Cornelius Fudge

They all knew that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures, having previously come across his giant, three-headed dog named Fluffy, as well as helping him smuggle a dragon hatchling out of the castle.

'What did the monster look like?' Sherlock asked after Harry had finished telling them what happened.

'It was big, hairy and had a lot of legs,' Harry said dully, imagining Hagrid trying to fit a lead and collar on it. 'He probably thought it was a shame that it had been cooped up for so long.'

Castiel pursed his lips.

'I don't believe it. Hagrid would never do this,' he said.

'Riddle might have the wrong person,' said Hermione. 'Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people…'

'How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?' Ron said.

John shook his head.

'This doesn't make any sense,' he said 'Hagrid is not the heir of Slytherin. Not in a million years.'

'But we don't know that for sure. It's just as likely as Harry being the heir of Slytherin,' Sherlock said.

'But do you really think it was him? Do you really think Hagrid wants to kill Muggle-borns?' John said adamantly.

'Of course not, but that doesn't mean he set it loose and it started attacking people on its own,' Harry said. 'We all know he was expelled and the attacks must have stopped, otherwise Riddle wouldn't have got his award.'

'Who asked Riddle to grass on Hagrid, anyway?' Ron scowled.

'The monster had killed someone, Ron,' Hermione pointed out.

'And Riddle was going back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,' said Harry. 'I don't blame him for wanting to stay here…'

'No. No, it doesn't feel right,' John said. 'Something is off about this Riddle. Did you see what house he was in? He was wearing his Prefect badge, right?'

Harry was silent.

'Bet you anything he was in Slytherin.'

'Do you think we should ask Hagrid about it all?' Hermione said hesitantly.

'Oh yeah, that'll be a cheerful visit,' Ron said. 'Hello, Hagrid, tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'

Eventually, they decided that they wouldn't speak to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and since it had now been almost four months since the last one, they were hopeful that they would never have to.

Once the Easter holidays came around, the second-years were given something else to think about in the form of their third-year subject choices.

'It could affect our whole future,' Hermione said earnestly, poring over the subject list and surrounded by books on each of them.

'I just want to give up Potions,' said Harry, with fervent agreement from Castiel.

'We can't,' Ron said gloomily. 'We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts.'

Hermione looked shocked.

'But that's very important!' she said.

'Not the way Lockhart teaches it,' John scoffed.

'Yeah. The only thing I've learned from him is not to set pixies loose,' said Ron.

Sherock received a letter from Mycroft advising him on his subjects, which he promptly threw in the fire. John looked over Sherlock's shoulder at his subject list.

'Study of Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and… Divination?'

'Yes, and? You're taking Divination,' Sherlock said.

'Yeah, but that's because… well that's because…'

'Because what?'

'Well, because I'm bad at maths.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Well at least I wasn't mad enough to take everything. Why Hermione feels the need to take Muggle Studies, I don't know,' John said defensively. 'What are you taking, Castiel?'

'I've chosen Study of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures,' Castiel told him.

'Oh, cool, you two will have Ancient Runes together.'

'That will be nice,' Castiel smiled.

John nodded. Harry and Ron had both picked Divination and Care of Magical creatures as well, so he would at least have some friendly faces to help him out.

Gryffindor's next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff, so Wood had been insisting on team practices after dinner every night. The evening before the match, Harry came cheerily through the portrait hole.

'Hey, Harry,' John said.

He, Ron and Hermione had taken over a table in the common room.

'Coming to do homework?'

'Yeah, just let me put my broom away,' Harry said.

He got half way to the stairs when Neville came rushing down them looking frantic.

'Harry – I don't know who did it. I just found – '

He motioned for them to follow him upstairs. He opened the door to the dormitory and Hermione gasped. The contents of Harry's trunk had been thrown everywhere, his cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster bed and the drawer had been ripped out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. A few loose pages of Travels with Trolls lay on the ground and Harry stood on them on the way over to his bed.

'What happened?' Hermione said.

'No idea,' said Harry.

Ron examine Harry's robes. All the pockets were hanging out.

'Looks like someone was looking for something,' John said, holding up a shredded Lockhart book. 'Is anything missing?'

'Not that I can tell.'

Harry started to throw things back into his trunk and it wasn't until he got to the last of his books that he realised what was missing.

'Riddle's diary is gone,' he said.

'What?' Ron exclaimed.

Hermione looked aghast, and though John was relieved that it was gone, he also felt that it would have been better off in Harry's hands than wherever it was now.

'It must have been a Gryffindor. Nobody else knows our password,' Hermione said.

'Except Sherlock and Castiel,' Ron pointed out.

'They wouldn't do this,' John frowned.

'No of course not, I'm just saying that they might not be the only ones that know our password.'

'Still, who else knows about the diary?'

'No idea,' Harry said grimly.

The next morning, they awoke to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.

'Perfect Quidditch conditions!' Wood said enthusiastically, loading the team's plates with scrambled eggs.

Sherlock's eyes were darting up and down the Gryffindor table, suspicious of everyone since they informed him of the robbery.

'Will you stop?' John hissed, nudging him with an elbow. 'You won't be able to tell who it is just by looking at them.'

'You'd think,' Sherlock grunted, continuing to watch. He caught Ginny's eyes for a moment, but she looked away hastily, stabbing at the eggs that had been on her plate for the last ten minutes.

'Poor Ginny,' John said, seeing what Sherlock was looking at. 'I wouldn't want to be a first-year with all this happening. They must be really frightened.'

Sherlock shrugged.

Ron and Hermione left with Harry to collect his Quidditch things and John pushed his plate of eggs away, suddenly queasy.

'Come on, let's get down to the pitch before all the good seats are gone,' he said.

He, Sherlock and Castiel headed out into the grounds and John began to feel very hot. He fanned his red face with his hand.

'It's hot out here,' he said. 'Are you hot?'

'No, not really,' Sherlock frowned.

The three of them slowed down as John's breath became shallow.

'What's happening?' he gasped, tugging at his clothes.

Castiel pulled Sherlock out of John's immediate space and reached a hand out to him.

'It's all right, John. I think you're having a panic attack,' he said calmly, firmly keeping Sherlock back.

'No, no, no, something's not right,' John said, looking around wildly.

Sherlock pushed Castiel out of his way and put his hands on John's shoulders. A shock ran through him, his vision dimmed and, instead of the grass around them, he saw an image of Hermione stood like a statue with a mirror in one hand, Petrified. The image cleared and Sherlock found himself and John kneeling on the ground. A crowd of people that were on their way down to the pitch had gathered around them curiously, though quickly dispersed as the beginning of the match drew nearer.

John vomited into the grass and collapsed onto his side, shaking violently. Sherlock remained still, too shocked by what he had seen to move.

Castiel moved over to John, who was unresponsive at first, but with a little coaxing made some feeble grunting noises and managed to prop himself up on his elbows.

'What the hell..?' he groaned.

'Careful, careful,' Castiel said, quickly helping him into a sitting position.

'Are you all right?' John asked, spotting Sherlock's pale face.

Sherlock nodded slowly.

By now, everyone else had packed into the stadium and as they got unsteadily to their feet, they saw Professor McGonagall rush past with a giant purple megaphone.

'I think something has happened,' Sherlock said.

'What do you mean?' John asked, stumbling on the spot.

It wasn't long until they found out. On their way back to the castle, they heard Professor McGonagall's amplified voice from inside the stadium.

'This match has been cancelled,' they heard her say. 'All students will make their way back to their house common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!'

'That doesn't sound good,' John said.

'Let's get up to the hospital wing before we get caught in the rush,' said Castiel.

'Do we have to?' John groaned.

Castiel looked at him like he was mad.

'Of course you do, John, you're still shaking. You both do.'

'But McGonagall said – '

'She'll understand,' Castiel said firmly.

'Fine,' John grumbled. 'I just feel like I'm in there every other week.

'Better safe than sorry,' Castiel said, leading the way.

They reached the door to the hospital wing where Madam Pomfrey was stood.

'Castiel,' she said. 'Where's Professor McGonagall?'

Castiel looked confused and she sighed.

'I suppose you'd better come in. There's been another attack. Another double attack,' she told them.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door and led them through.

'This will be a bit of a shock,' she said gently.

First they saw the Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, her long curly hair pushed back from her frozen, shocked expression. Then, on the next bed beside her, lay Hermione. Castiel sank into the chair beside her bed and John rushed to the sink to vomit again. Sherlock stood by her side, looking over her, hands trembling slightly. Something was missing.

'Where's the mirror?' he asked Madam Pomfrey, who was bent over Penelope.

'Mirror? What mirror?'

'She- she had a mirror…' he trailed off.

Castiel looked at him quizzically.

'I-I think John showed me something when I touched him, but I'm not certain,' Sherlock muttered to him.

'Really? Do you think he knows?'

'No, it wasn't a conscious choice.'

Madam Pomfrey helped John to the bed on Hermione's other side just as Professor McGonagall entered the ward, accompanied by Ron, and Harry in his scarlet Quidditch robes.

'Hermione,' Ron groaned as he saw her.

'They were found outside the library,' Professor McGonagall explained. 'Can any of you explain this? It was on the floor next to them…'

She held up a small, rounded mirror, addressing the five of them. None of them could offer an answer but Sherlock snatched it from her hand, recognising it as the one he saw, and feverishly examined it, hoping for some sort of clue. When it yielded nothing to him, he threw it down on the nightstand in disgust.

'Sorry, Professor,' he said, noticing her disdain at his treatment of their one and only clue.

Professor McGonagall grimaced.

'If Holmes is offering apologies of his own accord, then we must truly be in trouble. Madam Pomfrey, are these three fit to return to their dormitories? I assume they are in here for a reason.'

Madam Pomfrey, who had been examining John, nodded.

'I think it would be best, Professor – safer,' she said

'Very well, I shall escort you all back to Gryffindor tower. You two will spend the night there,' she said to Sherlock and Castiel, 'I need to address the students in any case.'

'All students will return to their house common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after this time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.'

Everyone packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment she had been reading from and said in a somewhat choked voice, 'I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they know something to come forward.'

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately. Lee Jordan started saying loudly that all the Slytherins should be thrown out. Harry gestured for Ron, Sherlock, John and Castiel to follow him up to the dormitory. Once up there, they sat around the room. Two beds with Ravenclaw hangings had been added to the room.

'We need to talk to Hagrid,' Harry said.

'Do you think they suspect him?' Ron asked.

'They must if he was expelled for it last time,' said Sherlock.

Castiel frowned.

'I still don't believe that it was him.'

'We have to know for sure,' Harry told him. 'I don't think it was him this time, but f it was him before then he knows how to get into the Chamber, and that's a start.'

'We've got no chance of seeing him now though,' said John. 'The teachers will be patrolling the all corridors.'

'I've got my Cloak,' Harry pointed out.

'D'you think that'll work?'

'I don't see why not. Only thing is, we won't all fit under it.'

They all looked at each other.

'Well, I don't mind staying,' John said, relieved. He still felt a little off.

'I'll stay with John,' Castiel decided.

'That settles that, then,' Sherlock said.

They all went to bed at the usual time, waited for Neville, Dean and Seamus to fall asleep, then got dressed again. The three of them going down to Hagrid's threw the Cloak over themselves and Castiel helped them make sure that it was covering their feet and let them out of the portrait hole. He went back upstairs and he and John attempted to get some sleep while they waited for Harry, Ron and Sherlock.

John fell into a restless sleep and dreams of monsters plagued him, accompanied by a disembodied hissing. He tossed and whimpered in his sleep and jolted upright when a set of evil, yellow eyes came at him. He rubbed his face and sighed. With no point in going back to sleep now, John pushed himself out of bed and went downstairs to sit beside the fire. For a while he sat entranced by the flames until he felt a presence. He turned and jumped as he found Castiel standing directly beside him.

'Bloody hell! What are you doing?'

'Do you have many nightmares?' Castiel asked, sitting down in another chair.

'Sometimes. I don't usually remember my dreams – or nightmares. This was different though,' John said quietly.

'What do you mean?'

'Usually they feel more – distant. Cloudy. But this was very immediate and a lot more… scary I suppose.'

Castiel made himself more comfortable and curled his legs up.

'What did you dream of?' he asked curiously.

John shook his head.

'Monsters mostly. Big ones. Like the one Harry told us about from Riddle's diary. It was noisy and I was running. And there were eyes.' John shuddered at the thought of them. 'Evil eyes.'

Castiel was sympathetic.

'It's important to get rest when you can. I tend to take a nap in the afternoon after class,' he told John. 'Nightmares can be tricky to deal with, but it's not impossible.'

'You get them too?'

Castiel nodded.

'Bad?'

Castiel nodded again, slower.

'Go on, then, what are yours about?'

Castiel didn't say anything for a minute, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

'I dream of my mother and the day she died,' he said without meeting John's eyes. 'It was – she was an excellent potion maker. But this one – exploded.'

Castiel clasped his hands together tightly.

'I was there. I see it nearly every night – feel it on my skin.'

He rubbed his arm uncomfortably, then slowly rolled up the sleeve. John's eyes widened as Castiel revealed to him an angry, knotted scar that ran from just above his wrist and past the point that Castiel had rolled his sleeve to. It was like his skin had melted which, John realised, it probably had. Castiel turned slightly red and unrolled his sleeve self-consciously. A lot of things suddenly made sense to John.

'Please don't tell anyone. I'm not ready for it to be common knowledge,' Castiel implored.

'I understand,' John smiled.

Just then, the portrait hole opened and when it closed again, Harry ripped off the Cloak. He sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands. Ron kicked at a chair angrily and stomped around the room.

'What?' John asked. 'What happened?'

Harry shook his head.

'The Minister for Magic turned up and arrested Hagrid,' he said.

'What?'

'No!'

'Horrible little man,' Sherlock said scathingly. 'Utterly useless.'

'And,' Harry continued. 'Lucius Malfoy got the governors of the school to sign Dumbledore's Order of Suspension.'

'Wait, does that mean..?'

'Yes. Dumbledore's gone,' Sherlock said quietly.

Castiel could not have looked more terrified in that moment.

'W-what are we going to do?' he asked.

'It's down to us, I suppose?' John said, trying to keep calm.

'Yes. Hagrid did give us one clue before he was taken. He told us to follow the spiders,' Sherlock said. 'You still won't go home?' he asked John.

John shook his head, though a lot less certain than he was last time Sherlock asked him to go home.

'I'll feed Fang while Hagrid is away,' Castiel said. 'Gabriel will escort me down there.'

Ron groaned, finally tired of raging around the room. He sat down next to Castiel.

'There'll be an attack a day with Dumbledore gone,' he groaned.

The five of them sat up the rest of the night, not able to sleep knowing that their best protection had been taken away.

Thanks to TsubasaKEI, UberSupper, TheRedSlime, Mangaka Shuzen and Keysmash5955 for the reviews :) it's wonderful to see so many people still willing to read my story after such a long hiatus. I love all of you an you're the reason I keep going. Have a lovely day!