come ter see me- come in, come in- thought yeh mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again.'

Harry and John supported Ron over the threshold, into the one-roomed cabin. Hagrid didn't seem perturbed by Ron's slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

'Better out than in,' Hagrid said cheerfully, plonking a large copper basin in front of Ron. 'Get 'em all up, Ron.'

'I don't think there's anything to do but wait for it to stop,' said Castiel, waving his wand anxiously over Ron.

'It's a difficult curse to work at the best of times,' said Hermione, 'but with a broken wand…'

Hagrid bustled around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering all over Harry and John kept glancing out of the window at the Forest.

'What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?' Harry asked.

'Givin' me advice on gettin' kelpies out of a well,' growled Hagrid, moving a half-plucked rooster off his table and setting down the teapot. 'Like I don't know. An' bangin' on about some Banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I'll eat my kettle.'

Sherlock sniggered and Castiel shot a frown at him. Hermione said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, 'I think you're being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job-'

'He was the on'y man for the job,' said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into the basin. 'An' I mean the on'y one. Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job, People aren't too keen ter take it on, see. They're startin' ter think it's jinxed. No one's lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,' said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron, 'who was he tryin' ter curse?'

'Malfoy,' Harry told him. 'He called Hermione something. It must have been really bad, because everyone went mad.'

'It was bad,' Ron said hoarsely, emerging over the table top, looking pale and sweaty. 'Malfoy called her "Mudblood", Hagrid-'

He dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made an appearance. Hagrid looked outraged.

'He didn't!' he growled at Hermione.

'He did,' she said, 'But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course…'

'It's about the most insulting thing he could think of,' Sherlock said through a clenched jaw. 'Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born- someone with non-magic parents. There are some wizards- like the Malfoys- who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood. It's not a term one normally hears in civilised conversation. Of course it doesn't make a difference, for instance, Neville Longbottom is a pure-blood, yet he can barely stand a cauldron the right way up.'

'Oh,' John said softly, feeling rather unsettled.

'It's a disgusting thing to call someone,' said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. 'Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It's mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn't married Muggles, we'd've died out.'

'A good thing I cursed Malfoy when he wasn't looking, then,' Sherlock said breezily.

'Good,' Castiel said sharply, surprising them for the second time that day, for they had never heard him condone violence before.

'I seem to have left my book on the pitch, please excuse me,' Castiel said, quietly getting up and briskly walking out.

'Does something seem off about him today?' John asked Sherlock.

'Yes. He's been like this all morning,' Sherlock replied.

'Well, I don't blame yeh fer cursin' him, Sherlock, but I 'spect it won't be long 'til Lucius Malfoy comes marchin' up ter the school. Yer goin' ter get inter trouble,' Hagrid worried. Sherlock uttered a short, derisive laugh.

'He wouldn't dare. I hate to play the family card but mine could destroy him before he reached the school gates- figuratively speaking, of course. Speaking of which, Harry, when we return to the castle, may I borrow Hedwig?'

'Yeah, of course. What for?'

'I need to get a message to Mycroft.'

'Harry,' said Hagrid suddenly, as though struck by a sudden thought, 'gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I've heard yeh've bin givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?'

'I have not been giving out signed photos,' he said hotly. 'If Lockhart's still putting that about-'

But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing.

'I'm on'y jokin',' he sat, patting Harry on the back. Harry pushed Sherlock, who was also laughing, out of his seat to blow off steam.

'I knew yeh hadn't, really,' Hagrid continued. 'I told Lockhart that yeh didn't need ter. Yer more famous than him without tryin'.'

'Bet he didn't like that,' said Harry. Sherlock remained on the floor trying to calm himself down.

'Don' think he did,' said Hagrid. 'An' then I told him I'd never read one o' his books an' he decided ter go. Treacle toffee, Ron?' he added as Ron reappeared.

'No thanks,' Ron said weakly. 'Better not risk it.'

'Come an' see what I've been growin',' said Hagrid once they'd finished their tea.

In a small vegetable patch behind Hagrid's house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins they'd ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder. John looked over at the Forest and nudged Sherlock.

'Do you think I could have gone in there?' he asked. Sherlock looked from the castle to the Forest.

'No,' he said shortly.

'Well then, where do you think I went?'

'No idea,' Sherlock said, hastily moving away to examine Hagrid's huge pumpkins. John frowned, knowing that Sherlock was avoiding the question, but also knowing that Sherlock wouldn't tell him unless he wanted to.

'For Hallowe'en, I suppose?' Sherlock said, lightly putting a hand against one of the pumpkins.

It was almost lunchtime, and they were eager to get something to eat, so they bid Hagrid goodbye and walked back to the castle.

'What about Castiel?' John asked.

'I'm sure he'll find us. Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be the ones that have to find him,' Sherlock said. 'He's not himself today.'

They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall when a voice rang out, 'There you are, Potter, Weasley.' Professor McGonagall was walking towards them, looking stern. 'You will both do your detentions this evening.'

'What are we doing, Professor?' Ron asked nervously.

'You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr Filch,' said Professor McGonagall. 'And no magic, Weasley- elbow grease.'

Ron gulped. Argus Filch was loathed by all students and the feeling was mutual.

'And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,' said Professor McGonagall

'Oh no- can't I do the trophy room , too?' Harry asked desperately.

'Certainly not. Professor Lockhart requested you particularly. Eight o' clock sharp, both of you.'

Sherlock went up to the Owlery, allowing John a brief lunch before calling to him from the door of the Great Hall.

'John?' he said, jerking his head in the direction of the library. John groaned loudly and dramatically, pushing himself up from the table.

'You realise I'm not going to be much help, right?'

'Nonsense, John. You'd make an excellent bookstand.'

Saturday afternoon passed in a blur of old newspapers and paper cuts. John wasn't entirely sure what they were looking for and ended up holding papers for Sherlock, just as he'd anticipated. If Sherlock had found anything of use, he never said.

'Right, that's enough,' John said at last. It was now dark and he was fairly certain that they'd missed dinner. Sherlock looked up and pursed his lips, but didn't argue. John followed Sherlock out of the library, but instead of going up to the dormitories, he aimed for the hospital wing.

'I think we ought to check on Castiel,' Sherlock said, answering John's unspoken question.

'What makes you think he'll be there?'

'He'll be there.'

And so he was. He was sitting on one of the beds, staring at the ceiling. Madam Pomfrey saw them enter and looked about to protest, but then her gaze flicked to Castiel and she let them pass unimpeded. Without a word they went over to him. John sat on a chair beside the bed and Sherlock lay across the end of it. Castiel made no move to acknowledge their presence and, for a while, sat in silence.

'John, tell me about your family,' Sherlock murmured. John looked at him in surprise.

'Not much to tell, I mean, they're Muggles- which you already know. Mum owns a florist and Harriet works in the kitchen in the local pub. You know, she's still not happy about me being a wizard. It's not like I asked for it.'

'And your father?'

John's knuckles tightened involuntarily and Sherlock knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he was hoping to illicit a response in Castiel. That, and he was more than a little curious.

'You already know,' John said.

'I know some.'

John paused for a moment, then released a long breath.

'He was a good man before… I knew that he loved us but being in the army was something he felt he had to do. I also knew that every time he came back a little piece of him had faded away. Towards the end he was more like a shadow of who he was… But then he left us. It was stupid and selfish…'

Sherlock said nothing, knowing not to push it.

'And what about you?' John asked Sherlock after a minute.

'Well, you already know Mycroft, unfortunately. Mummy writes theories and translations for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, when she's not supporting Father by meeting with his associates. Father deals mostly with the collection of knowledge about the magical world and spends most of his time travelling, though he owns several apothecaries across the country,' Sherlock told him.

'You really could not sound less enthusiastic,' John commented. Sherlock shrugged

'Their activities don't interest me, nor do mine interest them.'

Castiel had not moved but they could tell he was listening

'Castiel? What's your family like?' Sherlock chanced. He stiffened, but looked down from the ceiling.

'I live with my father and Gabriel. As you know, Lucy has left. We also have an older brother named Michael. He left a few years ago.'

Sherlock grimaced, feeling he was onto something. He hesitated, then, 'What about your mother?'

Castiel fixed him with a piercing stare, but his eyes were devoid of the timid spark that was normally there.

'My mother died a long time ago.'

His voice had taken on a monotonous tone.

'Seven years ago today, in fact.'

Sherlock heard John mutter a small 'oh' and Castiel continued to stare at him emotionlessly, daring him to ask his next question.

'…What happened?'

Castiel abruptly jumped up off the bed and turned his back. He stood poker straight.

'I'd rather not talk about it.'

With that, he left the room. John watched him sadly.

'I think that's the most I've ever heard him talk- ever,' he said hollowly. 'Anyway, I think we should go to bed. I'm tired and I want to hear how Harry's detention went. Should be good for a few laughs.'

He got up and stretched.

'You coming?'

'You go- I have something I need to do.'

John raised his eyebrows but didn't comment- he knew he'd find out in the morning. He went straight up to Gryffindor tower and met Ron on the way, who was nursing his right arm and smelled strongly of polish.

'My cramps have cramps,' he groaned. 'Made me buff that Quidditch Cup fourteen times before he was happy. Then I had a slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to shift the slime…'

Up in the dormitory, Harry was waiting for them and told them about his detention in a low voice, so as not to wake Seamus, Dean and Neville.

'So I was just sat there and then I heard this voice, right and it- and it said it wanted to kill. But there was no one else in the room and Lockhart didn't hear a word of it,' he said.

'D'you think he was lying? But I don't get it- even someone invisible would've had to open the door,' Ron frowned.

'I know. I don't get it either.'

'Could have been a ghost,' John suggested. 'Maybe Peeves was messing with you.'

'Yeah but Lockhart would have heard it too.'

'Maybe Lockhart was messing with you.'

'Somehow I don't think he has the brain capacity to handle that.'

'Good point.'

John lay back and in the time it took for him to fall asleep, he couldn't stop imagining what the voice would have sounded like.

Thanks to children of prophecies, Ms. Moonshoes Potter, phoenix21, mightyBookworm, Trapped under Loki's spell and TS17isme for the lovely reviews and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter :)

Also thanks to ScazzaGrace my awesome beta :D